Baiting Ben
Moon Pack #2

Excerpt

Benjamin Sallen entered the club with wide eyes and a hopeful heart. It was a toss-up what was more fascinating; the flashing lights, the flow of dancing bodies writhing half naked across the floor, or the scantily clad waiters sashaying around with trays of food? After filling out innumerable forms to validate his werekin status, he was finally allowed through the club doors.

His enhanced werewolf senses absorbed the smells of sweat, lust, and sex. Never had he gotten so hard, so fast, but the pheromones filling the room would make anyone want to have sex. Ben had come to find a mate, but at that moment he would take hot, sweaty sex with a total stranger if it would take the edge off. As it was, his dick was trying to burst through the zipper of his favorite jeans. He wondered if this was the type of club that had a room in the back for the convenience of its members.

Ben jumped back as a wereleopard slammed his partner against the wall and started dry humping him. Maybe they didn't need a private area. Shaking his head, he walked through the dance floor, towards the bar. His throat was dry and he didn't have to work tomorrow. His job as an independent CPA let him set his own hours and prevented him from having to answer embarrassing questions about why he couldn't work on days close to a full moon.

After months of settling into his new environment and living without a pack, he yearned for the touch of another werekin. Even the brief brush of flesh from the shifters on the dance floor helped soothe the lonely animal beneath his skin. Despite leaving his Alaskan pack only six months ago, he was desperate for the company of others like him. Hunting under a full moon wasn't the same without a pack; it lacked the joyous luster, and the prey he could catch was more of the rabbit variety than a fully-grown deer.

Purchasing the club membership was his chance at a new life. If he met and mated with a local werekin he could gain acceptance into the pack. Even if he hooked up with another lone wolf, at least they could become a pack of two. In werekin culture anything was better than one. Lone creatures didn't survive long in the big bad world, especially small ones. At five feet nine inches, Ben was on the short side for a wolf shifter. He blamed that on his human mother. If he was full-blooded he would easily have topped six feet. At least he could shift. He'd heard of half-blooded werekin who were unable to shift but still felt the call of the moon. Ben decided they must be in a special type of hell, one he was lucky enough not to be a part of.

Using his smaller size to slip through the crowds, Ben made his way to the long wooden bar covering most of the back wall. The bartender moved with a fluidity that screamed cat shifter.

"What can I get you?" The bartender batted his long sable lashes over a pair of piercing sea green eyes. "Besides me."

Ben chuckled. "A rum and coke, please."

"Oooh a polite one." The bartender's hands moved so fast the motion blurred. In seconds he was presenting Ben's drink with a flourish and a flirty wink. "Anything else?"

After giving the cute cat a tip in the glass jar beside him, Ben flashed a grin of his own. "Not right now, but I'll let you know if that changes."

It wouldn't. He was looking for one of his own kind. In his wilder days the cat would've been a prime hookup, but he was looking for something more permanent. Ben wanted a mate. He wouldn't get it where he came from. At the Great Claiming none of the werekin had stepped forward to choose him. Maybe if Dillon had been home things would've been different.

Maybe.

An image of a tall, dark werewolf with forest green eyes flashed in his mind. Ben ruthlessly pushed it away along with his feelings of longing. It had hurt to leave the pack knowing he'd never see the handsome man again, but Dillon was part of his past and tonight was about securing his future.

"Hello there, cute stuff," a rough voice spoke from behind him. He turned to see a huge man with cold black eyes looking him over like Ben was a prime piece of meat he wanted to devour.

"Um. Hi." He gave a polite smile and shifted a bit to the side to look around the other man. A sniff proved the guy was werekin, but not one with any mate potential. He didn't give off the right scent.

To Ben's shock the man settled a heavy arm around him. "What do you say you and I get to know each other better? I'm Ned, what's your name?" It was more a statement than a question, as the other man was already lifting him off his barstool and guiding him towards the exit.

"B-Ben." Panic rabbited in his chest. Great, his first time in the club and already he was in trouble. Why did things like this always happen to him? All he wanted to do was meet the werewolf of his dreams and settle down, not be kidnapped by a Neanderthal.

"There you are, honey. Ned, thank you for finding him for me."

"Thomas." Ned's arm fell off his shoulders so quickly Ben lost his balance, causing him to stumble into the speaker. Firm arms wrapped around him, surrounding him in a comforting embrace. He had the oddest sensation of coming home.

"Hello, honey." Ben's quick glance up gave him an impression of laughing hazel eyes and a wide white smile before warm lips descended and kissed him to within an inch of his life. Heat burned through his body. Whimpering he moved closer to the other man, rubbing his erection against the newcomer. The man called Thomas, felt long, hard, and perfect against him. The smell of wet dew on a grassy meadow filled his senses. He fought back the urge to howl at the rightness of his scent.

His.

The stranger pulled back. Ben snarled, his gums burning as his teeth elongated in preparation to bite. His wolf wanted to mark the other man so everyone could see. How dare he pull away, the man was his! He battled his instincts to take the larger man down like a lame deer. To bite him, fuck him, and make sure everyone knew he was claimed. Startled by the violence of his thoughts, Ben stepped back.

"I guess he is yours," Ned said behind him. "You better keep an eye on him before some mate hunter steals him away." The words trailed off as Ned walked back into the crowd, quickly swallowed by the crowd of dancing people.

Trying to subdue his oddly aggressive wolf, Ben gave his head a little shake. As one of the least alpha members of the pack, he was surprised at this sudden compulsion to claim the other man. Hope burst through him as he wondered if maybe he'd found what he was looking for after all.

A small part of him protested that this man wasn't Dillon. Ben ruthlessly suppressed it and turned his attention on the tall, dark man who looked like a model from a glossy magazine. The kind you had to read with one hand.