1.
"Put the top on, Henley." Her manager sounds tired. She doesn't blame him, she's tired of this conversation too.
Her rag sweeps over the bar, overhead lights bringing out the sparkle in the expensive ebony stone. Even though it's noon, it's fairly dim inside. Jack Johnson's voice floats through the air, bouncing off textured black and white walls.
"I'm still not comfortable with the way it flashes my cleavage." The lie slips from her lips easily as she continues wiping down the bar.
"You agreed to wear the uniform when you got the job. The owner is coming in and he'll fire both of us if you don't comply." Bodhi walks around to the other side of the bar, folding his skinny little arms over his chest. Coming in at about 5'7 and weighing less than 120, he and his artfully-spiked blue hair are about as scary as a toothpick. "You know you're my favorite bartender. If you wear the top when our boss is here, I won't bring up the uniform again."
Tempting. Very tempting. Bodhi shifts his weight to his other foot and she catches the scent of something surprising. Fear. He's legitimately afraid of their boss. If his blue hair and their six months working together has told her anything, it's that nothing really scares Bodhi, so the fact that he's afraid.... is not a great sign. She crosses to the side of the bar she hasn't cleaned yet before responding. "Fine."
His relief is so strong the scent of it permeates the air. She can't always scent emotions, but he's practically bleeding feelings.
"Great." He tries to maintain his sense of authority, but they both know who has control of the situation. Her beastly side keeps her asserting her dominance in all sorts of little ways and he notices. She finishes cleaning the bar top before striding through the doors that leads into the kitchen. Tossing her rag into the sink, she heads for the break room and opens her locker. The day before, she finally taped a photo of her and her mom to the inside of the metal box, marking it as hers after six months. Her fingertips brush over the face of the woman in the picture she laminated years ago. Cinnamon hair framed pale white skin and hazel eyes that look more green than brown. She was beautiful, but it's her contagious smile that touches her memories. Her throat swells and she pulls her gaze from the photo. Scooping up the sleek black tank that has sat on the floor of the locker since she's dropped it there on her first day of work, she heads for the bathroom. She locks the door behind her and pulls on it to make sure it's truly locked. Like Bodhi, there's not much she's afraid of. Being cornered while changing doesn't make that list. But if she's cornered, there's no controlling her reaction. Transforming from human to massive wolf just to tear someone's head off for surprising her in the bathroom isn't exactly on her to-do list, so it's best to make sure the door is good and locked. Her eyes sweep over her appearance in the mirror. So much of her matches her mother. She has her hazel eyes, though hers have never looked that green, plus the face and body shape. As far as smiles go, she's not sure how much it resembles her mother's. It's been a long time since she's smiled. The only real differences between their appearances is their hair. A jewel-toned reddish color that she refuses to admit borders on pink, it must come from her father. Whoever and wherever he is. The back of her thin, long-sleeved black top falls in a large V with a single thin strap holding it together at the shoulder blades, exposing majority of her back. Her shirt's front rests at the base of her neck, covering her chest and her collarbone. With a sigh, she tugs the top over her head and tosses it to the counter beside the sink. The black glitter in the stone matches that of the bar top, contrasting her shirt's faded black fabric. Cream-colored walls make the bathroom feel bigger and more sanitary than the dark interior of the nightclub. Her gaze falls to the marking on her collarbone that she's spent the last thirteen years trying to ignore. It's always there, a brand that calls her out and marks her as different. A three-inch, faded and stretched black ink tattoo of one word: WOLFSBANE. The title she was given at eight years old by the dozens of werewolf Alphas who fought over her, passing her back and forth between packs while they tore each other apart. They marked her with a word so that no matter where she ran, any other wolf who saw her would know exactly who and what she is. She was terrified of them at the time and that fear faded into a fierce hatred. The air is heavy in her lungs as she tugs on the skin-tight tank. Though it modestly covers her average-sized chest, her tattoo is entirely on display. Her chance of running into another werewolf in a nightclub in the middle of New York City is incredibly thin, but there's still a chance. She tugs her hair out of her high ponytail, shaking it out. The strands nearly fall to her ass and luckily haven't been long enough to develop that weird indentation a tie sometimes leaves. After arranging her hair to cover up her tattoo as well as possible, she leaves her own top in her locker and returns to the bar. Bodhi whistles when he sees her. "I see why you don't like the uniform. You'll get hit on by every straight man who comes in."
She rolls her eyes and turns to a set of customers, two men. They look high-class, like pretty much everyone willing to pay their Manhattan club's outrageous prices. "Hello, beautiful. I haven't seen you here before." The first man's eyes land on her hair, then move to her chest. "Why wolfsbane?"
The hair draws their eyes in, the tattoo holds their attention and the boobs take over. "I usually work nights and that's personal. What can I get you?" She takes their orders and leaves to get their drinks before they can ask more questions.
"Told you." Bodhi grins, making one of the drinks while she makes the other. He hands it to her and she brings them to the men.
The one who didn't flirt thanks her and goes to grab a seat in a booth, but the flirty douchecanoe doesn't get the message. He slides her a folded $100 bill across the bar and the corner of his lips lifts in that practiced smile all conmen have mastered. Little does he know he's not the only one skilled at playing people. "Tell me the story behind the tattoo?"
She picks up the cash and glances at it, before glancing back at the guy. He's looking at her boobs again, annoying. Like most other members of the female gender, she'd much rather be looked in the eyes than the nipples. "My personal life is worth much more than a hundred bucks."
The rich guy takes it exactly as she expects. A challenge. He slides her another hundred bucks. She picks it up and tucks both bills into her bra, then turns and walks away.
"You owe me a story, brown-eyes." The man calls out.
"Don't remember promising one." The man pauses and she knows she has him. Walking back to where he sits, she puts a little extra swing in her step. Might as well take as much money from this guy as she can. He takes a slow drink of his old-fashioned, then slides two more bills across the counter. She waits for him to lift his fingers from the money, but they don't move. This time, he's the one challenging her. She's never one to back down from a challenge. Well, unless it's to run for her life. "My mom was murdered a couple months ago. The tattoo reminds me to fight against the big, bad wolves willing to do shit like that." She lies. The man's eyebrows raise as he lifts his fingers from the money. She picks it up and slips it into the bra with the rest of her tips. She'll pull the bar's cut out at the end of the day.
"I'm sorry."
Bonus: her lie killed his flirty mood.
"Enjoy your drink." She walks away again and this time, he lets her go.
She walks back to Bodhi to help him make drinks for his customers. He sticks his hand below the bar, where no one will see and she high-fives him. "This is why you're my favorite bartender. You're good at playing rich guys."
"I have a lot of experience with men who think the world revolves around them."
"Clearly."
She serves a few more customers, settling into her routine. Every time someone asks about her tattoos, her story changes a little. No one gets the truth, it's not theirs to know.
A tall, dark-haired man enters the building early afternoon and catches her attention immediately. His scent fills the air and her mind shifts quickly from human to wolf. She holds back a full shift, ready to run out that door like the devil himself is at her heels. Bodhi grabs her arm before she can escape and she freezes so fur doesn't break through her skin at the contact. She hates being touched. "I feel sick, I need to go." She tries to gently tug her arm from his grip.
The other werewolf approaches and every bit of willpower goes into preventing herself from shifting forms. Escaping is a lost cause. Staying human is also impossible.
"Mr. Martin." Bodhi greets the werewolf as he slides onto the stool in front of them.
This is the owner of the nightclub, it makes sense. Between his 6'3 stature, blue designer suit and artfully-gelled hair, the man reeks of money and confidence. Bodhi, on the other hand, reeks of fear. She doesn't judge him for it. Her own experiences with dominant men have her wanting to run for the hills just as badly as he does, maybe more.
"Bodhi." Mr. Martin doesn't nod or smile. His eyes are locked on hers. "And who are you?"
She can tell he's just passed Bodhi on Mr. Martin's scale of he who judges to be important. Her scent alone probably does it for her. Folding her arms, her eyes narrow at the werewolf in front of her. While she can't sense if he's an Alpha or not, she can tell he's strong. Stronger than her at least. Male werewolves have different strengths than females and if this guy chases her, he will catch her.
"This is Henley Clark, our star bartender. I told you about her over the phone." Bodhi seems uncertain of what he's saying.
"Henley Clark." Mr. Martin says her name, looking her up and down, his eyes catching on the NE of her tattoo.
"And you are?" She doesn't bother playing nice.
"Kyler Martin. Bodhi, can I have a minute with our star bartender?" Kyler still doesn't look at him.
"Sure. I mean, if it's okay with Henley...." her blue-haired friend trails off, looking to her.
He's her new favorite person. It has been years since anyone's asked her if she's okay with something.
"Sure. Can you take care of them for me?" She tilts her head to the couple waiting at the other end of the bar. Bodhi leaves her with Kyler.
As the owner, the werewolf obviously knows she's been working for him for six months. There's no use in saying she's just visiting New York or some other shit like that.
"You've been intruding on my territory for half a year. What pack are you from? Wolves are supposed to register with the Alpha as soon as they move to a new area." Kyler speaks rapidly, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
"My pack is out in Washington. My Alpha said he was going to call you for me." She lies.
"If he had, you wouldn't be out here unprotected. This city isn't a safe place for a woman to walk around alone." Kyler looks to his left and right. He's mastered the rich boy facade, looking bored as he assesses the people in the building.
"I'll register with your pack as soon as I get off work. Where can I find them?"
"Close by. I'll take you to meet the Alpha when I'm done with the manager." He steps away from the bar, pulling his phone out of his pocket. His fingers fly across the screen as he texts his Alpha.
She glances at the door to the kitchen. Her escape route. The hairs on her neck prickles and she doesn't have to look to know that Kyler is watching her. Running while while he's paying attention isn't smart of possible. The guy is a wolf, so if she runs, he will chase her and have the time of his life doing it. The feeling of his eyes on her goes away as he walks over to Bodhi, but returns a moment later. It seems like this guy isn't going to look away from her for long. It's time to act normal. She serves some more people, plays another rich guy to get a fat tip, though this one is only $150 and hears all about some new boutique that she knows won't have anything that costs less than the total sum of the money in her bra. Bodhi shows Kyler around the building as they meet, but the werewolf never takes his attention off her for more than thirty seconds.
Going to Kyler's pack isn't an option. He doesn't seem to know what her tattoo means, but there's a good chance that someone in his pack might and that's not a risk she can take. When the men come within ear-shot, she waves them over. "I need a quick bathroom break." She tells her manager. Bodhi makes his way behind the bar and she meets Kyler's gaze confidently. If he has any reason to doubt her, he'll follow her to the bathroom. Male wolves are relentless and when they have their eye on something or someone...
Kyler nods and she holds back an eye roll. Strolling into the bathroom, she tries to look confident. She nods at the bartender who will take Bodhi's place when his meeting ends and goes straight for her locker, panic finally seeping in. She grabs her shirt off the bottom, yanks the photo off the inside of her locker door and tosses her purse over her shoulder, then runs. Slipping out the back door is easy, but she doesn't have a car or anything to cover her scent as she escapes. It's New York, after all. If she can make it to the subway, she'll survive this encounter with her freedom intact. It's only a few blocks away. She regrets not changing immediately after stepping out. Even though the sun is still high in the sky and there are crowds of people everywhere, it's freezing cold. October weather in New York City isn't as bad as some other places she's been, but it's too cold for her tank top and jeans.
She makes it through the first block without a sign of trouble and finds herself relaxing a bit. Although the humans around her will hide Kyler's scent if he's following her, she's certain he would've caught her by now if he knows where she is and where she's going. The second block passes and she's almost giddy. One more block and she's home-free. After the third block, she lets out a pent-up breath of air and almost smiles. Almost.
Her foot is dropping toward the first step down to the trains when a large hand wraps around her wrist and tugs. She spins backward, her chest slamming into the front of the man who grabbed her. Her chin tilts up to meet a pair of dark blue eyes on a man with more muscles than anyone she's ever seen. The feel of his hard chest pressed to her soft curves makes the animal in her want to purr like a freaking cat. "Henley Clark." His voice is a low, sexy growl. He's young, probably only 23 or 24. Being 21 herself, that's the perfect age for what has to be the sexiest man she's ever seen. Except every fiber of her being tells her he's the one in charge of the New York Pack. And Alphas are assholes. Every single one of them.
She shakes herself mentally. Regardless of this dude's looks or her attraction to him, she needs to get away before he realizes what she is and tries to take advantage of her for it. "Let go of me." She tries to sound threatening. Next to the Alpha and his six and a half feet of muscle, her skinny 5'8 probably looks as tough as a pencil. She rates her odds of being let go about -10 to 1.
Surprisingly enough, he steps back and lets go. "My name is Roman Ellis. I'm the Alpha here."
"Great. I'm just going to head back to my pack in Washington now, if you don't mind." She points a thumb over her shoulder and takes a step back. Somehow, she forgets that stairs are leading down behind her. Her ankle twists as her foot hits the top step and falls backward.
Roman catches her around the waist, his arm muscles tight against the small of her back. "I can't let you leave." He doesn't sound sorry about it, his eyes falling to the tattoo on her collarbone.
Hers narrow at the gigantic Alpha. "I don't remember giving you permission to make decisions for me, Alpha." She steps away from his grip without thanking him for saving her from a broken ankle.
"Come to my pack's headquarters. We'll reach an agreement that works for both of us, Wolfsbane."
He has no problem standing up to her.
Pencil, meet boulder.
"Can I get a please at least?"
The Alpha rolls his eyes and grabs her wrist, pulling her in the direction she's come from. His eyes darken as they fall on the wonky ring and pinky knuckles on her right hand. Like her scars, they're a trophy from surviving hell. "Please."
They're already walking when he says it, but for some reason, it still satisfies her.
