Sherrilyn Kenyon: Bad Moon Rising

The only other one of them really noteworthy was the one wearing a black biker jacket, who leaned back in his chair with his incredibly long legs stretched out in front of him. His black T-shirt was pulled tight over a stomach that was rock-hard and flat. With short dark hair and an evident nasty attitude, he was hard to miss. His rugged features were covered with several days’ growth of beard and his eyes were completely concealed behind a pair of opaque sunglasses.

There was something about him that screamed power. Something lethal. Deadly. Raw. The animal in her could appreciate how impressive it was to give off that vibe while completely at ease. It also set off her instincts and made her extremely wary of the whole group.

Yeah, that one wolf gave the word Slayer a whole new meaning. She glanced around the room to locate her allies. Her brothers Zar and Quinn were at the bar. Colt, another bear who lived with them, was having a drink in front of them. Their busboy, Wren, who was a tigard, stood in the far corner cleaning tables while his pet monkey, Marvin, was poking his head out of Wren’s apron pocket.

She was adequately covered if she needed it.

Putting off her own “screw you” aura, she closed the distance between them.

As soon as they saw her approaching, the wolves stood up… except for the one who looked the baddest of all. He continued to lean back with his arms folded over his chest.

“Fang!” the one with long dark hair snapped, kicking at his legs.

Fang came to his feet with a curse so foul, it actually made her blush. He had the one who’d barked his name in his hands before he seemed to realize what he’d done. “Vane?”

“Yeah, dick, let me go.”

The long-haired white-blond wolf closest to Fang lowered his head threateningly. “Were you sleeping?”

Fang released Vane and passed the one who’d spoken a sneer that said he not only hated the other wolf, but that he thought he was an idiot. “Was I wolf or human?”

“Human.”

“Then I wasn’t asleep, was I, Scooby?”

She arched her brow at the insult. Wolves didn’t like to be compared to dogs and to refer to them as a cartoon dog known for his lack-witted antics usually resulted in a fight.

The fact the blond wolf didn’t attack over it corroborated Fang’s ferocity in a way nothing else did.

Fang shifted his weight and pulled his sunglasses off as if trying to be respectful of Aimee’s presence-something that seemed incongruous to her and yet… these wolves were nothing like what she expected.

And his eyes…

They were a gorgeous brown with a hint of rust in them. Yet it was the pain and intelligence inside them that reached out to her. A pain that seemed boundless.

Yawning, Fang scratched at the thick whiskers on his face. “Though it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

The youngest wolf-pup came up to her. “Let me help you with that.”

“I’ve got it,” she said gently, surprised by how well mannered these wolves were. The ones she’d run into in the past had been from the lowest rung of the evolutionary scale.

As soon as the tray was down, they all took their drinks without waiting for her to hand them out.

Vane took her towel and wiped the tray dry before he held it out to her.

Aimee smiled at him. “Thank you.” It was actually disconcerting to see wolves who appeared this rough having manners. She wasn’t sure how to deal with them.

As she started away, the one named Fang stopped her with a gentle touch. “You dropped this.” He bent down to pick up her pad that must have fallen out of her apron pocket.

As he stood up, she became aware of exactly how large a man he was. Not beefy like the bears she was used to, he was lean.

And he was ripped. Solid like taut steel.

“Thanks.”

Fang couldn’t speak as he looked into the clearest pale blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were set into the face of a blond angel. One who had just the smallest hint of a dimple in her right cheek when she spoke.

Her skin looked softer than velvet, and for some reason he couldn’t name, he wanted to lay the backs of his fingers against her cheek to see if it was as soft as it appeared.

And her smell… it was lavender and lilac. Normally the scent of another species was repugnant to his wolf’s heightened senses. But not hers. She smelled warm and sweet. So sweet that it was all he could do not to rub his face in the crook of her neck to experience more of it.

When her hand brushed his, his body erupted with heat.

Without a word, she put the pad in her pocket and turned away.

Fang had to catch himself to keep from following after her.

Vane handed him his beer, interrupting his attention. When he looked back, the female bear was gone.

“You okay?”

Fang nodded at Vane’s question. “Just tired.”

The moment he started to sit down, the bearswan was back. They all shot to their feet-something that was ingrained in them. Wolves protected their women stronger than any other Were-Hunter kind. Loyal and deadly, they were trained from birth to show respect to females, regardless of species. The fact that this bear was related to the ones who owned the bar made her even more honored.

The bearswan pulled her pad back out. “My name’s Aimee. I forgot to take your orders.”

Aimee… it was a beautiful, soft name and perfect for her. Even though he didn’t repeat it out loud, he knew it would roll off his tongue like fine whisky.

“Steak,” Vane said. “Rare as possible.”

She jotted it down. “I assume you each want a couple?”

Liam adjusted his chair. “Yes. Please.”

Aimee nodded and she bit back a smile over the most favored request of their Katagaria clientele. All animals loved their meat that was only barely warmed by their human cooks who couldn’t quite figure out why they had so many orders for it. “All right, two dozen house specials. Any chance one of you might want to live dangerously and try a vegetable?”

“Do we look like rabbits to you?”

Vane smacked the blond-haired man to his right on the shoulder. “Knock it off, Fury.”

The wolf looked pissed, but reined himself in. As wolves, they all deferred to the alpha, even when it galled them to do it. Of course, they would also fight to the death at his command. No matter how much they fought among themselves, at the end of the day they were always united against any outsider. It was what made them so dangerous.

Wolves never fought alone.

They fought as a pack. Rabid. Cold. Lethal. And together they could kill just about anything that lived… or even those that didn’t.

“Do you have anything sweet?”

Aimee turned her attention to Fang at his unorthodox request. Bears loved sweets, but wolves usually stuck to meat. “You have a sweet tooth?”

“Not me. It’s for our sister. She’s burdened and has been craving sweets.”

This time she did smile as warmth seeped through her. “And you want to take something back to her?”

He nodded.

What a nice thing to do. It was something her-she froze at the stab of pain that thought caused. Even now that memory was razor-sharp and cut her to the quick. She always did her best not to think about Bastien and Gilbert. Still, they snuck into her thoughts many times a day. “You got it. I’ll toss in a couple of meats and treats for her.”

“Much obliged.”

For some reason she couldn’t explain, Aimee wanted to stay and talk to the wolf. If for no other reason than to listen to the deep timbre of his voice when he spoke. There was a slight lilt to his speech that said he’d lived in England at some point in his life. It was really seductive…

What is wrong with me? I hate wolves .