Dawson Fur Hire

  DAWSON FUR HIRE

  (BEARS FUR HIRE, BOOK 5)

  By T. S. JOYCE

  Other Books in This Series

  This book was not written as a standalone.

  The author recommends to read these stories in order for optimal reader enjoyment.

  Husband Fur Hire (Book 1)

  Bear Fur Hire (Book 2)

  Mate Fur Hire (Book 3)

  Wolf Fur Hire (Book 4)

  Dawson Fur Hire

  Copyright © 2016 by T. S. Joyce

  Copyright © 2016, T. S. Joyce

  First electronic publication: January 2016

  T. S. Joyce

  www.tsjoycewrites.wordpress.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America

  Chapter One

  Dalton Dawson narrowed his eyes at the smell of werewolf that traveled in on the frigid breeze through the bar’s open front door. Maybe if he ignored his alpha, Link would get the hint and leave him the hell alone.

  Gritting his teeth, he glared up at the local weather report on the small television behind the bar and emptied his whiskey on the rocks. Beside him, Link slid onto the barstool and pulled his gloves off slowly, one by one. Dalton could feel Link staring at him.

  “What?”

  “Chance called.”

  Dalton swallowed a growl and lifted his finger to the bartender, asking for another.

  “How many drinks is that?”

  “A million.”

  “He told me, Dalton.” Link swallowed audibly and lowered his voice. “He told me about April First.”

  “Well, Chance is a dick, and now I’m going to kick his ass,” Dalton muttered under his breath.

  “What I can’t figure out is how I didn’t know about this before now.” Despite Link’s rigid profile, he smiled politely to the bartender who was setting yet another whiskey in front of Dalton. “I’ll have what he’s having.” His alpha looked tired, his black hair mussed, his gray eyes dull, but that’s what happened with a new baby.

  Pain slashed through Dalton’s chest. He would give anything to feel that kind of exhaustion now. It would mean that April First had never happened.

  “Why are you here, Link? Your responsibility is with Nicole and Fina.”

  “And you.”

  “What?” Dalton made a single click behind his teeth and shook his head. “Our pack doesn’t work like that. I live near Kodiak with Chance. We deal with our own shit. I only come here when I need town. You aren’t responsible for me.”

  “Bullshit, you come here when your wolf drives you to. And as for us not working like a real pack…” He jacked up his dark eyebrows and leveled him with a look. “That’s not what I want. It’s not how I want us to function. It’s really fucked up that I’ve been your alpha for over a year now, and I didn’t know about April First. You could’ve leaned on me, man.”

  “Stop it. Can’t you see? I’m not here asking for attention. I came here to hide out in your old cabin for a few days and escape Chance’s worried momma hen looks. I don’t need you picking up where that tattling fucker left off.”

  “He’s worried—”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Chance is worried and so am I. I’ve never seen you drink more than Vera’s homemade beer, and you’re in here throwing whiskey back like it’s water. Look around, Dalton. This place is one hundred percent human, and your eyes are glowing. I don’t know if you’ve heard yourself lately, or if you even notice it right now, but you’ve been growling the entire time I’ve been here. You aren’t a McCall. You’re a Dawson. Don’t attract Clayton’s attention.”

  Dalton swallowed the snarl that he hadn’t in fact noticed until Link pointed it out. “Why, because it’ll look bad on you?”

  “No, you dumbass. Because I don’t want to go to war with Clayton because of one drunken night in a bar.”

  Well, that drew Dalton up short. Link would go to war with the head of the Shifter Enforcement Agency for him? Dalton stared at Link as he downed his whiskey. Huh. They didn’t see each other much on account of him living near Kodiak where he worked as an outdoor guide and Link living here in Galena, but Dalton suddenly understood. Link could be a good alpha.

  Ha! A McCall being a good alpha? He must be drunker than he thought.

  Link had taken over their pack of two to save himself from going mad. This was a pack of convenience, nothing more. “Go home, McCall. I’m fine. I promise I won’t make a scene.” Dalton scanned the full bar. “I just need to get my dick stroked, and this will all be easier.”

  “My wolf used to tell me that when I was in the desperate procreation phase of madness.”

  “Well, I’m not a McCall.”

  “No,” Link murmured, turning a lightened gaze on him. “You’re better. Call me if you need a ride home.” He slammed back his shot and made to stand, but hesitated and patted the wooden bar top. “Before I forget. Nicole wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because like it or not, she loves you and Chance. And I know this can’t be easy. I know. I’ve had losses, too, Dalton, but the fact is, we’re a pack, and we have a new pup in the family. You and Chance should both spend time with Fina when you’re in town.”

  “Nice, man. Chance told you about April First, and your solution is to have me come see your baby girl?”

  “No, Chance told me this much”—Link held his finger and thumb an inch apart—“about April First. You can tell me the rest when you’re ready. And yeah, I want my kid knowing her people. Dinner is at six.”

  Her people. Dalton stared in shock as Link snatched his gloves off the counter, threw down a ten dollar bill, and strode from the bar. Dalton hadn’t held Fina, for a reason, but he was her people? That’s not how this was supposed to work. Sure, he’d visited Galena with Chance a couple times when Nicole was pregnant. Why? Because he thought being around to support Link would help his alpha deal with the fact that his mate might lose a little baby girl.

  He knew all about those kinds of scars. Females werewolves didn’t survive past a couple days after birth, but Vera-the-mouthy-mad-scientist had promised she would try to cure that issue. She’d made the oath to try, but still, Dalton hadn’t really believed she could do it. Sure, she’d cured the bear shifters’ hibernation instincts and even cured Link of his fucked-up McCall genetics, but fixing the gene that killed baby female werewolves? He still couldn’t believe Link’s daughter, Fina, was still here, thriving, at three months old.

  But even in the wake of Vera’s cures, in the small amount of time he’d spent in Galena to lend Link and his mate support, he had never been mistaken about what this pack really was. His wolf had bowed to Link because Dalton had forced it to. He was submissive to Link because he and Chance had chosen to put themselves under him in exchange for Vera curing female babies. Sure, Link was a beast and plenty dominant to run this pack, but so were he and Chance. They
weren’t stunted McCalls like Link’s last pack. He, Chance, and Link were all brawler werewolves and dominant. Link was alpha, but only because Dalton and Chance allowed him to be.

  This wasn’t a real pack.

  Dalton slammed another whiskey. It wasn’t. Wasn’t.

  He couldn’t afford to get close to people. Couldn’t afford to let Link, Nicole, and Fina in.

  Not after April First.

  When the door opened behind him, the subtle smell of honey replaced the werewolf scent. Intrigued, Dalton twisted around in his chair, then froze when he saw the woman who stood timidly in the doorway.

  He’d never seen anyone look so out of place. She lifted bright green eyes from the floor, chin to her chest as she tugged a pink scarf from her neck. When she pulled back the hood to her winter coat, shoulder-length waves of strawberry red hair tumbled around her neck. She was small, mousey almost, with a little pixie nose, tiny glossed lips, and eyes almost too big for her face. Or maybe they were that big because she was frightened. The faint scent of fear backed up that theory. She was a beauty, to be sure, but he pitied her for her weakness as she inched along the wall, avoiding contact with the laughing, joking bar patrons.

  What the hell was a woman like her doing in Alaska? This wasn’t exactly a landscape for the faint of heart, and she looked like prey. Beautiful, fuckable prey. Another soft snarl rattled his chest, and he swallowed it down with another whiskey. This bartender was a good one and didn’t ask questions. The old, grizzled man just kept them coming.

  “She’s a looker, ain’t she?” a bearded man a couple bar stools down asked.

  Dalton gave him a glare, then nodded once. “She’s all right.”

  “She ain’t poor either. She’s got a steady job as one of them nurses down at the medical center. Brains to go with her beauty. And,” he drawled, clutching his beer and leaning closer to Dalton, “she’s a wildcat in the bedroom.”

  Dalton gritted his teeth. He wanted to rip this asshole’s heart through his chest cavity for talking about her like that, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why. This lady didn’t need saving from a spiraling werewolf.

  Unable to help himself, Dalton ripped his glare away from the man’s expectant dark eyes to the woman again. She’d stripped out of her jacket to a pair of pink scrubs, not exactly the jeans and tight, tit-baring bar attire the trio of boozing ladies near the bathroom were wearing.

  “Her name’s Katherine Hawke. She goes by Kate,” the man beside him slurred. “You know what they say about Kates. It’s all true. I have proof.”

  Dalton ignored him in favor of watching the woman sidle up to a pool table where a pair of tatted-up men were playing a game.

  Kate. He didn’t know what people said about Kates, but he liked the name on her. His inner wolf did, too, because he had stopped the incessant snarling and gone blissfully silent.

  “I want to play you,” Kate said to the tallest of the good old boys in a voice no louder than a murmur.

  Thank God for his oversensitive hearing.

  The man glared at Kate. “Fuck off.”

  Dalton forced himself to stay seated and not blur across the room and put that prick through the wall.

  Kate slapped down a few bills. Twenties if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. That was wealth around here.

  The man stared at the money laid on the green felt of the table with a calculating look. He slid his bearded jaw back and forth thoughtfully, then dragged a hate-filled glare to Kate. She wilted a bit under his scrutiny, but stood her ground.

  “We’re playing doubles.”

  “I just want to play you.”

  “Fine, bitch. You rack. I don’t want you snapping your puny arm off trying to break.”

  “Put your money down first.” Her voice shook, and it was all Dalton could do not to go rescue her from the bad decision she was making.

  The loaded moment dragged on and on, but finally, Blockhead slapped down cash right next to her stack, then started chalking up his pool stick. “Brett, go get us a pitcher, will you?”

  Brett made his way toward the bar, and while he put in his order, Dalton paid his tab. He couldn’t stick around to watch this. She was a grown woman, and he wasn’t in any position to help anyone. He couldn’t even help himself right now.

  Kate racked the balls like she’d done it before, slow but steady, and then she stood back to allow Blockhead to break. Which he did and nearly blasted one of the balls off the table. A couple went in the pockets, and he put a couple more in before he missed. With a dark chuckle, he said, “Good luck, bitch.”

  Dalton needed to leave now. If he heard the word “bitch” said to her again, he was going to lose his mind. He pocketed his wallet and grabbed his jacket from the chair beside him, but the crack of the pool balls drew him up short. He watched in utter shock as Kate bent over gracefully and sank another solid into the corner pocket, then lined up another shot. Ball after ball, she hit where she intended until all that was left was a difficult eight-ball shot, which she banked into the side pocket. What the hell?

  “Sexy ass shark,” the man beside him muttered. Then the whoosh of a rubber cell phone cover sounded as it slid across the bar top. “Take a look at this. She might be timid, but she’s a little freak in the sheets.”

  Blinking back his bafflement at Kate snatching the cash off the table, Dalton turned to find a video playing on the man’s cell. The volume was all the way up and moaning sex sounds emanated from the device. Dalton stared in horror as a woman was fucked from behind, pale skin glowing in the dim lighting of a bedroom, boobs bouncing under her, strawberry-colored waves hiding her face as she arched her back for the man behind her. Slowly, the man turned to face the screen, a wicked grin twisting his lips as though he knew the camera was there. Oh, shit. Dalton recognized that man. No, he recognized that monster. Timid pool shark, Kate, was getting a good doggy-style banging from Miller McCall.

  A tiny gasp sounded behind him, and Dalton rolled his eyes closed and gritted his teeth with regret.

  “Hey, wildcat,” the asshole with the phone porn said unapologetically.

  When Dalton turned, Kate was standing right behind him. Her cheeks were the color of cherries, and her eyes had somehow grown even bigger. Her mortified look gutted him. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…”

  “Watch that horrible video?” she whispered.

  Kate looked from him to the phone still blaring out her moans. In it, she was about to come if the noises she was making were any indication. Dalton pulled his jacket in front of his boner. He hated seeing Miller covering her, but she sounded so damned sexy he couldn’t help it. His dick was betraying him bad right now.

  Even deeper hurt filled her eyes as she dared a look back up at Dalton, then dropped them to the ground again. “So you know,” she whispered, “I didn’t know that video was taken.” Shame tainted every word, and each one felt like a blow to his stomach.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, I bet you are.” She lifted her chin to the bartender and took a flask from him, then gave him a twenty dollar bill. “Keep it, Jerry.”

  “I sure appreciate it, Kate,” the bartender said softly.

  She nodded once, tossed Dalton another embarrassed glance, then left in a hurry.

  Seething, Dalton took the damning phone and dropped it in the prick’s beer to stop the sound of Kate’s orgasm.

  “Hey!” the man yelled, fishing for it with his meaty fingers. “That’s my phone! I did you a favor showing you that, and this is how you repay me? Shit.” He upended the drink onto the bar top.

  “If you play that video ever again,” Dalton gritted out low, “I’m going to find you and I’m going to rip your fucking throat out.”

  “His name is Bart Mathews,” Jerry the Bartender offered helpfully.

  Dalton gave him a venomous smile. “Don’t test me, Bart. I’m a man of my word and itchin’ to bleed someone.”

  “Anyone can see it, man! It’s online. Her
damn name is tagged on it and everything.” Bart jammed the on button over and over, but the screen stayed blank. “Now my phone won’t turn on!”

  Dalton strode for the door, desperate to escape before he picked a fight with Bart, Blockhead, and the rest of the damned bar. There was no keeping his wolf quiet now. His inner animal was scrabbling to escape his skin.

  When Blockhead elbowed his way out the door first, Dalton nearly lost it at the smell of potent fury washing from his pungent skin.

  Tonight, that timid woman had been called names and humiliated publicly, and Dalton had been a part of that. He wanted to double over in the late season snow and retch.

  A throaty four-wheeler engine revved at the far side of the parking lot. Kate hit the throttle on the fat-tired ATV and blasted out of her parking spot. He could’ve sworn she wiped her eyes before she turned onto the main road in town. God, he felt like grit.

  You should apologize and then have sex with her.

  Dalton ground out an irritated sound for his wolf’s unhelpful suggestion and hopped onto his snow machine. When he turned on the engine, exhaust fumes smoked around him. Canting his head in the direction she’d driven off, he considered his wolf’s suggestion, though. Chicks liked apologies. At least, his ex, Shelby, had. She’d liked apologies all the time because the only thing she liked more than always being right was him admitting he was wrong.

  Or if he didn’t talk to Kate again, at least his curiosity was piqued. A timid nurse by day and a flask-guzzling pool shark by night was a study in opposites and a sweet little distraction from his April First anniversary issues right now.

  His wolf could use a little hunt.

  Before he could change his mind, Dalton hit the throttle and followed the fading taillights. It was late, and Galena was a ghost town right now, so he cut the lights and followed in the dark. His night vision was impeccable, and he could see everything just fine without them.

  He followed far behind and parked on a side street when she pulled to a stop in front of a small home with lavender siding. He hid behind a thick grove of bushes. The home was nice enough, but she disappeared down a short set of stairs to a dilapidated basement entrance, and it looked like she was being quiet about it. A few minutes inside, and she came back out, holding an envelope and closing the door slowly and softly before she locked it back up. She gave a quick, suspicious glance around, then shoved the roughed-up money from her game of pool into the envelope and licked it closed. Then she pulled on her gloves and jogged across a couple of snowy front yards to a house with sage green siding. Another glance around, and she shoved the envelope of money into the mail slot on the front door.