Half Wolf

Chapter 1-2

“READY TO GO HOME?” I called up to my pack mates when I finally achieved my destination. Cinnamon was laughing in delight at his sister’s antics, Lia had finally discovered the beat, and Ginger had stripped down to a b*a and miniskirt with nothing underneath.

I knew the latter fact not only because I could see straight up her skirt but also because she was stepping out of lacy undies and preparing to fling them into the crowd as I spoke. The female trouble twin flicked the aromatic garment away with one finger, and the lucky males close enough to have a chance at claiming the prize fell to the ground in a pile of testosterone-crazed aggression and greed.

Unfortunately, though, most of the shifters wanted a piece of the original, not just a scrap of fabric that had picked up the pack princess’s scent. My stomach banged painfully against the edge of the table as I was thrust forward by another surge of the crowd. In response, I grabbed onto the laminated particleboard with grim fingers, doing my best to hold my ground while waiting for my pack mates to come to their senses.

For a moment, Ginger merely smiled at the show. Then her eyes took on a truly wicked gleam as she glanced down at me, proving she wasn’t ready to let me off the hook just yet.

“Hey, Fen,” she called in greeting. “What a blast, huh?”

Only an hour earlier, I’d begged the nineteen-year-old to pay attention to the way her pack-princess vibe turned our neighbors into animals—sometimes not only metaphorically but also in the flesh. I’d asked that she at least consider her brother’s and Lia’s safety before jumping into danger with both feet joyfully extended. In response, the trouble twin had rolled her eyes and demanded to know the point of being a member of a free, young pack if I was as much of a pain in the a*s as her last alpha.

I’d thought the teenager just needed to gripe and moan, so I’d shrugged off her words. But, no—as soon as my back was turned, Ginger had snuck out to prove her point.

“You win,” I yelled up at her now, not sure if she could even hear me over the din of the crowd. “But how do you plan to get Lia out of here alive?”

In response, Cinnamon lowered the sixteen-year-old into my waiting arms, then leapt down off the table to join us. “Ginger’s gonna make a diversion so you can break our cuz here free,” he yelled into my ear. “We’ll meet you around back.”

“Not much of an exit strategy,” a quiet voice drawled into my other ear. I whipped around to face a tall shifter about my age dressed up in cowboy chic—ten-gallon hat, checkered shirt, huge belt buckle, and nut-hugger jeans. Unlike the hairy-chest guy, this one was cute, but I didn’t trust my human intuition to root out his true intentions and my wolf was better off sleeping. Still, Ten-Gallon wasn’t grabbing Lia’s a*s, so I figured he was a cut above the rest of the room’s inhabitants.

“Do you have a better idea?” I challenged him.

“I’ll boost you out that window,” he offered, pointing at a tiny aperture barely large enough for Ginger’s hips to wiggle through.

Okay, so the trouble twin’s hips matched her boobs—huge and comely. The rest of us would have no problem sliding out.

As long as Ten-Gallon could be trusted at our back, that was. I traded a glance with Cinnamon and my pack mate shrugged in response. Unlike his sister, the male half of the trouble team was laid back to a fault. I could never quite tell if Cinnamon obeyed me because I was his pack leader or just because it was easier to float along on the wave of even my extremely mild version of alpha dominance than to stand against the tide.

So the choice would rest on my shoulders alone, as usual. That was okay—I was used to it.

“Okay, Cinn. You go out first and we’ll toss Lia up after you. If anything goes wrong, Glen’s got the car idling out front. Get out of here, and Ginger and I will take our chances.”

The song was nearing its dramatic conclusion and the crowd was yelling commands at their entertainer so loudly I could barely hear myself think. But when Cinnamon touched his sister’s foot and jerked his chin up at the window, I could see the pack princess take in the entire plan in a moment via that ultimate in modern communication—twin speak.

“Okay,” she mouthed. Then the buxom shifter produced a diversion as promised. First, she reached forward to fiddle with the front clasp of her b*a, releasing her bountiful breasts. Then she spun on high heels to show off the merchandise, a feat that I was pretty sure would have caused me to break my neck even if I wasn’t perched atop a table in a crowded bar.

Werewolves are accustomed to casual nudity, but even I had to admit that Ginger’s boobs were things of beauty. The outpack males fell silent through pure awe as they took in a show they’d never thought possible—a pack princess emulating a topless dancer. There was no pole to climb, but Ginger did just fine without props, swiveling her hips so enticingly that Cinnamon and Lia made their escape without a single shifter in the room taking notice.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. My new buddy and I noticed because we were the ones boosting our companions up toward the unconventional exit. “You next?” asked Ten-Gallon, not quite able to tear his gaze away from the table-top view.

“No, Ginger next.” Sure, the teenager seemed quite capable of taking care of herself. But I was her alpha. Which meant that I would also be the last to leave this sinking ship.

Of course, I knew the minute the metaphorical curtain came down, the crowd would turn nasty. But there was no getting around the inevitable. We’d just have to move fast and take our chances.

I sprang up on the table to join Ginger, boosting her toward our new accomplice’s waiting hands.

“No way!” “Boo!” “Hey!”

The cacophony of displeasure abruptly ceased as Ginger stepped out of her final item of apparel, allowing the tiny skirt to drift down and settle upon the table. Then she turned to blow a kiss toward her doting audience.

The pack princess was now buck n***d and every male in the place—Ten-Gallon included—roared his approval.

Then Ginger was slithering out the window to join the rest of our clan, leaving me as the only pack mate still in danger. Well, me and Mr. Ten-Gallon Hat, who wasn’t looking like such a good defense against several dozen hyped up and disappointed outpack males.

This may be the time faking it isn’t quite enough, I thought inanely.

And then my stalker walked through the door.