BACKFIRE
Southwest Shifters: 3
[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Paranormal Romance, M/M, shape-shifters]
Jack Remus has always been a player. While his pack mates value their relationships, Jack is only interested in casual sex—one night of passion, then a parting of the ways, never to see each other again. And that’s exactly what he’s looking for at the Silverado Saloon, but his plans backfire when he follows an intoxicating scent and ends up in the middle of a brawl.
Dakota is on the run from an abusive Alpha. He has a temporary job at the Silverado, and when he earns enough for a bus ticket, he’ll be on his way. When his boss tries to seduce him, Jack steps in to play the white knight. A new lover is the last thing on Dakota’s mind. He knows it's time to move on, but his plan backfires when the dark stranger follows him. Jack is on Dakota’s trail, but it’s a path that just might get him killed.
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Excerpt
The winking neon lights and the smell of human testosterone lifted Jack’s spirits with promises of good times ahead. A delicious thrill of anticipation coursed through his body. Not knowing who stood on the other side of the door gave the hunt an added edge of excitement. A major letdown sometimes followed the pleasurable expectation of finding what he wanted, but tonight he had high hopes for success. Besides, he’d rather be on the prowl than sitting at home jerking off.
Boredom had brought him to the Silverado Saloon, boredom and loneliness, two things that could get a wolf into big trouble. His frustration level, now at an all-time high, had him itching to fuck or fight. He’d prefer the former, but he’d settle for either one.
A slow moving crowd entered the honky-tonk, and Jack followed the partygoers, letting his nose search for that special someone. Perfume, scented shampoos, and deodorant blended with human pheromones to tickle his olfactory receptors, but no one stood out. He wouldn’t let it discourage him. The night is young.
He knew the staff was friendly and polite, but the big beefy bouncer at the door was downright chummy, holding Jack’s hand a beat too long when he checked his ID. The man’s steroid-bulked body might appeal to some, but it wasn’t his type. He offered the doorman a noncommittal smile and made his way inside.
The racket didn’t bother him in the least. On the contrary, his sensitive eardrums reveled in the din. Instead of lowering the tuner in his brain to make the noise level more manageable for his ears, he raised the volume so he could hear the sounds of glasses clinking, and the thump of mugs on the bar, as well as the loud country music coming from the bandstand. More than alcohol, he thirsted for the sounds of humans talking and laughing, and drunks slurring their words. Even the announcements coming over the loud speaker were a welcome change from the dead quiet of home.
The old barn, itself, was a lot more interesting inside than out. Exposed rafters created a rustic cathedral effect in the center, and the lofty, angular space made the gargantuan room look that much bigger. Rustic barn wood paneling was festooned with western and American Indian artifacts. Whiskey barrel tables surrounded the dance floor and a long rough-hewn wooden bar lined the back wall. That was where he headed, fighting his way through a sea of humanity. Aware of the admiring glances from the ladies and the resentful glares from the men, he wished it was the other way around.
He knew he looked good, and he’d dressed for success. A white shirt in a simple western design set off his dark tan. Like the others in his pack, he always went commando, less clothes to worry about when shifting. He’d already experienced the agony of getting his foreskin caught in a zipper, so he wore ball-crunchingly tight button-fly Levis. There was no risk of cock damage, and they had the added benefit of increasing his profile, not that he needed it.
His pack mates limited their exposure to the public and avoided attracting attention, but Jack didn’t mind being looked at. He never denied being vain. If a man had charisma, he should use it to his advantage. And six feet, six inches of toned hard body could hardly be disguised. Why try? Besides, it was more than thick chestnut hair, amber eyes, and a big package that drew hungry looks from humans on the prowl. It was wolf genes, plain and simple. His pheromones attracted beings of the same species, but his lupine biology gave him a primal, predatory edge that turned human heads as well. He’d used it more than once to get what he wanted.
He squeezed himself onto the only vacant barstool, and the doe-eyed bartender honed in on him, giving him a big smile. A knockout in her early thirties, clad in skintight low-ride jeans and a bikini top, she had long, wavy brown hair and a tattoo on her left arm.
“What’ll you have?” she asked him, in a way that signified he could have just about anything he wanted.
If he wanted pussy, he could have stayed home and fucked one of the she-wolves, but he hadn’t touched any of the women since the Alpha stopped forcing the pack mates to breed. He knew they wouldn’t turn him down, but he preferred the backdoor to the front and a big, beautiful cock and balls beat double-Ds any day. Just to be nice, he smiled back at the brunette and ordered a beer.
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