Page 3 of Israel

Chapter 2

Israel Jonas rode his motorcycle towards the concert venue, hoping this wasn’t the stupidest career decision he’d ever made.

What the hell had possessed him to volunteer to follow some spoiled country-singer diva around and protect her from someone who wrote pansy little letters on lilac-scented stationery? What was the guy going to do, perfume her to death?

He’d never even actually threatened her.

And yet, here Israel was. And he knew why—he had to get away from his pack for a while.

He was so fucking sick and tired of the way they all looked at him. Like he was going to go up in flames any minute, just because his best friend—well, okay, his only real friend—was all mated up and had no time for anything besides his soon-to-be wife.

They didn’t understand anything.

He didn’t begrudge Kane his happiness—not for a single second. The guy had been through hell and come out the other side, bringing Israel out with him. He literally owed his life to Kane, and Israel loved him like a brother. They’d kept each other sane through some crazy hard times, when Kane’s wolf was wild and the only thing that could keep him from going rogue was Israel talking him down—or them bleeding each other.

Israel bore the scars of their friendship on his body, and he didn’t begrudge Kane that either. He’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Kane was the first person his scared, angry wolf had ever trusted—or loved.

But he’d always known the day would come when Kane wouldn’t need him anymore. Neither of them were meant to be bachelors. They were too emotionally intense, both of them, and their wolves needed the all-or-nothing bond of a true mate.

When they were younger and more messed up, their blood-brother bond had been all they needed—all they could handle emotionally. Neither of them had been ready for a mate.

Now they were. And now that Kane was safe with his true mate, Rachelle, Israel was free to find someone for himself.

He’d expected it to happen. He just hadn’t expected to feel quite so…adrift when it did. Like there was nothing holding him down, and he didn’t know who he was or where he belonged.

Not that he didn’t like the Silverlake pack. They’d taken him in when he needed a home. Jace Monroe was one of the best alphas around, and the security team was made up of decent guys. They’d be happy to be friends with him, shoot the shit, drink beers, hang out.

But Israel wasn’t like Kane. Kane not only needed a mate—that intense soul-deep bond with one female—he also needed the pack bond. He lived and breathed his pack ties, and besides Rachelle, keeping his pack safe was all he cared about.

Israel was okay with being part of the pack, but he had never needed them. He didn’t feel the bond as strongly as the others did. In a way he was a lone wolf, perfectly fine on his own—except, he didn’t want to be totally alone.

All he needed was one person. Someone he could talk to for hours about life and stuff, the way he did with Kane when they got into one of their philosophical moods and had a few shots of whiskey under their belts. Someone he could laugh with about goofy stuff, too. A sweet, uncomplicated beta female he could love and cherish and protect and make happy, and who would love him back with her whole heart.

Who would never need anybody except him.

And now that Kane was settled and spending all his time with Rachelle, a mate was all Israel’s wolf could think about. Every female the damn creature saw, shifter or human, was a potential mate—for about five seconds.

Until his wolf figured out she wasn’t The One. And then he wanted to go off on the hunt again. It was all Israel could do to keep his mind on his work—or anything else—which meant if he got assigned to any serious security jobs, he was fucked.

Which led him back here. Because this was the safest place for him right now—a fluff security gig he could handle with one paw tied behind his back. His wolf would be grumbly because there were no potential mates here, but Israel could deal with that. He needed a rest from all that fruitless mate-hunting, in a place where the worst-case scenario was that Ashley the Diva would turn out to be an epic pain in his ass.

After a couple of wrong turns, he found the venue and rode around to the back, halting his bike and straddling it, taking in the scene.

A stream of roadies was ferrying equipment from a semi-trailer in through the stage entrance. Along the side were a couple of fancy tour buses, probably for the stars and their lah-di-dah entourages. A harried-looking assistant was wheeling a rack of costumes toward the stage door, a hint of spangles showing as the early September breeze flipped a corner of the cover.

All this for a four-person band. No wonder performers were so full of themselves.

His wolf looked wistfully after the wardrobe assistant. Not The One, he said.

Israel sighed. Stop that, he told his wolf.

Israel parked his bike and walked up to the stage entrance. A tall, thin, birdlike woman with a clipboard was standing inside, talking into a headset. When she caught sight of Israel, she blew out an annoyed breath. “Hold up,” she said. “Another gatecrasher.”

If Israel had been a normal human, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her, but his shifter hearing was acute enough that he picked up every word.

He stopped, folding his arms across his chest, which he knew made him look intimidating. It probably wasn’t the best choice for making friends, but he’d spent half his summer with the Nashville pack, where everybody and their brother thought they were the greatest thing since the Internet and more fucking important than toilet paper, and he was done with that shit. So he settled back and waited for her to come to him.

The woman hustled up to him. “If you’re a groupie, forget it. Backstage is closed. If you’re looking for work, we don’t hire locals. And we require background checks.”