The Wolf Fount

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Also by Gayla Drummond

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M
organ stared at the money piled on the small dinette. “I am in so much trouble.”

Two hundred hadn’t been enough for pretending her pudgy, small-dicked date was a stud above all others. Hell, she’d put on an act that should’ve won her an Oscar, considering the way he’d been flopping about and wheezing his ass off. She’d even pretended the sweat that had poured off him barely two minutes in was sexy.

A little something extra had only seemed fair. The black leather satchel had looked expensive and was convenient to grab on her way out his hotel room door.

She’d peeked inside on the way home, quickly closing it upon seeing the money that now lay on the table.

Fifty thousand dollars. No one carried that much cash around–unless they were involved in drugs or other illegal activities.

“I am so screwed.” Planting her elbows on the table, Morgan dropped her forehead into both her hands, unable to take her eyes off the money. Her mind whirled with questions: How long since she’d left the hotel? He’d been in the shower. Did he take long ones? Had he called the escort service yet?

Was someone on the way to take the money and kill her right this minute?

“I’ve gotta get outta here.” Yes, running was definitely the best idea she’d had all evening. Quickly scraping all the money back into the satchel, she stood and moved onto packing her belongings. One advantage to living a rootless life: she’d never developed a clutter habit.

While packing, she kept an ear open for any sounds beyond the flimsy door of her weekly rental. There weren’t any, not until she’d piled her duffle and jacket on the table next to the satchel. She was still in her working clothes, a barely there little black number with three-inch heels, and had left jeans, tee, socks, and running shoes out to change into.

Just as Morgan slipped off the heels, the doorknob rattled and turned so hard that the lock snapped. A tall, muscle-bound man dressed in a dark suit stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him. “Going somewhere, girly?”

“My mother’s sick,” she lied as dread turned her stomach cold.
I’m dead
.

His pale blue eyes noted the satchel. “Right. Guess it’s just some kind of mix-up, you grabbing something that belongs to my employer, huh?”

“Yes?”

He nodded. “Thought so, but those kind of mistakes are just so disrespectful.”

Fuck
. Morgan backed away as he began advancing. Her switchblade was in the pocket of her denim jacket, which lay on top of her duffle, and was now out of reach.
Think, think, THINK!
“Can we work a deal?”

Bully Boy halted. “A deal?”

“Yeah. I’m a good lay, and give head like you’ve never had before.” Not that she wanted to do either, but if he went for Option B, there was a chance of getting close enough to grab her knife. He didn’t seem to be packing a gun. One wasn’t really necessary for a guy his size, sent to beat a hooker senseless.

At least, that’s what she hoped he’d been sent to do.

He seemed to be considering the idea. Pursing his lips, he took a long look and then shook his head. “Boss says I gotta mess up your face. Tell you what, how about I let you pick which side and with what?”

Fuck
. She took a deep breath. “What are my choices?”

Bully Boy pointed his chin at the stovetop. “Electric burners leave interesting scars.” He paused, looking around the shabby room. “Tell you what. Let’s say you give me head and I only use my fists. It’ll be our little secret.”

She could work with that. “All right. Standing or sitting?”

There was the slim possibility he’d turn out to be one of those guys who couldn’t hit a woman who got his rocks off for him. Or at least not punch her too hard or too many times.

“Sitting.” He pulled the chair away from the dinette, dislodging her jacket. It fell to the cracked linoleum, landing right beside the chair as he turned it to face her. The silver end of her switchblade peeked from the pocket.

Gotta let him think he’s in total control, that I’m scared shitless
. The problem: she
was
scared shitless. “May I grab the pillow? The floor’s hard.”

He grinned, unbuckling his belt. “Sure, but don’t get cute.”

Morgan nodded.
You have no idea how cute I can get
. She sidestepped to grab the pillow, her gaze glued to him as he dropped his pants. “Nice dick.”

“Bet you say that to all your johns.” Bully Boy sat down, pants around his ankles. He spread his knees wide while resting his hands on his thighs.

Anger, bitter and acidic, began burning away her fear. “Only the ones that actually have nice dicks.”

She’d been so careful the past two years. Where the hell had this mountain of muscle been while Pudgy was wining and dining her? If she’d seen him, no way she’d have taken anything.

Dropping the pillow on the floor, Morgan pushed it in place with her foot. “You want my hair up or down?”

“Down.” The fingers of his right hand flexed ever so slightly. He was right-handed and the rider type, ready to grab a handful of hair and check her gag reflex.
Wonderful
.

Sex, if you could call it that, with Pudgy hadn’t harmed her hairstyle in the slightest. She pulled out the pins holding the coils in place and shook her head, hair falling obediently to her hips. Then she knelt between his knees and reached for his semi-flaccid penis with both hands.

Bowing her head over it, she spat to begin wetting it down, eyes on her jacket. She could reach the knife.

“We agreed on head, not a hand job,” Bully Boy remarked, tangling his right hand in her hair before giving it a little tug.

“Just warming things up.” She dropped her right hand to the pillow, scooting closer to him. It was a relief when her fingers closed on the knife. Blowing a long, slow breath over his dick while working her left hand up and down the shaft, Morgan prepared to do what she had to.

He yanked her head back and slapped her. “Start sucking, girly.”

Her eyes watering, she gasped, “Sure.”

It covered the soft snick of the blade popping out.

Wounding him was a sure ticket to hell. It was going to have to be all or nothing. As he eased up on her neck, she drove the six-inch blade into his stomach. He grunted, letting go of her hair. She stabbed him again before scrambling out of reach, and used the stovetop to pull herself upright. Bully Boy looked down, touched the blood spilling from him, and bellowed like a wounded bull.

He lunged to his feet, his hands reaching for her, only to trip while taking his first step. He’d forgotten his pants. Morgan jumped sideways, hearing the dull crack as his head struck the edge of the counter beside the stovetop.

Turning around, she found him sinking to his side on the floor, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s, and blood beginning to seep from a gash across his forehead.

What a beautiful sight
. “You stupid son of a bitch. Picked the wrong
girly
to tangle with.”

“Cunt,” he wheezed, pressing one hand to his stomach wounds.

Her anger boiled over, resulting in a growl that scraped her throat raw. The look of shock on his face was fading, something else taking its place. “You’re one of them.”

She didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but his whispered accusation tipped her off that he was scared of whatever “them” was. “That’s right.”

“Don’t kill me.” It was a whimper. “Please.”

Nose filling with the smell of warm copper, Morgan looked at the floor. There was a shimmer of carnelian spreading from him. So red, so pretty, so tas... Bully Boy whimpered again, and the sound broke through her fascination. “You got a phone?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can call for help. After I walk out the door.” Avoiding him and the spreading blood, she collected her waiting clothing, jacket, satchel, and duffle. Her knife was still in her right hand, ready for the slightest move from him.

Morgan paused at the door to look over her shoulder at him. “Come after me, and I won’t give you the option to live a second time.”

Bully Boy nodded, thumping the back of his head against the cabinet.

She stepped outside and headed for the end of the building where a line of dumpsters sat. After setting her burdens down between two, she lifted the knife and stared at the sheen of red it bore. Without thinking, she licked the blade clean, shivering at the tingle of warmth that spread as it coated her tongue.

Finished, she tucked it back into her jacket pocket and began changing clothes. That only took a few minutes, so she was soon tugging on her jacket and picking up the two bags.

Fifty thousand fucking dollars
.

It was enough to start a new life somewhere else. California wasn’t safe any longer.

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C
alhoun glanced past Jake, his head tilting as he caught a glimpse of a woman. “I put Sean in charge there. It’ll be good experience for him.”

Jake nodded, wondering what, or whom, his boss was watching. “Right. Where’s Thane?”

“Left him at headquarters, watching movies.” Cal’s dark brown eyes narrowed, still focused on the woman. “He needs the break.”

Jake turned for a look at what had his boss’s attention and zeroed in on a woman dressed in a purple, fringed halter-top and painted on jeans. She was dancing with a younger Were he couldn’t instantly put a name to. Or rather, some people would call it dancing. He would call it dry humping standing up, which did trigger recognition of her. “I told Dietrich not to let her back in.”

“Why?”

“She’s trouble. Comes in slinking around, hunts down one of the newly Awakened to work all up. The second he goes for the offer she’s dangling, she gets mouthy and shoves him around. She’s done it three times. I threw her out myself last Saturday. She punched me and called me an asshole.”

Cal chuckled. “The fact that she came back anyway could mean she’s a Sleeper.”

Some Sleepers, or Weres in Waiting as they were also known, could sense and would gravitate toward gatherings of Weres, unconsciously aware that they belonged with them.

“Maybe, but can’t have her getting the noobs riled up like that. Not here,” Jake said.

Watching her grind against her dance partner, Cal nodded in understanding. Newly Awakened needed some time to adjust to their change, and were prone to act on emotions without pausing to think through the consequences. Lust being a physical and emotional combination, if thwarted, it might transfer among Weres, sparking a wildfire conflagration of fighting and fucking that would be difficult to keep quiet.

Staying under the radar as much as possible was a priority. His network of government contacts wouldn’t be happy to have to step in if a loss of control made the existence of Weres obvious.

Fortunately, he was here. As the Wolf Fount, he could calm his own kind and stop things as far as they were concerned. However, wolves weren’t the only Weres present and his control of the others wasn’t, and might never be, total.

It was better to head off the problem before it became a real issue. “I’ll handle it.”

“Thanks, Boss.” Jake grinned. Half a foot shorter, he’d been a soldier and was enjoying his vacation as manager of Chanteloup. He was also involved in the planning for a chain of the clubs, which were necessary as gathering places for Weres. Here, they could mostly let it all hang out, bonding with others and releasing pent-up energy.