**I know I don't post as often as I used to. Life got in the way. But, I am writing full-time on Sariah's story now, so I should be able to sneak a few excerpts and occasional pith and blather post up here.**
The moon was headed down. Dawn was hours off, and as far as Xander Waithorn was concerned, there was enough time left for one more roll, enough time to tear through one more of Creston Black’s groupies. He eased back into the corner couch, put his polished alligator hide shoes on the table and then straightened the hem of his silk pants.
A waitress wound her way between henchmen reaching for her rear and whores dancing with, and on each other. Xander took the darkest table in the darkest corner--she had a long way to go to make her way to his table and his tip money. He watched every step she made. She was damned sexy, he had to admit, but she was not to his liking. He preferred his women curvy and blond, not athletic and dark. Marko, however, stopped her, fondling her breasts around the tray of drinks as he took his Seven and Soda.
She laughed at Marko's attempt, but her face was impassive. She sidestepped the goon before he could reach any lower, and made her way to Xander's table.
Charles 'Chip' Johnston, a coiled spring ready to snap, leapt from his seat fast enough to stress test his crisp new camouflage BDU pants. Boots shoulder width apart, he stepped in front of the waitress and grabbed her tray. She glared up at him, her eyes passing over his severely short flat top. "That's close enough," he growled.
"Let her through, Charles," Xander sniffed. "She's hardly a threat. Honestly, you take your bodyguard duties too seriously."
Chip turned, cast Xander a rather scathing glare, before stepping out of the waitress's path. She sashayed past, waggling her ass at the irritated man. He growled, then, low and threatening. All traces of bravado sluiced from her expression. She looked down at her tray, suddenly diminished.
"Never mind him, Dear. Come," invited Xander.
She placed the tray of drinks on the table top, and leaned toward the waiting man. Malice and lust radiated from Xander's dark eyes, yet his manicured hand draped atop hers like a handkerchief. He pulled her closer, her breasts in his face. She trembled in his grasp as he buried his nose in her cleavage, inhaling deeply before running his tongue up her neck and to her ear. He whispered something that only she heard.
She nodded, and left her tray behind.
Jealous of Xander's confidence and power over women, Chip bragged, "I could bite right through that ass."
"As well you could," Xander scoffed, "if I allowed you."
"Allowed me?" Chip turned on Xander, his eyes flaring. "Allow me, like you allow that Werebitch to slaughter members of our Pack?"
"Our pack? Need I remind you that I rule here, Charles?" Xander's face darkened, his fine eyebrows pinched in a scowl. "And, I told you never to mention her."
"Rule? You're nothing more than a suit with sharp teeth; it's pretty obvious that she operates outside of your rule. What's the matter, Xander, don't like your mistakes thrown up in your face? You made her--you need to deal with her!"
"Do not," Xander's voice dripped venom as his hand snaked around Chip's throat and began to squeeze, "make me remind you of your place. I made you, too."
The taller Chip stood bristling, fists balled at his side. Xander rose, his regal arrogance face-to-face with Chip's restrained anger. Xander's claws came out then, cutting into Chip's neck. Xander smiled, and Chip backed down.
"That's right," Xander said, and then sat as if the spat was simply dismissed. Chip dropped into a chair, while Xander reclined against the plush opium room style bench.
Chip jutted his jaw in the direction of the waitress's departure.
"What'd you ask her?"
"To fetch me the busty blond that's on the dance floor in front of Creston's stage."