Table Of ContentVegas Bites:
A Werewolf Romance Anthology
L. A. Banks,
J. M. Jeffries,
Seressia Glass,
Natalie Dunbar
Parker Publishing, Inc
www.parker-publishing.com
Noire Allure is an imprint of Parker Publishing, LLC.
Vegas Bites: A Werewolf Romance Anthology
“Heat” copyright © 2006 by Leslie EsdaileBanks “The Hunger Within”
copyright © 2006 by Jackie Hamilton and Miriam Pace “Double Down”
copyright © 2006 by Seressia Glass “Out of the Dark” copyright © 2006 by
Natalie Dunbar
Published by Parker Publishing, LLC 12523 Limonite Avenue, Suite #440-
245 Mira Loma, California 91752 www.parker-publishing.com
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This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and
incidents (in either a contemporary and/or historical setting) are products of the
author's imagination and are being used in an imaginative manner as a part of
this work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, settings, or
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ISBN: 1-60043-001-5 (10-digit) 978-1-60043-001-5 (13-digit)
First Edition
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Book design by Ric Kolenda, www.kolenda.com
Heat
by
L. A. Banks
Acknowledgements
This wild and crazy story is dedicated to Jackie and Miriam, two wonderful
sister-authors who coaxed “the animal” sensibilities out of me (LOL), and to my
agent, Manie Barron, who told me to “Let the Dawgs out!” I’d also like to thank
my family, especially my husband, who accommodated this project during the
Holidays— when I’d promised, no mas, por favor. Thank you, Parker team, as
well, for the hard work in pulling this all together under fun auspices! As they
say, it’s ALL good.
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.
Butch let out a heavy exhale of frustration and glanced around. Why did these
elimination jobs always have to come his way near a full moon? Fate had a
serious sense of twisted humor. He had to find Marcus, his homeboy that ran
Public Relations. Had to get the low down on the underground buzz on the
situation while he was still lucid. Good thing there was one brother in the clan
that still considered him family.
Malcolm was also cool. Had to be, to keep the hotel biz running smooth. At
least those brothers always had his back, and Laurel didn’t mess up their cool.
Mated males could hang, it was just the solo brothers that got messed up by her
—but he wasn’t gonna let her mess with his mind today. When the moon came
up, he’d figure out a way to cope. For now, he had business to attend to.
Sliding a twenty across the bar, he decided against another drink and began
walking. One drink was cool; a second one would relax him too much. The
Dewar’s had definitely been a necessary distraction to get his head right before
going up to the offices, though… where Laurel’s scent would get even thicker.
Where she’d play with his mind; would probably try to signify his occasional
rendezvous with a female vamp hooker. Ecstasy was good people…all pro. Not
a hooker, or prostitute, and yeah, there was a difference.
Laurel needed to get off it—he’d left the inner pack for good cause, and she
didn’t need to still be salty about it after all these years. It was either that or kill a
clan brother for her. Besides, if she wasn’t giving up tail, then hey. What was a
man supposed to do?
Butch kept walking with purpose, winding his way past the French Quarter
Restaurant, zigzagging in a lope through the roulette and Black Jack tables
toward the elevators. Scents from the restaurant made his stomach rumble. The
sizzling cuisine in there, as well as those wafting toward him from the Voodoo
Café and Big Easy Cajun joint, almost made him stop. But he pressed on. The
day of a full moon was always a bitch.
Forget the elevator to the second floor. He needed to walk off the wood just
thinking about Laurel had given him. The stairs could work.
He flashed the security guard a family badge, opened the door, and bound up
the steps in two strong lunges. Oh, yeah, this was not a good sign. It wasn’t even
four o’clock in the afternoon, and a shapeshift was trying to come through
against his will.
Butch exited the stairwell and set his jaw hard, his eyes hunting the
Administrative Office door. He tilted his head and allowed the scents behind it to
flow over his palate. Secretary… cool… Marcus was in. No competitor and no
Laurel, for the moment. Cool. No drama.
“Yo,” he said with a slow smile as he entered the office.
Janet glanced up at him with a big grin. “Stranger…” she murmured, and then
looked him up and down. “Long time, Butch.”
“Hey, what can I say, baby. Been on the road.” He passed her desk, issuing
her a sly wink, and told himself to keep moving. Foxy thang had a buttermilk
biscuit booty that would stop traffic and make a man wanna sop up his own
drool like it was gravy. That was the last thing he needed with Laurel already on
a mission. “My boy Marcus in?” He knew the answer, but just asked as a
courtesy.
“Yeah…” Janet said, still looking him over while chewing on the end of her
pen. “I’ll buzz him for you, hon.”
“Appreciate it.” He stopped short of Marcus’ office. It was a territorial respect
thing, but he definitely wasn’t trying to stand too close to Janet.
Before Janet’s call connected, Marcus flung the door open and laughed. “Aw,
man! Who let the dogs out? Thought I picked up your tracks—whassup!”
Marcus grabbed Butch into a familial hug, then they broke from each other’s
hold, play boxing for a moment.
“You doing all right?” Marcus stood taller, trying to compensate for the one-
inch height differential between them.
“I’m good, can’t complain,” Butch said with a broad grin, squaring his
shoulders, and reinforcing his six-foot five advantage over Marcus’ six-four
frame. “You got a minute?”
“For you, brother, yeah. Step into my yard.”
Marcus gave Butch a sidelong glance, and Butch just chuckled. Now that the
minor pissing contest was over, maybe they could get down to business.
“Been hearing things,” Butch said once he’d closed the door to Marcus’ office
behind them.
“I know. We all have.” Marcus rounded his large walnut desk to flop down
into the large leather chair behind it. “But I thought maybe you’d just picked up
on Laurel’s trail and were finally gonna—”
“Don’t start.” Butch held up both hands in front of his chest with a wide
grin. “Not today.”
“You mean not tonight, man,” Marcus said, ribbing him.
“I came here strictly on business.”
Marcus sighed and motioned for Butch to sit down. “You really should be
talking to the head of Security Operations if you think there’s a serious threat to
the casino. I’m just your dawg in public relations.”
“I was gonna go to Malcolm instead.”
Butch watched Marcus make a tent with his fingers in front of his mouth and
waited as he took his time to respond. They both understood how Laurel would
take either of them sidestepping her authority.
“You really don’t wanna have that conversation with her, do you?”
“Not if I don’t have to.” Butch looked out the window at the late afternoon
sun.
“Laurel and I are cool… like brother and sister, and—”
“I’m not trying to put you in a position, man.”
Marcus leaned forward. “Then before you go bloodhound on her turf and piss
her off by giving her boss a heads-up before her, you might wanna have that
