Vegas Bites: A Werewolf Romance Anthology by L.A. Banks

Vegas Bites: A Werewolf Romance Anthology by L.A. Banks

Chapter One
Las Vegas, Nevada… French Quarter Hotel and Casino
Butch Maverick sat in the central bar ignoring the poker and tournament
tables, staring down into his glass of Dewar’s. He hated coming to Vegas.
The incessant ring of the slot machines gave him a headache. It was hot as
hell and dry as a bone… a hundred and three degrees in the shade. Even
under the air conditioners, he was still sweating. He hated being boxed in,
having to stay indoors during the day just to catch the frigid AC temps. At
least it was cool at night in the desert, where he could run wild and free.
But what was with the air conditioners in the casino? It seemed like
Malcolm had them on full blast, but he was still burning up. Vegas was not
him at all. The vibe, the climate, and everything else simply went against
his basic nature. Worse, there was always some bull when he had to bounty
hunt here. He could already smell Laurel’s sweet scent, and he’d just
walked in the damned door.
He took another sip of the dark liquor and winced, determined to stay
focused on his mission: find out who’d been wreaking werewolf-style
havoc throughout the Midwest.
His brother in Philly had given him the tip, cop courtesy by way of
blood. The job was out of his brother’s jurisdiction and crossed state lines in
a way that an East Coast detective would be hard-pressed to explain, if he
started hardcore investigating. That’s where he came in. Freelance hunters
had no boundaries.
They both knew the deal. The casino owners were about to retire, and the
last thing Mom and Pop Temple needed was a hostile pack takeover of an
establishment they’d held onto since the fifties.
Yeah… this was potentially a family matter. Preternatural Po-Po didn’t
need to get involved. Internal affairs of the pack were just that, private, and
no human cop interventions ought to be in the mix.
But with a rogue gang doing home invasions, robbing banks, savaging
civilians, and basically running amok, it wouldn’t be long before humans
would take matters into their own hands. Then it would be an all-out wolf
hunt. The fuckin’ vampires would love it. This had to be solved like the
past three attempts to take the casino had been. Mobsters quietly
disappeared into the dark of night, never to be seen again. So had another
foolish pack that had tried the French Quarter, and a shady international
businessman was only a withered carcass when they found his stupid ass.
The cash trail led here, where new shipments of methamphetamine were
coming in strong through Cutter, Fang, and Mad Dawg. Everybody knew
they ran the drug thing in Vegas, but you couldn’t smoke a man for his
black market operations—as long as they kept that bullshit on their side of
town. Problem was, he wasn’t sure they had, which meant he’d have to look
up an old friend with the loveliest set of fangs that could make a man shiver
from across the room. Like her working name, Ecstasy Jones was all that—
practically a drug herself. Correction, she was definitely that, but nowhere
near a controlled substance. Girlfriend was ecstasy personified, out of
control, and could make a man jones for months after getting with her.
Butch knocked back the rest of his drink and stood, his gaze roving the
slot machine rows before slowly scanning the poker area. This was exactly
why he hated coming to Vegas. If he looked up Ecstasy, the high-roller
vamps that were her primary clientele would be hissing and spitting like
bitches. If he followed his first impulse and went to see fine-ass Laurel, he
might have to rip Guy’s face off, and then tangle with his boyz Troy and
Oliver. That’s the last thing the family needed right now, a split in pack
ranks. Any sign of weakness or dissention in the family was a bad thing,
especially when there was a potential coup in the wind. Damn, it was hot!
His shirt was sticking to his skin.
A woman as fine as Laurel had a way of making even the most
reasonable man act stupid, especially near a full moon when she was going
into heat. Laurel didn’t need to be running security; shit, she needed
security.
That dumb bastard, Guy, was always snarling about marketing the casino
better to humans to boost revenues and complaining about keeping any
supernatural incidents on the DL… sheeit. He was about to have a serious
public relations problem up in the joint if his Gaming Manager and Pit Boss
Manager got in his face today with Laurel’s thick scent opening his nose.
That bull between him and Guy shoulda been squashed about a hundred
years ago, anyway. It wasn’t his fault that the woman wouldn’t mate him on
the regular. Laurel didn’t do any guys that worked for the family. Period.

Vegas Bites: A Werewolf Romance Anthology by L.A. Banks