Hello dear readers, I've wanted to write wolf shifter romances for a while and finally got up the courage to write Lone Wolf. Then of course Lone Wolf finds his pack, the Trident Pack who have a unique role in life in the USA and Broken Wolf is found. All Happy ever after endings, after lots of problems, of course.
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I really wish you every enjoyment of my series as it evolves. Here's the link to Lone Wolf and the lovely cover. Guess which hunk is Rane, the Weirdling Alpha?
Here's Chapter One and Two to give you a taste of Josh the Lone Wolf in Sin City
Chapter
One
The
Drifter
Jonas
The
nightmare haunted me at least once a month. I was alone in a forest clearing;
the ground was soft with freshly fallen snow, the pine tree branches sagged and
creaked under the weight of the white powder. I could feel the cold seeping
into my paws. In the night sky stars blazed ice clear and the full moon was a
silent witness to what was happening under its soft blue light.
A
pack of hungry grey wolves had trapped me in an ever tightening circle. They
showed deadly fangs and growled deeply from the back of their throats. I was a
wolf, a real wolf, grey coat, mouth open, showing my fangs, warning them to
back off. The alpha wolf approached me while the rest of the pack waited for
him to attack. I crouched ready to fight but I knew I would be torn apart.
Instead of attacking the wolf spoke in a human voice.
“Submit
to me.”
He
demanded I submit to him, I struggled to ask why? How? Who are you? But my
questions were never answered.
I
would awaken, my body hot, covered in sweat and my cock hard, painfully hard,
swollen with the blood from a fierce lust I couldn’t explain. How could I
desire a wolf, an alpha male of a wolf pack? I was a human, a sick human who
dreamt of being a wolf. Every time there was a new moon the dream came back and
every time I would awaken with a raging erection and a lust for sex I felt
ashamed of.
My
life had always been shrouded in mystery. I was told I was found abandoned on
the steps of a Police station in Anchorage, Alaska. I ended up being shoved
from welfare home to welfare home; I was the kid who didn’t speak, the sullen
kid, the grey kid no-one noticed. I didn’t excel at anything except fighting.
It took a long time to suppress my anger, bury it deep. I developed a persona where
being in control was everything, emotion and caring were signs of weakness. I
kept to myself didn’t show my true feelings.
I
started to dream the dream when I turned sixteen - about the same time I
admitted to myself I was gay. I didn’t fit the heterosexual stereotype of a gay
male, or the stereotype of a soft spoken, effeminate gay man either. I was an
athlete; unbeaten as an amateur boxer, six feet tall, dark thick hair over blue
eyes and voted the hunkiest student in high school. Eventually I would mature
into 200 pounds of American beefcake. I should have been happy but I wasn’t.
At
eighteen, instead of college I hit the road. I was a wandering man going
no-where; looking for something I didn’t know existed. For the next three years
the road was my home. I slept beside it, in buses driving on it and in cheap
motels alongside it. I wasn’t sad or depressed but I wasn’t content either,
there was something missing that I felt I should have experienced in my youth.
I didn’t know where to find what I needed but I looked anyway.
When
I arrived in a new town or city I would make myself as presentable as possible
and find a bar or a nightclub frequented by other men. I knew if I just sat
quietly sooner or later a voice would ask, ‘Can I buy you a drink’ or ‘Want
some company’ - pick-up lines, a reason to connect. Sometimes I would smile and
say “Sure.” I was lonely, yet when someone tried to get too close I’d leave.
How could I solve my problems when I didn’t even know what they were? I needed
company but didn’t want just anyone in my life.
Often
I would end up in a motel, hotel or even someone’s bedroom. I would make my
company happy, so happy that sometimes I would find money in my battered
wallet. I would often use it to buy food, maybe another pair of sneakers. Being
on the road meant I went through a lot of shoes.
But
the money was not the attraction. I often received monetary offers too good to
refuse and I always turned them down. Men, lonely men wanted me but I felt
nothing in return. The urge to move on was always stronger. Besides there was
always something missing; love, genuine affection, a feeling of belonging. I
felt the need to look for something but I didn’t know what. There was a switch
in me that was turned to off, that was my enigma because I didn’t know what I
needed to do or find to turn it on. I marveled that other men wanted me but
couldn’t figure out why.
Then
one day everything changed, the day I found out I wasn’t quite human.
My
wanderings brought me to Las Vegas, Sin City, a place where dreams are made and
shattered on the turn of a card or the click of a roulette wheel. I hadn’t
planned to go to Vegas; it was just in the way of my pointless journey. I had
worked security for five weeks at an art gallery in Los Angeles so I had enough
cash to find a cheap motel.
The
receptionist barely looked up from watching something on her cell phone. She
wasn’t the kind of staff member to encourage business. She was middle aged,
overweight, wore a moo-moo and bright green slippers. Her hair looked like it
had been rejected as a bird’s nest and her makeup applied by a recovering
alcoholic with advanced Parkinson’s.
“How
you gonna pay honey, cash or credit card?”
“Cash,
five nights alright?”
“Sure
honey, we only change the sheets once every two days, less if you want to do
your own laundry. We have a lot of long term residents. You get a discount for
stays longer than two weeks.”
“No
problem, I don’t intend staying for long.” I paid her in full.
“You
wanna a receipt honey?”
I
wonder how much of my dough is gonna see the cash register.
“No,
doesn’t matter to me.”
“Unit
24, here’s your key. There are towels provided, enjoy your stay at Desert Winds
Motel.”
The
units were a cluster of cinder block cells, each with a shower stall built for
someone suffering from anorexia. There was a double bed, small set of drawers,
a closet and tiny flat TV on the wall. Welcome to the Ritz. Outside the
sun was setting. I tossed a dime to see whether I took an early night or a look
around town. Heads it’s an early night. I caught the dime. Damn, best
out of three. My strategy worked; by the time I played best out of eleven
the fates decided I should go out and sink a few beers. Whoever said man isn’t
in control of his fate was a liar.
I
squeezed my body into the shower tomb; at least the water pressure was good. I
washed, shaved, brushed my hair, put on clean jeans, a checkered shirt, my
battered sneakers and sunglasses. I caught a cab to the strip and wandered
about until I found the type of place where I could get lucky.
The
place tried to look up market; a long polished wooden topped bar ran from the
edge of the stage halfway down one wall. There were tables with leather chairs,
private booths and a DJ playing dance music on the stage. The dance floor was
empty. There was a sign by the stage ‘Live band at eight till late.’
The
blackboard by the bar said, ‘Happy hour seven till eight, drinks half price.’
There were poker machines in the corner furthest from the dance floor. Several
customers were huddled over the screens, lost in a world of silly objects, crap
repetitive tunes and dreams of winning back the wage they lost the week before.
The
bar staff wore tight black jeans and pink shirts. The place was pretty quiet,
maybe a dozen patrons. The bartender who served me was in his twenties, gold
earrings, black slicked hair fell to his shoulders, lean, olive skin with brown
eyes. His doe-eyed look reminded me of a deer surprised in the lights of a big
rig the highway. His nameplate said Dion. His perfect white toothed welcome said
‘I paid five grand for a smile like this.’ I dropped a twenty on the bar.
“Beer
cold, long glass.”
“What
brand?”
“Surprise
me.”
“The
house beer is good. Haven’t seen you before, just got into town?”
“Yeah,
nice place, not many customers.”
“Don’t
worry, the crowd will turn up about nine or ten by then the place will be
humming. You alone?”
I
looked left and right and gave him a wink; well he was kind of cute even though
it felt like he was giving me a shakedown. “Yeah, is that ok?”
“Maybe,
if you’re looking for trade, this is the right place.” Dion smiled a knowing
smile. “Boss has got a few rules if you are looking to sell.”
“And
what rules would they be Dion?” I took a sip of beer it was cold, malty. I
approved, the night wasn’t going to be a total loss. Dion locked eyes with me.
“A
lot of the clients here are regulars; if you are offering a service, make sure
you come up with the goods. Boss likes to keep the customers happy, know what I
mean.”
“Sure,
I’m just on my own not a thug or drug dealer for that matter. I’m just passing
through; you won’t get any complaints from any of your regulars.” Dion nodded
and tried again to dazzle me with his teeth.
“Have
a good time, welcome to Shooters.” I smiled back. Dion thinks I am on the
game looking for johns.
“Thanks
Dion.”
I
strolled over to the pokies and joined the rest of the losers, hell I was no
different from most of them. I fed a twenty into the chrome mouth, the random
tunes and the chance of winning fuck all won me over. Time disappeared where I
didn’t have to think; just play, watch the wheels and pictures try to line up.
I amused myself playing for dimes. All the while Shooters began to fill up,
Dion had told the truth. The bar enjoyed a mixed patronage but the clientele
seemed eighty percent gay, mostly young with money to spend, well dressed.
Compared to me they had the buying power of a small corporation. I couldn’t
have cared less.
The
band was pretty good and I sat nursing my beer tapping my toes to the music. By
9pm the place was filling up fast. I began to feel the wandering eyes. I was
sensitive that way, didn’t know why but I could sense things others couldn’t. I
never thought much about why I was so sensitive to looks, furtive glances, and
bedroom eyes. Perhaps all loners all had those sensitivities, a condition
developed after years on the road. Not every stranger on the road wanted to be
your friend. Sensing what was coming was handy, especially the times I had
fought in the boxing ring or dealing to punks and thugs who didn’t understand
what fuck off meant.
The
hair on my neck bristled. What the hell? Whoa, someone’s really looking
hard; I’ve never felt like this before. Careful now, don’t make any sudden
moves, be casual. Is it the guy with the beard? Nope not him, the two guys at
the bar? I see nothing, but someone’s looking hard at me. I can smell
something. Wait a minute, I can’t smell anyone’s personal scent unless he has
just earned the body odor of the year award. I screwed up my nose drew a
lungful of air through my nostrils; there was something, a real distinct
smell. I had never experienced sensations like this before and for a moment the
scent was as real as the cheap cologne of the guy sitting at the next table to
me. Then it was gone. I sipped my beer and relaxed. Wonder how strong this
beer is, I hope Dion didn’t slip me a mickey finn?
“Mind
if I sit down?” He flashed the twenty grand version of Dion the barman’s smile.
On his right hand he wore expensive gold rings on three fingers, a diamond
pinky ring on his left hand and several heavy gold chains around his neck. The
guy was dressed in a dark grey business suit, with an open shirt. His hair was
a handsome silver, his voiced clipped. I figured the dude was in his middle
forties, maybe a little older.
“Sure,”
I smelled trouble; a quick sideways look showed a large bearded goon and a
smaller clean shaven facsimile leaning on the bar. I felt their eyes and they
weren’t friendly.
“My
name’s Red, I own this bar.”
“Nice
place Red.” Red didn’t sound like he was about to throw down the welcome mat.
“You’re
a nice looking guy. What’s your name?”
“Jonas.”
“Got
a last name and a date of birth?”
“Yep,
but that’s my business. Why do you need to know Red?”
“You
got an attitude kid, don’t push your luck. I got contacts with the cops. I want
to do a background check on you. I’ve already got three regulars here asking
about you. They trust my judgement. So - I wanna know your surname and date of
birth.”
“Maybe
I’ll try another bar, Red.”
Red
nodded and the two goons sauntered over trying to look like customers. The big
one placed a large hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s
keep this civil shall we?” Red’s smile was as sincere as a banker at a
foreclosure sale. “Maybe we should discuss this in my office.”
“Do
I have a choice?”
“Well
I do believe we can resolve any issues with dialogue, my guys can get outta
hand at times. I have a feeling our chat will be as beneficial to you as me.”
I
shrugged my shoulders and stood up. “Sure Red, I’m not looking for trouble. You
lead the way.”
Red
smiled, I figured he was a man used to getting his way. I was right about
Dion; he’s spotting for his boss, pity we might have hit it off. The goons
followed behind, I was the sheep in the procession, but sometimes that’s the
way a wolf likes it.
Chapter
Two
Confrontation
Jonas
Red’s
office was opulent. On the gold velvet wall behind his oversized leather tooled
desk were mounted heads of a bear, buffalo and a wolf. The wolf’s head worried
me but I didn’t know why. I wondered if Red had actually shot the trophies in
the wild himself. He struck me as the kind of guy who would pay fifty grand to
shoot animals that were tethered to a fence while he was shooting from the
safety of a tank turret.
In
front of his desk were several easy chairs in brown stitched leather. The
carpet was expensive, soft and deep, I hoped I had some old dog shit embedded
in the tread of my sneakers. I rubbed my soles on the soft pile just in case.
The thought made me smile. The goons stood behind me, no doubt with arms folded
showing off their tattoos and looking staunch. Red sat on the overstuffed
leather office chair behind his desk. What is it with short guys and big
desks?
“So
Jonas, how about we cut to the chase? You wanna earn some money in my bar, you
gotta pass a police check, be tested for HIV. Like I said, I’ve had three
customers ask after you already. They like what they see. One of them will pay
two g’s for the weekend. You give me two hundred and I’ll introduce you to him.”
“I’m
not a rent boy Red; you got the wrong end of the stick. Sure if I meet a guy I
like, I might sleep with him, make him happy, but I never ask for
money. If he wants to give me a room for a few days, maybe some spending money,
so be it. I’ll even help with chores around the house; mow the lawns, maybe
some manual work. Money doesn’t mean much to me Red. You got me wrong. I’m just
a drifter.”
Red
smiled. He thinks he’s onto a winner, the smug prick. He waved a
hand at his goons. “Wait outside, Jonas and I got some business to discuss.”
They left shutting the door behind them.
“Firstly,
the door behind you is the only way out of the office, my boys can be real bad
men, but they can also be friendly if you play your cards right.”
Red
was right, well almost right, I looked through the one way glass on the far
wall of the office. Red could sit at his desk and watch the patrons at the far
end of the bar where the pokies and private booths were located. Red crooked a
finger.
“Come
around to this side of the desk. That’s my boy.” Red held his raging hard-on in
his left hand. Red is so smooth even my eyes slip off him, this must be his
idea of foreplay. His right hand hovered near a button attached to his
desk. “When I told you three of my customers fancied you, I lied. There were
only two. I’m the third; I like young studs, especially blue eyed brunettes. I
can tell you aren’t a professional rent boy; a pro would have jumped at the
chance to make that kind of money. I can tell you are the kind to avoid trouble
as well, an enthusiastic wet mouth is my preference anyway.”
“So
my blowing you is your way of welcoming me to your club?” I can assure you
Red I am no weak slut for your pleasure.
“Hahahaha,
you got it kid, first you suck me off then let me watch you do the same to my
boys. The big guy with the beard, Joey, he wants you bad, but right now you can
attend to me. Get on your knees boy. There are two kinds of people in this
world, those who do and those who do as they are fuckin told.”
I
knelt down. I hope that one way glass isn’t bullet proof.
“You
have a nice cock Red; I suppose you want me to suck it without a condom?”
“Sure,
my boys and I will fuck you bareback as well. You look after me I’ll take care
of you. You just make sure any others wear rubbers. Don’t worry, just relax and
let your mouth do the talking. You’re gonna love my seed. I’m hot for ya kid.”
I
took hold of Red’s cock with my left hand and lightly stroked him. Red closed
his eyes. I watched his right hand; it had dropped away from the panic button
on his desk. I was all smiles, a real twinkle, twinkle little star. I wonder
if Red knows I’m thinking of using his cock like a stick shift and ramming it
from first to reverse without the clutch.
I
closed my right fist as I gently masturbated the rigid cock with my left hand.
He kept his eyes closed and started moaning. Looks like Red has taken
his little blue pill today.
“Yeah
nice boy, take your time, mmmm that’s it. I wanna feel your hot lips on my
cock.”
I
lifted my right shoulder, drew my fist back and hit Red on the point of his
nose. I hit him hard and his nose exploded, blood gushed over my fist and his
expensive silk shirt. Red slumped forward in his chair, he was out cold, at
least for a minute or two. I wiped my fist clean on his shirt, hell it was his
blood, not mine. I dragged Red over to the one way glass window and laid him
beside it.
“Sleep
tight Red.” I patted his cheeks.
I
picked up his heavy chair and carried it to the doorway where the goons waited
outside. Right- make it smooth, make it smooth. I felt excited like I
used to feel in the boxing ring. I lifted the chair above my head and threw it
at the window. I flattened myself beside the office door. Crash! The window
blew out; glass flew in all directions as the chair catapulted into the
nightclub. I heard screams and yells from the patrons.
BOOM!
The door swung open, the goons rushed into the room and made straight for their
unconscious boss. In a split second I was out the door running out into the
nightclub before they realized I hadn’t gone through the smashed window. The
crowd drew back as I sprinted across the crowded room heading for the exit. At
the door a short heavy set Mexican leapt at me feet first with a karate style
kick. Looks good on a movie screen but it’s the dumbest thing you can ever do.
I stepped aside, made a hammer of my fist and hit him in the forehead as he
sailed past. I sensed again that same weird odor I had smelled in the club
before as I continued running out the door onto the crowded sidewalk.
I looked over my shoulder, the goons weren’t
that far behind but I still had the legs and wind of a fighter. I picked up the
pace and started to outdistance my pursuers. I ran for a few hundred yards
dodging startled pedestrians, decided on a change of course turned left at the
next street and began to sprint. Shit! I fucked up, it was a blind alley.
Like Lone Wolf, got questions, love to tell me all about it? email C K Raine at ckraine69 at gmail.com
