Lorenzo bristled at the comment. The Vampire had been listening. Normally they tuned out of conversations unless they were investigating someone or had a personal interest. Was he sent by someone? Did he have an interest in Ivy? Lorenzo pushed off the bar and walked away.
The Vampire lightly touched his arm and caught up with him. “It’s just that if you’re not interested in anyone in particular, I thought I’d see if the young miss would entertain me with a dance.”
Lorenzo turned on his heel and faced his new friend. “What interest does a Vampire have in a Shifter?”
The slender Vamp clicked his heels and bowed swiftly. “The name’s Atticus. You’re a Packmaster, right? She has an alluring way about her that’s undeniably attractive, but later tonight, you’ll be giving serious thought to some of the things you promised her. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? We both know Packmasters never choose women with shortcomings such as hers. All I want is a dance with the girl. Have your fun and discard her later, but turn a blind eye and indulge an old Vampire in having a moment with a beautiful woman.”
“If you go near her, I’ll put a stake in you,” Lorenzo said. A stake wouldn’t kill a Vampire like in the movies, but it certainly deflated their ego by paralyzing them until it was removed. Atticus stood a couple of inches shorter than he did, so Lorenzo let his eyes lower to the man’s mouth to keep from looking into his eyes.
“So much testosterone flinging about with you Shifters. Maybe you should use me as a way to test her loyalty. If she accepts a dance, then you’ll have your answer that she isn’t as faithful as you hoped. If she rejects me, then you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing she only wants you. I’ll even wear my glasses so you know I’m not tipping the scales in my favor. Think about it.” Atticus gave him a pat on the arm and gracefully slipped into the crowd.
Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. Lorenzo understood the root of his fears stemmed from his aunt having sex with another man not even of his uncle’s caliber. That betrayal had set a chain of events into motion that left an indelible impression on a young alpha. Lorenzo had looked up to his uncle, trying to learn the tools of leading a successful pack by the examples set. He’d vowed he would step out of the shadows of family shame and never repeat the same mistakes his own flesh and blood had made and that he would become a better man—a better leader. Perhaps Atticus was right, and this might save him the trouble of enduring the same fate.
Chapter 18
My wolf had taken over for the length of the entire evening. When she finally let me shift back late the next morning, I felt rested and content. Someone had pulled the white rug from beneath the coffee table and placed it in front of the television where Maizy was lying down, still in her pink nightgown, reading a book with colorful illustrations.
I washed up in the bathroom with a wet towel since we didn’t have a shower. My clothes still carried the sour smell of the bar, so I hung Lorenzo’s shirt on a hook affixed to the door and slipped into a chocolate-brown dress that flowed to my ankles. I loved that stretchy kind of fabric, and instead of walking around barefoot like I’d been doing in our room, I slipped on a pair of brown flats that looked more like slippers than shoes.
“Are you hungry? Come sit down and have a plate before it gets too cold,” Lynn said from behind the bar in our private room. “Most of us have already eaten, but we saved you plenty.”
I sat on a soft leather stool next to Wheeler. He took a sausage link between his fingers and ran it in a circle on a syrupy plate.
“Where did this come from?” I asked.
“Well,” Lynn began, her hands on her hips, “I talked to the bartender who talked to the cook and they didn’t have anything but bar food. What they have is fine for the dinner crowd, but we can’t eat hamburgers for breakfast. So I sent them on a run.”
Wheeler snorted out a laugh. “I could eat hamburgers.”
She set a plate of sausage links and pancakes in front of me. “This came from the IHOP a few blocks down the street. Eggs get cold fast, so I ordered what would keep at room temperature. But I can have the chef put it in the microwave if you want.”
“I love how you call that asshole a chef,” Wheeler muttered.
“Maybe he’s just a cook,” she said, “but the minute he went out of his way to bring all this food, I upgraded his title.”
“No, this is quite delicious,” I said, already eating my second sausage.
“Forget something, Lynn?” Wheeler asked without looking up from his plate.
She knitted her brows. “Oh, that.” Lynn opened the small fridge behind the bar, which held alcoholic drinks, among other things, and set a container of cream cheese and a chilled spoon in front of me. “That long-haired Indian fellow insisted that I give this to you with breakfast. Where he got it, I don’t know.”