Chapter One
Steven
Chicago Sun: Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters is Setting His Sights on Another Stanley Cup!
Chicago Bullet: Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters, the Werewolf Can Do No Wrong!
NY Times: The Chicago Wild Dogs are Lucky to have a Werewolf on their Team!
USA Today: Congress is Set for Hearings Regarding the Legality of Werewolves on Sports Teams. Is their Participation Fair?
Los Angeles Times: Is There Anything Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters Can do Wrong?
The growl erupting from my throat was natural, needed at this moment. There was nothing contrived about the deep, dark warning sound. Why the hell was my brother getting all the accolades? I was a much better hockey player if I said so myself.
But Saint was the golden boy of the National Hockey League, a man who was gathering trophies like he used to do with women. I, on the other hand, remained on the down-low. The grand master of hockey’s little brother, a kid considered bad to the bone.
“I could tell you about a million fucking things he does wrong.” Grumbling the words, I raked my hand over the scruff on my face while jerking up from the kitchen table.
With my thumbs doing the work, I continued scrolling through my brother’s Instagram profile, still snarling as I did. When another headline with an old, ridiculous photograph of my brother appeared along with the polished one used by a major network anchor, I was ready to beat the crap out of someone.
Or to rip them limb from limb.
I pressed play and instantly wished I hadn’t.
The Today Show, Carter Wainwright: “Join me this Friday with my special guest, Saint ‘The Savage’ Masters, center with the Chicago Wild Dogs, a man considered to be the best athlete in the world. But his success isn’t without controversy, including whether he continues to hunt human prey as his mainstay of food.”
“What. The. Fuck?” Yes, the entire shifter nation had heard that crap right after we’d been forced to come into the light. But now that so much time had gone by since being outed, why couldn’t people leave it alone? When we had neighborhood barbeques, the choice meat wasn’t ground humanburger, for God’s sake.
My fucking God. Were there any intelligent humans on this planet? My eyes almost bugged out of my head when good ole Carter played another dark and gloomy video.
A photograph had managed to slide past the very tight military-style security surrounding the oldest shifter park in the country, the one used by the family pack a well as thousands of others over a full decade. The hundreds of acres had been legally purchased and were used for hunting purposes, following all laws. It was protected for a reason.
So that wayward humans wouldn’t wander into the forest and find themselves the object of wolfen desire or any of the other wild animals frequenting the site. The park was for recreational use only, allowing shifters to burn off steam and frustration from the week by being in their natural state and hunting small animals.
Not humans.
The longer the lies were perpetuated, the more fuel would be given to the politicians trying to destroy our rights and the shifter hunter groups that had developed since we were outed. While Saint had learned to handle his emotions under pressure, along with a helping emotional hand from his lovely human mate, this was going too far.
How were we all supposed to live in harmony when shifters could walk down the street and have human children start to cry, terrified the big, bad werewolf was going to eat them? Fuck. I was furious.
Time for fucking coffee. Maybe I’d add a little bourbon to the brew. After the crappy week I’d experienced, I deserved a little self-healing. I could not believe we’d lost the damn game last night. And to the San Diego Serpents of all fucking teams. They were last in the league.
At least they had been until last night.
Cringing, I reached for the bottle before curling my fingers as I thought about what was on my schedule for the day.
Well, shit. With practice later, I guess my foray into indulgence and debauchery would need to wait. “And we aren’t fucking werewolves!” I snapped out loud, puffing up like some huge gorilla. “We’re shifters. There’s a big difference and if you don’t know what that means, come to my house and let me show you. Werewolves will tear you from limb to limb. Shifters will at least offer you a drink first.”
Taking a fighter’s stance, I growled and even howled a couple of times for good measure while slashing the air with invisible claws. As if shifters behaved that way any longer. We weren’t predators, unless you crossed us.
We didn’t enjoy killing people, only small animals for fresh, furry snacks and only in designated areas such as shifter parks and specialized hunting grounds.
“Wow. I’m terrified.” My best and one of my only friends Tyler Wilson stood in the doorway, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You have nothing to worry about. At least for now.” At least I could still manage to laugh, even though I remained in a shit-kicking mood.
“Are you reading all the glow and show about your brother again? I thought you’d decided after landing your ass in jail for breaking that reporter’s jaw it wasn’t in your best interest.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t help it. My brother’s goddamn face is everywhere. Look at this.” I navigated to the Chicago Bullet page, tapping my brother’s grinning photograph. You bet he had every reason in the world to be happy.
A huge salary.
A fancy house and four cars.
A second Stanley Cup on the way.
And he had the beautiful love of his life curled in his bed every night. At least she had him wrapped around her little finger and then some.
The damn asshole had better not complain.
“Why in the fuck do you bother looking at news articles if they put you in a shitty mood? You need to focus on the upcoming game. We can’t lose.” Tyler pushed me out of the way before I snatched his favorite coffee mug, even grabbing the handle of the huge pot I’d made just to shit with me.
“Thanks, Coach. I didn’t know you’d taken on a new role. And I’m always in a pissy mood. Why are you shitting me?” I grinned, even though my proclamation was right.
“Good point, buddy, and someone needs to get your ass in gear. By the way,” he said as he poured a heaping mug. “I thought you and your brother were close.”
Huffing, I leaned my back against the edge of the counter, folding my arms. “We are. I adore him. We’re like this.” I crossed my index and middle fingers before bending my index, leaving the middle loud and proud in the air. The truth was being outed had created tension between us, beyond our already unhealthy level of competition.
And testosterone.
“Jesus.” He thudded his cup onto the kitchen table, grabbing my iPad. “It’s not like you aren’t in the goddamn newspapers every day yourself.”
“For what? Being a playboy? Breaking a reporter’s jaw? Being the most handsome player in the league? Getting all the hot little puck bunnies my heart could desire?” My tone of voice had changed, becoming the suave one my teammates hated. I even did a little spinning dance move for emphasis.
Tyler just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but also for your incredible skills. When you can hunt them down.”
I must seem completely depressed if he was shifting away from his usual harsh ribbing of my talent. Or as he always told me, lack thereof. Very slowly I turned my head in his direction. I’d lost the edge. I knew it. Hell, everyone knew it.
He could barely contain the smirk. When he burst into laughter, I resisted giving him the two-finger salute this go-around. “Dude. I know you’re jealous of Saint, but your time will come.”
“I’m not jealous of my brother,” I snapped.
He stared at me with clear amusement in his eyes. “Sure.”
“He’s just over the top with everything.” The truth was that I was in his shadow. Here I went feeling sorry for myself again. There was no reason other than I’d been dubbed the bad boy of the American Hockey League, second tier to the NHL and not exactly the best moniker for being called up to the NHL.
It also didn’t help I was Saint Masters’ brother or that I was a goddamn wolf man, as so many of the ladies preferred calling me.
“Why don’t we stroke your ego this morning. Again.” He grabbed my iPad and before I could snatch it from his hand, he’d already backed away. Yeah, he knew my passcode. The dude knew almost everything about me, including all the sordid details about being arrested more than once in my youth. Not my finest hours, but stories about the steamy altercations had certainly boosted my reputation.
As he scrolled through various screens on the handheld, I continued grousing. “My guess is you won’t find shit.”
“Ah, here we go. From the Philadelphia Star. Is Steven ‘The Beast’s’ bark worse than his bite?”
“Oh, come the fuck on. It doesn’t say that and that’s not my nickname.”
“Yeah, that was the exact quote and I don’t think the Puck Bunny Tormenter is something to write home to your mother about. Here’s another one. This one is ugly.”
“What are you talking about?”
He flashed the screen showing me what he was looking at. I had to narrow my eyes to figure it out. “That was a stupid party. I didn’t undress the girl. She just took off her clothes.”
“But that is you sucking Jell-O off her titties. Right? And how about the word written on her stomach? I don’t think the puck bunnies like to be called bitches.”
“We were kidding around, man.”
“Uh-huh. Oh, look. You’re being compared to your brother. A new bad boy is in town.” Tyler laughed at my expense.
Great. Just another time I was being compared to Saint ‘the Savage’ Masters. It didn’t matter how I played the game. Saint would always be better than his little brother.
“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.”
[divider]Chapter Two
Steven
Ah, shit.
Signs. Lots of them.
I adjusted the hoodie as soon as I exited my vehicle. Thank God I’d parked near the back entrance. There was a huge group of people in the parking lot near the main set of doors, all shouting and waving homemade and very colorful signs.
Given there were two distinct sides regarding the existence of shifters, they were screaming at each other.
“Werewolves are people too!”
“Fuck that. Werewolves are nothing but animals who deserve to be in a zoo.”
“No, they deserve to be hunted and killed.”
The sharp cries were nothing in comparison to the penmanship and art on the makeshift signs.
Werewolves: The Next Dark Meat
My fucking God.
Most of the time, I was easily able to ignore both the protestors and supporters. Unless they wanted an autograph from Steven Masters, the talented hockey player, I wasn’t interested. But today, I was floored by the level of anger driven into half the people.
Werewolves have rights!
Hunt and kill them!
Werewolves eat our children.
My stomach churned and I took a single long stride toward them. After what I’d witnessed Saint going through and the lies told, I’d been left incensed and angry. I’d worked very hard to shove aside my ill feelings for some humans, but a day like today and the horrible things being said made it very difficult.
I had no doubt the hate had been fueled by my supposed bombshell proving the haters right. No way in hell would I ever betray my brother.
Tyler had been right in that the teaser had been one of four that had been dropped about the huge guest appearance so far. I dreaded to see if there was another one, but there was a long time before now and Friday.
A blip on my phone caught my attention. For some stupid reason, I’d turned on social media notification. Right after Tyler had shared the godawful news, my phone had started to blow up, not only with notifications on every social media page, but also calls from unknown numbers. I knew what that meant.
Reporters were ready to hound me like a fucking dog.
I backed away before the crowd could see me. The last thing I needed was to get in the middle of a melee. A blip out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Jesus. This was going to be a very long day.
A news van from Channel Nine had rounded the corner. Oh, hell, no. With my head down, I tried to act nonchalant as I headed for the rear door.
I’d be damned if I hadn’t accidentally turned my ringer up high.
Stopping short, I could tell by the sudden silence I’d also caught the attention of the crowd. Very slowly, I tipped my head over my shoulder. When I did, my hoodie popped off my head.
“That’s the Beast!” The shrill woman’s scream was all the others needed to take off running in my direction.
What the goddamn fuck? With at least one hundred people running in my direction, I found myself frozen on the spot. Now, some of the signs were being held like weapons as if at least half the people were going to tear me apart limb from limb.
This was insane. These were decent, hardworking people. Yet here they came all because I’d given them fodder for their devotion. Both good and bad.
I was at the outside door in a flash, groaning when I found it locked. Oh, no. I could rip it open. With no effort, I could yank the door off the hinges and toss it by three hundred feet.
But what would that solve other than putting even more fear of God into them.
“Beast. Beast. Beast!”
Then there was the thought of what my rabid fans would do if they caught up with me. Nah, being a superstar wasn’t on my bingo card. I pounded on the door, praying one of the security guards could hear me.
The crowd was getting closer, even running over each other to get to me first. Wait a minute. Were they chanting ‘kill’? Oh, fuck me. This was getting out of hand.
I pounded again. “Jerry! You better be there.”
They were close. Way too close. Holy shit. My body hummed, tingles of electricity tickling every synapse. Oh, this wasn’t good. Not even a little bit. If I wasn’t careful…
Bam. Bam. Bam!
“Jerry!” My yell was strangled as fuck, my skin now itching, which was exactly what happened mere seconds before I shifted.
“Beast. I love you. I want to have your children!” The woman’s scream brought an angry wave of jealousy. Now people were pushing and shoving to get to me first.
The odds weren’t looking in my favor. If I shifted, I could kiss my motherfucking career goodbye. I tried. I really did try not to shift. I was squeezing my muscles, trying to think of anything else that might prevent me from the transition, but it was becoming a losing battle.
“What the fuck is all the commotion about?”
As soon as Jerry opened the door, the force I used crashing into the corridor shoved him against the wall.
“What the hell?” he snapped until he figured out who was scrambling to close the door. “Oh, Mr. Masters, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you. What’s going on out there?”
I’d no sooner closed and locked the door than the wild crowd had arrived, now pounding on the steel surface. Exhaling, I briefly closed my eyes. Was this what Saint had been forced to go through? Until recently, I’d been mostly a nobody, refusing to mention I happened to be Saint’s brother.
Then someone had found out.
Even then, I’d remained under the radar, never being photographed with the family or with him directly. As if I was ashamed of who I was. “I was careless, Jerry. Fucking careless. Some people are afraid of the big bad wolf. I guess I’m nothing but a savage.” While they shouldn’t be. The incidents of shifters partaking in any crimes, let alone killing and eating people, were less than three percent of crimes committed. Yet that didn’t seem to matter.
To some, we were nothing but ugly, heinous monsters.
“If you ask me, Mr. Masters, they’re the savages. You’ve always been very nice to me. Pretty cool, dude.”
Opening my eyes, I half laughed, trying to ignore the latest round of enticements offered by some women outside.
If I’d wanted to be a well-kept man, I could have my choice spending my days in a G-string and being stroked like a cat. Who knew. Maybe that’s how I’d retire.
“Thanks, Jerry. Means a lot today.” I stood to my full height, smoothing down my jacket. “Now, if you don’t mind doing me a favor.”
“Sure thing.”
“Can you get a security team to try and encourage my fans, haters, and members of the press to leave the premises?”
His grin was so bright it was like I’d asked him to be my own personal bodyguard. Hell, maybe that would need to come with time. “It would be my honor to do so. Looking forward to the game on Saturday. You’re my favorite player of all time.”
“Well, thank you, Jerry. You’re a pretty cool guy yourself.”
After shaking his hand, I moved through the bowels of the building toward the set of offices. Maybe I needed to stay away from parties for a little while. Yeah, but what fun in being a pseudo celebrity would that be?
Especially when Jell-O fighting was involved.
My thoughts drifted to the crap on the network. Someone must have tipped them off or pretended to be me. Why would anyone do that?
Who was I kidding? The why was easy. There were some people eager to do whatever it took to wipe us off the face of the earth. I’d even heard through various circles that there were hunters banding together to try to flush shifters from the shadows. At least I could laugh. They’d be wasting their precious time since we looked, acted, smelled, ate, drank, and fucked just like any other regular ole human.
When my phone chirped again, I stopped walking, ready to bite the head off a bear. I almost answered with a growl before bothering to look.
It wasn’t every day that the supposed smoking gun was confessing to spending time with your famous brother hunting humans. Now, the network had been smart enough not to insinuate we’d tracked them down, capturing and carving them into delicate pieces for the grill, but human imaginations didn’t need much fuel.
The fire had already exploded as if TNT had been added.
It wouldn’t be long until I’d need to get a story together. I had to talk to my family and figure out how to handle the horrible situation before it got completely out of hand.
Besides, Jerry wouldn’t always be around to save the day. Grinning, I tried to shake off the experience.
The blip was just another notification. I could only imagine what Tyler would say about how my name was trending now.
I needed to talk to Saint, but he’d yet to return my calls. Did he actually believe our brotherly rivalry had pushed me into threatening not only his career but also his life? Did people not get that death threats had been tossed out before?
Hearing voices coming from behind the coach’s closed door perpetuated the gnawing I’d felt in the pit of my stomach.
Delaying heading into his office wasn’t going to change the outcome. I could feel bad news in my bones. That was the way I was made.
Maybe that’s why when I heard my father’s ringtone, I laughed bitterly. Speak of the devil. One of his many unearthly abilities was being a mind reader. I doubted that it had anything to do with being a big, alpha wolf and more about his honed instincts from being a father.
“Hey, Dad. How’s business?”
I leaned against the concrete block wall, closing my eyes in some crazy hopes of blocking out the bullshit.
“Don’t you dare ‘how’s business’ with me, son. What the fuck did you say to the people at the Today Show?”
“I didn’t say a single thing to them, Pops. And why do you always assume I’m the bad guy?”
“Call it experience. Let’s not hide behind any pretense, son. We have a crisis to handle and you know how I feel about this kind of shit.”
Nope. My dear ole dad had never minced words. Barrett Masters suffered no fools, including among his children. He was too powerful. Too influential.
Too fucking rich.
And always right.
Which was the usual truth. My dad had an uncanny ability to know when people were lying. He could smell it on their breath. He’d been the single reason our pack had been protected for as long as it had.
“Why can’t you and your brother just stay out of controversy? Seriously?”
“Dad. I didn’t talk to that damn reporter. No phone calls. No emails. Nothing. They are simply trying to hype their program. Call it click bait.”
He exhaled so many times I was certain the man was going to either hyperventilate or have a heart attack. “Do you have any idea how many phone calls I’ve had over the last two hours?”
I knew this speech by heart. I daresay so did Saint. So I mimicked it when my father started to speak.
““I’ve had fifty-two calls in the last two hours. Fifty-two. Reporters. Investors. Board members. Hell, your grandmother called and she’s way too busy with that new boyfriend of hers to stay in contact. How the hell did you get yourself in the middle of this shit?”
Wow. My grandmother had a boyfriend. Now that was new. “Dad, I’m not guilty. Just like you know Saint isn’t going to spill some shit about the gym and our pack. People are fishing. Or someone opened their fat canine mouth.”
“What are you insinuating? That we have a mole out to get us?”
“How else would reporters know about the park and our special gym?”
Of course the man was weighing whether or not I was telling him the truth. “You have a point, even if I don’t like it. You’re not lying to me?”
“What point would there be with my lying to you? We have too many enemies as it is. I’d like to actually have a career in the NHL. You know?”
“You had better believe our son, Barrett, or so help me God, you won’t get any for a month.”
Hearing my mother’s stern voice in the background usually made me smile. Not in this case. I didn’t need to hear details about their sex life.
Not only was there an ick factor to it, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex. For all the stories told about big, buff hockey players, all the romance books and even with a new television series, it was all bullshit.
Well, unless you were the top players. Sure, they could have any woman they wanted.
Great. How many times in one day was I going down the road of feeling sorry for myself?
“I trust our son, sugar baby,” my dad said in return, barely trying to disguise the lovey-dovey tone he’d always used with her. For all his gruff and tough way of handling everyone else, Mama Wolf had him wrapped around her little finger. “Wait. Don’t take the phone.”
“Hi, honey. Let me know if your dad causes you any trouble. If so, I’ll handle him.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
“Alright. Here’s your dad. You need to come for dinner soon, son. I miss you.”
“Miss you too, Mom.” Yep. We were just one big happy family. A normal family. Would there ever be anything normal again?
While I rubbed my aching eyes, the two of them finished a totally inappropriate conversation. Dad cleared his throat before issuing his final words on the subject. “I don’t think I need to tell you not to talk to reporters. That story just needs to die a miserable death.”
“I know better and I’m not heading to New York for the Today Show either.”
“Good. I’ll handle the bastards. I’ve already put in a call to our attorney. He’ll ruin everyone touching this if necessary.”
“Don’t do that, Dad. This will blow over.” There were other shifters in the news including one hot lead singer from a rock band who continued to get himself in daily trouble. He’d even been caught by several photographers when halfway between being human and wolf. Not a good look for anyone. That’s the effect cocaine had on the shifter population.
He seemed surprised I was comforting him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, but I’m finished with having your brother taken advantage of.”
What about me? I wanted to ask the question but didn’t.
“You too. Let me handle the situation.” My father’s voice remained gruff. At least he had the capability of making things disappear.
“Okay, Dad. I will. Have you talked with Saint?”
“We’re about to chat in a couple minutes, which is why I need to run.”
I smacked my head against the wall. “Well, tell him to call me.” As if I believed he would.
“I will, but you know how your brother is.”
“Yeah, I do.” All too well. My father wasn’t one for formalities, hanging up without offering even a gruff goodbye.
I stood with the phone held against my head, trying to control my breathing.
Just before I turned to go down the hall toward the offices, I backtracked to one of the windows looking out over the parking lot.
While security was actively doing their best to remove the fans and protestors, I could still read their signs.
Werewolves are people too.
Werewolves deserve a chance.
Werewolves are sexy beasts.
Kill the savages.
Some were even more creative. And brutal.
A reminder that we weren’t wanted here, even though we were just people trying to enjoy our lives.
The signs were very colorful in shades of black, orange, and red.
Expressions of both love and hate.
I leaned against the window. Fuck my life.
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