HOWLER
Howler knew that waiting for the sexy little wolf wasn’t his finest idea, but he really had no choice. His club needed help, and if the DCMC was willing to take him up on his offer, that would change the odds of him winning the very dangerous game that he had been playing. But he wasn’t a fool, and taking his Enforcer, Wraith, along with him was the first smart thing he had done that day.
Howler had learned a long time ago that patience was a weapon that not too many people possessed. But it was one he didn’t enjoy using. Waiting for anything or anyone wasn’t easy for him, but this meeting was too important not to wait her out.
He leaned against the cold brick wall of the abandoned sugar warehouse, his arms crossed over his chest, and let his wolf pace beneath his skin. His wolf didn’t like waiting any more than he did. It prowled, restless and sharp-toothed, reacting to every distant sound, every shift of air that rolled in off the harbor.
She’ll come, his wolf insisted. Howler believed him, too, because he needed it to be true. Tempest wasn’t the kind of woman who ignored a summons, especially not one layered with secrecy and risk. Wolves like her didn’t shy away from storms—they walked straight into them and dared the thunder to strike first. Still, that didn’t mean he liked the position he was in.
“Relax,” Wraith muttered from his spot near the lanterns. “You’re grinding your teeth.”
Howler shot his Enforcer a look. “You ever tell me to relax again, and I’ll demote you to sweeping floors.”
Wraith huffed out a quiet laugh but sobered quickly, his gaze flicking toward the open warehouse doors. “She’s late.”
“She’s just being cautious,” Howler corrected. “As she should be.”
The truth was, Howler admired that about Tempest. From what he’d gathered through whispered conversations and half-buried rumors, Dark Chaos MC hadn’t clawed its way into Baltimore by being reckless. A women’s MC—a wolf shifter women’s MC—setting up shop in contested territory had been enough to make half the East Coast take note. The other area MCs said that they wouldn’t last in Baltimore, yet here they were. Still standing, still breathing, and still pissing off the wrong people.
Howler shifted his weight, the concrete biting cold even through his boots. His thoughts drifted back to the mess that had forced his hand. The Capitol Wolves were looking to take over his club’s territory, and they had the numbers to do it. Plus, they had the mayor in their pocket, something he hoped would convince Tempest to join his cause. The Capitol Wolves were D.C. power players wearing biker cuts like crowns, blending pack politics with club muscle in a way that made his skin crawl. They didn’t just want territory—they wanted obedience. And the Silverfang Brotherhood didn’t bend the knee to any other MC. That was exactly why they were being squeezed.
The sound of a motorcycle cut through the quiet like a blade. Howler turned instantly, his wolf snapping to attention. Hecould smell her before she even entered the warehouse—female, alpha, Tempest.
“She’s here,” Wraith said unnecessarily.
Howler pushed off the wall as the bike rolled to a stop outside. He forced himself to breathe evenly and to keep his posture loose. He wasn’t here to posture or bully. He was here to negotiate—and possibly to beg, if necessary, though he’d rather die than admit it out loud.
The warehouse door creaked open, and cold air rushed in, carrying her scent with it. She looked like a storm caught in a bottle. That was the best way Howler could describe Tempest. Ozone sharpness layered with leather, steel, and she-wolf. She definitely wasn’t submissive. Nothing about her was fancy or decorative. She was a force that didn’t ask permission to do anything, and he respected that.
She stepped into the shadows as Howler carefully watched her. He cataloged details about her, the way any good Prez would. She had a confident stride, but had no visible weapon drawn. The tension in her shoulders told him she was armed, though. Her eyes missed nothing, flicking from him to Wraith and back to him again.
When she spoke, her voice was calm but had an edge to it that told him that she was just as nervous about this meeting as he was. Howler liked that too. If she wasn’t nervous, he wouldn’t have trusted her.
The conversation that followed was tense and layered with challenge. Exactly as he’d expected it would be. Tempest didn’t seem to trust easily, and she sure as hell didn’t trust him or Wraith. He didn’t blame her. Alliances built on desperation tended to rot if they weren’t handled carefully.
Wraith ran his mouth more than Howler would’ve liked, but that was nothing new. His Enforcer had always leaned into intimidation first, diplomacy second. Watching Tempest puthim in his place so effortlessly was enlightening and impressive. Hell, it was a complete turn on.
But the meeting shifted the second the truth came out. He told her about The Capitol Wolves working with the mayor, and the corruption threading through Baltimore like a disease. Howler watched Tempest’s reaction closely when he showed her the photos. He saw the way her body went still, the way her wolf surged beneath her calm exterior. She was furious, but controlled, and he admitted that. She had the kind of restraint that didn’t come from weakness. It came from discipline. Which was good because he needed disciplined allies.
When she asked what helping his club would look like, Howler felt something close to hope flicker in his chest. It was a dangerous thing, hope. It made men stupid. Still, he answered her questions honestly, as he always did, because lies didn’t last long in wolf politics.
Then the air in the warehouse seemed to shift, as a sound echoed off the walls. It sounded like metal sliding against metal. Howler’s hackles rose instantly, his wolf snapping to full alert. He scanned the darkness, nostrils flaring—but all he smelled was old dust, rust, and fear. Human fear. That alone was enough to make his blood run cold.
When the girl stumbled into the lantern light, Howler swore under his breath. She was a mess. Her whole body was bruised, her hands bound, and she looked terrified. But what caught his attention wasn’t her injuries; it was the patch hanging crooked on her shoulder. Dark Chaos MC.
Howler turned slowly toward Tempest just as she whispered the girl’s name—Blue. The way Tempest’s voice broke on it twisted something in his chest. The girl wasn’t just a club member; she was family. Fuck.
Howler’s wolf snarled, anger flooding his veins. The girl showing up at the warehouse wasn’t an accident. Someone knewexactly where to leave her. Someone had wanted Tempest to see Blue like this to provoke, destabilize, and force a reaction from her. He was sure that it had to be the Capitol Wolves.
When Blue pointed back into the darkness and whispered that they were coming, Howler didn’t hesitate.
“Wraith,” he said, already moving. “Get the lights, now,” he ordered. Wraith kicked one of the lanterns over, plunging half the warehouse into darkness while illuminating the entrance. It was a tactical move and was smart.
Howler stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Tempest without thinking about it. Not to dominate—just to guard. He could feel her wolf bristling beside him, feral and furious.
“How many are coming?” Tempest asked, voice deadly calm.
Howler listened to the scuff of boots, the uneven breathing, and the faint metallic clink of weapons being adjusted. “At least four,” he said. “Maybe more.”
