Page 3 of Her Curves, His Fate

“Oi, Nora!” one of them called out. “Put a little extra magic in mine, yeah?”

“Careful what you wish for,” Nora retorted with a grin, adding a flourish to her wrist movement that sent the glasses dancing in mid-air before gently landing on the bar top, filled with a shimmering liquid that changed colors like a kaleidoscope. The customers clapped and whooped as they downed their shots, expressions of pure wonder crossing their faces.

Theo had settled into his usual stool at the bar, nursing, appropriately, a bottle of Captain Morgan. He kept a stern eye on Nora and the patrons.

“Remember, Nora,” Theo called out. “You don’t want to make the same mistake as last week.”

“Right,” Nora muttered, recalling the incident where she had accidentally turned a patron’s drink into a live octopus. Theo had managed to wrangle it and return it to the sea, but the patron, a small female fae had been very scared. Dil had managed to calm her—and charm her—straight into his bed. “No more accidental ocean creatures, I promise.”

CHAPTER TWO

. . .

Rafe Masterson strode into the Heritage Pine’s Wyld Out Woods, waiting for the last of his pack members to arrive through one of the faerie rings that allowed travel between New Haven and the human realm. Most of his pack and members of several other packs attending the annual regional meeting being held in New Haven had arrived by standard means of transportation—cars and trains. But he always had some pack members who marched to the beat of a different drum.

Those were the ones he was going to have to keep an eye on during this meeting. Wolves and magic…well, sometimes that was a very dangerous combination. His piercing blue eyes scanned the area just to make sure no trouble had started already. His wolves were always a little on edge. There had been a decided lack of mating going on to settle the restless males. And females, for that matter. Female wolves could be mean as shit.

Thankfully, he was well-respected as an alpha—and frankly, he was a wolf no one really wanted to challenge. He was powerfully built, even for a wolf shifter, with thick muscular arms, a broad back, and strong legs. He literally stood head and shoulders over most of his pack members. His features were sharp, and his black hair was neatly trimmed, matching the stubble along his angular jawline.

He hadn’t inherited his pack; he'd fought to the death and overthrown the sadistic asshole who called himself an alpha. That had been too many years ago to count. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a thirty-five-year-old. In fact, he was a wolf shifter whose true age was nearer to a hundred. That was still young for a shifter, but lately, he’d been feeling every one of those years.

For one obvious reason.

He had yet to find his fated mate.

“Listen up, everyone!” Rafe roared, commanding the attention of his pack members as the fairy ring sparkled and the last of them arrived. He intense gaze locked onto each individual briefly, ensuring they felt the weight of his words. “We are here on business. Not to have a good time.”

There was a murmur of discontentment, which he ignored. Wolves were party animals. “Keep your paws to yourself, your cock in your pants, and no shifting unless absolutely necessary. The same goes for you ladies.” For some reason, supernatural beings disliked seeing shifters change into their animals.

“Alpha’s right,” chimed in an older wolf named Gus, his grizzled features creasing into a grin. “You represent our pack.”

“Thank you, Gus. Connor!” he called to a lanky young man with a cocky grin. “You’re on patrol duty tonight. Keep your eyes peeled for any signs of trouble.”

“Got it, Alpha,” Connor replied with a sharp nod, his grin never wavering.

“Rosa, I need you on patrol as well,” Rafe ordered, turning to a slender woman with fiery red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

“On it, Alpha,” she said, her voice steady and strong as she strode away, determination etched into every line of her body.

“Eric, Marla, coordinate with everyone,” he continued, addressing a pair of middle-aged individuals who stood side by side, arms crossed. “Make sure we’ve got everything covered – food, shelter.” There were several places to stay in town, Delvy Inn, Delvy Terrace, and a motel called the Tiptop. Most of the wolves would simply shift into their wolf form and spend the night in the woods. But he didn’t want them hunting in the woods. There were other shifters around and plenty of humans—no need to stir up trouble.

“Understood, Alpha,” Eric rumbled while Marla offered a terse nod.

Once he was sure his pack wouldn’t cause any trouble—at least for a while—Rafe strode into one of the bars in town. Though he had arrived here on business, something about this place was calling to him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. The town’s mysterious energy pulsed around him, its magic-tinged air caressed his skin with seductive whispers.

He needed something to take the edge off, and drinking a magic brew was about the only way to do it. Normal, human-brewed beer was like drinking water for a wolf. And his pack didn’t have any of the types of bars like those in New Haven. Sometimes he thought about moving his pack closer to more supernatural beings.

The door to the bar swung open with a creak, and Rafe stepped inside, his wolf’s senses heightened. The aroma of alcohol, sweat, and arousal was almost overpowering. The bar was dimly lit, shadows dancing across rustic wooden beams and tables. Country music blared, nearly drowned out by raucous laughter and drunken shouts. He had been told that this place was a haven for supernatural beings, but he didn’t expect it to be so... quaint.

“Quaint” was an apt descriptor for the dimly lit and cozy space. The rustic decor immediately put him at ease, and the lively atmosphere suggested that the patrons were just as comfortable. There was something to be said about a place where you could let your guard down, even if only for a moment.

Rafe’s gaze swept across the room, taking in the various creatures who filled the shadowy corners. His keen senses picked up on the subtle signs of their supernatural nature: the faint glow of magic pulsing from a witch’s fingertips, the low growl of a shifter in conversation, and the unmistakable scent of vampire lingering near the bar.

“Ah, the sweet smell of the undead,” Rafe muttered under his breath as he made his way toward the bar. “Never thought I’d consider that comforting.”

“First time here?” A voice next to him asked. Rafe looked over to see a man nursing a drink, one bushy eyebrow raised in curiosity. He was dressed like a sea-faring caption straight out of the 1800’s.

“Is it that obvious?” Rafe replied, shooting him a wry smile.