Alpha's Feral Kitten

Chapter Two

BILLIE

“New girl, Tristan,” says the one with floppy brown hair. “Human.” The boy next to him looks up, our eyes meet, and my breath catches.

His straight black hair is shaved in an undercut, with the long part hanging down his face until he brushes it back. He has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, as green as the forest in summer. His pale skin glows in the dark of the pub. He has a black lip ring, and as I watch, his tongue darts out to touch it. His expensive-looking black shirt and black leather jacket pull tight against his muscular body. A triple moon hangs from a leather cord around his neck.

He exudes power, strength, and charisma so strong I'm overcome by it.

We can’t seem to stop staring at each other.

“New girl,” he agrees. His voice sounds like liquid heat. “Hello, Kitten. Don’t be afraid.”

He must know how intimidating it is for a human to face all seven of them at once. Their combined aura of physical strength and power, their size, is almost stifling.

But him. He could carry that aura all on his own and be just as intimidating and charismatic as the other six combined.

This one's an Alpha wolf.

“Hello,” I breathe.

I think if he told me to kneel I would get on my knees.

I need to take their orders, but I can't take my eyes off his.

“Hey, what’s your name, Billie,” says the seventh boy. He snaps his fingers and I turn to him, immediately annoyed but not wanting the wrong kind of attention from a werewolf. The truce in town is solid, but it’s still unsettling to live in a place with such a high werewolf population. This one has reddish hair and giant football player muscles. The word “LUNACY” is tattooed just below his throat.

He doesn’t belong in this group. Anyone can tell.

“Stout. For the table. And hurry it up.” He glares at me.

“Stout. Anything else?” I ask the table at large.

“Stout, are you deaf?” says the rage monster with the giant muscles.

“Don’t be such a pick me, Spader,” says the one with the long hair. He makes eye contact with me, his expression still gently flirtatious. “Whiskey, neat. And this one—” he indicates the giant next to him—“will have a glass of Chartreuse and tonic.”

“Got it. Any water or food?” They all shake their heads and I turn to leave.

SLAP.

I turn back around to glare at whoever just smacked my ass, which becomes immediately apparent when the red-haired asshole named Spader says, “I said hurry. Maybe there’ll be something extra if you’re good.” Then he dismisses me.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

I take five seconds to get ahold of my anger, then storm off through the crowd.

There’s honestly nothing I can do. No one will care if a werewolf gets a little grabby with the human staff. We were warned. The university has an extremely high number of werewolf students, faculty, and administration; they patronize our bars and restaurants and bring their money to our little town. If they act entitled, we put up with it. We need them for our economy.

And many of them see us as personal servants. Especially the so-called Traditionalists.

After I fill my tray with the drafts and two drinks, I take a deep breath and head back up. The one with the green eyes—Tristan—is still staring in my direction, as if he was waiting for my return. They’re all staring, I realize, and the creepy redhead—Spader—is actually licking his lips.

Brilliant. I’m burning this top. I love this top, I love the way it makes me feel to wear it, but if this is how it affects creeps like him, I’m burning it.

I set down a stout in front of every boy, the whiskey in front of—“Raven,” he says, “and this stone faced giant is my brother Thorne.” I set the Chartreuse in front of Thorne. “Hi, Raven and Thorne,” I say, conscious of the need to get to know any regulars, at least by name.

As I set the stout in front of the guy with the star on his face, he takes my hand in both of his and kisses it, somehow NOT making it weird. “Lovely to meet you, Billie. I’m the Phantom, but you can call me Will if you must,” he says, and indicating the bored one on the end, “that’s Dominic. He’s always dull.”

“Hilarious,” he says, taking his stout up and lifting it to his lips. “Cheers.”

I put the last three steins in front of Tristan, his friend—“Fleming, thanks”—and Spader, who downs half in one go. “Will that be—”

Spader, the creep, grabs my wrist. His palm is clammy, slimy, gross. I can feel the intensity of his wolf nature come off him in waves. “Hey new girl. Billie. I’m heading out. What would it take to get you in the alley for fifteen minutes, little human?”

And I see he’s holding out a twenty.

I've never been propositioned before, so I don't think before I react. I can’t stop myself. I knock the rest of his beer off the table and into his lap. “Oops.”

The rest of the table bursts into laughter, except Tristan, who watches Spader. And before I can blink, I hear the glass stein shatter on the floor and my back is against the brick wall, Spader’s hand squeezing my throat. I can’t breathe, and I swear his eyes are glowing in the shadows. “Trashy little human w***e—”

Tristan snatches out and grabs Spader’s wrist, and I can hear bones crunch. “She’s just a little townie, man. She’s not worth expulsion.”

Spader growls and lets me go. I cough, spluttering for air. The one named Dominic is there, offering me a glass of water he snatched from someone else’s table. I sip it. “Th-thanks.”

“Best go Billie, while they distract each other, chop chop,” he says, not unkindly, and he’s handing me a bill, enough to cover the drinks and then some. I take it and take off without looking back.