Hunted Pack

Fergus was halfway to drunk.

Around him, Queenstown locals and tourists shouted and laughed, hips wriggling to the rockin’ music of the cover band. Groups of women in itty-bitty dresses flirted and tossed their hair while packs of young men eyed them with fervent interest. Lust seethed in the air along with the beat of the drums. The party had amped up during the last hour, the carefree mood a living, vibrant thing as the pub customers celebrated the creep toward the new year.

Only a few hours to go now.

He hadn’t wanted to socialize, but he’d tagged along with a group of mates, not wanting to draw attention by staying at the hotel.

Fergus stared at the double whisky sitting on the bar in front of him—expensive Scottish malt, his heart heavy as he lifted the glass to his mouth. The woody scent hit him first, and he forced himself to go slow, to savor the smoky vanilla flavor instead of tipping the entire contents down his throat.
The sad truth? Even if he was getting a decent buzz, his non-human status meant he needed to keep up the rapid pace to dull his senses. He couldn’t afford that—not on a junior cop’s wages.

A failure.

On all levels.

Miranda’s sneering words ripped through his mind, cutting through the drunken fuzziness and slashing at his heart again. And again.

She didn’t want him.

His dragon status had scared her.

He’d thought… Hell, he didn’t know what he’d thought.

But he’d never hurt her. He’d thought she’d understood. He was the same man he’d been before she’d known he was a dragon. The man who wanted to uphold the human law and keep citizens safe. It was all he’d ever wanted since an abusive uncle had murdered his best friend. From that moment, he’d wanted to be a cop. The good guy. But no matter how often he tried to explain, Miranda didn’t get it.

“Excuse me, can I squeeze in beside you?”

Fergus blinked at the curvy woman, attempting to get the barman’s attention. He was occupied at the far end of the bar while the woman serving closest to them focused on flirting with a burly wolf.

“Please.” Her expression in her bright blue eyes echoed the warmth in her voice.

Unlike some women around him, she wasn’t using coquettishness or flashing her tits to get what she wanted. Fergus’s gaze dropped without conscious permission and lifted again to catch the firming of her mouth. Her confidence remained, but the friendliness he’d noted took a back seat to the glare she leveled at him.

Shame filtered into Fergus, and the gentlemanly manners his mother had drummed into him came to the fore. “Sorry.”

He inched to the left to give her a slight gap. Fergus signaled to the closest bartender.

“What can I get you, handsome?” The slender redhead had flirted with him earlier, but he hadn’t reciprocated. Not when her hair—the color and the style—reminded him of Miranda.

“The lady would like a drink.”

The redhead’s mouth firmed, but she pulled up professionalism and focused on the curvy woman who’d squeezed close.

Fergus froze, suddenly hyperaware of the woman’s warmth against his arm and the subtle scent of vanilla and cedarwood drifting from her. A touch of sweetness with earthiness for balance.

“I’ll have a bottle of bubbly,” the woman said, pointing to the assortment of bottles in the bar fridge. “The brut one, please.”

Her melodic voice pleased his dragon, his animalistic half drawing forward in curiosity. This close, the freckles on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose stood out, and he smiled, charmed. She was attractive, that sleek curtain of black hair making his fingers itch to touch.

“I’ll pay for that,” Fergus said.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said, smiling.

“Please, I’d like to. No expectations on my part, I promise.” He meant it, too. Miranda had not only rejected him but, a week later, married a billionaire who lived in Auckland. She hadn’t wasted time after she’d packed up and left the flat they’d shared in Dunedin.

“Thank you,” she said finally after staring at him for a long, gut-twisting moment. “My name is Claire.”

“Fergus,” he said, rising. “Take my barstool.”

“No, I’m here with a girlfriend. She’s saving me a seat…” She glanced over her shoulder and trailed off. “Perhaps not,” she muttered under her breath. “Thank you. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

Fergus followed her gaze to where a blonde woman slow-danced with a dark-haired man dressed in a suit. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but the woman’s expression screamed love.

“Your friend?”

“Yeah, I thought they’d split. It was why she asked me to come out with her tonight. She wanted to party but not alone,” Claire said.

“I came with friends,” Fergus said. “They’re around somewhere.” Possibly they’d ditched him since at least one had accused him of dragging down the mood.

They had several more drinks, taking turns paying. They discussed everything from how expensive it was to live in or visit Queenstown to hiking and the various adrenaline sports available in the area. They people-watched and made up silly stories about their fellow revelers, and Fergus was glad. He didn’t want to discuss anything profound or give personal details.

“Everyone seems determined to partner up tonight,” Claire said, watching the couples on the dance floor.

Fergus understood. No one wanted to feel alone when everyone else was celebrating.

The singer held the final note of a frantic dance tune, and the crowd cheered. He grinned. “The final song before our new year countdown. Grab your partner and celebrate life.”

“Would you like to dance?” Fergus asked.

“We’ll lose our seat,” Claire said.

“I’m going after the countdown.”

“Oh,” Claire said.

Had that been disappointment? Fergus wasn’t sure and didn’t trust his instincts right now. Miranda had fooled him good, making him doubt his judgment.

“Claire!”

Claire’s friend stood behind them, her hand clasped in Suitman’s. “Jerry and I are leaving now. Will you be okay?”

“Sure,” Claire said. “The hotel isn’t far to walk. It should be safe enough.”

“I’m staying with Jerry,” the woman said.

“Thanks for letting me know. Happy New Year!”

Claire was pissed. Fergus wasn’t sure how he knew because her smile remained intact. Friendly. Her friend didn’t notice, and the guy she was with—Jerry—wasn’t interested in anyone or anything.

The woman gave Claire a brief hug before leaving without a backward glance.

“You don’t like Jerry,” Fergus said.

“He’s arrogant and has a temper. They’ve known each other since childhood, and their parents want the match. It’s not up to me to butt in and express my doubts to Laura.”

The singer crooned about kids in love, and Fergus reached for Claire’s hand. “Let’s dance.”

***

Claire slid her hands under Fergus’s shirt and smoothed her palms over his warm back. Fergus’s soft lips caressed her neck, and her heart rate kicked into a racy beat. She’d never done anything like this, yet that didn’t stop her from sliding the shirt she’d unbuttoned off his broad shoulders because she instinctively trusted this somber man with sad brown eyes.

“Claire?”

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

Fergus didn’t hesitate. He drew her close, and the rising passion easily surpassed their first kiss—the one they’d shared on the dance floor as the clock struck midnight.

Things had moved swiftly after that, and she found herself alone with him in her hotel room, her little black dress on the floor, and her wearing just her lacy black underwear and strappy black shoes.

Fergus’s pale blue shirt fluttered to the carpet, and as they continued to kiss, it became a competition to see who could get naked first.

He parted their lips, and they were both breathing hard.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said. She might have doubts tomorrow, but what did it matter? She was leaving town and returning to her new home of Te Anau. Her parents had left her a holiday cottage there, and she’d bought a pub. Living the dream.

Why not start her year with a bang?