Dire Wolf Mates - Chapter 52: Chapter 52

Knowing you had a fated mate, and claiming said mate, were two entirely different things. Especially for him. Brock was not built for a mate.
Period.
Sure, Ariella Golden was the one woman the universe had destined to be his. Unfortunately, the universe had fucked up. He had no plans to take her, claim her, fuck her until his mind went blank and his body was finally sated.
Grrrr. What a visual!
Whatever. He couldn’t do a thing about it. So Brock had been avoiding her like the plague. Ever since the first time he’d taken the curvy female for a ride on the back of his Harley, Brock had been trying to fight it. Even now, memories of that ride had his dick growing hard in his pants.
He could almost feel her as she’d been that day. The woman had squeezed him so tight, she damn near busted a rib. But it would have been worth it. The feel of her tits smashed against his back, her hot womanly core snuggled up to his hips, had made him feel ten times a man.
He suspected her Lioness had scented what they were to each other. Brock had seen the shocked glee sparkling in her golden gaze as she’d looked up at him in the smoky, dim light of the bar later that very same night.
But like a fucking idiot and worse, a coward, he’d turned around and walked out. Ever since, he’d been pretending not to notice her. Hell. Ignoring Ariella was the hardest fucking thing he’d ever done, but he’d been pulling it off for months now.
Brock had choked big time, and now he didn’t know what to do. It was stupid, really. A bad memory from the past was killing his future, but the truth was he didn’t know if he could handle another rejection. That’s why he decided to stay away.
Like a fucking coward.
His Wolf growled, and he rubbed his chest to quiet the beast. He didn’t like being called a coward, but what else was it when you ran from the woman the fates decided was yours? Not like she took the hint anyway, he thought with a shake of his head.
Ariella Golden had made it her business to visit Serious Moonlight with increased frequency. Which, of course, only made things harder on him.
Literally.
She had him so out of his mind Brock was snapping at everyone lately. Cursed more, too. And he’d been walking around with a fucking bat in his jeans, trying to run the kitchen staff as if no one could tell. He was fighting with his Pack mates, and himself. His Wolf wanted to kick his own ass.
Derrick had called him into his office three times this week. Lucy, his pregnant mate, had developed a nose for romantic schemes and Brock wanted no part of it. She’d even threatened him with some magical matchmaking nonsense.
Slick one, that Lucy. When she wasn’t trying to fix up members of the Pack, she was making them move the heavy, wood furniture she’d had them refinish, from room to room for no specific reason at all. Just whenever she got the notion. Which seemed to be constantly, the last few weeks.
Derrick had simply smiled at his mate like the lovesick fool he was and called it her nesting period, which to a Dire Wolf made no fucking sense, whatsoever. They weren’t birds, for fuck’s sake. True, Lucy was a feline, but as far as Brock knew, they didn’t have nests either.
Then again, who was he to judge? Brock was outside in the dark because—let’s face it—he was hiding. Him. A badass Dire Wolf Shifter. Beta to the Pack. And head chef at Serious Moonlight. Hiding.
The shame!
He’d known the moment Ariella had walked into the roadhouse that night. He had felt it in the air. The woman caused the very electricity in the atmosphere to alter whenever she appeared.
It was the same damn thing every single time the female entered any room near his immediate vicinity. And yet, he was still too weak to do a thing about it.
Echoes of past wounds still hurt, despite his denials. Brock wasn’t sure he could take a chance on being spurned again. Not with Ariella. He couldn’t risk it. Something inside told him he would never survive if that golden-eyed beauty rejected him. Admitting that one solitary fear made his entire body tremble with emotion.
Shameful. Weak. Alone. Always alone.
He growled and cursed himself ten times a fool. Brock froze when, at that moment, the sounds of her laughter reached him as the bar’s side door swung open. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth at the tidal wave of lust that damn near bowled him over.
He still wasn’t prepared for the fierce punch of desire that slammed into him, hitting him right in the gut whenever he caught sight, sound, or scent of her. His Wolf growled, pulse raced, and fuck, he was sweating.
Yes, it was all because a certain sexy siren had walked into the bar looking like heaven and smelling like sin. Brock’s Wolf had been growling nonstop ever since. He’d just cooked her meal and sent it out with their best server. Then, he hightailed it out the back door. He just had to escape, get away from her moans and groans as she enjoyed her dinner.
Ariella was very vocal when it came to her enjoyment. Satisfaction flashed through him as he pictured her eating the food, he had made just for her. Of course, that was followed by another pang of carnal lust so strong he doubled over and had to readjust his cock inside his chef’s pants.
He’d never worn the things until she started coming to the bar to eat every other day, but jeans were simply too constrictive. At least, this way, he wouldn’t punch a hole through the baggy material with his stone hard dick.
And wasn’t that the source of all his issues?
Most guys would be giddy as all hell with a cock that size, but Brock knew better. Being big wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sometimes, it was downright fucking tough. Females were not as fond of size as they implied. Especially inexperienced females.
Brock couldn’t stomach the idea she might be afraid of him in bed. And it was not something he relished finding out.
The door swung shut again, and with it went the sound of her voice. Thank fuck. He was glad she was enjoying the food, but for fuck’s sake, the sound of her moans was almost unbearable.
Mine, growled his Dire Wolf, his animal scratching hard against his skin.
It was difficult to wrestle for control, but he managed it, promising the monster a good long run later that night. It was all he could do to stop himself from hunting her down and rutting her like a beast.
We are a beast, the animal returned, and not as if it were a bad thing.
Brock growled deep in his throat as he wrestled for calm. He wasn’t a self-hating Shifter. Not exactly. He just happened to have a past. Didn’t everyone? It would be better for them both if she simply moved on.
Vexing female. Stubborn beauty.
He should just leave when she came in. But he didn’t. His Wolf would not let him.
Possessive monster.
In fact, he was the only one who handled her food when she came into the bar. No one else touched Ariella’s plate. Not ever. It was an unwritten rule in the kitchen and the entire staff understood and steered clear.
Well, duh.
His Wolf growled, the animal seeming to roll his eyes from inside that plane of existence where he waited for Brock to call on his furry form. His staff wasn’t stupid. Almost all of them were Shifters, and they knew what was up.
Especially after he’d tossed the former sous chef out the back door, head over teakettle, for adjusting the amount of sauce on Ariella’s grilled mahi-mahi a few weeks ago. No one had made that mistake again.
Mine, growled his Wolf, and Brock rubbed his chest harder this time.
His keen ears picked up the sound of Phoenix. The fucker was finally rounding the right corner to find Brock’s little hiding spot. He braced himself for the intrusion.
“Hey, bro, I’ve been looking for you,” his Pack mate said and grinned. In his hand, he held a tablet and a stylus. The prick didn’t even look pissed he’d been walking around ten minutes trying to find Brock. Lucky fucker, having no worries.
“You gotta sign this, bro.”
“Thanks,” Brock grumbled and scribbled his signature on the order.
They’d been slowly transitioning all their needs from various butchers and fishmongers to Eat Well Live Proud. It wasn’t for any other reason than the fact the Lions delivered a superior product—organic, non-GMO, and sustainably harvested.
Win-win.
Truth was, Shifters had refined palates. Some of the other supernatural species as well. They really appreciated the finer quality of the meat, game, and fish EWLP offered. Derrick left the kitchen up to him, so it was completely his choice, and yet he’d delayed in switching their entire line of produce, meat, and fish to the feline run corp.
Some would say it was because he was still undecided about what to do with his unclaimed mate. Of course, should those people voice this opinion out loud, they would find themselves following his former sous chef out the back door, ass over teakettle, as it were.
“So, Ariella’s inside,” Phoenix idiotically pointed out.
“Yes,” Brock answered while he read over the order.
“And you’re out here?”
“Your point exactly?” Brock growled.
“Nothin’ bro. Just sayin’ because, you know, her mom’s in there, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say Aunt Patty’s got a vial of catnip up her sleeve,” Phoenix muttered.
The casual reference was to the only herbal supplement that had the power to act like a drug in the systems of feline Shifters. Brock’s head shot up. Patricia Golden was the most shockingly carefree, potentially dangerous, feline over sixty Brock had ever met. The woman was a party animal. And she was not above involving her daughters in whatever hairbrained scheme she thought of next. Lucky for her son, he was too much of a stuffed shirt to become entangled in her wild affairs.
On the other hand, Ariella—sweet, beautiful, innocent, and probably frustrated as hell if she felt anything like he did—Ariella was just ripe for the picking. Brock closed his eyes and tried to rein in his beast. Patricia Golden was inside Serious Moonlight right now, possibly dosing her daughter with the one substance as close to a narcotic as it got for cat Shifters.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Well, you know the mess she caused after the last time that ol’ Lioness pulled a stunt like this,” Phoenix continued, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.
Brock immediately thought of the incident a few weeks ago when that cunning older Lioness had spiked all the kegs under the bar with Magibrew enhancer, a special potion made by Witches that could slow Shifter metabolism when applied to alcohol, getting them just as knackered as normals.
“Anyway, bro, I thought I’d give you a heads up,” Phoenix ended his muddled up explanation and wisely took a step back.
This was not good. If Brock remembered correctly—and he did, while under the effects of the Magibrew every Shifter in the bar had gotten drunk as hell. Drunk Shifters meant fistfights, and that meant they’d had broken bottles, barstools, a few tables, and one window to replace afterwards. Not to mention having to turn the hose on their customers because of all the outdoor fucking that had gone on.
Lucy had even made them sanitize the entire outdoor parking lot with a pressure washer and outdoor bleach, the commercial kind. It had been a total shitshow, and he was not looking forward to a repeat.
Of course, he’d also learned something interesting during that night. When drunk, naïve little Ariella was not only extremely agreeable, but she was also somewhat prone to falling asleep. Which is how he’d found her, passed out with a smile on her lips in the bed of a pickup truck with two Bear Shifters who’d been about to cart her off to their hometown to mate her.
Brock had nearly Wolfed out and killed both those fuckers. Luckily, Derrick had saved him from manslaughter and talked the drunk Bears out of it. Offering them a case of honey mead to take home in exchange for the Lioness. Brock had carried her to the Pack House, where she’d slept it off in his room.
He’d had to stay in Wolf form, outside his bedroom window where she slept it off for the duration of the night, otherwise he might have claimed her himself.
“How did she get it inside past Thor?” Brock asked his Pack mate.
“Don’t know. Maybe she hid it?”
Fuck.
Patricia was always trying to get their Enforcer to search her. Crazy flirtatious woman. She needed a mate to settle her, but Brock didn’t think any of the Dire Wolves were it for the Golden matriarch. Hell, the woman needed a keeper. Putting her daughter in harm’s way, she should be ashamed of herself! And Brock should have his head examined.
What did he care? He was not taking the younger Golden as his mate, so what did it matter if one Bear or two took her home?
Fuck that. Of course, it mattered. His Wolf almost ripped out of his skin at the mere thought. How did he ever get entangled in this mess, anyway?
“You know, this is all Sheila’s fault. Ever since she mated Leo, this place has been crawling with crazy felines,” Phoenix muttered, and Brock had to agree.
And he liked Leo! But why did Sheila have to adopt his totally inappropriate and possibly insane extended family and bring them here?
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
“I’m gonna ban that woman,” Brock growled, grabbing his cell phone.
He started texting the rest of the DWMC, alerting them of Patricia’s shenanigans. It was all fun and games till someone got kidnapped and forced into a mating with two Bears! Brock growled even louder at the thought.
“I mean, Patricia Golden is one spunky Lioness, but I don’t think she means any harm,” Phoenix said.
Phoenix was right to a point, Brock conceded. The Golden matriarch simply had a penchant for trouble. Sure, they all lovingly referred to her as Aunt Patricia, but Brock strongly felt the woman had a responsibility to Ariella she was negating.
At the very least, she had some very unusual ideas about what constituted proper mother-daughter outings. Like the strip show she’d taken Ariella, Sheila, and Lucy to last week. She’d claimed it was a ballet, but when Derrick had thought to surprise his mate, he’d found her waving dollar bills and laughing her ass off while a group of men danced on poles in nothing but banana hammocks.
“I mean, Derrick is still pissed about the strip show,” Phoenix added.
“As our Alpha has every right to be, Phoenix, and you know it.”
“Come on. I mean, did he really have to scoop Lucy up and carry her out to his new Suburban? They argued loudly and made up even more loudly. The moans and rocking of that big ass SUV about scarred me for life! Do you know I had to stand guard and listen to that? Gross, bro! Like hearing your parents fuck,” Phoenix mumbled, his cheeks turning beet red.
Brock shuddered at the imagery. Gross. He’d been desperately trying to forget that whole incident for days now. Phoenix was right about one thing. That little anecdote had all the charm of hearing your parents having sex, and Brock was dutifully grossed out by it.
He’d been there too and had quietly convinced the other ladies to let him drive them home. They’d agreed, but only after “Aunt” Patricia stuck a hundred-dollar bill into the g-string of one extremely oiled up dancer. She’d insisted on tucking it right between his cheeks.
Ouch.
Even his Wolf cringed at the recollection. Dammit. If she was here and had a vial of catnip, it could only spell trouble. The question was, for who?
His cell phone buzzed, and Brock answered it curtly. It was Sheila confirming what Phoenix had just said. Ariella was at the mercy of her crazy mother and a damn vial of catnip. If he didn’t move his ass, who knew what would happen?