There were two kinds of men found in the Midnight Coyote saloon—cowboys and bikers—and by her estimate, the asshole taking up her corner booth was both. Trixie Beauregard leaned over the bar top, damp microfiber soaking her hand from where she’d been wiping up yet another spilled beer. The yeasty scent lingered. In the dim lighting of the neon bar signs, all that was visible of the freeloader in the corner was a black leather jacket with nondescript biker patches paired with a dark Stetson.
She glanced at her watch. Boss had ordered her to get her “sweet ass” hustling on Stanislav’s drink order nearly ten minutes ago, but first she’d been held up by a mess left over from a bunch of drunken, idiot cougar shifters, and now this.
Money wasn’t conjured on trees. Trixie tossed the soiled rag into the suds bucket behind the bar top and grabbed a fresh one from the stack.
“Don’t even bother,” Dani said, waving a hand toward the alcove, clearly recognizing what she was thinking. “Shawna and I already tried to get his order—twice now—and all that pissed-off bastard did was growl at us.”
At her coworker’s rebuke, the dark Stetson in question tilted slightly in their direction. If Trixie hadn’t been looking, she might have missed it.
The beast could hear every word they said.
Not surprising in a place like this.
She shoved off the bar top. Tucking a new cleaning rag into her belt loop, she straightened her apron and the girls before placing her hands on her hips. By her guess, from the sheer size and breadth of the shadow hunkered there…
“Shifter?” she asked Dani over her shoulder.
Seven years working in this hellhole and she could size up any supernatural in two seconds flat. Shifter. Vamp. Warlock. Demon. It didn’t matter. Name it, and she had poured it a tall one.
Dani shrugged as she held a Bombardier pint glass beneath the tap, pouring yet another Coors for the group of rabble-rousers belowstairs. “Probably. If you ask me, he looked like one of those Grey Wolves you like.”
Trixie shook her head. Figured. “‘Like’ is a strong word, darlin’.”
She could count on one hand the number of shifters she truly “liked.” Snarly bastards. Still, her thing for them was well known. She’d dated more than one over the years. They may not be likable, but they were her favorite toys. Rough, passionate, wild. No holds barred. A woman could get used to that. There was a brutish honesty in them that a witch like her could appreciate.
But if bartending didn’t make a witch cynical real fast, being a woman in a place like this sure did, considering it was her job to wait hand and foot on a bunch of drunken supernatural assholes who thought she was no more than a pair of legs and a nice rack.
And half the time, they still left a shitty tip.
Trixie huffed, throwing her dry rag onto the bar top in frustration. She’d lost this particular game of chicken. Hell, she’d hadn’t won a round yet. This time, he’d been there nearly a half an hour and still hadn’t signaled her. But she could feel him watching her every move.
The heat of his gaze burned through her.
Damn him.
She frowned. “If he’s gonna take up space on a Friday night, he’s gonna drink.”
Dani scoffed. “Good luck with that.”
Trixie glanced at the human woman, taking in her appearance with a shake of her head. The bruised puncture wounds on Dani’s neck were more than enough to piss off any wolf shifter within a fifty-mile radius. She sighed. Humans.
“A word from the wise, honey.” She stepped in front of Dani, gently pulling the brunette’s silky hair forward and positioning the long locks over the fang marks on Dani’s neck. “Grey Wolves don’t like bloodsuckers or their feeders.” She patted the other woman on the cheek. “Next time, cover up your vamp stamp and you might actually get his order.”
Dani blushed, deep and crimson.
Poor girl. She’d get herself drained dry within a year at this rate.
Trixie shook her head in disappointment as she made her way over to Mr. Tall, Big, and Brooding in the corner. His dark silhouette stirred as she drew closer, but the shadows of the bar still cloaked him. Not that it mattered.
Grey Wolf or not, they were all the same in the end.
And there was only one shifter she knew who could fill a booth like that.
Leaning against the edge of the wooden tabletop, she crossed her arms under her breasts, framing her cleavage in a way she knew he’d appreciate. She’d never catch him looking, but she’d felt his eyes there plenty. “I hear you’ve been pissy with the other staff. Must mean you were hoping to see me.” She cast him a coy, knowing grin. “What can I get ya, sugar?” she said, laying it on extra thick.
The Grey Wolf executioner growled.
A real talker. As always.
Trixie huffed an annoyed sigh, momentarily cutting the bullshit. She didn’t have time for his games tonight, even though she wanted to. “Look, I don’t make the rules, darlin’. I’m just paid to follow ’em. So Grey Wolf or not, if you’re gonna take up one of my tables, you’re gonna drink, and when this is all over, you’re hopefully gonna tip—big.” She gave him a quick once-over, purposefully lingering on the massive breadth of his chest and shoulders. She might not have been able to see his face, but the man was the size of a friggin’ tank. All muscle. “A bad-boy wolf like you probably knows a thing or two about big, don’t you, Malcolm?” She flashed a suggestive grin. Just enough to rile him up like she always did.
It was part of their game.
The voice that finally answered raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “I’m not here for a drink.”
Trixie lifted a brow. Lord, she’d never get used to that voice. Rough, graveled in timbre. A girl could get behind a voice like that, or on top of it. It’d taken her months to first get him to speak to her. Now, it was too much fun not to provoke him.
“So he can speak after all,” she drawled sarcastically. “And he gives good voice, too.” She flashed her fakest smile. All white teeth and ruby-red lips.
Malcolm didn’t so much as grin.
Tonight he was going to make her work for it.
Leaning in, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, giving him a prime view of her chest as she let a little extra Georgia-sweet slip into her voice. Most of the cowboys who came through here liked that. It made them feel like they were real tough stuff. “Look,” she whispered. “Nobody’s here for a drink, darlin’. They come for the secrets and stay for the fights. I don’t make the rules.” She sat back again. “The overpriced liquor is just a bonus.”
“I said, I’m not here for a drink.” The shadows of the bar shifted as he leaned forward into the light, wolf eyes flashing.
Trixie grinned. She never forgot a face, but his was especially memorable. Harsh, hardened features. Black hair. A permanent scowl. From the dark tan of his skin, he was maybe Italian or some other Mediterranean mixed in with those big, bad wolf genes. The gold wolf eyes gave a touch of dramatic splendor as if they’d been rimmed in ebony eyeliner, though she doubted that was the case. The Grey Wolf executioner was pretty but too much of a brute for that—withdrawn and brooding. The kind of shifter who could kill a man in seconds if someone looked at him wrong.
Death was his trade after all. Lord knew she’d heard the stories. No one this side of the Mississippi wanted to see this assassin’s face staring at him from an alley’s shadows. The Grey Wolves took no mercy on their enemies.
Malcolm’s gold wolf eyes fell to the offered view of her chest, lingering for barely more than a second. That single look was so scorching that a less experienced woman would have mistaken it for rage. But she didn’t. With or without her magic, she knew exactly what did it for him.
His eyes quickly shot back to hers. “Are you done yet?” he snarled.
Trixie stuck out her lip in a fake pout. “Not in the mood to play tonight?”
It was rare a man surprised her, a wolf shifter especially. It was the way he denied the tension between them that caught her intrigue. Like he wanted her but wouldn’t let himself indulge. It made her want to test him, bend him until she saw him break. That was the game.
But she hadn’t won…yet.
“It’s been a while since you’ve come to see me,” she crooned, recovering quickly. “Last time was your packmaster’s reception, remember? You were sitting with that real cute Texan with the curls and that handsome, goofy one with the mischievous grin.”
She’d been hired to bartend the private affair on account of the fact that she’d once saved the life of the Grey Wolves’ second-in-command and his human mate for funsies. Plus, the Midnight Coyote was the only supernatural bar this side of Interstate 90 with a large enough liquor license to supply enough booze for a whole pack of wolf shifters to drown themselves.
He growled. “I don’t come here for you.”
“Sure you don’t.” She lifted herself up to sit on the hard booth top. Veritas witch or not, she didn’t buy that for a second. “Says the man who always sits alone in my section, growling at all the other staff while he can’t keep his eyes off me.”
He leaned closer, face tight with anger and wolf eyes glowing. “What will it take to get you to leave me the fuck alone?”
She laughed, twisting toward him and placing her boots in the cushioned seat on either side of his lap. “The truth.” She leaned forward, drawing nearly nose to nose with him, until she could feel the warmth of his breath. “You’d save us both a lot of time if you’d just admit you want me and we could get this over with.”
There was only a hairsbreadth between them. All he’d need to do was lean in to kiss her. But he wouldn’t. Not again. That’d be too easy.
She watched the muscles of his throat contract, saw how the rise and fall of that large chest increased.
Those gold wolf eyes fell to her lips, lingering, before he scowled. He still wanted her as badly as that night in the alley, but he was disgusted with himself for it. “I don’t fuck humans.” He growled.
Trixie laughed. After all this time, he still didn’t realize? “That’s the best you got, sugar?” She reached out and touched him, trailing one sharp, glowing pink fingernail across his cheek. Her magic hummed through like a charged, live wire. “I’m not human.”
“A witch.” He sneered, pulling away from her touch as if she were poison. The growl that rumbled from him was downright feral. Like she was a curse word. “Might as well be human.”
She started to laugh, slowly leaning back.
But something dark flashed through his eyes.
Without warning, his hand darted out, tattooed knuckles capturing the gold locket on her necklace to hold her in place. Roughly, he yanked her forward, using the sturdy chain around her neck like a lead. The metal dug into the back of her neck. Trixie froze, a mixture of shock, excitement, and adrenaline holding her in place. He’d moved so fast she’d barely seen it coming.
“Is that what you want to hear, witch?” He snarled, his voice harsh and feral. He tugged her down even closer, positioning himself between her legs. His gaze raked over her, hot and assessing. “Will that get you to release me from your spell?”
One large hand clamped down on her bare thigh and spread. She could feel the thrum of her pulse there and no doubt he could, too. He stared up at her, holding her captured as he snaked a welcome hand up the opening of her skirt.
“You want me to tell you I come here to imagine bending you over the bar top while I tongue-fuck your pretty pink pussy?” His fingers brushed over the outside of her thong, scorching her. She shivered. She was already wet there for him and he had to feel it. “I bet you’d like that,” he sneered.
“Ain’t no shame in it,” she whispered.
Abruptly, he released her, sinking back into the cushions of the booth. “Too bad I have more self-respect than that.”
For a moment, Trixie couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been caught speechless. But he’d done it—twice now. Her gaze traced over him, cataloging the moment for memory just like before. It’d be a while before she saw this side of him again. But for tonight, she’d won.
A slow smile spread across her lips.
“If you value your life, you’ll stay the hell away from me.” He scowled at her again. “Now fuck off, witch.”
She blinked, both stunned and slightly amused. It was rare a man caught her by surprise, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it. Oh, he was fun to play with alright, especially now that she knew the beast bit back. The bigger shocker was that he truly believed his own dramatic bullshit. She didn’t detect even a hint of a lie in any of his words. Most men in this bar lied as much as they breathed. But he didn’t.
Interesting.
“I might have been offended if I didn’t know you punctuate half your sentences that way.” Finally, she collected herself, smile widening. “That was fun, darlin’. Truly. Only one problem with that plan, sugar.”
His dark brow lifted in response.
She leaned in close to him again as she whispered, “I’m a veritas witch, not a siren.” Her eyes fell deliberately to his lap and the large, visible erection straining against his jeans. “And that’s all you, sweetheart.”
His wolf eyes flashed in anger as he snarled. He wasn’t amused by her in the slightest. And he didn’t try to hide it this time. He wasn’t embarrassed, just pissed. The man wore his pain like a statement. Too bad.
“Now, you gonna order a drink, Malcolm, or do I have to get Frank here to escort you out?” She nodded toward the bouncer who worked the door.
Most of the Coyote’s patrons could hold their own in a brawl and she had no doubt this Grey Wolf could, but Frank had the brawn of being half-giant on his side. A rare breed these days, especially this side of the Atlantic.
Malcolm growled again. As if she was the one wasting his time. The gall of this shifter. “Will that get you and your little feeder friends to leave me the fuck alone?”
“Who says I’m friends with the feeders?” Trixie feigned offense before she crossed her fingers and placed a hand over her heart. At this point, she’d say anything to get him to shell out some cash so she could be on her way. Pride intact. “Witch’s honor. Not that it’s worth much.”
Another growl, this time with bared teeth. “Laphroaig.”
She lifted a brow. “A cowboy who drinks scotch instead of bourbon? You really are a man of mystery.” She rolled her eyes and smirked. “One scotch comin’ up, Mr…” Trixie hesitated. “What is your last name anyway?” she asked.
“Malcolm,” he growled. “Just Malcolm.”
Yeah, sure. She rolled her eyes again. “Everybody’s got a last name, sugar. Even Prince, Madonna, Dolly.”
“Not me,” he nearly snarled. Clearly the subject was only pissing him off.
“Whatever. One scotch coming up.” Trixie shook her head as she flounced back over to the bar, careful to put a little extra sway in her step. She could still feel his eyes on her, watching, wanting.
The man was an enigma.
“Did you get his order?” Dani asked, dunking two empty pint glasses in the dish sink. The soapy liquid sloshed over the edge, spilling into a small puddle below. From the innocent look in the human’s eyes, she was none the wiser about Trixie and Malcolm’s brief interlude.
If there was one thing the Coyote was good for, it was keeping her secrets.
“Don’t you worry about him, darlin’. Just leave that one to me.” Trixie smiled to herself, grabbing a clean tumbler and the bottle of Laphroaig off the backlit liquor shelf. Turning back toward the bar top, she was starting to pour as a familiar face approached.
“Hey, Trixie,” Blaze said. The Grey Wolf security specialist flashed her that handsome white-toothed grin as he pulled out his wallet and shelled a few bills out onto the counter. “Jack Daniel’s, would ya?”
She nodded. At least some of them were easy talkers. “Anything for you, sugar.”
As if he were in a hurry, Blaze’s eyes darted toward the corner to where Malcolm waited, but instead he turned back toward her, lips pressed together like he was burning with something to say. That look was more obvious than the flamboyant Hawaiian shirt beneath his leather jacket.
“Runnin’ late?” She lifted a brow.
That wry grin pulled at his lips again. “Always. I didn’t want to leave Dakota.” He pawed at the back of his neck sheepishly.
“At least he’s got someone to keep him company tonight.” She nodded to where Malcolm sat among the shadows.
Blaze twisted the brim of his Stetson for a moment, fiddling with it like he was uncomfortable, before he leaned onto the bar top. “Yeah, about that,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You know you’re barking up the wrong tree with Malcolm, right?”
Dani may have missed her and Malcolm’s little standoff, but clearly Malcolm’s packmate hadn’t.
Trixie couldn’t help but chuckle. “If you mean do I know he was mated to Bo before Bo passed on? That would be a yes, sugar.”
Blaze’s blond brows shot up. “He told you?”
This time, Trixie shook her head. Wolves. “Honey, he didn’t have to. Ain’t no secret. Bo was a regular. When that one showed up a few weeks after he died, sitting in that same booth in that same corner…” She finished her pour of the Laphroaig with a shrug. “A witch like me knows.” She placed the bottle back up on the shelf before grabbing another tumbler and the Jack.
“He’s come in here ’bout every month since. Missed a few when we relocated from Billings out to this godforsaken hellhole, but now that he’s back, he sits in my section every time.” She poured the amber liquid into the waiting glass, the whiskey’s scent hitting her, before placing the bottle back on the shelf. “But that’s what I love about you wolves. Everything is so black and white. You don’t even realize the rest of us live in a sea of gray.” She pushed the glass of Jack toward him, giving him a pointed look. “And you don’t know your boy like you think you do.”
Blaze glanced toward Malcolm, brows drawn low in confusion.
Trixie tried not to let her gaze follow his but failed. Malcolm’s dark form stirred with awareness. The brute knew when he was being watched, by her especially. She’d been with her fair share of men, shifter or otherwise. Enough that he shouldn’t faze her. It’d been one damn kiss in a back alley nearly a year earlier, and yet…
The heat of it still burned through her.
She frowned, turning away as she cleared her throat. “You boys want to start a tab or you want me to ring you up now?”
Blaze grabbed his glass. “Ring us up. With any luck, this won’t take long.”
He moved to grab Malcolm’s Laphroaig, but Trixie placed a hand over it. “I got this one.” She took the glass in her hand and sauntered back around the bar top, Blaze trailing her as she made her way over to Malcolm’s booth.
At her approach, Malcolm reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet before dropping a wad of bills on the table. “Keep the change.” From the expression on his face, he might as well have told her to fuck off again. Lone cowboy was his shtick after all.
Trixie slid the glass toward him as she plucked the bills off the wooden surface, giving him a quick once-over. “At least you’re a decent tipper.” Thumbing through the stack of twenties, she turned to leave but then stopped at the last second. She couldn’t resist.
Turning back toward him, she placed a hand on his booth and leaned in to whisper against his ear, dropping her voice to low and sultry. “If you change your mind about wanting company…” Her voice trailed off.
She said it mostly to toy with him because she’d won their little game tonight.
Not that she’d say no if he agreed. He might have wasted her time on occasion and been rude to her and her staff, but no woman in her right mind would turn a wolf like this away. He was a mighty fine sight, dark and dangerous. Who didn’t want the kind of man who was as wild and untamed in the bedroom as he was in life? A wolf with the face of an angel but all the harsh passion of demon fire.
Something told her that wasn’t all there was to him though. He was too complex for that. He’d be more of a giver than a taker. She was certain of it.
The harsh golden glare of his eyes would have cut a lesser woman down to size. “I won’t,” he ground out. He turned away from her, looking toward his packmate who was sliding into the booth across from him.
She clicked her tongue in mock sorrow, walking away as she pocketed her tip. “A shame.” No surprise there.
Her favorites were always a disappointment.