Chapter One
Lyric Howell couldn’t stop her heart from racing.
It wasn’t because of the crowd, or the close proximity of the two human males on either side of her at the bar, their elbows almost touching hers. It wasn’t because of the loud music that hurt her oversensitive ears, or the chaotic hum of conversation and unsavory scents around her that overwhelmed her senses.
Her heart raced because a werewolf had just walked in, and from the way he kept looking at her, he recognized her from that awful day—the day of the Pack wars.
This werewolf was an enemy.
He had walked into the bar and lifted his chin higher into the air, scented the air and his eyes had zeroed directly onto her.
He was one of the Rogues.
Her hands were shaking, so she clenched them twice to steady them.
She looked down, focused intentionally on the iced tea she spun slowly on her soggy coaster. She’d been here all evening nursing this drink, and the ice had almost melted.
Lyric dared a glance back up at the werewolf, but he had moved to an empty table across the room. He sat down, facing her, eyes unblinking on her.
Shoot.
She should leave. She should go back to the safety of her Pack. Her Pack? Were they hers? She felt like she didn’t belong anywhere anymore. Not after the war.
Her life felt like it was over. Like it was something outside of her body that she didn’t understand or connect with anymore.
She could smell the werewolf now. Her sister, Eden, had been talking about chasing the Rogues out of Coeur d’Alene,but her Pack didn’t have the numbers yet. The Rogue Pack was wholly made up of monsters. Lyric had Turned one of them and given them another weapon. A flashback of her Turning Destiny had her wincing and closing her eyes to ward off the memory. She’d always hated her job.
When she opened her eyes again, and turned to look at the werewolf, he was standing right behind her. She gasped and startled hard.
“I know you,” he said.
His eyes looked strange. They were dark brown, but the very edges and right by his pupil were bright gold. He had a chiseled jawline, and tan skin. He wore a black T-shirt, and his right arm had tribal looking tattoos all the way down it. He smelled like cologne, dominance, and fur.
“No, you don’t know me,” she uttered low. “Go away.”
The werewolf canted his head and narrowed his eyes, then looked at the human beside her. “Move,” he said blandly.
The guy nodded, said, “Yep,” and then vamoosed.
Shit.
The werewolf sat next to her and nodded to the bartender. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
“An iced tea?” the bartender asked. “Really? Two of you?”
“Oh, hell no. Long island iced tea. Thanks.” He turned to Lyric. “Are you sober or something?”
“Ummm, or something. Alcohol doesn’t help me when I’m…” She frowned and swallowed the rest of her words. “I should go.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my enemy.”
The man frowned. “Do I scare you?”
“Nothing scares me.”
“Lie. I can hear it. Want to try that again?”
