Magic Side: Wolf Bound Complete Series: Books 1-4, page 70
“Smart,” he muttered absently as his eyes traced every curve and assessed every buckle. He was taking a long time, and it was obvious his mind wasn’t on my words. I could feel his approval, a heady scent of desire and praise. Heat rushed into me, and part of me wanted him to be inspecting me with more than just his gaze.
“Up here, Laurent,” I sniped, pointing to my eyes.
He jerked his head.
Jaxson was fucking hot himself, and to my embarrassment, I actually licked my lips. I couldn’t help it. His muscles looked like they were going to rip his leather jacket apart at the seams.
Sam cleared her throat. “Savy’s pretty as a biker chick, huh?”
Jaxson growled in irritation. “Are you two ready?”
I crossed my arms and cocked my head. “We’re all dressed up. What’s the plan?”
“I was able to track down some information on the Arrowhead MC. They’re a werewolf motorcycle club known for running drugs and potions, but not magical weapons, so that’s a plus. We found a bar where a few of their members hang out in Indiana, though it’s not their main club. Just a place one or two guys frequent—which is exactly what we want.”
“So we’re going to tap one of them on the shoulder, and they’re just going to answer our questions?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We go in and wait for a chance to get one of their members alone. They’re werewolves, and though they’re not our pack, I’m an alpha. I can make them talk.”
“Something tells me they won’t go quietly,” Sam muttered.
“I can keep them in line,” Jaxson muttered.
Sam cocked her head to the side. “And who’s going to keep you in line? You think you’re going to play nice and forget what their gang did? The last time you saw someone touch Savannah, you smashed their face in.”
Darkness flushed his cheeks as his eyes turned a deep gold. I could see the first signs of a shift. “Then nobody better touch her.”
His voice was ice, and the implication hung in the air, chilling the whole parking deck. He’d kill anyone who even thought about touching me. I could smell the undercurrent of rage, but there was something more. A scent, a look, that was utterly feral. Lupine.
He’s alpha. They abducted his mate from his den, my wolf whispered in my mind.
My eyes flicked across the man, and suddenly, I saw him in a very different light. He was calm but operating with a razor-thin edge of control. He wasn’t just ready to kill any biker who touched me. He was ready to gut the whole MC, if given an excuse.
Trembling beneath his steely gaze, I stepped up and laid my fingers gently on his arm. His skin immediately responded to my touch. The tension in his muscles drained, and just like that, he was back to normal, his iron control restored.
I shuddered. Possessiveness was one thing, but what Jaxson had was off the charts. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the consequences of him thinking of me as his mate.
Or of being his mate.
He looked down at me, his voice low and gravelly, dragging over my nerve endings. “Are you ready to get answers?”
His words refocused my thoughts, and an angry rush of heat seared my neck. “Yes.”
“Then let’s ride.”
I glanced at the pair of shining chrome and black Harleys behind him. “There’s only two bikes. Does that mean—”
Jaxson swung his leg over the Harley and nodded. “You ride pillion with me.”
Of course.
“Sucker.” Sam laughed and winked as she mounted up on the second bike.
“Hey!” I exclaimed.
“Have you ridden two up before?” Jax asked as he pulled on a black helmet.
He knew I hated being a passenger. Sometimes, he could be absolutely infuriating. In this case, he was also correct. “No. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.”
He chucked me a heavy blue helmet, and I grabbed it instinctively when it hit my gut. He patted the seat. “It’s simple. Just sit behind me and don’t make any sudden movements. Lean with the bike, and don’t try to compensate. It’s just like a dance—follow my lead.”
I flexed my fingers, put on my helmet, and popped the visor up. “Fine. Let’s go dancing.”
Jax took a moment to explain how to mount up, and I got on. Steadying myself with a hand on his shoulder, I put my right foot on one of the pegs, then swung my other leg up and over.
He looked back. “Sit up, but hold low around my waist, and don’t grab my arms or shoulders.”
I put my visor down and slowly slipped my arms around him in a soft embrace. I could feel his strength beneath my touch, grounding me. Even through the leather jackets, currents passed between us like prickling static on a cold winter’s day.
I took a deep breath. “Okay. If we’re going to do this, let’s get out of here.”
The motorcycles roared to life, and we rumbled out of the parking garage and down the road.
13
Savannah
An hour and a half later, my ass and abs were screaming. I was hot, sweaty, and battered by the wind.
Even though I wasn’t steering and was clinging on for dear life, the racing air filled me with a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time.
There was something hypnotic about the drone of the engine and the speed of the ground flying by. I pressed myself against Jaxson’s back as we shot down the road—not because I was anxious, but because it made me feel like I was part of the machine. When he leaned, I leaned, and every move we made, we made together.
I hated to admit it, but riding with him was exhilarating—though that didn’t stop my ass from hurting.
Just when I was starting to worry I wouldn’t make it another mile, we began to slow. A roadside bar appeared up ahead, the Tattered Tire Roadhouse.
The building was covered in orange stucco. It was weathered, though not shabby or run down. About ten bikes were parked out front, and a big dude stood at the door, keeping his eyes on things. But there were also a number of cars parked off to the side.
Jaxson turned into the gravel lot and rolled to a stop. He held the bike steady as I started to dismount. “Watch the tailpipe. It’s going to be hot.”
Like I was an idiot. I flipped my leg over and dropped to the ground.
Jaxson pitched his voice low. “This isn’t supposed to be a clubhouse, just a bar that a couple of the Arrowheads frequent. We want to get one of them alone and talking.”
Sam removed her helmet and set it on the bike. “Keep in mind that this is Indiana, not Magic Side. No wolfing out, and no hocus pocus.”
Jaxson nodded as he pulled off his helmet. “She’s right. We don’t want to make a big scene. If there are just one or two Arrowheads, I’ll make them submit with my presence, and we’ll escort them back to talk. Three or more, we leave, then jump them later on the road.”
“And if there are none?” I asked.
He pulled off his gloves and surveyed the row of bikes. “Well, we wait and try to blend in as best we can. We’re just weekend riders who need a cold drink.”
I nodded, then followed Sam and him in, glad I was in the back so they wouldn’t see my broken ass wobble. The big biker out front didn’t even flinch as I staggered by.
The front entrance was covered with old fliers and a time-worn menu. The place was smoky and hot, and my throat immediately began to tickle. Despite the haze and the stink of beer and cigarettes, the bar was clean, and my feet didn’t stick to the floor when I walked, which was frankly a miracle.
A mixed crowd filled the bar. Most were mainstream bikers, sitting at low tables in twos or threes and pounding back bottles of beer, though there were a number wearing cuts with outlaw insignia.
The classic rock was cranked up to cover the fact that there was very little life in the place. The bar, and the people in it, felt deeply road weary. Still, despite the general malaise, I could smell an undercurrent of tension in the room that made the hair on my neck stand on end. Three weeks ago, I might have missed it. But now, with wolf senses, it was like everyone was screaming at me.
While in some places, machismo was measured by blatant posturing, this place was the opposite. The inattentive expressions on the patrons’ faces hid a practiced watchfulness. Everyone was broadcasting disinterest as hard as they could, trying to prove that they were big dogs by showing they had nothing to fear, that they were too busy to care.
Jaxson seemed to pick up on it, too, and toned his signature as low as it could go. He nodded to a group of stools over by an old, battered pool table. “I’ll grab some beers.”
I casually scoped out the room as Sam and I headed over to find seats. While there were a number of bikers with patches, it didn’t seem like any of the Arrowhead Disciples were present.
Sam shoved some quarters into the pool table, and the balls tumbled into the trough. “Can you shoot?”
“Absolutely.” I unzipped my jacket and grabbed a stick off the wall. I could shoot really well…just not pool.
Jaxson came back with three Budweisers. They were just slightly below cool, which wasn’t a great temp for a Bud, but they were wet, which was all I needed after almost two hours on the back of a bike.
“This place feels like a powder keg,” I muttered.
Jax just nodded.
I proceeded to demonstrate to them both how poorly my skill with firearms translated to shooting pool. To my horror, I was so bad that I soon found Jaxson pressed up against me, helping to line up my shot. His scent wrapped around me, far more intoxicating than a dozen beers. And while my mind rebelled against the display, I felt my hips press back into the warmth of his body like they had a mind of their own.
They definitely do, Wolfie teased.
Sam’s eyeroll settled the situation, and I spun out of Jaxson’s arms. “I think I’ve got it. Thanks.”
He gave me a knowing grin. It wasn’t like he couldn’t smell what was on my mind.
I sank my next shot, which almost irritated me more than missing.
Circling to the other side of the table, my eyes flicked over Jaxson’s shoulder as the door opened. Four big, bearded bikers strode in and bellied up at the bar in front of the NASCAR races on TV.
My hands froze mid-shot. The backs of their jackets had three-part patches with an emblem of a wolf skull and crossed arrow in the center. The top rocker read Arrowhead Disciples, while the bottom read Indiana.
One caught me looking, and out of instinct, I bent low to shoot, hoping my cleavage would distract the men from the fact that I’d been watching them. I shot, but the ball ricocheted off the corner.
My mind wasn’t on pool. It was on them.
Four was more than we’d bargained for, but suddenly, the plan didn’t matter. Those bastards were after me, and while none of them had played a role in my abduction, I recognized the prick who’d tried to get me to pull over at the dunes.
Fuckers. They’d have taken me right there.
My hands clenched on the cue as I stood up straight, and vitriol lanced through my veins. A deep, venomous voice in my soul urged me on. Kill them all.
I sucked in a sharp breath and stepped around the table, but Jaxson stopped me short by grabbing the cue still clutched in my hands.
With his back to the bar, he bent his head and whispered almost imperceptibly in my ear. “I feel them. Four—not one. And as much I want to gut them all, we need to stand down and leave so we don’t make a scene.”
But that dark voice didn’t want me to wait. Those jerks had shot up my car and run me off the road, while their buddies had tased me and bound me and dragged me into a fucking van.
Looking at the sleazy bastards, I knew then and there that they wouldn’t have stopped at draining my blood.
I had to clench my heart to stop it from running out of my chest.
I need to calm down. Help me, I begged my wolf as images of ramming my claws into that bastard’s neck, over and over, flooded my mind. He’d be able to smell my hate across the room.
Close your eyes. Think of running. The beach.
Shaking, I shut my eyes, trying to recall how it felt to run as one with my wolf. Our paws pounding on the sand. The cool breeze and the stars reflecting on the water. The rhythm of our movement.
But still, all I could think of was my abductors shoving me down and binding my wrists.
The fury and rage built in my bones until they were vibrating. I tried to pull the cue from Jaxson’s hand, but he held me firm and let his presence flow into me. Finally, my taut muscles began to relax.
But before I could breathe and turn away, the lead biker swiveled around and looked me up and down. It was a ponderous, oily, lust-tainted gaze that crept over every inch of my body. Everywhere his eyes touched felt grimy and rank, and I felt like he was inspecting a piece of meat. I could practically taste his arrogance and contempt, and it tainted my mouth like bile.
At last, his glare met mine. “What the fuck are you staring at?”
His friends turned around as well, and suddenly, in the hair-trigger atmosphere of the bar, everyone was looking at me.
Well, shit.
With his back still turned, Jaxson shook his head, even though his own eyes were blazing with golden fire.
But I knew it was too late to salvage our plan.
I met their look with a defiant stare. Come get me now, assholes.
The biker stood. “Don’t you know to look down when a man talks to you? Or hasn’t your pimp taught you—”
His buddy grabbed his shoulder and stood as well. “Fuck, man, that’s the bitch. She changed her hair.”
The remaining Disciples rose as their leader grinned. “What a fucking juicy piece. I’m gonna—”
With that, the Dockside alpha snapped.
14
Jaxson
I spun, ripped the cue out of Savannah’s hands, and rammed it into the biker’s open mouth.
His head cracked back, and I sprang forward and jammed my heel into his leg, dropping him to his knees. As soon as he was down, I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his mouth straight into the countertop, shattering his jaw and teeth.
It was over in a second. I let him drop to the floor in a bloody, moaning mess. I’d been in control until he’d opened his dirty mouth. Now it was shut.
A moment of stunned silence followed, and then the whole bar exploded.
The other three Arrowheads charged. Fists flew into us from all angles, and a set of claws ripped across my face.
Savannah was at my side, fighting tooth and claw, her eyes filled with a black rage.
One of the bastards grabbed her, while another knocked me against the counter, sending a burst of agony up my spine. I ignored the pain. The only thing that mattered was keeping them off her.
I shoved my attacker away and pulled Savy out of the other biker’s grasp. His claws tore into her arms, and my vision went pure red as I saw her blood well up. I grabbed the half-shifted asshole by the arm, pinned it behind his back, and rammed his head down onto the countertop. Then, without letting go, I charged backward and hurled him across the room toward the entrance of the bar. The front door shattered as he flew halfway though.
One of the bastards immediately leapt on my back, but Sam and Savy pulled him off. I turned to see him backhand Sam across the jaw. Unfazed, she grabbed his vest and kneed him in the groin. As he bent double, I dropped my forearm like a sledgehammer on his exposed neck, driving him to the ground, and finished him with a kick to the face.
Three out cold.
But the Arrowheads weren’t our only problem. The whole bar was against us now.
Razors of pain ripped through my skull as something shattered across the back of my head. Glass tinkled to the ground, and I spun. A random biker—human, with a broken bottle in hand. “Die, you freaks!” he bellowed.
I grabbed him by the shirt and punched him three times in the face. When I let go, he collapsed to the ground.
Humans were so much easier to deal with.
Unfortunately, we were overwhelmed. They were all around us, trying to bring us down. For one second, I saw the last standing, orange-bearded Arrowhead through the crowd. He glared at me, then bolted down the back hallway.
“Don’t let him escape!” I shouted.
Savy leapt over the bar and charged after him.
I shoved a stool into the crowd to clear them off Sam, who was on the ground, but pain lanced through my side.
I twisted to face a human biker brandishing a broken pool cue, its end dripping with blood—my blood.
“Go to hell, you yellow-eyed monster!” he screamed as he rammed the shattered cue straight into my gut.
But he was human, and I was a wolf, and I had reflexes and strength ten times those of his. I grabbed the cue by the point before it dug into my flesh again.
The wound in my side and the sharpened stick brought forth memories of peasants with pitchforks hunting members of our pack—not my memories but those passed down through the magic of our lore master. Yet those echoes of our kind’s hellish last days in France were almost as real as if they’d happened to me. For a second, he wasn’t an asshole biker but a screaming villager, whipped into a bloodthirsty frenzy by the zealots of the Church.
I’d show him a yellow-eyed monster.
With a savage motion, I ripped the pool cue from his hand and grabbed him by his jacket. I lifted him, screaming, above my head with both hands, then slammed him down on the pool table.
The table shattered and collapsed around his limp body.
Fuck him.
All three Arrowheads inside were down. Sam was tangled with a couple of patrons, but I knew she could handle a dozen humans on her own. I had to get to Savannah.
But before I could move, the broken door burst open, and two people, a man and a woman, rushed in with badges held high. “State police! Everyone get down on the ground!”
Some idiot hurled a chair at the female cop. “Get the fuck out, fucking pigs!”
She staggered back into the doorway as two bikers jumped on her and her partner.
