Chapter 1 #2
“And another one where I could swear you’re about to turn into a fucking wolf. Imagine what everyone seeing this picture thinks. Man, that’s not cool. Look at your damn teeth.”
While I hesitated, I finally glanced at what he was talking about.
Fucking fantastic. A photograph had been taken of me pretending.
Although if I seemed to remember, someone had pissed me off.
I almost corrected him that when in shifter form, I had canines, but I didn’t think that would go over well.
He’d never discriminated against me or any other shifter, but why give him reason to start?
“Let’s see how well the Beast is trending.” As a man considered to be a social media guru, he set his coffee mug down and continued scrolling.
“Unbelievable. And I don’t fucking bite.”
“Yeah, yeah. You love all the hype and you know it. Plus, you do more than bite, buddy.”
I once thought I did, but ever since the day the existence of a massive shifter population was exposed, my career had been in a holding pattern. All while my brother had reached GOAT status. Greatest of all time.
A bitter taste formed in my throat as Tyler continued surfing. I could tell by his look of amusement he was having way too much fun delving into the catastrophic media fodder that had become my career.
“Whoa. You bet the name is trending,” Tyler chuckled. “‘The Beast’ has experienced a widespread surge and the number of likes and comments I’ve seen are just wow.” He lifted his head toward me, arching both eyebrows.
“Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Like what way? Hey, here’s another one you might appreciate. ‘Is Steven Masters the most talented brother of the two?’”
“Now, you’re just taunting me.”
“No, I’m not. It’s right here written in black and white. The article had two full paragraphs.” He held out the iPad and I almost reached for it.
Before I laughed. “Two big paragraphs. Wow. I’m famous. In what newspaper?” Every word out of my mouth dripped of sarcasm.
He coughed and rolled his hand across his mouth, muttering a name into his fingers.
That I heard clearly given my various wolf shifter attributes.
For some insane reason, my mind drifted to something that had occurred the night before.
Puck bunnies were always hanging around the locker room, hoping for a quick and hot round of nookie.
After fueling my playboy reputation by doing a little dance move I’d perfected before heading out, I’d overheard one reading a passage in a book she’d been holding.
Only she replaced the character’s name in the book with mine.
“Steven didn’t just walk into the rink; he stalked, his movements liquid and unnaturally quiet despite the heavy, dense muscle that created a beast on the ice.
His ice blue eyes, a shade too bright to be human, didn’t blink as he took in the scent of fear in the stadium, his nostrils flared slightly.
When he spoke, his voice was a low growl, and for a split second, I saw his sharp canines.
He wasn’t just a man, he was a powerful, dangerous wolf held back by a thin layer of human skin.
As my eyes drifted lower, I noticed the huge bulge between his legs, his cock twitching magnificently. And my mouth watered in anticipation.”
You bet shifters were born with attributes surpassing all humans. With more than two times the strength and four times the speed, extreme dexterity, the ability to see in near total darkness, and hearing keener than any other species on the planet, we were the physically superior race.
And there were those who’d just as soon see us relegated to zoo specimens, kept locked in cages and nothing more. How many times had ethics and rules organizations, law enforcement and senate oversight committees tried to drive us back into the shadows?
Dozens, and our kind had only been outed a year before.
We’d certainly had our share of threats, although the most horrific had died down during the last few months. They hadn’t been able to rile us, which was all the assholes had wanted to do.
Plus, the various pack leaders had warned us through our communications system to be on our best behavior. Which we’d mostly adhered to.
Now, I grabbed the iPad from Tyler’s hand, scrolling up to find which publication. “Oh, yeah. The Sioux City Beacon?”
“Hey, you know what they say, all publicity is publicity.”
“That’s not what they say.”
“Well, the article is very positive in comparison to the other one. Who knows. Maybe you’ll finally get called up to the Wild Dogs.”
“You seem to forget I signed with the Philly Lightning as a free agent. Which means I won’t automatically be called up to the home team. Besides, the Wild Dogs can’t handle two Masters brothers at the same time. What’s the other article you mentioned?”
“Just a bunch of senators making noise. The usual spewing hatred for shifters in sports. You’d think you guys were monsters or something going out killing and eating people instead of winning games and tournaments.”
“A little extreme there, Tyler. We don’t kill our food.” At least not any longer. I found the article he was talking about, scanning the basics and little else. “They’re just making noise.”
“Let’s hope so. For our sake. We don’t want you run off from Philly.” He ducked as if I was going to throw something while he laughed.
While to date there were maybe a hundred shifters out in the open in different sports leagues, during the first few months after exposure, there’d been as many witch hunts as there’d been werewolf fanatics holding vigils.
Thankfully, my main following was comprised of puck bunnies, including two Instagram accounts dedicated to me and run by a couple of hot chicks.
Between the ‘Werewolves Do It in the Wild’ poster, and the constant comments about the size of my manhood, I’d become a legend in my own mind.
Something my coach liked to remind me of every chance he had.
I mostly found the entire situation amusing except that the hatred had affected my move into the NHL. Not that my coach, the assistant coach, my agent, and especially not my brother would admit it. They all blamed my irresponsible and reckless behavior.
“Fuck ‘em.” I tossed the iPad down and poured out the remainder of the bitter coffee. “Going to take a shower.” For whatever reason, I continued to hesitate, maybe because he was still laughing. Maybe because every time I thought about Saint’s success, I became melancholy about my own.
“Hey, after practice, do you wanna shoot a couple games of pool? Might help that canine aggression you have going on.”
“Now we’re talking. Just be prepared to lose that stash of cash you’ve been carrying around lately. Canine aggression.”
“In your dreams, Beast.”
“Fuck you.”
“Back at you.”
Before I even managed to make it out of the kitchen, my phone rang. Without missing a beat, I yanked it from my pocket, answering without looking. “Yo. The Beast here.” Why the hell not take the name out for a spin?
“I take it that you’ve seen the latest evaluation regarding your antics.”
As always, as soon as I heard the coach’s voice, I straightened up. “I… Well, yes, sir. But no big deal. We were all just having a little fun. You know. Blowing off steam.”
“As usual, Masters, you’re not taking the situation seriously,” Coach Rufini barked.
“I was just joking.”
“That’s the problem. You’re always joking. That kind of promotion we don’t need. My fucking God. Threatening to shift. In front of other humans. What is wrong with you?”
I was getting sick and tired of being scrutinized for what I did and didn’t do.
“I’m allowed to have some fun. I didn’t do anything wrong.
And I wasn’t going to shift.” Hell, I hadn’t shifted in a long time.
Given my profession, I was lucky enough to be able to pacify all my aggressive tendencies by playing hockey.
“What I, the networks, your fans, and the millions of protestors believe are all entirely different things.”
“People don’t know how to spice up their lives.”
His exhale was as deep as mine.
“They do. But not when they’re worried about being eaten alive. Now, get your ass down here as soon as possible so we can sort it out. We’ve got an important meeting.”
“With?”
“Let’s just say someone interested in advancing your career and getting you out of my fucking hair.”
A strange feeling tore through me. “Okay, Coach. I’ll be there after I grab a shower.”
He didn’t wait for me to get the last word out before he’d already hung up. This wasn’t good.
“What the hell was that?” my roommate asked.
“Instead of wishful thinking about me staying in Philly, you better see if you can wrangle up a curse or two.”
“Why?” He laughed until he noticed what had to be a horribly disgruntled look on my face.
“I think I’m being traded and I doubt anywhere I want to be.” Shaking my head, I looked away, more emotional than I should be. That’s what happened to players in the second tier. We were traded all the time, all wishing for the call boosting us onto the National Hockey League.
I had a bad feeling I would be sorely disappointed.
“You never know. Could be a good thing.”
“I won’t hold my breath.” Anger drifted through me, which wasn’t good for anyone.
I realized I’d gripped the edge of the counter and in my growing fury, my fingers had pressed dents into the Formica and the wood underneath.
Huffing, I held my fingers into the air, hating the crackle of electricity indicating my real beast wanted to come out and play.
Not now, Wolfie.
Tyler whistled under his breath. “Wow.” Oh, no.
“What?”
“I don’t think you want to see this.” He had the iPad back in his hand. “The network just dropped a teaser. Fuck. That’s a… story.”
Was his face suddenly pasty white? “What network? He’s set to appear on all of them. Let me guess. They found Saint in bed with another girl.”
“Nothing so… simple to deal with.”
Was he panting?
I’d been teasing. Saint’s wife and mate Lily would kick his ass from one side of the world to the other if he dared look at another woman. “Then what the fuck else could there be?”
“Did you know the Today Show is interviewing Saint?”
“Yep. Old news. They’re going to have some crap on about one of the shifter parks. All garbage.”
“Yeah, well, they have a smoking gun.”
I’d be damned if when he didn’t lift his head, there wasn’t fear in his eyes.
“What kind of smoking gun?”
He scratched his head, moving out of my reach. “Your kind doesn’t really eat people for snacks and stuff. Do they?”
I could feel a laugh bubbling to the surface. “Please. Humans will never be succulent enough for beasts of the wild.”
While I was teasing, he didn’t take it that way, his long stride further away purposeful.
“Tyler, Jesus Christ, I was kidding. What’s this smoking gun?”
The way he continued staring at me left nothing to the imagination. He truly believed I was sizing him up for a nice, long metal skewer to plop on the gas grill later. Oh, what the hell. I’d use charcoal.
When he seemed tongue-tied, I yanked the iPad from his hand, forced to blink several times until I realized what I was seeing.
“The smoking gun,” he finally said, “is you.”