Chapter 1
Forge
Something’s not right in Perdue Town.
Well, more not right than usual, which says a lot in this screwed-up place.
I’m standing in the doorway of my tattoo shop, coffee mug gripped in my paw, glaring out at Main Street.
It’s not just that spring has arrived early this year, and there’s not a single cloud in this picture-fucking-perfect blue sky.
Or that a cutesy fashion boutique has just opened farther down the street, drawing all kinds of people here—although that’s sure as hell a part of it.
It’s that something has been making my animal hectic. Disturbed. And it’s a long, long time since it’s been like that.
I take a swig from my bitter brew, scratch at my beard.
I live a quiet life out here, and that’s how I like it. I spend my days inking skin and chasing out undesirables. Besides running my own shop, I’m the town’s enforcer, its unofficial muscle.
Perdue has always been a place for people to come and get lost. To live with no questions asked. Sometimes, outsiders turn up—hunting down their victims, or looking for their loved ones—and they get turned away, all the same. And if they keep asking questions, well, they get sent to me.
It’s a job I’m happy to do, since I’ve got a vested interest in protecting my own privacy.
I’m what’s called a lone wolf. I left my own feral pack a few years back, and they let me go—on one condition: that I look out for a couple of persons of interest. Seemed like a fair deal, since I don’t expect to hear anything out here.
I get to live my life free from all that retribution bullshit that’s taken over my pack’s lives.
They’re a vicious, criminal bunch. I was, too, until they went too far one day—
There she goes.
A small female, stalking along the sidewalk, a cloud of blonde hair hanging down her back.
My animal surges beneath my skin. That’s the scent that’s been getting it all stirred up this morning.
All honeysuckle and summer breeze. She’s no more than 5’2’’, but with curves in all the right places.
A flash of cleavage shows at the top of her flimsy white tank top, and a pair of tight black jeans displays her pert ass to perfection.
I can just make out big blue eyes, and full, bee-stung lips. Too delicious to be real.
A growl of hunger tears from my throat.
Not happening, I tell my beast, and shove it back down.
Because she’s not just a smokin’ hot body and a heavenly scent.
She’s the enemy.
She’s busy peering into shop windows, a bunch of papers tucked under her arm. Which means she’s probably a reporter. The worst kind. Not looking for a loved one, but wanting to stir up trouble for the sake of their careers.
My hackles rise.
She, and others like her want to destroy everything Perdue stands for.
Expose it, and all the inhabitants to the outside world.
Right now, we have a truce with the local PD.
They leave us alone, as long as we—well, mostly, I—guarantee peace here.
But people start drawing attention to this place, it’s all over.
I keep my eyes on the girl until she goes into Joe’s hardware store. Asking nosy questions, no doubt. Well, she won’t have any luck there.
A moment later, she reverses out of the store at high speed, and even from fifty yards away, I can hear his grumpy-ass bawling at her not to come back. She passes a hand across her face.
Damn, she looks upset—
A stooped figure appears in my peripheral vision.
“Forge, sorry to bother you,” calls a reedy, hoarse voice.
I bite back annoyance and turn my attention to the gray-haired, balding coyote shifter—one of the town gossips.
“What is it, Seth?”
“Oh, folk have been complaining that a young human female has been going around putting up posters and asking questions.” His voice is little more than a whisper, his posture all cringing.
I fight the urge to grab him by the shoulders and straighten him up, shake some backbone into him.
He’s had a tough life, I remind myself. Gotta be patient.
“Is that right?” I say instead.
“Yes.” He wrings his hands. “We were wondering if you could have a word?”
Heat surges to my groin. As if I need any more encouragement to speak to this girl. “Can you describe her?”
He pulls out a notepad and clears his throat.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Approximately five feet, one inch tall,” he begins. “Slim build. Long blonde hair. Eye color believed to be blue or green. Clothing—white shirt and black jeans. Shoe type unknown.”
“Anything else?”
He looks confused.
“Is she attractive, for example?” I’m just teasing now.
“Oh, yes. Rather attractive indeed—” He gives a kind of choking cough and color rises to his pallid cheeks.
I suppress a grin. A man would have to be gay or asexual to not be moved by the girl’s looks.
“Thank you, I’ll deal with her,” I tell him.
He looks like he’s going to say more, but a flicker of movement, a flash of golden hair has caught my attention.
“I’ll update you later.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Thank you, Forge.” I barely hear his voice as he shuffles off.
She’s sitting on a bench now, directly across the street.
And she looks beat. Defeated. She wiggles her shoulders, then lifts her small hand and tries to massage her own back.
I could have those knots worked out in a minute, I think.
And for one delicious moment, I imagine her laying face down on my table, while my hands run over her soft, bare skin, feeling out areas of discomfort—
I shake my head. What’s wrong with me?
Then I go still.
Because she’s looking right at my shop. She’s trying to be subtle about it, but her eyes are such a vivid turquoise, they’re like flares of neon shooting in my direction.
She presses her hands against the bench, as if she’s preparing to stand up, then her chest rises in a sigh and she hesitates.
She’s scared, but she’s not quitting. Media hack or not, I can’t help admiring her guts.
Mine, my beast says, and the mating urge unfurls inside me, like some slumbering giant coming to life after years of stony sleep.
Come into my lair, I growl.
Because I know there’s no way I’m going to let her leave before I’ve found out exactly what she’s doing here.
And what it’ll take to make her stay.