Dannika Dark - Six Months

“Damn, girl,” he said, wiping my tears with the pad of his thumb. “You should have been a romance writer. I’m not going to tell you Mr. Perfect is out there, because that’s a load of crap. But I will tell you that I’m here, and no matter what, I’m looking out for you. And tomorrow, we’re going to pick up some shit to make this place a joy to live in.”

I laughed hysterically and whipped the small pillow out from behind me. “What’s the matter, you don’t like the embroidered pillows?”

“For kindling on the barbecue grill? You bet. Otherwise, I don’t want your granny’s fart pillow beneath my chiseled face and lips of a Greek god.”

“You must have left off on chapter six,” I said, glancing at the paperback.

He snatched it off the table and thumbed it open. “Yep. And I’m reading it again, so go back to bed and leave Vexton and me alone.”

“Well, well. If it isn’t Reno,” Denver said in a disgusted tone. He was stretched out on the sofa wearing only a pair of loose sweats and eating a bowl of macaroni. “Been looking for you. Must be nice to ditch your pack without a word and not feel a shred of guilt.”

Reno scratched his chin indifferently. Denver was a cool cat, but young (by at least a hundred years), so he could be a bigger prick than a cactus. Reno perked up his ears but didn’t hear any activity. They lived in a massive two-story house that had been a hotel over a century ago. Now it was the official homestead of the Weston pack.

“Where is everyone?” Reno asked.

“Bowling. It’s Shifter night at the alley and drinks are free for women.” Denver rolled his eyes. “You better have my back when I bring up laser tag, because that new place kicks ass and we’re all going. Period.”

Shifters were one of many paranormals living in secret in the human world. Each Breed had their own culture and laws, but Shifters were a tight-knit group. Once considered lower-class citizens, they’d been sold into slavery, kept as servants, and the wolves in particular had been chained around the neck and made into guard dogs.

Shifters came in all types, but Reno and his brothers were wolves. They lived together in a pack run by their youngest, Austin. Only an alpha could act as a Packmaster—the leader of a pack. Not all couples will have an alpha child, but when they do, it’s almost always the firstborn male. Somehow that gene skipped Reno and landed right on their baby brother. It hadn’t been easy for Reno to watch the kid grow up, knowing someday he’d outrank him, but Austin was a born leader and Reno respected rules. Austin led the Weston pack alongside his life mate, Lexi. She’d recently discovered she was a Shifter after having gone through the change in her late twenties. Austin thought it had been delayed because she’d lived with humans her entire life. It’s a damn good thing the pack had taken her in when they did, because female Shifters gave off a strong vibe that made human men turn stupid around them. Lexi’s human mother and sister had also moved into the Weston house. They were like family to Austin, and it didn’t take long before the rest of the boys felt the same way. Packs had strong bonding instincts, and anyone brought into the family was one of their own, regardless of Breed.

“What happened to your arm, bro?”

Reno glanced at his left arm that he’d bandaged up. “My wolf got tangled up in some shit, I guess.”

What exactly that was, Reno didn’t know. When a Shifter changed into their animal form, most could only remember the first few minutes, but nothing after that. Many alphas could remember it all, but that had to do with their power. The last thing Reno remembered was running into the woods.

“You don’t know what happened?” Denver asked skeptically.

“Went for a run—the usual. My wolf knows the rules about going into the city and I woke up by my bike. How long has it been?”

“Two and a half days. Something must have gone down for your wolf to not want to shift back, because he’s an obedient mofo.” Denver set the bowl on the coffee table of their living room and slipped his feet into a pair of black flip-flops. “Maizy’s staying with Lexi’s friend for the night—her hot neighbor with the round ass. Want a beer?”

“Why not,” Reno muttered. “Grab me one and I’ll be right back.”

Reno headed upstairs and down the hall to the last room on the left. It was in pristine condition, just as he’d left it. He peeled off his shirt and stood in front of the mirror on his right, staring at his body. He had acquired a few scars, and each told a story. Shifters lived an extended lifespan of several hundred years, and they could heal through shifting. But his wolf had been injured too long this time and the mark on his arm would become a scar. It was sore all the way through, as if he’d been stabbed with a blunt object.

He peeled the bandage down, examining the wound. The skin had sealed up and turned pink. He couldn’t remember a damn thing about how he got it either. He rubbed his heavy stubble, in dire need of a shave. Reno was a man who took grooming seriously. He preferred long sleeves in public to keep his wolf in check. Something about the tight fabric worked like a fence against his skin. Reno also kept a gun strapped to him most of the time and drove a Triumph Bonneville because fuck it, the bike was a classic.

Something felt amiss.

Reno sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face as a knot formed in his stomach. Shifters had to let their animal out regularly, and most of them did it on a weekly basis, if not more. That’s why owning private land was important, and Austin had secured enough acreage to broaden their territory. Sometimes they all ran together, but Reno had always been a lone wolf. He wrung his strong hands, trying to figure out why his wolf had been breaking his pattern and getting too close to humans. It didn’t make sense.

Reno felt an impulsive urge to return to town, but for what? It was a fierce calling, as if he’d left something behind or unfinished.

After a hot shower, Reno skipped shaving and went downstairs to join Denver for a beer. His hair was still wet and he ran his hands through it a few times to shake out the water.

Denver was lounging in his favorite rocker on the front porch and had his feet on the wooden railing. The sun stretched across the grassy field in front of them, the clouds finally breaking up. “Damn, I love it out here,” he said.

Reno sat in a chair and sipped his ice-cold beer, sharing silent agreement. He stretched out his legs and crossed one biker boot over the other.

“Do you think Austin will recruit anyone new in this century?” Reno asked. A pack was often defined by strength in numbers, and lately a few assholes had dubbed them The Six-Pack .

Denver belched and set his bottle on the arm of the chair. “Can’t say. He’s young and probably thinks he should take his merry time.”

Reno snorted. “ You’re young.”

“I’m fifteen years older than him and a hell of a lot more mature.”

“Says the guy who wears cartoon shirts.”

“Maturity is based on the decisions you make, not what’s in your damn closet.”

“That’s debatable,” Reno muttered, watching a hawk fly overhead.

“Get off my back. I like my style and if I want to be two hundred and wearing a Donald Duck shirt, then you’re just gonna have to live with it.”

Shifters physically aged slower than humans did, and they all ran at different speeds. Reno looked like a seasoned man of thirty-five, even though in years he exceeded that by a century. As the alpha, Austin naturally had gained a formidable appearance early on and would likely retain it for a while.