Wolf Bite (Outcast Pack #8)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

After spending the last four years in the heat of Darwin, returning to Melbourne was more than a little depressing. It was raining, and not the warm rain George was used to, and the sky was sullen with no sign of sun. Even if he had been cleared to run by the Coven, it was not a good night to be out.

He cracked open the whiskey of the minibar, even though it would be cheaper to go to the hotel bar, and drank it in a couple of swallows. He stared out the window of his hotel room at the rain-smeared lights. The city hadn’t changed that much while he’d been away, at least not on the surface.

But he’d heard about the wolf trouble. And when he’d told the Coven he was returning to the city—not because it was a requirement, but because, as a wolf, he needed to be aware of pack territories—they had also told him about the situation and that he should come in to check out the map.

Moving to Darwin hadn’t been this much of a drama. He could count the number of wolves up there on one hand. There were no packs and no pack-related drama. Though that didn’t mean there was no shifter drama.

Darwin was ruled by croc shifters, and they weren’t real keen on anyone running on their beaches or near their rivers. He’d been worded in by an older wolf shifter with a gnarly scar on his leg from where he’d had a run-in with a croc. To the humans listening, they thought he meant the animal kind of crocodile, but from the look in his eye and the lift of his eyebrow, George knew the man meant croc shifter. There were also a few shark shifters, so he avoided any kind of natural body of water.

Like the other wolves and the couple of big cats who lived up there, if he ran, he ran inland. There was enough land for them to all run and never cross paths. But none of them were that fucking stupid. It was much safer to run with a buddy because while they might be shifters, they weren’t actual animals, and even animals got lost. Getting lost in the bush, in the heat, not being able to carry water and such, was a death sentence.

After four years of working on an oil rig, he liked the idea of working on land again. He was also bloody sick of doing everyone’s laundry, though he already missed the pay. Leaving Melbourne and having an adventure had been great at twenty, and he’d thought he was ready to come home. He hadn’t been back a whole day, and he was already doubting this decision.

There were too many wolves and too much history.

He tossed the little bottle in the bin. It hit the side and then rattled around the bottom. Tomorrow, he had an appointment at the Coven to get a feel for the pack situation so he could find a safe place to run that hadn’t been claimed. He didn’t know which boundaries had moved and which packs were still old-school troublemakers that he needed to avoid. He didn’t have a notch taken out of his ear because his pack wasn’t like that. They didn’t kick people out; they expected people to stay. Which was almost worse. After four years away, he didn’t think he could run with his family pack again. They took a certain pride in having lived in the same area for the last three generations.

They hadn’t understood why he wanted to leave.

And he didn’t understand why they didn’t want to see the world.

Sure, being a wolf made it a little tricky, but talking to the Coven before lobbing up always smoothed things over, and most packs weren’t dicks about travelers. They only got their hackles up if you wanted to move in and hadn’t gone through the process. He envied the big cats in Darwin. They moved freely from city to city, and either left each other plenty of room…or made friends with the new arrivals.

Crocs were almost as bad as wolves, wanting to fight anyone who stepped foot on what they considered their land. He found it totally tiresome. They were all shifters wanting a run. They should be looking out for each other, not squabbling over a patch of sand.

After sitting on the plane for hours and then taking a taxi to the hotel, he was itching to do something. He’d used the hotel gym and ran for an hour, though it clearly hadn’t been enough.

He picked his phone up off the bed and scrolled through some of his contacts. Most of the people he knew from four years ago he hadn’t kept in touch with. He tried, but after a few months, it had fallen away. They’d all been young and had different things going on.

He hesitated over Ryan’s name. They had been best friends throughout school, even though they’d come from different packs, but they fell out in their final year because George was out, and Ryan had decided his pack was right about those kinds of things.

It was one thing to socialize with other packs at school or work or in front of humans, but another to maintain close ties. They hadn’t spoken in six years. He should’ve deleted Ryan from his phone, but he couldn’t.

It was because of Ryan’s older brother that George realized he was gay. George had been about thirteen when Evan picked his brother up from school in his new car. He’d been leaning on the hood in that try-hard way that teenage boys did. George had done it too. Now, he laughed about the posturing and what a cocky prick Evan had been, but to thirteen-year-old George, Evan was the hottest guy he’d ever seen.

And completely out of reach, as well as being four years older. He remembered the way Evan had snarled at him, the curve of his lip, and the glint in his eye. That snarl had increased the length of George’s showers as he imagined all kinds of ways he might somehow end up in that car with Evan ripping his clothes off.

Not only was Evan older, hotter, and had a car, but he was already shifting.

Those things had mattered ten years ago when he’d been years away from sprouting fur.

He considered calling his parents and letting them know he was back, just for something to do. But they would insist he stay with them and run with them, and if he did that, getting out a second time was going to be so much harder. He loved his family, but he didn’t want to settle into a rut that would only smother him, yet he didn’t think he was one of those wolves who was happier on his own, either.

He enjoyed running with other shifters, and he wasn’t fussed if they were wolves or cats, or anything else for that matter. Though it was much harder to go for a run with a snake, it was nice to work with him on the rig. At least they understood each other when they said their skin was getting itchy. For the last two years, it had also been a very convenient friends-with-benefits situation that neither of them wanted to take any further.

His family would be horrified that he’d been running with anyone who was willing. And he wasn’t sure they’d be thrilled if he brought a boyfriend home. There was tolerance, and then there was acceptance, and he didn’t know if their attitudes had changed much. Their doubts had always been phrased as concern for him. They were worried he’d attract the wrong kind of attention if he was too out.

Which is why he needed to see the Coven tomorrow before he did anything stupid. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fucking wolves.”

If there was a way to make something complicated, they would find it.

He closed his contacts and flicked open his favorite app. On the rig and in Darwin, it hadn’t taken him long to work out who was on it and who wasn’t. And it had been easy to have a few friends he could hook-up with when he was ashore. Most of them had been human. The few shifters he’d hooked up with had been passing through for work, or travel, or escaping pack politics…

He’d learned not to pry. If they wanted to tell, they would. Most shifters assumed he was in Darwin because he’d been kicked out of his pack. It was easy to let them think that.

He scrolled through profiles and was dazzled by the choice. He could hook-up with someone different every night and not run out for at least three years, or at least that’s the way it felt after the drought of Darwin.

His phone pinged as a message popped up.

Fuck, that was fast. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to hook-up; he was bored, and his blood was a little hot. He’d rather shift than fuck. Maybe.

But now he was in the app. Maybe getting sweaty with someone wasn’t a bad way to spend an hour or two.

The one thing he had learned in his travels was that even wolf shifters weren’t prissy when hooking up. They wanted to get fucked and filled the same as any human bottom. Though the conversation, if there was one, was usually a little different. Sometimes, they wanted to be bitten, but not where it would be visible. Or some were more ‘let’s keep it human,’ meaning no teeth, no scratches.

Most asked when he last shifted because if he hadn’t had sex since his last shift, many didn’t want to worry about condoms.

Some insisted no matter what.

It was a pity there was no easy way to tell shifter from human…or worse, witch from a photo. It was always disappointing to meet up and decide it wasn’t worth the chance of accidentally becoming mates, though he knew some shifters who didn’t care.

The guy who’d messaged him wasn’t that far away, but he was a bit too pushy, and the picture of his hole that needed filling in the second message wasn’t quite what George wanted. Another night, it might’ve been.

What the fuck was he doing?

He paused on the photo of the shoulder with clear teeth marks on the skin. They were human teeth marks, but the picture made his pulse kick. This was a guy who didn’t mind a good bite. A grin formed.

That’s what he wanted. Someone to pin down and bite and fuck, and they’d both love every minute of it. Since the bite guy was online and only a five-minute cab right away, George sent him a message.

Nice bite. Would you like another to match?

He contemplated grabbing another drink from the minibar while he waited, but as he walked to the fridge, the man responded.

That depends on if you’re only going to bite me.

The heat in his blood moved from a general need to do something to lust. He rearranged his semi and gave himself a casual stroke as he considered switching from track pants to jeans. Not that it mattered what he wore because they’d be coming off fast.

Keep it polite or go for dirty?

Since the man had kept the chat clean, he did the same.

I can give you more than a bite.

If the man was face down on the bed or the floor, he wouldn’t see the sheen in George’s eyes if he let his wolf out. It wouldn’t be the same as a run, but it might be enough to take the itch out of his veins and cool the heat. Only one question remained: who was doing the traveling?

The man replied while George was thinking through the logistics.

Come around. I’m waiting.

George shrugged. Who was he to argue?