Dire Wolf Mates - Chapter 25: Chapter 25

Sheila heaved out a sigh and wiped up yet another spill on the otherwise gleaming bar top with a clean rag. Normally, she liked her job, but tonight she was a bit preoccupied.
He walked in a half hour ago. Stupid Lion, with his stupid, thick, glossy hair, tempting her to walk over, straddle his lap and run her fingers all through the perfectly tousled golden locks. It was ridiculous for a man to have such good hair! He looked like he hardly did a thing to it, but it was way too perfect for no effort. She’d bet half her tips he spent an hour on that head every damn morning.
Fucker.
Cute fucker.
Whatever.
It was all Sheila could do to keep her animal away from the dumb pussycat—tempting, dominant beast of a male. He’d been showing up daily for weeks now. Just pranced on inside her bar every damn day, like he owned the place.
Irritating, heavy handed, sexy, muscular, gorgeous—wait, what?
When did she start complimenting the big pussy? Nuh uh. Sheila wanted nothing to do with that badge-wearing overgrown house cat!
Leo Crowley was law and order, and Sheila Rand was anything but. She was a ripped jean wearing, motorcycle riding, fierce as fuck Dire Wolf Shifter. She did not need some Alpha male Lion in her life. Hell, she knew all about those ridiculous males, needing females to do all the work, wanting her to pander to his every wish and need.
Hard pass. Seriously.
Sheila leaned down to pick up a speck of invisible dust, needing the break from the rather intoxicating view of his golden-eyed stare—yes, he watched her. She felt those eyes on her like hands. Secretly, it thrilled her. She wondered what it would be like to give in to the undeniable attraction she felt for him, but no! She was so not falling down that rabbit hole.
Her inner Wolf whined, the beast barking a sharp, sad sound that echoed in her mind’s eye. The animal wanted Sheila to greet her mate. To rub her fur on him. Mark him with her scent.
He is not my mate.
Yesssss. Mine. Mate.
Shut it, she growled at the beast.
This was ridiculous. She was not one big, throbbing hormone, for fuck’s sake. She had to concentrate. Sheila tilted her head to better hear the conversation taking place on the other side of the front bar at Serious Moonlight.
A lifelong David Bowie fan, Sheila had enthusiastically approved of the name immediately when Derrick, her cousin and Alpha, had come up with it. After some debate with the ornery fucker, she’d been granted permission to come up with the logo.
Sheila had taken great pleasure in designing the logo and overall theme for Serious Moonlight. After all, this was the first official home of the Dire Wolf Motorcycle Club. Blue Valley had welcomed them with a healthy flow of patrons courtesy of Rafe Maccon. That powerful Alpha of the Macconwood Pack had come in with his mate and infamous Wolf Guard during their first week in business. After that, he’d sent plenty more customers over to them.
She’d been nervous at first. Had heard the rumors of the powerful male and knowing how other Wolves often reacted to their small, but potent Pack, she’d worried about her cousin. Challenges would, of course, be directed at him as Alpha. But Rafe, and his mate Charley, had surprised Sheila. They were not interested in fighting. Charley, a human, had been more intent on discussing the logo Sheila had designed, to her great pleasure.
The curvy little Alpha fem had loved the brash, hot pink scrawl Sheila chose to go on top of the glowing image of a large, white, full moon. It was both eye-catching and memorable. Sheila had liked the neon incarnation of the design so much, she’d ordered a mini sign for behind the front bar. She’d also slapped the logo on custom ordered black t-shirts, tank tops, and aprons for the staff.
Only recently, their order of printed napkins and place mats had come in. Sheila could not wait to use them. It was a branding thing. Guaranteed to make their customers remember their time at Serious Moonlight Roadhouse & Bar.
The Pack had plenty of start-up money, and though they each had their own bank accounts, there was one central business account that detailed their gross earnings before they got their shares. Some of the Pack had bitched about the pink neon, but after a few months of raking in the crowds, they’d shut up.
Jerks.
She snorted at the thought. They might be jerks sometimes, but they were her Pack, and she loved them. Not like loved them loved them, but they were all family. Derrick was a good leader, and she supported his decision to settle down. It was not easy for their kind to do—nomads, the lot of them. But they managed.
Derrick was smart for a boy. He doled out jobs and responsibilities as evenly as he handed out shares of the proceeds, keeping their minds focused and their Wolves too busy to notice their surroundings. Money was good, but it was not everything. They had a few regular bills, but other than that, little use for money. Most of their cash went to motorcycle maintenance, and the rebuilding of whatever old school bikes they found, of course.
None of them had any particular love for material things. Too much time on the road was good for that, at least. Stuff was stuff. The important things in life were free. Sheila knew that deep inside her heart and soul.
Not that she wasn’t loving the little conveniences living in Blue Valley offered. Having a house with running cold and hot water beat sleeping in the dirt and washing in a cold stream any day of the year.
Hell yeah.
She was more than glad they’d found a place to settle, but just lately she’d felt a little anxious. Of course, it wasn’t Blue Valley or her Pack that was making her restless. It was more likely the six-foot something hunk of man, staring at her from the other side of the bar, driving her bananas.
“Can I get another beer, baby?”
Sheila’s attention snapped to the older customer, who’d interrupted her train of thought. Blue eyes flashing their annoyance, she frowned at the too familiar male, disapproving his use of a term of endearment with her. Sheila growled a little, grabbing a bottle of his preferred brand from the cooler, opened it, and placed the bottle on the bar top in front of him.
“The name’s Sheila, Irv. Not baby. Not honey. And not sugar tits. I told you that already,” she said curtly and made change for the twenty he’d put on the bar.
“My bad, Miss Sheila. But you sure should be somebody’s baby,” he grinned widely, showing off the big gaping hole where a tooth should have been.
“You flirtin’ with me, Irv?”
Sheila smirked, shaking her hair back off her shoulders. It was hot inside the bar, and she’d have to adjust the thermostat, so she didn’t start sweating.
“Heck yeas, I am. I’m old, not dead,” the man replied readily.
Irv’s eyes gaped, his head dropping as he stared at the way her tight tank top outlined her curves. Sheila rolled her eyes. Men were so damn predictable. Her tank top was useful for tips, but the truth was, she had zero hangups about her body. Yes, the uniform was tight, but the material was soft and stretchy, and she enjoyed wearing it. Fuck what anyone said about her.
Yes, she had curves. She also had muscle. Tattoos. And five piercings in her left ear. Sheila was a motherfucking Dire Wolf Shifter. Her body was hers and she wore whatever the hell she wanted when she wanted.
Period.
Were it not for the fact he was seventy years old, if he was a day—Sheila might have popped old Irv right in the jaw for smacking his lips together like she was a slice of pizza. Extra cheese. Lucky for him, she was feeling gracious.
“Irv, you leave that young thing alone,” one of his companions butted in.
“Oh hell, now don’t you go embarrassin’ me in front of my boys, Miss Sheila. Tell him we’re just talkin’ here,” Irv said, taking a pull from his beer and blushing all the while.
He met her eyes for a second, averting his gaze almost immediately, which was just as well. Her Wolf was riled. Of course she was. Leo’s eyes were trained on her and Irv.
Nosy pussy.
“I would never think of embarrassing you, Irv. Next one’s on me, okay?”
She winked at the older man, whose blush turned even redder. Sheila laughed and Irv waved before taking his beer and turning to chat with his buddies. She dropped the change he’d given her in the tip jar and went back to wiping the counter and eavesdropping on an unhappy couple in the corner.
Always be nice to the customers.
It was an unwritten rule all entrepreneurs adhered to. Sheila more than most. She was tough, levelheaded, and business oriented in ways that even managed to surprise her. But there was something going on in the corner she didn’t quite like.
Sheila was manning her station solo tonight. Her usual co-bartender, Weylin, was busy covering the back bar for Lucy, who was taking time off for the next couple of days because of her ever-growing abdomen. The she-Cat was pregnant with Derrick’s young, and Sheila could not be happier for them.
Cubs, her inner Wolf whined.
Just thinking of them terrified Sheila. They were so tiny, so delicate, and fragile. How could anyone take care of something so small? It gave her the willies just thinking about impending motherhood. And if that was not frightening enough, how about dealing with some overbearing Alpha breathing down her neck?
Ugh. Poor Lucy—though, truth be told, she did not look like she minded. Thank fuck for the new soundproofing insulation the boys had installed in every room. Last thing she needed to hear was her cousin and his mate getting it on night after night.
Sour grapes much?
Fuck off, Wolf.
Anyway, Sheila was working her station alone, and typically, that would be fine. Sheila was no slouch. Besides, if Derrick had his way, the Alpha fem would be off every night, but Lucy was a stubborn kitty. Sheila’s new cousin-in-law, a Bobcat Shifter, was fiercely independent. It drove Derrick nuts, which, of course, amused the rest of the Pack to no end.
Sheila liked Lucy very much. She respected the woman’s natural grit and her determination to work by her mate’s side. Tonight was a special occasion—Sheila had it direct from the source. Derrick was finally going to pop the big question over dessert. He’d chosen to take Lucy on a picnic, complete with a fancy supper prepared for them by Brock, their Pack Beta, and head chef at the roadhouse.
It sounded romantic and sentimental—just perfect for the couple, as far as Sheila was concerned. Not that she went in for mushy shit most of the time. Sheila was more a get it on and get out the door kinda gal. Even if it had been a hot minute since the last time she’d felt the need to get sweaty with a member of the opposite sex.
Sheila was not the settle down with a mate type, and it surprised her to find her cousin was. Good for him, though. She supposed it helped that Lucy and Derrick were so much alike. The little hybrid Cat Shifter loved the outdoors as much as the giant Dire Wolf did.
Yes, this was good news. Important too, for the whole of them as a Pack. It was about time Derrick claimed the female in a traditional if old-fashioned way. Lucy had already started showing, and Sheila was definitely in favor of their cubs bearing the Rand name.
Of course, Lucy was going to give him hell. Sheila grinned, thinking about it. Ha! Poor big cousin. But she knew the little she-Cat loved Derrick like crazy. Besides, they were already mated. Marriage was just a nice way to tidy it all up. Not that Sheila wanted to get married. Like ever.
Never ever. Not me. No way.
Even if a certain pussy kept prowling around the bar, trying to get her attention. She was having none of what that tomcat had to offer. IN fact, Sheila pointedly ignored Mr. Law and Order every single night. She would’ve thought he’d have gotten the hint already. But no. He still came strutting through those doors like clockwork.
The damn man had even stopped in front of her tonight, giving her one long, thorough look before heading over to where Weylin was working the back bar to grab his usual IPA. He was wearing fitted slacks and a neat, button down that made her want to run her hands all over it, wrinkle him up good.
There was just something about his good boy clothes and bad boy hair that was so damn appealing to Sheila. He was a series of contradictions—tiny little mysterious quirks she wanted to work out and discover for herself.