Werewolves of New York

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Copyright © 2015 by Faleena Hopkins

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The story you’re about to read is fiction. Any similarities to people living or dead are unintentional.

W
erewolves Don’t Exist
. And four of them certainly do not run an architecture firm in New York City.

Eli Jackson
and his packmates vowed to use their supernatural abilities to take down evil wherever they find it, and Eli's got a new 'case.' Helping Diana brings him face to face with Rose Hendricks, a woman who needs no man’s help. He made a pact with Darik to stay single...so why can't he control his wolf whenever Rose is around?

Rose Hendricks
is a funny, All-American smartass attorney who doesn’t like to lose. In the courtroom, she rarely does. But in life? She just lost her best friend to love. Another one bites the dust, as the single girls say. But Rose won’t let her friend go without a fight, and when another unanswered call goes to voicemail, she hightails it to Michelle’s apartment only to find Eli there, wearing only a blanket, telling her Chelle doesn’t live there anymore. Say what? Sparks fly like crazy and soon Rose is looking at glowing eyes from a man who supposed to be human. What is he, really? And what’s everybody hiding?

*This is a stand-alone, a complete story with no cliffhangers

“
O
h man
, YES!” Eli shouted. “This is what I’m talkin’ ABOUT!”

Standing under a sign that read Bluestone Lane Coffee, the ponytailed barista laughed and handed him the triple espresso, his usual. “Every day it’s like it’s your first time!”

He pointed at the drink, completely missing the gleam of longing she barely hid behind teenage eyes. Boyish enthusiasm coming from a devilishly handsome man in a snug, exquisitely tailored black suit was truly disarming.

“Have you tasted this stuff? It’s addictive, angel sweat swimmin’ around in a paper cup.” Breathing in the steam and bitter smell, he shook his head like it was too hard to believe something that delicious could be real. He gave her a wink and stepped back from the wood-paneled counter. “See you tomorrow, Tracy.”

“Bye Eli!”

Since it was almost 5:00 p.m. the place was packed with suits, those of Wall Street traders. He was definitely not one, but he did work as an architect there in Downtown–also known as The Financial District. After the conclusion of a successful meeting he’d run from the offices of D.D.E.N. INC. hoping the clock wouldn’t beat him out of his fix.

The suit had made that run challenging, but he wore one more often than not as did his three packmates whose initials made up the firm’s name: Dontae, Darik, Eli, and Nathaniel. All four wolves loved dressing the part of the driven human male having chosen a city life over the woods of their youths.

The city was where their hearts were. New York has the best theater in America, incredible foods whose origins spring from all over the world, art in every form, from painting to sculpture to performance. This was the place where they could erect skyscrapers from their ever-expanding imaginations.

And don’t forget excellent fucking coffee.

Eli maneuvered his broad shoulders so that he could move past the crowd without spilling a precious drop in the confined space. From the line, he heard a whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Eli glanced to the woman out of instinct. A frown sliced his forehead and he stopped walking. He couldn’t help but stare before he realized he was doing it. It seemed these women always called to him, like there was a guardian angel watching over them who poked him in the shoulder to say
Hey look. Stop. Help.

This time it was simply,
I’m sorry,
an apology even though she hadn’t bumped him, nor he her.

Her black eye was yellowing around the edges with time, and her nose was purpled, sliced across the bridge. He knew what a punch did to the nose; he’d gifted enough of them. On her, the bruising differed in colors. The one on her nose was bright purple with a fresh, dark red scab. They didn’t happen on the same day, which meant they were no accidents.

She kept her attention fixed on the footprint-covered, dark tile beneath her feet. She was petite and her brown hair while clean was thin and wispy. She looked to be no more than thirty-three, maybe a lot less. Pain has a way of aging a person. He knew they’d never met.

“Hey, do I know you?”

Glancing up then back down, she shook her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Sorry I was just staring. It’s just you look really familiar,” he lied, offering a friendly smile. “How’s your day going?”

Her lashes flitted like a hummingbird’s wings as she struggled to keep her eyes locked on the floor. “Good, thanks.” Even over the many conversations, the sound of the espresso machine and coffee grinder, Eli could hear her heart race with nervous energy now that he was focused on listening. He took a sip of his triple-e. “Good. Mine, too. I’m just glad I made it here in time. Have you tried their espresso?” He rolled his eyes at his cup like there was nothing better in the world.

She gave him a sideways look in an effort to answer but keep hiding her face. “I think they use espresso when making lattes? I only get those.”

“Ah. I haven’t tried a latte. Are they good?”

“Mmhmm.”

A dark-haired man in a navy blue suit left the register holding a steaming cup of Joe, his coin tip still rattling in the jar as he walked away. The woman took his place to order. Eli could tell she didn't want his attention, but that was too bad. She had it. He had to find out who did that to her. He had to help.

Pulling out his wallet and jogging his chin to Tracy, he stepped up to join the female stranger. He needed more time to get her name. “This is on me.”

She glanced up in surprise, unintentionally giving him a closer look at the other side of her face. There was a fresh scar on her cheek close to her right ear, maybe a month old. As though he noticed nothing peculiar, he smiled. He’d had years of practice at being a great liar, a necessary art for any supernatural creature living in a natural world. “I’m avoiding work,” he told her, adding some truth for good measure, “You’re giving me a great reason to stay here longer.”

She hesitated and ordered a soy latte. Eli ignored the inquisitive look Tracy tried to give him, but watched as her ponytail bounced when she turned to go make the drink.

He knew this woman wouldn’t turn down his offer to pay. Her doing so might have drawn more focus to herself rather than less, which she wouldn’t want to do with her face all banged up like that. He was very, very careful with how he held himself around her. He was an inch over six-feet-tall, which wasn’t too uncommon among human males but his easy confidence layered atop the ever-present wolf residing in his soul, gave him power that intimidated many. All werewolves are effortlessly imposing. To make matters worse, he kept his hair very short and longer hair can make a man look softer. If he wanted to, he could scare the shit out of a linebacker. But Eli had his smile going for him. Save for when he was angry or impatient, a twinkle was forever present in his amused, masculine brown eyes. And then there was the dimple, every woman’s downfall. He used it freely now with her, always keeping a casual ease that said he wanted nothing and was simply enjoying the beautiful day.

He needed her to trust him.

“I’ve tried all the coffee in the area but they can’t hold a candle up this.”

“I think it’s candle
to
this,” she smiled, stifling a laugh.

“Oh, that sounds right!” he laughed loudly. “Where’d that saying come from, I wonder? But the hours are stupid. Sorry, Trace!” He whispered to the stranger, “Don’t they know people want coffee at night? Who closes at 5:00 p.m.?” She nodded but kept her attention on the ground beans poured into the machine, the soymilk steamed, and the cup lay on the counter. Keeping his body facing slightly away so he didn’t seem like he was coming onto her, he gently persisted, “When you’re out at a restaurant at night don’t they always ask if you want coffee with your dessert? The answer is always…”

“Yes,” she smiled.

“Exactly! It’s always yes.” He downed his cup. It was a bitch to make espresso last even when there were three shots of it. He called over, “Tracy, I need a couple more. It’s gone already.”

“I wonder why,” the barista laughed. “You’re addicted!”

A small smile lit up the woman’s eyes as she glanced to Eli like they had something in common. "That's why I ran all the way from home before they closed.”

Eli pointed east. “I work a few blocks from here so I always make sure to come before they shut their doors. Some nights? I fail. Those are the worst.”

“I don’t come every day, but when I can…I do.”

Tracy returned with a way too kind and obvious smile. Eli gritted his teeth as the woman caught on that Tracy felt sorry for her. Before he could think of a way to stop her, she ducked her face, grabbed the latte, thanked Eli under her breath and took off for the door. Watching her maneuver past the line, he set a ten on the counter.

“What do you think happened to her, Eli?”

He picked up his fresh double shot and said in a booming voice on an easy laugh, “She plays softball. Her team sucks. Took one to the noggin the other day and called me about it all whiney. She’s just embarrassed.” The woman looked back at him and blinked. He met her surprise without showing anyone who might be watching that he was lying. He even threw in a wave, which she returned with a shrug to Tracy like
he’s right.
Then she struggled with the door handle and scurried out the door.

“You guys are friends?” Tracy had apology in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to assume she…”

“It’s all good. Don’t give it another thought,” he grinned. “Keep the change, Gorgeous. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She beamed, “Okay!” as she picked up the bill and watched him leave.