“Ace,” the alpha held out a hand, but he didn’t take his eyes off me.
The bartender grabbed my bag and was about to pass it over when he lifted it to his nose. He unzipped the top pocket and pulled out my gun. No one at the bar so much as blinked when he raised it in one hand. “Packing some serious heat here, Annie Oakley.”
“What is that?” Jasper barked, seemingly unfazed.
“Forty-caliber semi-auto with…” Ace sniffed the barrel, “Silver ammo.”
“Werewolf killer,” the alpha said, and then he held out a hand. “I’ll lock this up for you. It’ll make all of us feel safer.”
Some irrational part of me wanted to lunge for the gun as the bartender passed it over the bar, but a move like that was much more likely going to convince the alpha to use my weapon against me. All Jasper had to say was, “hold still,” and then I’d sit there patiently while he loaded me with silver.
“And here I was about to shove it in the back of my pants,” Ace muttered as he washed his hands under the bar. His dark eyes flashed over to me, and I could see a cold judgement there that hadn’t been there before. A sudden surge of condemnation pressed in on me from the bartender.
“You know what? Fuck you… and you… and you.” The only person I didn’t say it to was the veterinarian. “Everybody knows that only cowardly wolves kill other werewolves with silver bullets—right?” I asked as I hugged my injured hand to my chest. “That’s just given in pack society, right? But how does an omega win a dominance fight? Oh, wait. We can’t, not ever.”
All four of the men blinked at me slowly, and I felt a low thrum of confusion pulse through both Ace and Jasper.
“Omega,” Jasper said under his breath, and a surge of shock zipped through the diminishing emotional link I had with him. A moment later, a realization and rightness flowed in from Jasper, like all of his burning questions had just been answered.
Fuck.
Fuck a fucking duck.
It wasn’t possible.
Everyone in werewolf society knew who I was. Each time I ran away, my image was sent to every alpha in North America. But from the alpha and bartender’s emotions, and from the looks they all shared between them, they truly hadn’t known who I was.
And then, I told them.
Damn it all to hell. I just gave myself up to a bunch of werewolves. This had to be a new low point in my life.
Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so upset with us? No one here called you a coward for having the gun.”
“Maybe not in your words, but that’s my other curse. When you guys give me orders, I get to feel your emotions. And, you know what, I don’t appreciate getting called onto the carpet by some limp-dick misogynistic assholes. If you want me to go with you anywhere, you’re going to need to force me, and, believe you me, I will make you pay for every fucking second. Trust me, the one thing that I’m amazing at is making asshole werewolves suffer while they’re breaking my will.”
Jasper unzipped the top compartment on my backpack, set my gun in, and zipped it back up. He held up the bag.
“What’s this?” I asked as I took the backpack, feeling like it had to be a trap somehow.
The alpha blew out a breath and ran a hand over the back of his head. “You’re welcome at our pack house for a safe place to sleep, but we’re not forcing you to go anywhere with us.”
My heart caught in my throat as I took the bag and put the straps over my shoulders. Lucas and the big werewolf named Declan stepped back, and I slid down from my barstool and moved past them.
When I made it through, I released my breath and asked, “Are you giving me a head start?” I looked up into Jasper’s blue eyes, begging him to tell me the truth. “Or did you call him already?”
“Call who?” Jasper asked.
I wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, I gritted out, “Kane. Did you call Kane?”
A tangible thread of anger flowed through from Jasper, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. His words came out harsh. “Isn’t Kane Shipman your husband?”
“If by husband you mean that he fucking bought me, changed me against my will, and kept me as a prisoner for ten years.”
A sudden surge of fury erupted in Jasper, but the emotional tether between us broke off abruptly, and I could no longer feel him.
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Jasper gritted out. “I know the man you’re running from—and, trust me, there’s not a single werewolf in Grayhaven that would piss on Kane Shipman if he was on fire. I can’t make you trust me, Teagan, but Grayhaven is probably the safest place in the world for you if you’re running from the Head Alpha of North America.”
I startled at Jasper’s words, and not because I believed them. I hadn’t heard someone say my name, my real name, in ten years. I was Omega when addressed directly and Kane’s wife when referred to in mixed company. On the run, I was Jane or Sylvia or Emily or some other of my favorite author’s names. The fact that this alpha knew my name scared the absolute shit out of me on so many levels. Half of me wanted to ask him how he knew and the rest of me wanted to get the hell out of this bar.
“Here.” Lucas reached over the bar and grabbed a napkin. On it, he wrote two addresses, below which he wrote, “Gift Certificate for one free set of hand stitches.”
“The first address is the packhouse,” he said. “The second is my downtown clinic, only a few streets over. If you don’t feel comfortable coming to our house, I’ll be at the clinic at seven-thirty tomorrow morning until five o’clock. As a veterinarian, I would recommend coming in sooner rather than later for that hand.” As I took the note, he said, “Your secret is safe with us. I can guarantee that.”
“Thank you.” I shoved the napkin into my back pocket. “Appreciate the gesture.”
Cradling my bloody palm, I headed deeper into the bar, beelining for the tall, pasty vampire named Clive. He leaned over the bar, smiling down at an older man who appeared mid-fifties and had what looked like a pair of horns nestled in his curly brown hair. Not having room in my thought process to contemplate the man’s horns, I held my bleeding hand between the pair. “Hi, Clive. Will you take the blood from a pre-existing cut as payment for a room?”
The vampire rose from his barstool in a fluid motion and his gaze narrowed in on my gash.
“Hmm... It looks to have torn several layers of tissue, though it’s not through any vital artery. Oh… your blood does smell like feral magic…” His dark eyes glowed as if illuminated by some inner flame as he licked his lips. Seeming to snap out of the trance, he glanced over to me and then over his shoulder toward the four werewolves who were still standing around the bar, watching us. His attention turned back to me, and the glow in his eyes had noticeably dimmed. Trading my blood for a room to stay in was probably one of the worst ideas I’d ever had, but vampire saliva cleaned and closed cuts instantly, and I needed a bed for the night. Win-win-win. And, I was out of options.
“Deal.” He reached for my cut, but I pulled my bloody wrist away.
“Room first, and it needs to have a working lock on the door. All locks must be operational from the inside, and there needs to be a deadbolt or something similar that can’t be unlocked from the outside.”