Page 1 of The Rabbit's Foot
Chapter 1
Malachi Kurian squeezed the icy-cold Miller bottle in front of him. All he’d wanted was to come into the bar, have a couple drinks, find someone for a few hours of companionship, and then go out, shift, and run. Was that too fucking much to ask?
The night had started fine. He’d awoken hungry, thirsty, and more than a little horny. He decided he needed something he hadn’t had in far too long: sex. The best place to get that, especially in this buttcrack of a town, would be at a bar, so he hopped on his motorcycle and headed for the unincorporated Swenson, Oregon. The population was only 175, but the last time Mal had come through a few years ago, there’d been some real lookers. Men, women—Mal didn’t much care, as long as he relieved the ache in his balls.
He’d taken a seat at the long wood and chrome bar in the Brushback Tavern, the only one around for thirty miles, and ordered a steak, some whipped potatoes, and two bottles of beer. Once he satisfied those urges, then he’d work on taking care of his other issue. Though there weren’t more than a dozen people in the place, Mal saw three that would suit him just fine: a young man standing by the jukebox, swaying his slender hips; a woman with a generous amount of boobage and legs that Mal knew would squeeze him hard as she rode him; and someone who smelled of a man, but had hair dyed the color of the setting sun and was dressed in the sheerest clothes Mal had ever seen, including a gauzy midriff top and teeny tiny shorts that showed off a supple ass. Mal smiled at the fact that he’d have to peel the person out of those clothes, and that thought excited him to no end.
Everything had been going to plan. Until it went to shit.
“Are you flirting with my husband?” a woman shrieked.
The one Mal had decided to set his sights on stepped back, his eyes wide. “What? Ew, no! Why the hell would I want your gnarly, wrinkled old man?” His gaze scanned the room, landing on Mal. He gave a triumphant smirk. “I’d rather have him fuck me than let your prune get within three inches of me.” He held up his hand, fingers parted slightly. “Because, you know, that’s about all he’s got in his pants. Probably explains why you’re so bitter.”
And that set the woman off big-time. She threw herself at the object of Mal’s lust, and the two of them fell to the floor, tussling. Mal huffed out a sigh.Well, it won’t be him tonight.Oh, well. Still two other viable—
Then every goddamn person in the bar took sides, and the fists started flying, letting Mal know the night was going to be a bust. Goddamn humans and their petty squabbles. The least they could have done was waited until he’d gotten off.
The thud of heavy boots coming up from behind had Mal shaking his head. “Trust me, you don’t want to be missing anything important when the night is over. Go back to your table, sit down, and shut up,” he growled, his voice low. The feet retreated quickly. Mal turned on the stool and glared at the people. “All of you, sit the fuck down!”
It got so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone scurried to their seats or headed for the exit as fast as they could.
“Thanks, man,” the bartender said, his voice quaking. He slid another beer to Mal. “On the house.”
“Appreciated,” Mal replied, twisting the top off the beer and chugging it down.
Mal hadn’t done it for him. He didn’t know the man, and the guy wasn’t on the list of the pickings for the night, so Mal lost interest in the conversation quickly. Since there wasn’t going to be any fun in the sack, Mal decided he’d head back to his temporary den. In the morning he’d head out once more. Maybe this time he’d go to Washington state. Plenty of forests to run there. He needed to get out before local law enforcement started asking questions, which they always seemed to do after an altercation.
He stood, dropping ten on the bar. “Thanks for the meal. It was excellent.”
“You could stay, if you wanted,” the bartender said, his gaze raking over Mal’s body.
Any other time, maybe Mal would have taken him up on it. True, he hadn’t been one of the three, but a warm body to plunder was always a good thing.
“Nah, I have to hit the road in the morning.” He moved toward the door. “Ya have a good night, though, okay?” He winked, and the pheromones leaking from the man ramped up. Sadly, though potent, they didn’t stir Mal’s already-crushed libido.
He slammed through the door and headed for his bike. The 1951 Vincent Black Shadow was a fucking work of art. Mal had taken it from some lowlife losers who thought they could roust him for money. He’d taught them the error of their ways and hadn’t even shifted to do it. Truth was, Mal was a First wolf. Big in both forms, and to screw with him was taking your life in your hands.
Once he’d… liberated the bike, Mal had spent a few thousand restoring the black paint, gold pinstriping, and brushed aluminum pieces the motorcycle was known for. It had taken several months, considering the only money he used was from his transient jobs and hustling pool. At least now the bike gleamed and drew envious gazes wherever Mal went. Hell, it was probably the bike that had gotten him laid the most in the last ten years. Whenever someone felt it thrum between their legs, their grip on Mal tightened and the pheromones went through the roof.
He shook his head. He really wished he’d gotten laid tonight. Having a warm set of lips around his cock was a lot better than his callused hand any day. Maybe he should go back and see if the bartender would…. no, he’d already walked away from that. And anyway, in the distance, Mal could hear a siren approaching. Best for him to be elsewhere as soon as possible.
He kicked the bike to life, the purr of the engine soothing his nerves, twisted the gas, and roared down the road, the wind whipping his hair into a frenzy. He should ride with a helmet, he knew that, but the open road was too intoxicating, and if he did have an accident, it would take a lot to do more than hurt a First.
He snorted. A First. Could he even call himself that? Technically, he was, but Mal had no pack, had no desire for one. When he’d been with the Forest Walker pack in Maryland, he’d been bored out of his mind. It was the largest, and one of the richest packs around, and Mal hated being there. He didn’t want to deal with the bullshit his First, Damon Walker, did. All the politics and the whiny wolves who thought the First should settle any disputes, even stupid arguments over what one couple was going to have for breakfast.
No way. Mal knew his First was grooming him to take over after he stepped down, but Mal wanted no part of that. So one night, nearly fifteen years ago, he snuck out and left, never once looking back. Better to be a lone wolf, responsible for no one but himself. He could eat when he wanted, sleep when he felt like it, and fuck whenever the urge hit him. The structured life wasn’t for him at all.
Mal was about ten miles from the bar when he heard the loud crack as it echoed off the trees. It sounded like a gunshot, followed by shouts of “Don’t let it get away!” and “Hyde will have our heads if we come back without it.” Every instinct told Mal to keep going. This wasn’t his problem, and he didn’t want it to become one.
He’d almost convinced himself of it, at least until a plaintive whine reached his ears. Fuck it all to hell! Mal slammed on the brakes and skidded across the blacktop and onto the gravel shoulder. He lifted his head and sniffed. Some kind of shifter, though being so far away, Mal didn’t recognize the species yet, and he was being chased by four humans. The acrid scent of the gun oil, the residue from the recent shots, and the terror of the shifter all slammed into Mal’s brain at the same time.
“Fuck,” he snarled. He stripped off his leathers and shifted to his tawny wolf. The scent of the other person was stronger now, but so was the smell of the rot and decay. Something was wrong with the animal, and it spurred Mal on, desperate to reach the creature before the hunters got to him.
He dashed through the trees, dove under the low-hanging branches, barreled through the bramble bushes, and burst out into a clearing. There he could see the tiny fluff ball with strips of fur missing, his body listing to one side and—it was a fucking bunny.
Then Mal noticed what was causing the smell of rotted meat. The rabbit’s foot was missing, and infection had obviously set in. It snapped at the men, who laughed in return. The men smelled of chemicals and death. Mal knew they’d killed recently, and anger surged through him. Though he was no one’s leader, Mal was still not going to let these men hurt the tiny shifter.
“Don’t worry, kid. Hyde will take good care of you. He still has a lot more things he wants to try out,” one of them said in a coaxing voice. “Be a good boy and come along with us. We don’t want to hurt you.”
