Page 16 of Rocky Top

“I can shift in and out,” I murmured. “No cameras. No witnesses. Nobody ever sees a wolf comin’.”

He nodded. “Then you do it as the wolf.”

I turned back to him. “No names. No need to know.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t say one.”

I nodded once. “Then we never speak of it again.”

Knox stepped close, clapped a hand to my shoulder. It wasn’t affection. It was permission. It was war.

“She’s my world, Rocky,” he said quietly. “Make sure it never comes knockin’ again.”

Then he turned back to the bench like nothin’ happened.

And I walked out into the night, already feelin’ the wolf stir beneath my skin.

That nightThe Wild Dog was thumpin’ with bass and crawling with women. My boots hit the floor heavy as I stalked across the back hall, dodgin’ a passed-out prospect and a pair of gigglin’ club girls who were more perfume than clothes. I wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

My mind was on Birdie.

First time I laid eyes on Birdie, I thought she’d wandered into the Wild Dog lookin’ for a damn photoshoot.

It had been a Saturday night… The Wild Dog packed tighter than a tin of chew, and I was behind the bar, coverin’ for Squeegee who’d dipped out to check on the kegs but was probably tryin’ to get into Taters’ cousin’s jeans.

That’s when I saw her.

She walked in like she owned the damn air, blonde hair spillin’ down her back.

Blonde hair so light it looked like sunlight poured through silk. Not a damn thing about her said she belonged in a seedy bar. Nah, she was all shine and polish, like she lived some high-society fantasy, stunning as sin, too perfect to be real.

Girl had green eyes like spring grass after a hard rain. And that body? Shit. She moved like she owned everything around her, every curve tight and toned like she hit the gym more than I hit the throttle. Made it real damn hard to think straight when she walked into a room with those long legs and that little strut like she knew exactly how hot she was.

And she was hot. Even when she started bein’ loud as hell, battin’ those lashes at someone who didn’t deserve her attention.

I leanedagainst the back cooler, nursin’ a beer, tryin’ not to stare. Tryin’ and failin’.

“Eliza brought a friend,” Smokey muttered beside me, not lookin’ up from his whiskey. “You’re droolin’.”

“I ain’t droolin’,” I growled, but wiped my mouth just in case.

I didn’t know her name yet, but I knew trouble when I saw it. And she was wearin’ it head-to-toe in electric pink boots, ripped jeans with little rhinestones, and some kinda cropped fringe jean jacket that looked more rockstar than biker chick. Her sunglasses, at night, were perched right on top of her head like a damn crown.

Next to her, Eliza looked like a schoolteacher, which, hell, she was. But the blonde? She was sunshine in human form. Glitter, gloss, and enough sass to make a man forget his own name.

She didn’t hesitate. Just strutted up to the bar, giant pink phone in one hand, designer purse in the other, and smiled like she’d known me her whole life.

“Do you have elderflower syrup?” she asked, dead serious.

I blinked. “Do I look like I run a garden party?”

She laughed, light and bright, like chimes in a summer breeze. “Nope. But a girl can dream, right?”

“Only thing syrupy around here’s the bourbon,” I muttered, gruff as ever.

“Eliza didn’t say y’all were this charming,” she teased, takin’ a seat likeshe owned it.

“She bring you here for a dare?”

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