She-Wolf

By Elizabeth Morgan

Dealing with the Rogue Werewolves terrorizing his Pack? Simple.
Trying to convince his mate he does want to be with her? Bloody impossible.

Owen MacLaren is the Alpha's son and the Pack's second, and he has never been one to let anything get to him. So when a bunch of Rogues begin purposely dumping mutilated bodies around the Pack Keep, he is more than ready to deal with the Werewolves responsible.

But one night off and a trip to a local strip joint for a colleague's stag night changes things, and Owen soon discovers he isn't immune to everything . . . .

Being an independent Loup and travelling the world? Easy.
Having to come home and face the Werewolf who broke her young heart? Challenging.

After five years away, Clare Walker finds herself back home in Scotland, working in a strip club. The tips are decent, and she gets to dance, but it isn't a place she thought she would ever be, let alone Owen, her Pack second and the mate she has always desired.

Although Owen is determined to prove he wants to be with Clare, things can't go smoothly between them, not when they have past issues to sort out and a bunch of unusual 'Rogues' to deal with.

This title contains explicit language, violence, and graphic sex.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Morgan
• Release date: Aug 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310279485

Elizabeth Morgan

Elizabeth Morgan—a longtime socialist activist (including running for Congress in Ohio on the Socialist ticket), accomplished musician, and progressive educator (founding the Arthur Morgan School)—compiled this songbook over a period of many years, completing it in 1958. It was published for the first time in 1997 by the Charles H. Kerr Company.

Book preview

~~ Owen ~~

Well, this is fucking original, Karl.

There were Rogue Werewolves in my territory, and here I was, on some shitty back street in Inverness, surrounded by closed-down shops and flickering street lights while watching four drunken men trying to make up their minds about going into a damn strip club. If my father—my Alpha—hadn’t demanded I take the night off and let one of the others patrol, I would have continued searching for the bastards who were fucking about in our territory. I was second in charge; protecting my Pack was more important than pub crawling.

We stopped on the corner.

That dump? Robert looked at Karl, then back at the club’s façade. Are you serious?

Classy joint, this here, Karl protested.

The neon lights of The Lollypop Stop blazed at the end of the dark, secluded street. I had heard of the strip club but never been inside, but that was simply due to the fact that I’d never had to pay a woman to take her clothes off for me.

You’ve had too much to fucking drink, laddie. The street appeared deserted at first glance, and I took note of every darkened corner and turn. You never knew where danger could spring up from, and I for one, sure hated surprises.

Don’t tell me you’re a prude? Martin laughed, hooking his right arm around my shoulders.

No, not Mr. MacLaren, ladies’ man and number one charmer. Luke tried to joke, but a hint of envy laced itself into his playful tone.

Stag nights—I had been to three in total, and all for fellow Pack brothers. Since Werewolves’ metabolisms were high, we burned alcohol off too damn quick, meaning we didn’t get the full effect. Sadly, we have never been able to go out and get shit-faced and have what you would call a typical guys’ night out. So this was my first proper human stag night, and I was damn sure it would be my last. Watching human men acting like the horny school boys I taught was not my idea of fun.

Still, the night went okay so far. Robert and I had become good friends; then again, we had worked at the school together for the last eleven years. At least being out in the open meant I could keep a look-out for our Rogues.

Am I fuck a prude. I shrugged Martin’s arm away. I just think it’s cruel to dangle temptation in front of a nearly married man.

But that’s exactly the reason we’re here, man. Rob can never touch another woman, ever again. Never look at one, in case the missus is watching, and all those fine pieces of ass out there, say bye, bye, Rob. Karl wobbled over to Robert and clasped his shoulders. You will be fucking the same woman for the rest of your damn life.

Says the married man and father of three. I snorted.

Karl grimaced at me. What the fuck do you know, MacLaren?

I know that if you find the right woman, then it doesn’t matter if you don’t get to fuck another woman for the rest of your life.

Says the man who screws a different lass every month.

A grin curled on my lips. Aye, but I ain’t found the right one yet.

He muttered something incoherent under his breath and looked back at Robert. What d’ya say? One final look-see before you enter the last legal form of slavery?

Unlike those three pricks, Robert was a decent man, but like most men, hearing marriage phrased in such a way seemed to set off some idiotic, last night of freedom bell. His entire spine grew rigid, and a slight sheen of sweat broke on his forehead. The smell of his anxiety got blown in my general direction.

Robert’s gaze slid to me.

I already knew what he wanted to do. It’s a strip club, for fuck sake. Your stag night, man. Do what you want.

He nodded. All right. Strip club it is.

The lads cheered like rowdy school boys and made their way down the street.

I liked women. Fucking loved them, but I still respected them, their bodies, and as hard as it was for these idiots to understand, I knew that once you found the one, going to a club just to get a hard-on from seeing a fair amount of tits and arse. . . . It just didn’t make any fucking sense.

Guess it wouldn’t. Being a Werewolf, not like any of us had much of a choice. Once the wolf found his mate, no other woman on Earth existed to him.

The bouncers moved aside and let us through the main doors. The sharp tang of liquor, laced with a mixture of fruity and floral perfume and spiced cologne, hit me in the face as I stepped into the stuffy entrance. Stains marked the wooden floor, and peeling posters of half-naked women covered the red walls.

Yeah, sure. Real classy joint.

Karl and Martin staggered up to the pay booth, where a woman with fake blonde hair sat behind the thick plastic window screen, filing her nails.

Fifteen pounds entry, gentlemen, she stated.

Fifteen quid? Karl grunted as he rummaged through his wallet. Each?

Her smile bordered on painful, eyes holding a hint of exhaustion as a seemingly overused line slipped from her lips. For a brilliant show, sir, worth every penny.

For fifteen quid, I should hope fu-uckin’ so. Karl hiccupped.

For fuck sake— I grabbed a twenty from my wallet. This was your idea, Karl.

I know.

Pushing between them, I slid the note through the slot in the screen.

Just through there, sir. She nodded to a set of red doors on my left and gave me back a fiver.

Thank you, sugar. With a smile, I headed over to the entrance. Better be quick, boys. You don’t know what you’ll miss.

Throwing the doors open, I jogged down the dim-lit stairway. The steady thump of music grew louder as I descended. The beat of some song by Rihanna hammered against the walls, almost drowning out the sound of male approval, but my ears still picked up the sporadic cheers. The others shuffled after me as I pushed a second set of doors open and stepped into a large room.

Every light gave off a soft red glow, the crimson, fitted bulbs another cheap attempt to make the establishment seem more seductive. The place appeared half-full and stank of smoke and sweat and a lot of other things I didn’t want to think about. The bar lined the wall to my right and the large, square, main stage stuck out from the back wall. The beat in the current song pulsed along the concrete floor and rippled up my legs. My gaze settled on the two female strippers on either side of the stage. They slid up and down their brass poles, a fine sheen of sweat coating their skin as their bodies swayed under the hot spotlight.

Martin stopped beside me. Fucking beautiful.

This is more like it. Karl nudged Robert. How about I pay for a lap dance for you, Rob?

I said I’d come in and watch the show, not let some woman paw me to death, Robert said.

Michelle has really got your dick whipped, ain’t she? Martin laughed.

Shut the fuck up, Martin, I grunted as I surveyed the room. Small, black, circular tables filled the floor, men crowded around almost every one. And every male in the room had their gazes fixed firmly on the two naked women before them.

So this is why I never step into a strip club? Because sad men come here, trying to get themselves some thrills? Fucking pathetic.

Okay, lads. What will it be? The cage or the stage? Martin clapped his hands.

Looking to my left, I saw a single, medium-sized cage sitting against the wall. A near-naked woman danced inside it. The female’s legs were long and lean as she rubbed against the black iron bars, allowing one of the males to slip a fiver into her g-string.

Stage, stage, definitely the stage, Karl sang, pushing Robert to a free table.

I’ll get this round. I wove between the pulled-out chairs, pausing as a familiar sweet scent touched my nostrils. An odd awareness ghosted across my skin; the sensation feather-light, and yet, prickles stabbed along my spine, causing my Wolf to stir. Taking a deep breath, I tasted the air, trying to weed out the scent amongst the overly used cologne and perfumes, the smell of stale snacks, alcohol, and a variety of other stains that still tainted the atmosphere. It hung faint, mellow, too lost for me to find, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew it well.

Scanning the room for a second time, I headed to the right end of the bar, ordering five beers the minute the barman met my gaze. Retrieving a couple of tens from my wallet, I then placed them on the counter.

The aroma of exotic spice and dried feminine sweat tickled my nose.

Hey, handsome. I’m Diane. A soft voice purred into my left ear. Can I interest you in a dance?

I’m afraid I don’t dance. Twisting, I met her gaze. Her almond-shaped, caramel eyes ignited with interest.

Oh, don’t worry, baby. You wouldn’t have to move a muscle. Sliding her left hand along my shoulder, she stepped closer, crushing her breasts to my chest. Her red lips morphed into a sultry grin as she cupped my dick with her free hand. I’d do all the work.

Heat rolled off her in flutters, the tang of her growing arousal invading my nostrils, along with the scent of the last man she had been with.

How about it? she continued.

That’s fifteen pounds, pal, the bartender said.

Sounds deliciously tempting. I pushed the note towards the bloke. But I’m afraid I will have to pass.

She continued to rub my cock through my jeans. Are you sure, big boy? I would be real nice to you.

Oh, I’m sure you would be, sugar, but the answer is still no. Grabbing my change and the five bottles of beer, I stepped out of her clutches. I promise, if I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.

I better be. With a pout, she sauntered to the nearest male.

Karl had snatched a table situated slap-bang front and centre of the stage.

Naturally.

I placed down the beers and grabbed one of the red, padded chairs.

What about you, Owen? Luke reached over and grabbed a bottle. You want a lap dance?

Turning the chair round, I straddled it, leaning my chest against the back. Sorry, Luke, you ain’t my type. I grinned and picked up a beer.

Ha. Ha. Funny. You’re a dick, have I ever told you that?

Every damn day. I took a mouthful of beer.

Robert nudged my right arm. And here I was thinking you liked blondes.

Aye, I like naturals. Luke ain’t a natural.

Luke shot me the middle finger.

Plus, he has a temper.

Martin pushed a menu towards me. Just in case you change your mind, MacLaren.

The prices of the private dances had my eyes going wide. Fifty pounds upward— I snorted. —I doubt any of ‘em dance that well. I tossed the menu in the middle of the table. Luke?

What?

How much do you charge?

He grinned at me. I’m way out of your fucking price range, mate.

With a chuckle, I rested my elbows on the back of the chair and turned my attention to the stage.

The music ended. The two women grabbed their clothes and headed backstage, hips swinging, as one and five pound notes hung out over the edge of their thongs.

Give it up for Jenny and Jean, our tantalizing duo, said an invisible male, his gruff voice echoing throughout the club.

Christ, they’ve got a voice-over.

Oh aye, this is a real classy joint. Luke knocked back his beer.

Better than some places, Karl said.

And now, gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I introduce you to the newest Lollypop.

Oh, sweet Jesus. I stifled my amusement with another swig of beer.

The feral goddess with the wildest moves.... The one, the only, She-Wolf.

This should be interesting. Martin grinned, slinging his right arm over the back of his chair and making himself comfortable.

A familiar guitar riff began leaking through the speakers as the stage lights turned from hot white to dusky blue. The guitar riff kicked in.

Follow You Home a song by my favourite band, Nickleback.

At least she’s got good taste in music, I murmured to no one in particular while rolling the neck of my beer bottle between my hands.

The red velvet curtains parted and the verse started. A black iron chair slid along the stage and then stopped, perfectly in the middle. The female strolled out of the shadows, one long leg in front of the other, smoking her cigarette. She wore a large black hoodie, dark denim hot pants, and black leather knee-high boots.

The prickling sensation sharpened along my spine, causing me to shiver.

Weird fucking costume for a stripper, Martin said.

Her long black hair hung back in a high ponytail. Black and silver eye shadow framed her eyes, the blended shades bold against her smooth, pale skin.

Smoke rolled along the stage as she stopped before the chair. At the sound of the singer’s voice, she flicked her cigarette to the side and stretched both her arms above her head. She then bent forward until she pressed her hands flat on the stage.

What is this shit? Bloody keep fit? Martin grunted.

Take your fucking clothes off, Karl shouted.

She pulled herself up slowly, and as the bass guitar kicked in, her body swayed to the right and she fell straight into a spin, which seemed to last forever.

Looks like the stripper knows ballet, Robert said.

Fuck the stripper. Luke laughed. How d’ya know that’s ballet she’s doing?

My little sister has studied it for years, Robert said, his focus glued to the stage.

The woman dropped into splits. After a moment, she brought around her right leg from behind to join her left, and then fell backward. She pushed herself off the floor, then jumped up and landed on her feet. A wicked grin curled the corners of her mouth as she rolled down the zip of her hoodie, exposing inch by inch of creamy, pale flesh.

The familiar sweet scent touched my nose once more, growing more potent with each second, battling against the other smells to stand apart. With a deep breath, I dragged the stuffy air of the club deep into my lungs, cancelling out each odour until all that remained was the aroma of . . . flowers? Not the sickly fragrance of floral perfume, but actual flowers.

Her hips began to sway as she shrugged off the hoodie and let it fall. The curve of her waist, and the sight of her supple breasts in her black lace bra, made my mouth dry. I knocked back the rest of my beer, hoping like hell it would help my sudden thirst.

The pale blue light caught the shimmer of her glitter-dusted skin as she brought up her right arm and then placed her hand behind her head.

Sizzling heat spread through my entire body as the distinct taste of wild flowers and sea salt exploded on my tongue. The bittersweet mixture filled me, conjuring images of the meadows bordering my father’s manor; of a young girl laughing as I chased her across the grounds, the scent of the sea wafting from her blonde hair.

My Wolf groaned. My blood heated.

Great breasts, Luke said.

That’s what I’m fucking talking about. Karl leaned forward and banged his fists on the table. He threw back his head and howled. Any other moment, I would have found such a reaction hilarious, but I couldn’t pull my focus from the woman on the stage; couldn’t move due to the heavy beat of my heart banging against my ribcage. I knew that scent, would know it anywhere.

She made a slow turn as she loosened her ponytail and shook her head. Her hair streamed down her back like a glossy black waterfall. She finished her spin, then her focus landed on me, and the air caught in my throat.

Clare.

Her body went rigid. Her sultry gaze hardened as she stared at me.

Clare Walker. I’d know those moonlit eyes anywhere.

What in God’s name is she doing working in a fucking strip club?

Straightening, I tensed as my wolf skimmed the surface. My energy pulsed as his focus zoned in on her. A moment was all it took. My Wolf settled. Satisfaction hummed through me. Acceptance.

What the fuck?

Her jaw tensed, chin tilted up as she stared us both down for a single moment, before she ran and grabbed hold of the stage pole on the right. Her feet left the floor as she wrapped her legs around the brass and spun.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, but the tension didn’t drain from my body.

Her feet hit the floor, the pole between her perfect thighs. She pulled herself upwards, rubbing herself against the warm metal.

Every drop of blood in my body headed south.

She swung round and pressed her back against the pole. Her hands travelled down her breasts, then her stomach, to stop at the waist of her hot pants.

My jeans suddenly felt too tight, and the sound of my heartbeat drowned out the loud music.

She slid her hot pants down her thighs and . . . .

The neck of the beer bottle broke in my hands.

You okay? Robert looked at the bottle.

I let my gaze slip down to the broken glass and grunted. Oops.

Throwing the shards on the table, my attention turned back to Clare. She crouched before a group of men pushed up against the stage. Fire licked through me at the sight of them slipping notes into her cleavage and the band of her knickers, their fingers skimming her milky flesh. The sight caused a strangled snarl to break from my throat.

Easy boy, this is Clare. It’s just Clare.

My Wolf began to pace, hackles rising, the urge to beat the shit out of them and protect her overwhelming me. No man had any right to touch her. I didn’t want any other man to touch her, let alone look at her, and the sudden realization scared the hell out of me.

She stood and danced away from them. Every move she made was graceful; each step seemed to have a meaning. Touched by the fake moonlight, her body shimmered with sweat and sparkling body dust. She looked exotic, feral. She was Loup-garou. She was mine.

No. Not mine. She’s not mine. It’s fucking Clare, for Christ’s sake!

That simple fact didn’t stop the images filling my mind—images of her writhing across the damp earth of the forest floor, the light of the moon bathing her pale flesh. I’d explore every curve and crevice with my fingers and tongue until she begged me to mark her. Claim her.

Those wants alone had me hard as a rock, and on the border of having a panic attack.

Fuck, this is bad. Margaret Thatcher dancing naked in the rain. Margaret Thatcher dancing naked in the rain . . . .

Hiding my hands under the table, I pulled the small shard of glass from my right palm, ignoring the tingle of my flesh pulling together and closing the small wound.

Five years since I had last seen her. She’d been nineteen and preparing to go to London to live with her mother while she studied dance at university. By the look of her body, she had studied damn hard.

My fingers sank into my thighs as she curled around the left brass pole.

Last time I had seen her, she wore dungarees she could hardly fill. Now, her body looked athletic, but she had more curves than a damn racetrack.

She turned her back to the audience. My focus slipped to the four, tattooed paw prints climbing up her right hip. I couldn’t stop the smile forming on my lips, nor stop the thought of tracing those delicate designs with my tongue.

She stepped up on the chair and spun again.

I think I’ve found my lap dancer. Karl’s words came out slurred.

The urge to punch his head through the wall rushed through me.

Clare dropped onto the chair. Her knees spread wide, showing the audience the soft junction of her milky thighs.

I swallowed the groan lodged in my throat. The zip of my jeans was two seconds away from splitting.

Applause roared throughout the room as she struck her final pose and the music ended. Tension wound through my entire body, and I had to fight to stay in my chair as a string of crude comments left the mouths of the majority of men around me.

She grabbed her clothes and made her way off stage. The hypnotic sway of her hips, and the sight of her perky arse sitting in those lace panties, struck as painfully uncomfortable. The blood in my veins burned; the tension in my muscles pulsed.

She disappeared from view.

What was this insane, ecstatic joy that she hadn’t removed her underwear in front of these perverted bastards about? All I knew was that if she had, I would have had to kill everyone.

Not good, Owen.

The sweet smell of her sweat had mixed with her natural aroma which now seemed to cling to my nostrils, teasing me. I wanted to find her, rip those knickers off her with my teeth, and bury my head between her thighs until she came apart on my tongue.

Not fucking good at all.

Deep breath. What I needed to do was calm the fuck down and then talk to her. And I really needed to talk to her. This was Clare, for fuck’s sake. I had watched her grow up. This was wrong. So fucking wrong.

The metal frame of the chair dented under the pressure of my fingertips as the others continued to talk about her.

What the fuck was she doing here, anyway? Taking her clothes off and dancing in a shitty strip joint?

She was supposed to be performing on cruise ships. In clothing.

Her life is not my business. It’s not my business. At least it wasn’t, until now.

So, Owen, you having a lap dance or-or not? Karl burped, then knocked down the rest of his beer Going to be a bit fuck-king boring sitting ’ere on your own. Maybe we can find you a nice blonde.

Fuck it! I needed to speak to her.

You’re right, Karl, I said through clenched teeth. I’m here; might as well get the full experience.

Fuck yeah, Martin agreed.

And here’s my nights-s-s entertainment, Karl said.

I smelled her before he had even moved. A spicy perfume joined her familiar floral aroma. I looked over my shoulder as she made her way to the bar and sat on one of the stools. Her black hair had been braided and