Tuesday, November 30, 2010
White Fang Kent ~ Interview with the Biker Alpha
White Fang followed Dante, Biker Alpha, down the stairway and toward a medieval dungeon-like door with an ornate sign: There Be Shapeshifters of Every Kind. Beware of Fangs, Claws and Tails.
The hot tang of cat tail claimed White Fang’s nostrils as Dante shoved open the clanking door. They entered an old-fashioned tavern with sconce candlelight. At first glance, that is. In reality, the underground area was immense, and the overall elegant design surprising.
“Welcome to my interspecies pleasure club.” Dante waved his arm in low-key fashion. “Two pints,” he spoke to a beta werewolf server, dressed in Regency period attire.
“You have been keeping secrets.” White Fang spoke as he seated himself in the private monk’s booth Dante indicated.
After surveying his private kingdom, Dante sat opposite White Fang. With a small grin, he lounged against the wall, his arm resting atop the bench seat. Using his mild-mannered voice, White Fang continued, “I’m going to guess this is a story you don’t want in the Guts and Butts Gazette.”
“On the contrary, ace crime reporter, I want my enterprise exposed -- let’s say to the public at large.”
White Fang raised his brows, his instincts telling him the obvious wasn’t true. “Catch 22?”
“You got me.” Dante paused as the server delivered two foamy pints on a silver platter, a dark brew known for it’s rich malt flavor.
“Serving werewolves on silver. A clever fang sense of humor.” White Fang raised his glass tankard high matching Dante, then they both took a draw. “Superb, as usual.” Keeping his gaze steady and steely, White Fang asked, “What do you want from me?”
“Two things, Kent.” Dante eased forward, his own gaze fierce and uncompromising. “Make that three.” He leaned an elbow on the plank wood table, sadness returning to the depths of his eyes. “I want you to protect my Kitty, my Katrina. Story for a later time,” he added, averting his face.
After a deep quaff of his brew, Dante eyed him again, his resolve pure savagery. “You got your super-dog secrets, Kent, or you wouldn’t have been able to track me here. This place is my secret haven and I intend to keep it that way.”
White Fang waited. Always let them do their own talking, that was his reporter’s experience. It resulted in the best story.
“Got a gang wants to move in on my territory. The Tiger Yakuza. I’ll give you their current hangout.”
“Dominos.” White Fang tipped up a healthy draw, and waited again.
“Fuck, yeah, like dominos. Once they move into a territory, they sink their claws into every business. One by one, they all fall.” Dante pounded his fist on the table once, his eyes flashing with ferociousness and frustration. “The town is in danger.” Settling back again, he wrapped his now clawed hand around the tankard. “Sent anonymous warnings to my sire, then contacted Devon. No action. Scat, like taking over a town from the apes makes the pack invincible. They both got their snouts up their wormy asses. And, Devon is acting like a freaking girly debutante with his big frigging deal party.”
“Had my share of run-ins with the Tiger Yakuza.” White Fang didn’t say 'who' had the fearsome tiger shifters by the furred balls, and 'who' could crush at will. “Sure, I’ll do an investigative report. Add the facts I can prove. That should act as a warning with bonus points.” He curled one corner of his mouth, amused at his next thought. “Nick will get his editor-rocks off.”
Dante gave a satisfied nod. “You’ll be in like Flint, as the apes say.”
Silence followed, and they both lifted their tankards, draining them. From the corner of his eye, White Fang watched the long-legged, elegant catwoman sway toward the bar at the far end of the room. Her figure-hugging red dress was at odds with the Victorian-style pub bar. That was just fine with him. Her curves rivaled those of the actress, Ann-Margret.
Dante eyed him again, his posture relaxed. Yet, the alpha werewolf clearly remained ready to spring into action. “From what I hear, that hot little bitch, Ziva, has Nick licking his blue balls these days.”
White Fang grinned. “Caught Nick humping his desk after one of their snarl-snap matches.” Leaning forward, he confronted Dante with his gaze. “Two out of three. What else do you want?”
“Publicity, Kent.” Dante offered a cocky grin. “No one in town needs to know I own this upscale pleasure club. Just that it’s here.”
“Sure, why not? I’ll work it into the story. A wolf’s den of iniquity. All shapeshifters welcome.”
White Fang knew the instant the curvy catwoman slinked in his direction without seeing her. His cock gave a mighty hitch and his spine iced with warning.
“When Maggie shows I’ll make certain that wily queen of gossip gets the ‘special’ tour. Hear she wrangled herself an invite to Devon’s debutante ball.”
“The guilt monster grabbed Nick by the scruff. So he made certain Mooney got she company.”
“Yeah, brotherly love. Know all about it,” Dante sneered. He tossed down the remaining swallow of brew. When the tankard hit the table, his expression utterly changed. A glint of amusement possessed his eyes, more wolfen now than human.
“Pasha.” Dante subtly nodded, indicating the catwoman in the fire-red dress approaching them. “Like what you see, Kent?”
White Fang hadn’t missed the smallest movement of Pasha’s curvaceous body from the very second she’d seductively strolled in their direction. “Enough to turn alpha.” Switching his gaze to her, he openly stared. “She could raise the mating fur on a snake.”
Dante howled a laugh. “Scat piles, Kent. I’ll keep your alpha identity secret. We both got good reasons to stay hidden.”
“Agreed. Yours is your sire.”
Moments ticked by. “Yeah, super dog. He hates feline shifters. Enough to kill them.”
“Tough break. You have my word I won’t let the cat out of the bag.”
White Fang heard Dante unfold himself, then lightly land on the floor, the sound of his boots minimal. “Pasha is your source. She’s been trying to grab the Tiger Yakuza by the tail for several years now. They murdered an ape friend of hers.”
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