He never would. Not with his tribe. Tak would always be the wayward son to his father and to his people.
That displacement made room for conflict. Betas saw him as weak and often challenged him with words to assert their dominance. It was common behavior for wolves to create a pecking order amongst each other, and Tak was fair game since he’d never hold a Packmaster’s rank. It became difficult to control an escalating situation—betas would criticize him or refuse to comply.
Perhaps that was another reason why Texas was a welcome respite. No one knew him here. Men on the streets who sensed his alpha power looked upon him with suspicion and fear. He liked it. Tak had put up with the derision from his own packmates for too many years, and though he was the type of man who got along with everyone, it hadn’t dawned on him how much it had beaten down his spirit until this short little trip.
Tak took his time braiding his hair. His tribe was the only home he’d ever known, but it was also a place he didn’t belong. When Lakota had left town, Tak fell into a state of depression. He felt trapped again, so maybe this visit meant something more than just mending a friendship. Tak was standing on the precipice of a life-changing decision, and if he wasn’t careful, he might wind up choosing the wrong path.
Tak stared down at his callused hands, which ached to have someone to hold. Sometimes the loneliness made him want to turn back to the bottle. As much as he wanted to get shitfaced and forget about his best friend ditching him and a beautiful woman rejecting him, drinking would only make him a weaker man. It had been a long road to recovery—not just from the emotional trauma of his past but also the stigma of being a recovering alcoholic. They didn’t have AA meetings or recovery programs in his tribe. Tak had overcome his demons alone, and sometimes he wondered if the door to his hell was still open just a crack.
Thoughts about his past and future conjured images of the present. After shifting last night for a brief run, his wolf had led him right back to Moonglow. Wolves don’t understand pride or honor; they’re motivated purely by instinct. He’d skulked in the shadows, watching her. Guarding her. He wasn’t convinced that the city offered any measure of safety, especially knowing how rogues preyed upon the weak or unguarded. Females living outside a pack were vulnerable, so Tak had communicated to his wolf that they were staying put until she was safely in her car. At some point, Tak must have grown tired and blacked out. He couldn’t remember anything about the lump on his head. One minute he was watching her help a customer, the next he was lying on her bedroom floor.
Tak grabbed the laminated guide from the dresser and scanned through it. He spotted a familiar brand on the leaflet—the universal symbol identifying Breed establishments. He flipped it over and a place called Howlers caught his attention. The last thing he wanted was to stroll into a Vampire bar; he needed to be around his own kind. Maybe find a woman to make him forget the emptiness inside. Tak knew how to make a woman laugh, and he also knew how to make her hot and needy.
The small print said that Howlers had drinks, games, music, and good food.
“Sounds like my kind of place,” he said, tossing the guide on the bed. “Might as well see how these city boys like to party.”
Chapter 12
“You have an interesting style,” Dutch remarked, admiring my maroon palazzo pants, which were wide from top to bottom. My black sleeveless shirt was nothing special, and I hadn’t put on any jewelry or perfume after my shower. This wasn’t exactly a date, so I didn’t want to embarrass myself by overdoing it.
After taking a seat, I handed him a laminated menu so we could order food.
Dutch eyed the alcoholic beverages. “What’s the house drink?”
“Devil’s Eye, but take my word for it and stick to the bottled drinks.”
“You know this place pretty well?”
I smoothed my hand over the table, which had plenty of scratches from bar fights and men showing off their knives. “Howlers is like a second home.”
When he arched his eyebrow, it revealed a deep line on his forehead. “A bar is like home?”
“It’s not the place that matters but the people you’re with.”
Melody’s uncle Denver was one of the bartenders, and our old packmates came here a lot. I wasn’t crazy about the bar scene. I preferred spending my free time at arts festivals or having dessert in a café.
Since it was Sunday evening, there were plenty of empty tables and booths. The jukebox cranked out one rock song after the next, and though a few raucous men were playing pool to the far right, they didn’t bother us since our table was close to the bar.
“True that!” Denver shouted from the hall next to the bar. He stripped out of his black work shirt and waved at the other bartender. “See ya tomorrow. I’m outta here.” As he passed by, he took a second glance at me and then backed up a step. “Hey, honeypie. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this with a man like that?”
Dutch turned in a way that made me wonder if he was going to get up and start a fight.
“This is Dutch,” I said. “He’s a shopkeeper in the area, and we’re just talking business. Dutch, this is Denver Cole, the bartender here and a friend of mine.”
The two men nodded at each other.
Denver rumpled his blond hair and winked. “I’m late, and I hate to keep the little miss waiting.”
“Tell everyone hello.”
“Will do!” He rushed out the door and did a little spin as someone walked in at the same time.
I turned back to Dutch and wrapped my fingers around my cold glass of tea. “I think you’d like him. I’ve known Denver my whole life.”
Dutch propped his elbows on the table and loosened the top button of his grey shirt. “Do you think I invited you here to talk business?”
“That’s what you said earlier.”
