As the Dark Leopard’s clubhouse filled with mates, it was difficult to be around all the love and pheromones. Now, that his president, Six, had found his mate, Twistie, there hadn’t been any kind of peace in the clubhouse. They had no concept of quiet sex. He didn’t begrudge his brothers and sisters for finding love. Even seeing the club’s Sergeant at Arms, Fina, and her damned warlock mate kiss filled him with a spurt of jealousy, and he didn’t like it. The long bike rides had helped him release some of the anger and most of the resentment, but he wasn’t quite sure anything would really help.
Oz banged out a quick text to Six to let him know the weather situation and that he’d get back to San Antonio when he could. The last sign he saw clearly was Italy, Texas, a few miles back. He wasn’t sure what town he’d actually stopped in.
Six texted a response in under a minute: Stay safe, my brother.
A lion shifter in black military fatigues partially blocked the front door of the bar.
Of course, I’d find the one lion’s den bar in the middle of nowhere.
Oz squeezed past him, motioned to pull off his leather duster, then the strong stench of more than lions hit him. The place was filled with scents of bear and wolf shifters, among other things, along with the smell of humans. The last thing he wanted was for any of them to see his Dark Leopard cut, his leather club vest. He turned to leave, but he couldn’t even see the bikes he’d just walk past to enter this hole in the wall. There was no need to go back out there.
Melted ice dripped off his long coat as he walked in. No one looked his way. The small bar looked to be standing room only and the country music playing could be barely heard over the cacophony of voices. He squeezed through the crowd, getting a growl here and a hiss there, but nothing fight-worthy as he worked his way to the bar.
There were two bartenders working the bar, but the female bartender’s movements were as fluid and graceful as a cat. When one of the drunken patrons reached for her, she eased out of his way. There was something intriguing about her. Oz stood at the end of the bar and watched her work. She flipped a tequila bottle in the air, then filled a line of shot glasses. A giggle rolled up in him when she twirled the bottle opener like a baton through her fingers before opening three long neck bottles of beer. Oz schooled his face, covering his mouth with his hand, after realizing he was still smiling. Plus, no self-respecting leopard giggled.
This was the first time Oz questioned himself as to if he had a type. Everything about this woman checked the ‘my kind of woman’ box in his mind. She stood about five-eight or five-nine, with beautiful dark-skin and dark eyes. Even the faux-hawk fade with blonde highlights on her natural hair flipped a switch for him.
When she moved to his end of the bar, he looked away.
“Hey, what can I get you?”
Oz blinked, then looked her way, then around him to make sure she was talking to him.
“Yeah, you,” the female bartender said with a smile. “What can I get you?”
Her raspy voice made his cock stand at attention. He moved closer to the bar so that no one else could see what this woman was doing to him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It had been a long time since he’d held a conversation out loud. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and dry as a desert.
“I’ll come back if you’re not ready.” She turned to leave.
“No.” With his quick cat-like reflexes, he touched her hand to stop her. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Please. Wait.” The moment he touched her, a frisson of recognition surged through him.
Mine.
She didn’t snatch her hand away, nor did she haul off and slap him. Which, if he was being honest with himself, he kind of expected both. “I’m sorry. I know you’re busy.” He reluctantly released her hand.
“No. It’s okay. What can I get you?”
“Whiskey sour,” he said and when she turned to leave. “And I really didn’t mean—” He lifted his offending hand.
She came back and wrapped her hand around his upheld one with a smile. The warmth from their first touch was nothing compared to the lava racing through his veins now. Her unusual scent surrounded him as she leaned in to speak. In that moment, it felt like they were the only people in the room.
“I know,” she said, then winked before she walked away.
Oz took a deep breath; he needed to smell her again, but instead he got a nostril full of cigarette stench, then hints of weed invaded his senses, along with gun and motor oil. Finally, buried under all of that, a light citrusy scent… her scent. It slammed into him, hitting him so hard he stumbled. There was no doubt, this woman was his mate… and she was wholly human.
It wasn’t unheard of; he just didn’t expect a human to be the person to complete him. He wanted to know more about her and couldn’t help it. He used his telepathic powers to try and read her mind.
Crash.
The bartender staggered, blinking furiously while shaking her head, surrounded by broken glass and spilled whiskey.
Did he do that to her? He couldn’t connect into her mind. There was only distorted snow, like when a TV station loses its signal.
“What the fuck, Ronnie? You
