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“I’ll let you get to your other customers,” I said.
“What other customers?” Becca replied.
When I turned around, the werewolf who had been standing behind me was gone.
Chapter Eight
Stepping into the cool night, I was on edge.
I was also expecting the attack.
Expectation didn’t make the punch across my face hurt any less.
The werewolf had at least been smart enough to wait until I was away from the small line of businesses and had crossed the street towards a darker area where nothing was open. I’d smelled dirt before he hit me, but the punch landed square on my jaw, knocking my head to the side and making me see stars.
This bugger was strong.
I staggered and regained my footing, but he was already on the move. I tried to get a fix on his scent. Having met all the wolves in both Lucas’s and Callum’s packs, I was certain I’d be able to tell if he belonged to one or the other. He smelled completely foreign.
Ducking, I avoided the next swing and darted a fist into the meat of his belly. He swore and stumbled backwards. I reached for my gun, but he’d righted himself and dove at me, knocking me back into the wall, smacking my skull against the brick.
“Who are you?” I demanded before head-butting him.
He took two steps back, and I unholstered my weapon, training the armed gun on him in lightning speed before he decided to make another jump at me.
“Answer my question or lose the top of your head. ”
He laughed. Well, this brought back memories. It had been a long time since someone had laughed while they were fighting me. “I don’t need to answer to you,” he replied.
“Mr. SIG P226 would like to suggest otherwise. ”
The werewolf chuckled again, but between the two of us, I had a gun and he had a bloody nose.
“I’m going to ask one more time, and I’d really appreciate if we could bypass the whole I’m a scary werewolf and you’re Little Red Riding Hood bullshit, okay? Who are you?”
“A loyalist. ”
“Loyal to what?”
“The true queen. ”
In spite of the general warmth of the night air, I was suddenly freezing. “What did you say?”
“The true queen. ” This time he spit at the ground in front of my feet.
I’d heard this before, the delusional ramblings about rightful queens. A lot of people didn’t believe I deserved to wear a werewolf crown, and I wasn’t disagreeing with them. But two had gone to great lengths to see me lose my head rather than have it be the one wearing a tiara. One of them was in Siberia.
Morgan Scott wasn’t the werewolf I was worried about when faced with this wild-eyed stranger.
“Do you mean Mercy McQueen?”
“The queen,” he corrected.
Oh sweet merciful crap. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate right now.
“My mother sent you?”
That stopped his laughter. “Your mother?” He must not have been too bright if he hadn’t sorted the connection out on his own.
