Jacks, Marcy - Eli's Reluctant Mate [DeWitt's Pack 5] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (2 page)

pissant human.

The bartender shouted something at them, but the aggressive  human ignored him. “If I ever see your face around here, I’ll get a tire  iron and some of my buddies and we’ll fuck you up.”

Eli laughed. The spots had left his vision, and even though he was  still the one on the ground, he didn’t so much as have a headache  from the blow to his head. “I doubt you and your buddies could do  more than tickle me.”

He didn’t care that someone was trying to  dominate him, but he did relish the idea of a fight. He could take this little weasel out back and tear him to pieces. He could imagine it was Deacon’s face on the guy’s head, the man responsible for killing Eric, one of the men responsible anyway, as he ripped the man’s arms from his sockets.

The guy’s fists clenched up, and Eli could hear the way his heart starting beating in that erratic way that happened when adrenaline was pumping through his veins.

He wanted a fight, too.

That’s right, idiot. Come and get it
.

“Wait! Wait!”

Someone, some skinny little idiot, actually ran between them, blocking the big guy from Eli’s view, and he could have killed the little bastard for that.

The smaller man―and he barely looked like he was even that―held his hands up, trying to calm the bigger guy with his fists still clenched in front of him. “Come on, you don’t want to do this.  The guy’s drunk and he’s down.”

The angry father jabbed a meaty finger in the smaller man’s face.

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“Mind your own fucking business, you little weird-eyed faggot!”

What?

Eli shook his head, trying to clear it, his own adrenaline falling back to nothing now that a fight no longer looked imminent. He tried to get to his feet and failed spectacularly.

“Look at him. He can barely stand. If you kick the shit out of him, you could get in trouble for that. You can’t exactly say you were defending yourself from him.”

Eli saw red again at that comment.
 
That little son of a bitch!

Eli blinked a couple of times, trying to scowl up at the both of them, but instead he saw the disgusted look on the father’s face as he stared down at him, right before he spat on the floor next to Eli’s hand.

“I ever see your face again, I’ll kill you,” he said, stomping off.

Whatever
.

Eli turned his glare onto the young man who had come between him and a fight he really could have used, when his heart and lungs stopped cold.

He blinked a couple of times, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands just to be absolutely sure.

One eye was the darkest chocolate brown Eli had ever seen. The other was the deepest of blue.

Now he understood why that angry son of a bitch had called him weird eyed. Eli inhaled the scents of the bar. They were weak.  Probably because the alcohol was fucking with his nose, but he did smell it once he started looking for it. Beneath the stale scent of tobacco, wooden booths, alcohol, and sweat, was the sweetest thing that had ever wafted up his nostrils.

The young man was beautiful, too. He looked like he was in his early twenties, with nice skin and dark-blond  hair that was cut short with hints of gel-induced spikes.

Eli had just found his mate, a man―a man!―and Eli was stumbling drunk, on his ass, and bleary eyed.

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Marcy Jacks

“You know him, kid?” the bartender asked.

The blond man shook his head, still looking down at Eli with that pity he was starting to hate. “No, never met him before. Do you want me to help you get home?” he asked, addressing Eli at that point.

He was a little hero, too. Brilliant.

“I’m fine,” Eli gruffed, pulling himself up to his feet. The stupid  ground beneath him heaved, and he nearly keeled over. He would  have had Blondie not grabbed him by the arms and pulled him  straight again.

They were nearly the same height, but Blondie was still just a  little bit shorter. There must have been some muscle in that slim

frame because he pulled Eli’s arm over his shoulder. “Take it easy.

I’ll get you where you want to go.”

“I’d be careful with that one, son,” said the bartender. “He’s been

known to start up some trouble with other people as of late.”

Eli was never tipping that man ever again.

“I’ll be okay,” said Blondie,  who, with some minor difficulty,  fished his wallet from his back pocket and put some bills down on the  bar.

“Will that cover his drinks?”

“I’ll put the rest on his tab.”

Fucker was probably going to just pocket the money and put the  whole thing on Eli’s tab regardless. Eli was going to have to have a  conversation with this man, his mate, about not trusting people so  damn much.

Especially with eyes like those.

“Okay, thanks.”

Eli could barely do anything but sag as he was led out of the bar.

They walked for  maybe ten minutes, which were excruciating on his eyes with the sun blazing down on them. Christ, he wished he could go back to the relative darkness of the bar so he wouldn’t have these needles piercing him in the corneas.

Eli muttered directions, but they must not have been very clear

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because Blondie ignored him and kept on walking.

“Highway 22,” Eli said again, louder this time, and his ears hurt

for it.

“What?”

“Drop me off there. I can get back home from there.”

Thankfully, Blondie didn’t try to fight  him on that. “If you say

so.”

“What’s your name?” Eli asked and then prayed he wouldn’t  forget it. He would need to find this man again after he’d sobered up.

There was a slight hesitation, and Eli feared that his mate  wouldn’t want to divulge too much personal information to a drunken  loser like him.

Clearly, Blondie was a human, but despite that, he must have been, at least on a subconscious level, aware of the strange pull between them, because he did answer. “Chris.”

“Chris what?”

“I’ll keep that to myself for now.”

Fair enough. Eli had never seen Chris in town before, and he had  been coming down here a whole lot more than was necessary, so he  must be new.

Still, small town like this, Eli had a first name and a description, that was all that he should need if he wanted to find him again after he

sobered up.

“You shouldn’t be walking around here by yourself,” Eli said,  managing not to slur. “It’s dangerous.”

Chris smiled at that. “So I’m told. But I’m a big enough boy,  don’t worry.”

Not big enough for the  things that would be stalking him once any  other werewolf or werefox or were-anything got a look at those eyes.

Maybe he wasn’t born with them, though. “What happened to  your eyes?”

“Didn’t think you’d notice that,” Chris said. “They’re just like  that. I can see just fine. I don’t know. I was born with it.”

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Marcy Jacks

“Oh.” It was natural then, not some product of being blind in one  eye or any such thing.

Eyes like that, in the shifter communities, were considered  extremely good luck. Not for the person who had them,  but for the  were who took the individual with the bicolored eyes as a mate.

Of course, that wouldn’t stop other weres who knew they weren’t  mated to him from trying to seduce him, if only to capitalize on that  luck a little. It wasn’t exactly unknown for the more unfriendly were  types to try and rape someone who had eyes like that either.

And lately, this area was crawling with those types of weres.

The town was small, and getting to the outside of it took almost  no time at all. Five more minutes and they would be right at the turn  that would lead then to Highway 22, and Eli could go down it, get to  the hidden unpaved road that led back to his pack land, and then fall  into bed. Sobering up shouldn’t take him very long. He’d nap for five  hours and that should be more than enough for the alcohol to run its  course through his system.

He’d be dreaming about his mate tonight, he knew that much.

Of course it couldn’t be that simple.

Something with the power of a moving train smashed into them,  knocking them off their feet, and Eli slid across the rough pavement  with all the grace of a rag doll.

He heard Chris’s shocked yell, and he tried to get up before a  grimy boot pressed down on his chest.

He looked up, blinking against the sun that was behind the figure  attacking him, and he scented wild werewolf all over him, along with  at least one other.

“Well, well, look what we have here. Didn’t I kill you already?”

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Chapter Two

“Didn’t I kill you already?”

The words had Eli sucking back a sharp breath, especially when the man leaned down to squint into Eli’s face, and Eli recognized him  as one of the wolves that had attacked his pack all those weeks ago.  Two months. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“It is you!” The wolf hooted, slapping his knee. “Christ, I was  sure I’d  sliced your neck clean off!”

“That was my brother,” Eli seethed through his teeth.

The man frowned at that and adjusted the cap on his head. “That’s  disappointing. Was hoping it meant we could survive things like  that.”

That’s right. These guys were new wolves, transformed only for the sake of becoming peons in Deacon’s new pack.

They must still be learning about their new abilities.

“I can teach you about all the ways you can die,” Eli said.

Unlike with that human from the bar, Eli’s wolf was making itselfknown. The mind and soul were willing. The body, not so much.

The were above him seemed to recognize this, and he laughed.

“You can barely keep your eyes open! What do you think you’ll do to me?”

“Hey, Lloyd, you should see this guy right here,” his companion

called.

Shit! That other wolf. Eli damn forgot about him, and he was looking into Chris’s eyes.

“Get the fuck off me!” There was the sound of a scuffle, and the distinct found of flesh smacking against flesh as Chris was slapped.

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Marcy Jacks

“You hold still now and let me see those peepers one more time.”

Would the sight of those eyes bring out some kind of instinct in  these new weres? Eli had always thought that the good-luck thing,  and the urge to collect on that luck, was always something that had  been taught,  passed down through the teachings of older weres and  wise women. That other wolf sounded a little too interested, a little

too hypnotized by the colour of Chris’s eyes for Eli’s liking.

There was another scuffle as Chris fought, and this time, the  sound of flesh coming down on flesh was harder as that other wolf hit  Chris, attempting to make him hold still.

Eli tried to get up. “Don’t you―!”

That booted foot pushed him back down, and the motion of his  body coming up and getting shoved back to the pavement was so fast  that Eli had to turn over and retch.

At least the boot disappeared off his chest.

“Jesus Christ!” Lloyd cursed, disgust sounding clearly in his voice.

That was fine by him. Eli got to his hands and knees and puked the rest of the alcohol out of  him. His mouth tasted like shit, but he

felt surprisingly better when he finished. He was still drunk, but now  the world wasn’t spinning around him, and the nausea was gone.

He looked up and watched as that other wolf, that motherfucking  asshole, forcefully turned Chris onto his stomach and then pressed his  knee down between his shoulder blades as the younger man tried to  fight back.

Of course he could do nothing against them. That was a werewolf,  and he was just a human, and not even a big human at that.

Something about the eye-color thing must have been instinctual,  because the guy on top of Chris started scrambling with the belt of his

pants.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lloyd asked, dismissing Eli

entirely to go and see what his friend was up to.

The scrappy-looking friend swiped his hand out before Lloyd

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could get too close. “Get away from him! He’s mine!”

Lloyd put his hands up, backing off. “All right, all right. Didn’t  know you were into that kind of thing.”

He turned just as Eli punched him in the  jaw, having gotten to his  feet when the two dipshits were distracted.