Page 18 of Howlin’ For You

“I don’t think I’ve met him?” We step out of her car and make our way to the giant wooden double doors.

She shakes her head, holding open one door for me. “You wouldn’t have. He doesn’t talk to people anymore. Only sticks his head out of his office here at the bar when a fight breaks out.”

“Does that happen often?”

She shrugs, letting the door close heavily behind us. “We’re wolves. Shit happens.”

I let the comment flutter to the ground between us as I take in Claws Out Bar.

An antique wood bar that screams ‘handmade’ dominates the space. The carvings on the sides—depicting wolves, of course—are too personal to be anything other than made with love. Behind the bar is a glass wall decorated to the ceiling with liquor bottles.

On the opposite end of the building is a small stage where a band is currently setting up for the night. Booths line the walls, but most of the bar is space for dancing—or fighting, I guess, if Georgie is to be believed.

It smells like pretzels and beer and lemony cleaner. I could see Georgie and I closing this place down every weekend.

My eyes catch Georgie’s fingers dancing over her phone before she tucks it away and gives me a guilty smile.

“What were you doing?” I ask.

She steps behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get a drink!”

I side-eye her but allow her to push me to the bar stools. I’m sure I’ll find out whatever she’s planning, eventually.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NICK

Georgie’s text swims in my head as I pull on a sweater and jeans. As I get into my car and drive to Claws Out.

Georgie: Your woman is with me at Claws Out, looking sexy as hell. Do something about it before someone else does.

I don’t appreciate the blatant manipulation, but I’m pulling into the parking lot less than twenty minutes later, so I can’t say it didn’t work.

The mere thought of anyone else’s hands on Izzy makes me want to rip my claws into the closest living thing. I want to give her time and space—to truly win her affection through action. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow anyone to saddle up to her in the meantime.

I pull open the double doors, shoes sticking slightly to the floor just like they always do as my eyes search the slight crowd that’s formed.

The band is mid-song, crooning some alternative pop thing I’ve never heard when I finally see her. Izzy. She’s dancing with Georgie, eyes closed and arms up, pure serenity on her face.

I use the opportunity to rake my gaze over her entire body. Skin-tight shirt and skirt, tights I want to rip holes in, and boots that highlight the bite-able thickness of her thighs. She’s more than ‘sexy as hell’ as Georgie put it. Isabella Gregory is a goddamn feast, and I want to sink my teeth in.

I’m content to watch, to be her silent protector as she enjoys herself. I might even find the time to enjoy a beer. Reminisce over my high school days when a rowdier, younger version of myself tried to sneak into this very bar.

The old owner threatened to beat my ass, along with my best friend, Dane.

I enjoy losing myself in old memories. That is, until some out-of-towner puts his hands on her waist, ignoring the way she pushes him away. Every thought flies out of my head until all I hear is ‘mine, mine, mine’.

Mine.

I’m across the room in a flash, putting my hand on his shoulder and using my full strength to yank him back. Hard.

“Nick?” Izzy’s voice sounds like it’s coming at me from underwater. I hear it, but it’s soft. Muted.

My only focus is this fucker who thought he could touch her.

Mine.

“What the fuck, man?” he has the audacity to say.