Chapter 3 – And what brings you here

ROCCO

It’s me again, perhaps I should have made it clear before that Callum and Jacob were of course werewolves too. Between us, we could always spot other shifters. Everyone else we met within this part of the city was human, exactly how I like it.

We all met as teens at college, the three of us eager to escape our shitty packs where overbearing Alpha’s still expected dog-like obedience. I think it irritates mine that I don’t cower before him. I know my father used to. And he forced my mother to.

Annoyingly, to buy this place, I had to find a guarantor. Callum and Jacob had rich families back home to support them whereas I had nobody, so I had to ask my Alpha. 

Not quite the full escape I had intended. It's also not fun having to ask the person who left you without a family for help. But that whole tragic, despicable tale is for another conversation. Happy Rocco is chatting right now.

Alpha Brandon Wicknace. Or Alpha Dickface as I mutter under my breath every time he turns up. If I'm being more accurate, I despise the evil bastard. But let's keep it light for now, after all we've only just met. 

I play the respectful game of course. I give him the pretence of gratitude, so he drinks for free and can commandeer the casino for private functions when he chooses but he doesn’t own me.  No amount of back-slapping fakery erases the memory of seeing your childhood erased.

I’m not getting tied to a woman, to a pack through some mate bond I've no say over. I’ve gotten this far on my own and independence suits me just fine. A lone wolf if you’ll excuse the appalling pun. Which is why I work every full moon. 

Callum and Jacob want their mates, they go back to the pack villages, out round the clubs in the East side of the city where the displaced shifter community gathers on a full moon. I always work, happy in the knowledge nobody is going to morph me into a slave.

The mate bond is only active during the actual full moon, so unless you are lucky, or unlucky depending on your outlook, it is not too hard to subtly avoid. Especially when you’re on the fringe of your pack anyway in the wrong end of the city for meeting anyone.

To be accused of fighting fate was, however, an offence punishable by family disgrace and public physical retribution. Not all easy having shifter genes you see. Even in this modern era many pack towns across America remained very traditional. Silverlake, my pack, was so strict that there were still cages, shackles and branding gear set aside.

It was for disobedient pack members in case you're wondering. Forcing them to find a mate or be given to another. Grim, but as I have no family to check on me, my lack of pursuit is not currently an issue.

The phone rings sharply and apologies, but my little internal monologue is completely interrupted. It’s only early afternoon, still a few hours before opening as I mill about checking stock. 

“This is Miss Wilding from Godiva Event Management, we have a reservation for a private party tonight?” Her voice was clipped, firm and aggressive yet sounded younger than me. Intriguing.

“Ah hello, wonderful to talk at last, we are very much looking forward to hosting you…” I replied genially before getting swiftly cut off.

“I rang to check a few things, Macallan Scotch for example?”

As she ran down every minor detail, I felt my head spin. Canapes, vegans, coat checks, taxi’s, staff numbers. I found myself smiling at how easily she bossed me around. Her voice had a hint of softness there behind the business-like tone. I very much hope she is a blonde, I can see myself having a lot of fun with her tonight. I deserve it after all my running around. By the time we finished our call, I had a full page of notes to occupy the next three hours.

Just as I hang up the phone from telling Callum what to expect tonight the upstairs door crashes open. Sunlight streams down the staircase, casting long shadows into the foyer.

Heavy footsteps announce an imminent arrival, thundering down my beautifully carpeted staircase, an asthmatic warthog? A stroke-addled hippo? Sadly not.

“Rocco, just the man!”

Alpha Wicknace. Despite the clear sign saying the casino was closed he barged in anyway, his meaty underling Jimmy carrying a black holdall. My heart sinks, what the hell is he wanting me to hold onto this time. The bags just keep getting bigger.

“For your safe,” Jimmy muttered, gesturing at the bag in his hand like an ape. 

Despite being Jacob’s triplet, Jimmy couldn’t be more different. His white-blonde hair and blue eyes landed cruelly on him. Ignore what I said earlier about shifters all being attractive, my mistake. Sharp, edged cheekbones, an oversized granite jaw permanently set to angry, and those ice-blue eyes. If a human was going to guess the wolf from a line-up, you would immediately pin him.

Alpha Wicknace on the other hand is a wheezing, overweight fifty-year-old with jowls where his jawline once lived. In his youth obviously he had been a physical supremo before cheese and ale caught up with him. He couldn’t look less like a pack leader of hundreds of people now. But then you remember the cruel discipline he still doles out back home and keep quiet. 

Believe me I know the abominations this guy is capable of. 

Unfortunately for Silverlake and the Gilded Falcon, Jimmy looked to be in the front running as future Alpha. Alpha Wicknace’s mate had died years ago and although he had at least a dozen illegitimate children, none of them had risen through the ranks like Jimmy. 

It was part of why Jacob was so keen to escape the village and the pack. Jimmy had a bullying shadow that was hard to live under. 

“Of course, not a problem,” I smiled, taking the bag from him. A stereotypically suspicious heavy black holdall. I could almost hear police sirens going off in my conscience. 

Just because I don’t go mauling other wolves in the woods doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself. I make sure my eyes meet Jimmy’s with all the determination I can muster when I confidently take the bag from him. I’ll hold his drugs, his weapons whatever he wants. Because one day I’m going to take the whole fucking lot from him. 

Thoughts of vengeance and precariously stacking bottles of extravagant scotch carried me through to the evening where my mystery phone caller was obvious. 

In a tight pencil skirt, formal purple top and bright red lipstick she seemed edgy as everyone else fluttered in. Surrounded by a gaggle of colleagues in glitzy party dresses she was aloof in her pencil skirt and purple blouse. I told you so didn’t I? Blonde and workwear, easy.

It only took me a few minutes to realise why else she had me paying attention. As I worked the room, I caught a hint of an unusually floral scent and realised she was a shifter. 

Shit I might be in trouble here. I really like that blonde hair and dark eye combination.

There is electricity in the air and it’s driving me straight towards her. I know we have a non-shifter policy but hell-fire there is something about this girl already. I take a chance, sauntering gently towards her and give it my best opening shot, guessing she is still in business mode.

"I believe we spoke on the phone today. I hope everything is in order?"