Wolf Hunter (5 page)

Well, except for two. His waitress was a werewolf. And the hostess. Was there an affirmative action on hiring wolves as hospitality staff in this town? He couldn’t kill anyone here with the other patrons acting like the waitress walked on water for delivering plates of the Sunday Special (pancakes big as the plate, eggs “done as you like” and four strips of fatty bacon). He shoved his white mug to the end of his table, as far away as he could get it so she’d keep her distance while topping him up with the hot coffee. He grunted when she asked how he was doing and ignored her after that until she left him alone. The hostess stayed at her position near the door, but he kept an eye on her anyway. So what if she looked thirteen? He’d put down younger.

Looked all quiet across the square. Curlicue Coffee Shop remained shuttered. A few people walked the square in track pants, the morning traffic consisted of a steady line of pick-up trucks and minivans circling the square to exit mostly out the south side, which, according to Jaylen’s map, led to the interstate thirty miles away and, more locally and probably more likely for a Sunday, five of the town’s ten churches. No one even slowed down to wonder why Curlicue was closed. A shadow dropped over Jaylen’s table. At first, he thought the sun had gone behind a cloud, but then a cheerful voice said, “Jaylen, right?” and Jaylen looked up to see the sun was inside and beaming at him through Westley’s guileless smile.

Jaylen forced himself to listen to his body before he responded, even though Westley had a smile he wanted to dive into. His veins stayed quiet; his tongue stayed moist. That was all he needed. Westley wasn’t a werewolf. Praise ye gods. “Hey. You want to sit down?”

“Sure.”

Jaylen took advantage of Westley’s distraction in pulling out the plastic chair to appreciate the way his gray T-shirt stretched over his chest. Now that the wolf question was out of the way, Jaylen was ready to let his horn dog flag fly.

“Thanks,” Westley said. “I’m supposed to meet my friend here, but I guess he’s running late.”

“
How late?”

“
Twenty minutes?” Westley said. He didn’t sound sure. “He might have had to work. He’s not very good at calling.”

“
Well, he sounds like he sucks,” Jaylen said cheerfully. He stabbed another heaping forkful of his buckle. “This is delicious.” He spoke with his tongue wrapped in sweet, tart, goo, not caring that someone, somewhere, had told him not to talk with his mouth full. Pointing at it with his fork, he added, “You should get this.”

“
I usually get the special.” Westley smiled in the non-committal way of a man uninterested in what he was missing. “The pancakes are really good.”

Jaylen closed his eyes to savor the remains on his tongue. “Mmm.”

Westley cleared his throat. Jaylen opened his eyes to see him grinning. “You really like food.”

“
Small pleasures, man.” Sighing in ecstasy, he took another bite. Times like this, he didn’t want to know if the woman he kept catching glimpses of through the kitchen’s swinging doors was a wolf. Times like this, he wanted to pretend she was a sweet middle-aged lady who liked baking pies and keeping people happy. For that reason, that weakness, he’d go back and thank her later, get close enough to her to let the drug do its magic on him. Because he couldn’t afford to be soft like this. He’d have his pie now, and if she was a wolf, he’d feel sick about how much he’d enjoyed it later, and he’d cure that sickness by putting her down.

“
Well, in that case, you should try the waffles,” Westley said. “The secret ingredient is nutmeg.”

“
Maybe I will. So, how’s your garden?” Jaylen asked. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.

Westley looked confused for a moment, but then his expression cleared. “Oh, right. You saw the books I had yesterday. Yeah. It’s, you know, it’s a hobby. Saves money on vegetables and I grow my own herbs and stuff.” As he talked, he sorted the condiments on the table, lining up the syrup, sugar, and tabasco sauce in a row.

“You cook too?” Jaylen asked. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d get a dinner invite out of this—damn sight better than eating take-out for the thousandth time this month.

“
Well, uh,” Westley’s ears turned red. “Not very well. But I’ve got a strong stomach, so—” He grinned.

Jaylen grinned back.

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you I like your hair. The different colored rubber bands and stuff.” He waved the back of his hand in an awkward gesture that encompassed Jaylen’s head and the two feet on either side.

Jaylen fingered the ends of his braids. Each one was tied with a small neon rubber band. He’d left them loose today to hang down to his mid-chest and back, but the big rubber band was in his pocket in case he needed to get his hair out of the way to do some killing. “Thanks. I do it myself.”

“Seriously?” Westley leaned forward, before apparently thinking better of sticking his nose into a near stranger’s hair. “How long does that take?”

“
Hours,” Jaylen said. “So, am I the first black guy you’ve ever met? I haven’t seen anybody who wasn’t white since I rolled into town.” He kept his tone light, but Westley’s answer would tell him how he should interpret the stares the locals kept throwing his way and whether Westley had sat down because he liked Jaylen or because he had a kink for black guys he wanted to explore.

“
No, you’re not,” Westley said. He pushed his shoulders back, as if he were trying to look more worldly. “I went to college. And graduate school.” No mistaking the pride in his voice.

Jaylen grinned. Christ, he was cute. “But if you hadn’t, I would be?”

“We actually have three black families in La Mer, so there.” Westley crossed his arms and fixed a smug expression on Jaylen like he expected a prize.

“
Wow, that many,” Jaylen said obediently, but also meaning it. For a town this small, situated in the middle of a bunch of other no name towns in the midwest, three families wasn’t anything to sneeze at. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to get confrontational with you.”

“
You didn’t,” Westley said. “I get what it’s like to be the odd man.”

Jaylen couldn’t imagine how that was possible, unless Westley thought being a hot gigantic white dude made his life rough, but he was interrupted before he could ask.

“Westley!” The waitress hurried over. Jaylen tensed when she gave Westley a hug, which Westley happily returned.

“
Hi Patty!”

“
You want the special, hon?”

“
Please.” Good God, did Westley give that huge smile to everyone? Jaylen didn’t feel so special anymore. He sat like a putz and hating himself for it because,
hello
, some people liked to smile and he shouldn’t take it so damn personally that Westley was one of those people. It wasn’t like he had lifelong designs on the guy. More like forty minutes of flip-fucking and a hand job farewell.
Yeah right. You wanted a whole night with him and his ass and eggs and bacon in the morning. You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to your dick.

“
You know, thank you so much for helping Mikey.” The waitress wolf was
still talking
, and Westley was
still smiling
, now with added nodding. She turned to Jaylen. He sat up, trying to hide his alarm at being addressed, pushing it down along with his desire to spill her guts on the table with a twist of his hidden blade. “My son had the flu, and Westley got him back on his feet before he missed any school.”

“
Wow,” Jaylen said. He wasn’t sure how he was expected to respond. “How’d you do that?” he asked Westley.

“
Oh, he’s wonderful with herbs,” Patty answered. “Has a cure for everything. Don’t you, hon?”

Either Jaylen was crazy, or Westley looked uncomfortable right then. “You make me blush,” Westley said, not blushing. Maybe it was discomfort at the praise, but for a split second Westley had looked... terrified. Patty didn’t seem to notice as she hugged him again.

“’I’ll get that special going for you,” she said as she hurried off.

“
I bet Mikey isn’t too happy with you,” Jaylen said. “Man, what were you thinking? Curing a kid before he misses any school?” He watched Westley’s expression.

“
Yeah, I should probably avoid him for a little while.” Westley seemed more relaxed as he slouched in the too-small chair. His knees knocked into Jaylen’s under the table. Whether he noticed or not, he didn’t shift away.

“
So, maybe you want to show me your garden some time?” Jaylen asked.

Westley looked puzzled. He sat up, pulling his knees from Jaylen’s. “You’re into gardening?”

“No.” Jaylen stared at him, waited for him to get it. (
I’m trying to hit on you in public.
) He darted his tongue out in a flagrant display of lip-licking.

“
But you said— Oh.” Westley grinned. “Ohh. Yeah, you can, uh, come see my garden.” He put too much emphasis on it, and Jaylen winced. Clearly Westley wasn’t versed in subtlety.

“
What’s going on over there?” The father proprietor asked from behind the counter. Jaylen started up to put himself between the man and Westley, even though Westley looked like he could take him, easy, but the man’s finger pointed out the window, toward which every patron’s head swiveled.

A police car had pulled up in front of the Curlicue and two officers were peering inside, crouching and angling in an attempt to see through the blinds. “They probably forgot it’s closed on Sunday,” someone said. Laughter followed and people returned to their business of stuffing themselves. Westley, though, looked troubled. He checked his phone. “You didn’t hear about anything happening last night, did you?”

“Like what?”

“
I don’t know. My friend who was supposed to meet me, Austin, he normally partners with the officer over there.”

“
The one trying to open the door or the one lurking around the window?”

“
The window,” Westley said. “I could understand if he stood me up to work, but he hasn’t texted, and he isn’t over there.”

Jaylen reached across the table and dared to squeeze Westley’s hand. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
And if he isn’t, you will be because if he’s the wolf I killed last night, I probably saved your life.

“
Yeah.” Westley’s cheeks were red as he took his hand back. “Raincheck until later? I should go make sure he’s okay.”

“
Sure.”
Later
should give him enough time to hide all the weird stuff that made up his everyday life. “I should give you my num—” but Westley was already gone. Nobody raised a stink when he ran out without paying.
Small town trust.
They knew he’d be back later. Jaylen watched him hurry over to the officers. They spoke to him briefly. From Westley’s squared shoulders, Jaylen guessed he hadn’t learned anything new. He signaled to his wolf waitress to keep the refills coming and kept his eyes on the action. He paid and left after they unlocked the coffee shop door. No sense sticking around after that.

He contemplated hanging out to see if he could slice Patty on her break, but deemed it too much of a risk. He’d do her later. Her father hadn’t sparked his radar, and he still needed to check out Mom. Patty might be a shifter by bite, which would put her on the low end of the totem pole. The hereditary wolves were the ones to watch for, power passed down generation to generation, a genetic dysfunction, a sickness those werewolves treated as an excuse to lord it up and act like assholes. The born alphas and omegas were those with the shifter line in their blood. All the bitten wolves were betas, stuck in the middle of the hierarchy so long as they went unmated, and, as far as Jaylen could tell, pretty damn useless. He didn’t take much pleasure in killing wolves like Patty, but the hereditaries? Hell yeah. He’d slaughter them morning, noon, and night. Didn’t matter to him if they were alpha or omega. Granted, he didn’t run into an omega as often since they tended to be more homebound, but he’d slice one if he saw it. After all, it takes two to make a monster. They were the kind that had killed his family. Had killed him.

He turned on the local radio station on his drive back to the motel. “...two bodies found...” No mention of finding the wolf, but maybe the police hadn’t released that information. They might have deemed it “too weird” for public consumption. No identification on the “victims,” pending “family notification.” He parked in front of his room and walked up to his door. Something that looked like a small white rug dipped in blood lay in front of it. Nudging it with his boot, he rolled it over to see a small, dead face. It was a rabbit. He stepped back, hand on his knife.

“
Denton?”

No response. Of course not. This was a tease. Bastard liked to play with him, always had.
“You best run, son.”
Jaylen tossed the rabbit beneath a bush that grew against the parking lot. He didn’t run anymore. Now he killed. He’d have Denton running soon enough.

WESTLEY’S GROWLING STARTED deep in his gut as he drove the winding country roads that led him home. It almost always surprised him when he was angry enough to get like this. Austin’s partner hadn’t told him anything. In fact, he’d outright dismissed him. Mark could be a real ass when it came to “tradition,” and his tradition didn’t include an omega wanting to know things. “None of your business, boy,” was the reply when Westley asked where Austin was. The kicker was the bastard was a
beta
. He’d been turned the year before. It wasn’t even his tradition he was defending. There was nothing worse than an unmated beta because all they did was try to pull rank games until they made it official with an omega and cemented their “superiority” as a de facto alpha. Of course, sometimes it went the other way and they wanted an alpha, but those betas usually settled down a lot faster and with a lot less showboating. Then there were the rare pairs, the betas who mated other betas. When he was younger his parents had warned him to steer clear.
“There’s a place for everyone already set. Those there are carving out a place for themselves where one shouldn’t exist.”
But that was why Westley had liked them.