Fury
Bar tending is purely selfish at this point, an excuse to get out of the pack house and leave those hooligans by themselves for a while.
You can get too used to the smell of fresh country air and horse shit.
Nah, who am I kidding, a couple of hours in here and I am fed up already, wishing that I could get back to the ranch house and sit with my pack mates.
Though on a Monday night, Lucas is working a double at the hospital, another day of letting them push him around.
Funny how he is always a grumpy enough bastard at home, but is happy to spend sixteen hours running about with nurses and hospital staff.
I am only really here because Deacon, my manager, is off with his current flavor of the month, finding out if an Alpha female's lock really does send a man to heaven. Hopefully not, he has a shift tomorrow, and I really can’t lose him.
Looking around the bar, it's clean, tidy, and quiet at the moment. The auction’s still on, but once the packs start kicking out, it picks up.
Gracie and Emma, my two hires, are due once the rush hits.
There’s a nice atmosphere tonight, laid back, and I like auction nights; my staff gets plenty of tips, and I throw mine in with theirs.
Don’t need it when one of your pack mates is a trust fund baby, I guess.
I take it back, I was a city boy as a kid—a nice, sociable kid raised by two Beta shifter parents…
But the change hits hard and fast as an Alpha and a wolf, and the paved roads don’t feel so good on your paws, and the scent of diesel in your nose isn’t pleasant…
Nor does the stench of piss in a public bathroom.
I’ll need to get in there tonight and scrub it.
It’s times like this that I wish I were on call as the local farm vet, or at the office during the day.
I’d rather be knee deep in abscessed bull hooves or alpaca births than admitting I have to clean the bathroom tonight.
Dropping my head back, I toss the cloth under the bar, scoping out my mop bucket and getting ready to commit some sort of crimes with bleach, when I see her.
Tonight might just be the end of me.
I don’t know how I didn’t spot her coming in, she must have snuck in when one of the rowdy packs did, and the industrial scent scrubbers blasting away through the vents meant I didn’t even catch a whiff of her.
Sitting at the end of the long bar, next to the staff door, playing with the length of thick maritime rope that edged the mahogany counter is an Omega.
An unbonded Omega at that, wearing one of those gland cages disguised as fancy jewelry, a muzzle, and the foulest expression I can see around the red plastic on her face.
That’s saying something considering I live with Lucas.
Regardless of the fancy face cover, she is baring those little fangs at anybody who passes, and I don’t even step in when she smashes one of my nice whisky tumblers over the head of an Alpha who tries to manhandle her towards his table.
On the contrary, I let him know that he can fuck off before I call the cops, or find a deep hole that nobody will ever find him in.
My regulars ain’t stupid, they’ve seen some of the heavy guns who drink in here when they’ve got time off, and they know it’s not worth their time.
Spunky little thing. I watch this little Omega, she can’t be much over five feet tall, and she’s built for comfort…
Something I very much like in my women. When you get a little wild with claws and have enough metal in your dick to set off the airport body scanners, you enjoy a little soft luxury.
Plus, she is wearing the hell out of that dress.
Unbonded Omegas only seem to bring trouble, though, and in the time since I’ve noticed her, most of my customers have either fled or migrated to the opposite side of the lounge, well away from where I serve.
Hell, I haven’t even approached her yet, and I’ve had enough of my own glassware become projectiles in my direction that I know I don’t want to have to call my pack mates to come pick me up.
They’d never let me live it down. But then, if you asked any of them, not a one of them would claim I have good sense in my head, and any brain cells I do have bounce when it comes to a pretty girl.
So, I do what I would with most loners at the bar.
I pick a drink and slide it over to her, a Pirates Bane, some rummy concoction that has an ice cube in the vague shape of a ship bobbing about on top of the liquid.
Pale, seafoam eyes glance between the glass and my smiling face, but it falls off as she deadpans me, “Really, smartass?” I tilt my head, confusion pulling my brows as I rub my chin, only to hear her grumble, “My scent, rum.”
Rum scented. That’s a new one, would match real well with my whisky if we… Nope, not going there. I’ve had a hard on since the tumbler incident and would really like it to go down before I have to go out and bus tables.
“Just had a new filter system put in. Can’t smell shit except that aerosol smell and the toilets when someone swings the door too hard.
” Never wished I could smell someone so bad before, though I don’t tell her that part.
Given the description of the system—claiming it could handle an Omega in full heat—I doubt I’d even catch a whiff of this spicy little thing.
Hmmm, my mind wanders as I move back to tend the bar, running on autopilot as I wonder if it would be too forward to ask to take her home.
She’d smell great with me, but sandwiched between me and any of my pack members?
Damn. So much for getting rid of the erection, reminding me of its presence by throbbing painfully beneath my jeans.
Has it really been so long since I’ve taken someone home?
Sure, work has been a little stressful and busy over the last month, getting calves all checked and weaned at the local ranches, but I’m sure I’d fit in a couple of flings during that period. Maybe.
Pinging off a quick text to our pack group chat, I reach out for some extra backup.
The bar is starting to get busy now, and I can’t keep an eye on my guest all night, especially since Gracie is clocking in, and Emma is rushing in after her.
I’d be keeping an eye on my staff over the little Omega at the bar.
I wouldn’t bother my pack usually, but with how much trouble she’s attracted this far, it might be better to have someone on babysitting duty until it comes calling.
With any luck, Atlas is off tonight. Both he and Clay—two of my pack Alphas—are built like brick shit houses, but Atlas is more brawn than brain with a heart four sizes too large in his chest.
And a chest four sizes too large for most of his shirts.
An Omega's wet dream in one big delicious himbo package.
He has a way with kids, old folk, and Omegas that just seems to score him extra points, and I hope it will keep this one calm whilst we figure out what to do with her, or she goes on her merry way.
Atlas, being the other wolf shifter, is definitely a help, too.
If it goes to hell tonight, his sharper senses will keep him on top of it.
Sure enough, my phone pings with a response, letting me know he’ll be here once he finds a space.
Looking around the bar, I grimace at the influx of customers, the buzz and hum of packs picking up with barely a seat left or space to swing a cat.
People stand at the dart board, or at one of the tables, upside down anchors fixed to the floor with a big wooden top fixed on them.
Bowline was a total dump when I bought her, a complete fixer-upper with smashed windows, rotting beams, and the worst case of damp and wood rot that I had ever seen in a building that is still standing.
Seeing it like this, so packed and doing well, is like a cool drink after years in the desert.
We would have had an easier time if we’d had Atlas and Clay around at the time instead of just Theo and Luc doing our best to make it by.
I wouldn’t change our pack for the world, but I might have rushed our meeting a little sooner.
Angry cursing draws me from my robotic serving as the little Omega splutters and coughs.
“First time?” Snorting at her antics, I hand her a pile of paper napkins with little anchors embellished against the dark blue, followed by a fresh drink.
“Hardly,” Cursing as she dabs at her dress, her scowl is adorable enough to laugh at, if I hadn’t seen her accuracy with a tumbler earlier. “Fucking muzzle is in the way. Who do I have to blow around here to get a straw?”
This time, I chuckle, only to receive a sharp narrowing of her eyes and a little lip lift to bare her teeth.
Thankfully, the bar hides the interested inflation of my cock from sight, but I’m not the only one who’s looking at her now.
Other hungry-looking Alphas have turned, a little less friendly and controlled than I am.
Where’s Atlas? I really don’t want to have to split up a fight tonight over this one, or worse, be involved in said fight.
As though summoned, there he is, shadowing the doorway with his massive six-foot-seven frame like some sort of golden demon.
His mohawk has grown out on the sides a little and flops softly at the top, giving him a couple of extra inches with the blond fluff.
The buzz in the bar dies down as he enters, and I can see the wary looks he’s given as he searches around the bar.
He’s shaved at least, after weeks of us hassling him about being an unruly swamp goblin of a man, the equally golden beard is neat.
Grey eyes light up as he spots us, only outdone by the megawatt smile that dimples his cheeks and nearly scrunches his eyes shut.
The bar quietens even further, and I hear an Omega at the other side whisper ‘Wow’ as he hauls ass towards us, folding himself into one of the barstools.
Sliding a straw into the Omega’s drink, I lean over the bar a little towards her, desperate to catch even a hint of her scent.
“Atlas here is going to sit right there and keep you company from some of our more ungentlemanly patrons tonight,” Raising a hand before her mouth can open, I give her a soft growl that makes her breath stall, “He won’t touch you without permission or good reason.”
Swinging her legs under her stool, she spins towards him with a deepening scowl.
As curvy as she is for an Omega, Atlas makes her look like one of those little dolls, dwarfing her easily by over a foot and a half in height.
And width. And pretty much every other direction.
Like the golden retriever he is, he directs that beaming grin at her and sticks his hand out.
Watching Atlas’ charm at work is always like magic, the disapproving look on the Omega's face disappearing by the second, melting when she places her tiny hand in his.
“Atlas Amberwood, ma’am.” Enveloping her fingers between his, I can’t help but wonder how his big body would cover hers in bed, too, and what she’d look like stretched around his knot in a tangle against his black sheets.
Noooope. It has been far too long since I’ve had someone warm my bed, and trouble over there ain’t it.
My hand and I have a hot date tonight, but I still have a couple of hours left, so I turn to pour drinks.
“Skye Kerris,” I hear from behind me, wondering how I’ve spent so much time in the presence of this beautiful woman and haven’t even thought to ask her name.