All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher.

  It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Vee R. Paxton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Vee R. Paxton has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed

  Copyright © 2022 by Vee R. Paxton

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Content Warning

  This is a piece of fiction written for adults. It is intended for mature audiences only.

  It contains profanity, fairly descriptive sex, mentions of crime and violence and a Dominant/submissive relationship.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, thanks to my mother who continually offers encouragement and support in my artistic journeys.

  Thanks to my muses-I had many for this project and they were all appreciated.

  Thanks to the authors of FaRoFeb and that fabulous community.

  Thanks to MJ Faraldo, my alpha reader, and to my entire beta reading crew whose input has been so valuable.

  Thanks to my editor, Erin of The Word Faery for her valuable aid.

  Thanks to my proofreader, Lori Diederich for aiding in those needed final touches.

  Finally, thanks to authors and artists everywhere who continue to inspire others and make the world a better place through their talent and imaginations.

  Contents

  . Chapter

  1. Tatum Sterling

  2. Jack Mathers

  3. Tatum Sterling

  4. Jack Mathers

  5. Tatum Sterling

  6. Jack Mathers

  7. Tatum Sterling

  8. Jack Mathers

  9. Tatum Sterling

  10. Jack Mathers

  11. Tatum Sterling

  12. Jack Mathers

  13. Tatum Sterling

  14. Jack Mathers

  15. Tatum Sterling

  16. Jack Mathers

  17. Tatum Sterling

  18. Jack Mathers

  19. Tatum Sterling

  20. Jack Mathers

  21. Tatum Sterling

  22. Jack Mathers

  23. Tatum Sterling

  24. Jack Mathers

  25. Tatum Sterling

  26. Jack Mathers

  27. Tatum Sterling

  28. Jack Mathers

  29. Tatum Sterling

  30. Jack Mathers

  31. Tatum Sterling

  One with the Wolf

  One with the Wolf preview

  Also By Vee R. Paxton

  About Author

  Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all – Helen Keller

  Chapter one

  Tatum Sterling

  Art is at its finest when it captures both the best and the worst the world offers. Where better to observe the light and dark than a bar in New York City? Inspiration for my paintings lurked on every barstool, sat in every booth, and at every table. That’s what I kept telling myself night after night, putting on my apron behind the bar. Sure, my dream was to have my talent recognized, but I counted myself lucky to have this job, even if I didn’t understand how I’d landed it. Still, I couldn’t argue with my good fortune at decent pay and a great location. This place had treated me well.

  A loud bang rang through the room, startling me out of my thoughts as the front door of the bar caught in an abrupt gust of wind, and the cold air tickled the skin on my arms from across the room. A chill ripped through my body—it wasn’t just the wind. I was jumpier than usual tonight. Even the droning chatter of patrons and music streaming through the speakers, which sometimes I found soothing, wasn’t helping.

  These last few days, something had changed. I’d been doing so well, but now my nightmares had returned—always about my father. Movement caught my attention in the mirror behind the bar. I looked up, half expecting to see myself as the teary-eyed little girl from that vision.

  “Daddy, please! I’ll try harder.” The cry of my voice in that dream haunted me.

  My delusional father convinced me I had special powers. I was five; I believed him. His belief was so strong that when I couldn’t deliver, he left us.

  Instead of that heartbroken girl, what appeared in the mirror was a small man in glasses dressed in a casually open button-down shirt and jeans staring at his reflection, running his fingers through his hair, and reviewing the alcohol selection.

  I shook it off and stretched my arms over my head to relieve the tension in my shoulders from the memory of that dream.

  “You doing yoga back there, sexy?” the man asked, attempting flirtation and bringing me back to reality.

  I turned around and smiled at him. ”I’m sorry. What can I get you?”

  “How about your number, beautiful?” he said as he bent over the polished wooden bar.

  “Tell you what, Romeo, order a drink and talk to me,” I said, leaning toward him as I flipped my straight, chin-length red hair and brought my best flirt game forward. My father’s delusions of so-called charm powers weren’t necessary. This man wanted to feel special. I knew how to do that without it costing me my phone number.

  Sure enough, moments after I’d handed him his drink, he slid up next to an attractive woman in a cute gray sweater and a sleek black skirt seated at a table, the phone number attempt forgotten. I’d see his gratitude when he paid his tab.

  I glanced across the room. Secret Elixir was a pretty diverse hangout, large enough to fit a decent crowd but small enough to feel intimate. There were high-sided dark wooden booths on the sides that contrasted with the more open middle area that featured a population of flimsy metal tables covered in thin fabric scattered throughout. Our customers could be NYU students or tourists needing a place to regroup or grab a drink and a bite after they’d trod around the West Village, but it was largely a neighborhood hangout. Tonight, the crowd was mostly regulars. One table of the college crowd cheered loudly, and plenty of random stragglers wandered in and out throughout the night. I could see my co-worker, Gia, approaching the bar with a wide grin across her face. She always had some fascinating insight. I wondered what she was up to this time, turned back to the tap, and continued filling an order.

  “Hey, Taters, there’s a guy in the back who keeps staring at you,” she said as she leaned across the bar to set down her tray. Gia had become one of my best friends since I’d moved here. Her smooth dark skin, large brown eyes, and ample figure coupled with her cheerful and friendly attitude gained her plenty of attention and made her a favorite of most patrons.

  “Is he cute?” I asked, not looking up from filling the glass in my hand. I’d learned to play along with her. Hooking up with a customer never fit into my plans, but sometimes it was fun to chat about.

  “No, he’s fucking hot. Smoking hot. Sizzling, just your type,” she said, still looking over her shoulder as she flipped out her notes to hand me the orders.

  I glanced over to that area and saw him seated at a booth near the door. He had dark hair and a close-trimmed beard. His button-down dress shirt was open at the top with rolled-up sleeves. A leather jacket hung on the hook next to the booth. He was hella sexy even from here. He looked familiar. My eyes widened, and I nearly choked on my spit. No way, it couldn’t be him.

  “Oh shit. I know him, or he knows my brother.” I almost knocked a glass off the counter as I looked away, not wanting to get caught staring. He probably thought I looked familiar from pictures my brother had of me. That must be the reason he looked over.

  “Do you mean that sexy lawyer you said was your brother’s friend we saw on TV a few weeks ago? The one you swooned over? That’s him? I thought he looked familiar. Hun, all the more reason to get out from behind this bar and scoot your ass over there. That cute new haircut you just got is working some magic. Use it.” She gave me a gentle nudge and a self-satisfied smile because she’d found a weak spot in my armor.

  I shook my head. “Oh, hell no. He’s married.” My throat tightened after saying those words.

  I remembered when my brother Ash told me his friend Jack had married. I don’t know why it bothered me. It wasn’t as if I knew him or had any chance in hell of dating him. I looked again. His eyes met mine. Shit. I turned back to my work.

  “He’s not wearing a ring,” she said, smiling.

  “Oh c’mon, do they ever when they come here?” I cou

ntered.

  “He wasn’t looking at anyone else, just you. Oops, looks like Becky’s after your guy now.”

  Of course she was after him. Becky quickly picked up on a man who looked like he might have money or status. She rarely bothered with the college men, even though I’d have guessed they were her age or close. She’d once shared her tips on how she could tell a man’s status; it was something about shoes and watches. She’d been pretty drunk when she told me, so it wasn’t easy to sort out.

  “Jack Mathers isn’t my guy, Gia. He’s a sleazy lawyer friend of my brother’s.”

  A married man cruising for women in a bar fit my description of sleazy. Plus, Ash had said little about Jack recently, and what he had said wasn’t nice, mostly mumbling about what a dick he was. I suspected the two of them had fallen out.

  “Whatever you say, girl. My gut says you’re smitten with him. The way your eyes popped out when he came on the TV and how you’re making every excuse in the book right now to avoid him tells me all I need to know. You always run away from the ones you like.”

  She wasn’t wrong. I found him very attractive. I dared another glance in his direction, only to see Becky practically sitting on his lap. Her long brunette hair dangled over him. He glanced past her toward me again. I looked away. Why would he pay attention to me when he had her all over him? Becky was a knockout. Gia had to be wrong.

  Besides, I didn’t know Jack. Heart beating in my throat at the sight of him aside, this wasn’t the distraction I needed. I kept busy behind the bar.

  I turned back to Gia. “Even if he’s not married, you know I’m trying to get work together for a show. I need time to paint. A nice lady even bought one of my paintings last week, so I’m on a roll. I need to focus on me, not some man who would sideline my goals. I have priorities,” I reminded her.

  Creating art was my safe space. It had been ever since I was a little girl. I’d been working on getting my paintings on display and, so far, had only made it into one show.

  “Yeah, Sean was a dick for not agreeing to display your stuff here. I mean, he’s a crappy manager, but that would’ve redeemed him slightly. Still, priorities or not, you need to get out, girl. Have some fun once in a while.”

  “I have fun,” I said to her, setting a drink down in front of a customer seated at the bar. He handed me cash in exchange, his fingers lingering on mine longer than appropriate. I ignored it, smiled, and moved away.

  “Uh-huh, sure you do. It’s been how many months since you moved here?” she asked.

  “I’ve gone out with you guys,” I protested.

  “Hardly! You need to loosen up.”

  “Um, Gia,” I whispered while filling a glass from the tap, “I got so drunk the last time we went out I gave a guy a blow job in the alley behind the club. I mean, how loose do you want?”

  “Oh, my God, how did you miss telling me that?” she whispered, half giggling.

  I grimaced. “He wasn’t one of my finer choices, okay?”

  “So he didn’t call?” she asked while taking the full glass and setting it on her tray.

  “Hell no! I didn’t give him my number,” I said, giving her a sly look and a wink while deftly flipping the glass in my hand before starting the tap.

  “Sneaky girl,” she laughed. “Still, that’s the problem. You need to meet some decent guys. That one over there, you like him, I know you do. What are you afraid of?”

  I sighed. She wouldn’t give up.

  “Whether or not I like him is irrelevant. I’m not getting involved with a married guy, no matter how hot I think he is.”

  “I think you’re wrong about that, is all I’m saying. I don’t think he’s married. I have a sense about these things. I’m gonna tell him his next drink is on the sexy redhead behind the bar. See what he says to that.”

  I laughed. “Tell him whatever you want,” I said, shaking my head as I handed her the tray. I doubted she’d follow through on that threat, but part of me hoped she did. Maybe I could just talk to him, see what he was like. No, don’t be ridiculous. Even if he were single, he’d never be interested, especially if he knew I was Ash’s sister.

  I looked into the large mirror again. I could see him still engaging Becky but glancing up at the bar. Was he still married? Maybe he wasn’t a married creep looking for an affair, and Gia was right.

  I’d only met Jack once when he was my brother’s roommate. It was the week before my sixteenth birthday. I remember his vivid blue eyes behind those dark lashes and the way he smiled at me as he opened the door to their apartment. He barely asked my name and began small talk before my brother barked at him to go away, but he made an impression. After that meeting, I drew pictures of us together. Jack became my fantasy man. He was my brother’s age, which put him seven or eight years older than me. He felt so out there, so wholly unattainable, which was admittedly part of the allure. Today, he’d gained attention as a successful defense attorney, and I was a nearly thirty-year-old bartender and aspiring artist. Yeah, out of my league, even if he was single. Best not to think about it. Leave him to Becky, let her deal with him.

  “Hey, hey, hey, hey,” the drunk guy leaning over the bar shouted as he waved for my attention. There was always that one rude customer who thought they deserved attention before anyone else. I turned to an attractive, well-dressed woman who patiently waited, not saying a word. She looked tense and continued to glance over her shoulder.

  I smiled at her. “What can I get you?”

  She looked at me nervously, leaned across the bar, and whispered. “I um, are you Angela?”

  Every time I heard the code word, my skin crawled. Why were so many men such assholes? This week, ”Angela” was the name currently posted in the ladies’ room for any woman needing an escape from some creep in the bar. She looked anxiously over her shoulder. A man was getting loud at a neighboring table she was watching. Judging from his escalating voice and exaggerated movements, his intoxication level appeared above average.

  “No, but I can get her for you.” I turned to my co-worker behind the bar. “Hey Bill, can you take this lovely lady to Angela’s office?” I said as quietly as possible.

  Bill often doubled as a bouncer. He wasn’t a guy you messed with. His broad shoulders and towering height were usually enough for most of our patrons to decide to back down.

  He’d get this woman safely away from whatever creep she was escaping and into a taxi. He nodded and motioned for her to follow him as the two of them slipped into the back, where he’d direct her out the side entrance and get her that needed ride. I breathed a sigh of relief. I always did when the escape was successful and there was no confrontation.

  “Hey!” the guy at the end of the bar shouted again, this time louder than before. I spun in his direction just as he hurled a shot glass toward my head. My hand flew up in the air and caught it easily. I usually wasn’t so coordinated, but luck was with me. Still, I was pissed. What an ass. Now Bill was gone, so it was just me to deal with this prick, all five foot three of me. Rage had set in, and I wasn’t about to back down. I threw my towel aside, grabbed a nearby broom, and ran toward him with death in my eyes. He stood there, transfixed, as our eyes locked. I’d been mediocre at pole vaulting during my track years in high school but miraculously dropped the broom handle without slipping and launched myself into the air, my feet landing perfectly on the counter, towering over him. I crouched down, grabbed him by his shirt collar, and pulled him toward me. His nose was nearly touching mine.

  “Get out,” I said in a dark growl that I barely recognized as my voice as I released him, pushing him away.

  His eyes filled with terror, and he bolted out the door. Applause rang out from a few patrons nearby who’d witnessed the encounter.

  A large, bearded, muscular man leaned against the bar next to my feet. He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  “That was one hell of a leap, little lady,” he commented. “How’d you do that?”

  I blushed, shrugged, and quickly slid down.

  “I don’t know. Adrenaline, I guess,” I confessed to him. How did I do that? How the hell did that lame idea actually work?

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26