The Head Wolf - Chapter Five
Chapter Five
The club was dark and old, but well-maintained. The entrance was barely noticeable from the busy SoHo street—just a wooden door with a small plaque at the side. There was a small slit in the door, so someone could look out to make sure those demanding entrance were the right sorts of people.
People who weren’t merely people.
Mac Tíre was primarily owned and run by werewolves, and they allowed non-wolves inside only as guests of werewolves. Sam had never agreed to go with Titus, though he’d invited her while they were dating. She hadn’t been prepared for the depths of her feelings towards him, and she’d begun to attempt to distance herself by the time he’d invited her.
Showing up her would have meant something to him—and to her—and she hadn’t wanted to lead him on. Even then, she could feel that they were becoming too close, too quickly. In the nine months they’d dated, she’d become far too dependent on him for her emotional well-being. There was no way that she could function in a long-term relationship like that, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself completely away from him. While her sister had learned to manipulate her gift both psychologically and pharmacologically, Sam had never wanted to end up like their mother—drugged out and dependent on whichever man was currently her patron. That’s how Vivienne had ended up dead.
Instead, in a bid to keep herself alive and reasonably sane, she’d kept herself separate from the rest of the world. It had worked—until she’d walked back into Titus’ life.
Even now, after spending two hours with him, she hadn’t been able to resist him. He was so large and monumental that he made her feel safe. It was silly, really. She knew that he could easily tear a man limb from limb in less time than it took to butcher a lamb. He was revered in the supernatural community—but more than that he was feared.
“Are you ready?” The way he deferred to her would never fail to surprise. She would have expected a man like Titus to take her by the arm and pull her through the door, ready or not. She was certain that few in his pack saw this gentle side of him. Heavy was the head that wore the crown.
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