that she couldn’t draw breath. Teresa’s face seemed to swell. Her pulse thumped in her ears.
“Hensha,” Angle Face snapped. “Down.”
The hunger in the female’s eyes flared for a second. The blonde fuzz on her face turned a darker shade. Then she let go.
Teresa dropped to her knees, gasping. The air tasted like stale cigarettes, but she gulped as much as she could without hyperventilating. Each breath felt like sand in her throat. While she knelt there, she heard the whisk of footsteps on the carpeted floor behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the two dealers, a thin man dressed in a black suit and tie like an undertaker or federal agent—take your pick—and a third gentleman with wide shoulders and a barrel chest that bulged against the buttons of his purple silk shirt and skewed the collar. The top two buttons undone exposed thick, dark curls on that impressive chest. His hands looked as big as shovels. His slick, black hair hung to his shoulders. And even from where he stood at the poker room entrance, Teresa could smell coconuts, as if he had slathered on a layer of tanning lotion mere seconds before showing up.
Nobody had to tell Teresa she was looking at the Alpha. The way the wolves around the table went stiff and quiet said enough.
Rubbing her throat, Teresa got to her feet and faced him. About half the room stood between them, but his presence crossed the distance and pressed against her. She didn’t know enough about wolf culture to determine if this forceful essence was earned or bestowed. Either way, even as a mortal, she couldn’t deny its impression. She nearly bowed to him like royalty.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
The Alpha looked through her, as if she weren’t even there. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The female, Hensha, started to speak, but the Alpha cut her off with an actual bark. “Cage, what is going on?”
Angle Face, or Cage, stepped around in front of Teresa, head down. “This mortal. She is part of—”
“I know who she is.” The Alpha drew a long breath through his nose. “I can smell her from here. Why isn’t she dead?”
“Yes, sir.” Cage turned to Teresa. His dead-eyed stare made him look bored, but the hair growing on the backs of his hands signaled his purpose.
Teresa backed up. “Wait a second. Hear me out.” Her ass bumped against the table. Hensha sidled up close and growled. God damn it, this wasn’t supposed to go down like this. An image of her sister, laughing, dancing at that stupid club the night she was taken, a purple drink in one hand, her other pumping a fist in rhythm to the music, flickered across Teresa’s internal eye. The picture worked like a kick to her instincts.
She twisted at the waist and snatched her pistol off the poker table and jammed the barrel up under Hensha’s chin. “Nobody fucking move.”
A green shine rose in Cage’s eyes while his pelt grew, covering most of his skin. The center of his face began to push out, forming what would become the wolf’s snout. But his transformation halted there, making it look like something had tried to punch its way out his head through his face.
Hensha grabbed the wrist of Teresa’s gun hand.
“Try it,” Teresa said. “You faster than a bullet?”
“Down, Hensha,” the Alpha said as he sauntered further into the room. Despite everything, his expression didn’t change much. He had thick lips on a wide face and he pursed them slightly. “Down, Cage.”
Cage’s face drew back to a normal shape. The hair covering his hands, forehead, and cheeks receded, though his beard remained full.
The Alpha approached alone. The dealers and the guy in the suit stayed at the entrance.
“Why you bringing drama to my place? I hate drama.”
Teresa’s arm started to ache from pushing the gun so hard under Hensha’s jaw, but she didn’t ease any of that pressure, though she doubted holding the wolf at gunpoint had much to do with the Alpha calling off his dogs.
“Hensha,” Angle Face snapped. “Down.”
The hunger in the female’s eyes flared for a second. The blonde fuzz on her face turned a darker shade. Then she let go.
Teresa dropped to her knees, gasping. The air tasted like stale cigarettes, but she gulped as much as she could without hyperventilating. Each breath felt like sand in her throat. While she knelt there, she heard the whisk of footsteps on the carpeted floor behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the two dealers, a thin man dressed in a black suit and tie like an undertaker or federal agent—take your pick—and a third gentleman with wide shoulders and a barrel chest that bulged against the buttons of his purple silk shirt and skewed the collar. The top two buttons undone exposed thick, dark curls on that impressive chest. His hands looked as big as shovels. His slick, black hair hung to his shoulders. And even from where he stood at the poker room entrance, Teresa could smell coconuts, as if he had slathered on a layer of tanning lotion mere seconds before showing up.
Nobody had to tell Teresa she was looking at the Alpha. The way the wolves around the table went stiff and quiet said enough.
Rubbing her throat, Teresa got to her feet and faced him. About half the room stood between them, but his presence crossed the distance and pressed against her. She didn’t know enough about wolf culture to determine if this forceful essence was earned or bestowed. Either way, even as a mortal, she couldn’t deny its impression. She nearly bowed to him like royalty.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
The Alpha looked through her, as if she weren’t even there. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The female, Hensha, started to speak, but the Alpha cut her off with an actual bark. “Cage, what is going on?”
Angle Face, or Cage, stepped around in front of Teresa, head down. “This mortal. She is part of—”
“I know who she is.” The Alpha drew a long breath through his nose. “I can smell her from here. Why isn’t she dead?”
“Yes, sir.” Cage turned to Teresa. His dead-eyed stare made him look bored, but the hair growing on the backs of his hands signaled his purpose.
Teresa backed up. “Wait a second. Hear me out.” Her ass bumped against the table. Hensha sidled up close and growled. God damn it, this wasn’t supposed to go down like this. An image of her sister, laughing, dancing at that stupid club the night she was taken, a purple drink in one hand, her other pumping a fist in rhythm to the music, flickered across Teresa’s internal eye. The picture worked like a kick to her instincts.
She twisted at the waist and snatched her pistol off the poker table and jammed the barrel up under Hensha’s chin. “Nobody fucking move.”
A green shine rose in Cage’s eyes while his pelt grew, covering most of his skin. The center of his face began to push out, forming what would become the wolf’s snout. But his transformation halted there, making it look like something had tried to punch its way out his head through his face.
Hensha grabbed the wrist of Teresa’s gun hand.
“Try it,” Teresa said. “You faster than a bullet?”
“Down, Hensha,” the Alpha said as he sauntered further into the room. Despite everything, his expression didn’t change much. He had thick lips on a wide face and he pursed them slightly. “Down, Cage.”
Cage’s face drew back to a normal shape. The hair covering his hands, forehead, and cheeks receded, though his beard remained full.
The Alpha approached alone. The dealers and the guy in the suit stayed at the entrance.
“Why you bringing drama to my place? I hate drama.”
Teresa’s arm started to ache from pushing the gun so hard under Hensha’s jaw, but she didn’t ease any of that pressure, though she doubted holding the wolf at gunpoint had much to do with the Alpha calling off his dogs.
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