Fangs of Anarchy - Forbidden Alpha (Part 2) Girl Most Lycan: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance Read Free

plowed through the flimsy
trailer door and fell onto the frozen ground in a tangle of fists and limbs.
    The Fangs rushed in, piling on top of Irish and hauling him
off Courtland, while the Dogs scrambled to help the werewolf to his feet.
    Courtland strained against the grip Rosy and Twinks had on his arms and shoulders, his chest puffing
out, the veins in his neck thick and purple. “What the fuck is going on,
McConnell?” he roared, baring his teeth.
    Irish shook the Fangs off with an angry jerk of flexing muscles,
with orders to step back, before he confronted Courtland. “I told you, he was
there just last night, Dodd. I dumped his mean ass right here. Now back the
hell up before I eat your face off!” Irish bellowed.
    As the wind picked up another notch, driving its icy talons
into Claire’s fur, Courtland screamed, “Then where the fuck is he? What did you
do to my brother, you son of a bitch?”
    Irish squared his shoulders, his body language changing from
confrontational to antagonistic, and he smiled at Courtland, slow and easy. “I
told you what I did to him. Maybe he just didn’t like dead and got up and
wandered off? I’m undead proof that can happen,” he said, to the tune of
laughter from the Fangs. “ Orrrr maybe he didn’t like
the location? I made sure I picked out the perfect trailer for him, too. But
they say where you pick your resting place is as important as where you choose
to live. It’s like real estate. Location, location, location.”
    Courtland let out a low, threatening growl, his booted feet
scraping the ground as he tried to pull from the forceful grip of his crew. “You’d
damn well better tell me what happened, McConnell! How the fuck did he end up
dead?”
    Irish assessed Courtland with a critical scan of his body
from head to toe. He was buying time—buying time to make up some ridiculous lie
that was only going to dig him a deeper hole.
    “Here’s how I see it—there’s no body. So as far as I’m
concerned, he’s not dead.”
    Courtland’s head fell back on his shoulders. His wail of
anger struck Claire’s ears like a gong, echoing until her head throbbed. It was
a howl of pure rage and infuriation. He dropped to his knees, saliva dripping
from the corner of his mouth while Twinks and Rosy
held tight to keep him from springing into attack, knowing it would only create all out war between the two clubs.
    The Fangs moved in, surrounding Irish, their bodies tense
like bows, their fists clenched. But Irish clapped
Courtland on the shoulder. “So, we’re good, right? No body, no problem?”
    When Courtland raised his head, his eyes full of
unadulterated hatred, he spewed, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re
playing, McConnell, but I’m gonna get to the bottom
of this. I have a witness who says that hoity-toity Claire is in on it, and
when he makes an official statement, I’ll make you watch the bitch die!”
    Irish squatted in front of Courtland, gripping his jaw with
a gloved hand, squeezing until the werewolf’s cheeks puffed outward. “Call her
a bitch again, and meet your maker. Maybe you can ask Him where Gannon is,” he spat with a flash of his fangs before
shoving Courtland away and rising, directing his crew and Liam to go back to
the club.
    As Irish stalked off toward the thicket of pines, Claire
skirted the shadows, following until she was directly behind him.
    “I told you to go home, Claire-Bear,” he chanted, just
before turning to confront her, walking backward, a smile on his face.
    More Irish smiles? That was two in two days. And
Claire-Bear? It made her wonder if she shouldn’t be listening for horse hooves
and preparing her doomsday kit.
    He gazed down at her, stopping in the middle of a patch of
snow. “This is killing you, isn’t it? You all in-shift, unable to nag me for an
explanation. For the record, as much as I enjoy our heated debates, I like this
side of you. It’s…what’s the word I’m looking for, Librarian? Oh, wait.