A Date with a Werewolf MH Bonham (top 100 books of all time checklist .txt) 📖

hippie, if you know what I mean. There is no way they’d be able to hit the Denver Wolfpack’s headquarters.”

I glanced at the charm. It returned to its normal white. Okay, so the truth charms worked on werewolves. Good to know. “You ever meet with their Alpha?”

Red snorted. “Hell, no. They’re just a tiny pack of five, I think.”

Five werewolves. It might be enough to cause the devastation at Trader Vic’s, if they had a magic user to cover their tracks. That was one thing I did notice when I arrived at the Denver Wolfpack’s headquarters: the whole place reeked of magic. The type of magic that simple ward witches and hedge witches were incapable of wielding. No, this was a full on mage who could probably wipe the floor with me when it came to magic. Still, I did have silver-cored bullets for my 9mm. I could probably handle five werewolves on my own, and there was no guarantee that they would be the pack that kidnapped those ladies.

“Well, thanks for setting me straight on the facts.” I rose to leave.

“Where are you going?” Red asked.

“To check out that Boulder pack.”

“No.” Red shook his head. “You’re not going alone.”

“Excuse me?” I stared at the Alpha.

“I’ve seen how you handle weres. You need backup.” He grinned. “I’ve been meaning to beat the crap out of those pansy-ass vegans for some time. And they have payback for setting us up in their little raid.”

“You mean…?”

“Yeah, the whole Commerce City Wolfpack is coming with you.”

Chapter Three

Riding pillion on the back of a werewolf’s Harley wasn’t on my bucket list, but the pack insisted I ride instead of driving my trusty Toyota 4Runner. Something about the age of the truck, combined with the peeling paint apparently made me look less macho than they thought I should. Not that riding behind a beta female was any manlier. I had never ridden a motorcycle at highway speeds, much less a Harley, and the concept of hanging onto—well, damn near nothing—scared the bejesus out of me.

The female were’s name was Jessica and she was no nonsense all the way. She had tats up and down her arms and wore biking leathers that cost a small fortune. I sensed magic on most of her tattoos, making them interesting in their own right. She caught me looking at one on her arm and thought I was staring at her rather ample chest. For the record, she has a mean right hook and after I picked myself off the floor, I only looked at her tats when I was sure she wouldn’t notice.

So, I couldn’t even hold onto her as we screamed up I-270 northwestward toward Boulder. I had to hang onto the back bars behind the seat, which made me sit up in a weird angle. If we crashed I’d be airborne and probably have a hell of a road rash, assuming I survived. I could probably invoke a shield which would probably save my life, if my primitive brain didn’t take over. But riding on a Harley at 70 mph without any protection caused all logic and reasoning to evaporate.

I clutched the rails and prayed we didn’t get in an accident. I’m not a religious man, but I went through the list of gods I knew and made wild promises to them if I arrived in one piece.

“How you doing back there?” Jessica shouted as we took the onramp onto I-36 to Boulder.

“Gaaah…” I think I replied.

“Good?” Jessica glanced back at me and smiled. She turned her attention to the highway and we soldiered on.

Red took serious offense that the Boulder Five—as he called the Boulder Wolfpack—would incriminate the Commerce City Wolfpack on the hit. The Denver Wolfpack and the Commerce City Wolfpack had territorial disputes over the years, but despite Red’s roughness, he didn’t want an outright war. Since the Denver Wolfpack’s members were injured or possibly planning their revenge, Red felt it was only right for the Commerce City Wolfpack to help out their Denver brethren.

Boulder has long been a stronghold for weirdness in Colorado. Famous for “Mork and Mindy,” microbrews, the Boulder Street Mall, and the University of Colorado at Boulder, it still ranks right up there for strange and hippie types of things going on. Boulder is the home to anything trendy, so if you see something odd in fashion or human behavior, you can bet it happened first in Boulder.

To my surprise, we cruised right through Boulder, up I-36, and turned onto Diagonal. “I thought you guys said they were in Boulder.” I shouted in Jessica’s ear.

“They’re in Niwot!” She shouted back.

“Why not?” I said puzzled.

“No, NIWOT.” She emphasized the town’s name.

“Niwot,” I grumbled. “Oh, great. Never mind that they’re trendy werewolves, they can’t afford to live in Boulder.”

“Yep.” Jessica’s smile showed her canines. I shuddered.

We rode down the highway past industrial parks, suburban homes, and even farm land until we came to Niwot Road. At one point, we passed by the big IBM plant, the Celestial Seasonings tea factory, and the Magickal Tea Company factory. From there we drove east on the Niwot Road until we came to an outdoor mall with an insurance agent, a breakfast joint with a sign saying The Good Egg, and a trendy coffee shop with the name Express Espresso.

We slowed down and pulled up to Express Espresso. With the exception of a white Vespa parked outside, the place looked deserted.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked Jessica as she lowered the kickstand and climbed off the bike. My butt was numb from the road and my legs felt like spaghetti. I was pretty sure my balls were raw meat.

She smirked, either at my discomfort or the question. “This is the Boulder Five’s headquarters.” She took my arm for balance as I swung my leg off the Harley and nearly fell over.

“What? There’s a bar behind the coffee shop?” I craned my head to look around the coffee shop.

“The coffee shop is their headquarters.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

Jessica