Wolf's Run: A BBW Shifter Romance

D. H. Cameron

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

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Wolf’s Run

A BBW Shifter Romance

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Thank you so much for picking up my book. Before you head off into
Wolf’s Run
let me tell you about some of my other stories you might be interested in. First up is
Fearless Curves
. If you like sexy men and motorcycles, curvy heroines, quirky best friends and bit of wild Las Vegas style fun, you’ll love
Fearless Curves
.

Next up is
Softail Curves - The Novel
. The
Softail Curves trilogy
is now a novel, 50,000 words of
Big Girl & Bad Boy
goodness at a great price. Follow Shawna as she trades her uptown sensibilities for the freedom of the open road and the love of a dominating biker.

Finally, get the Amazon exclusive,
Rock Hard - The Novel
. My original series is now a full-length novel of nearly 90,000 words. Rock Hard is a romance story set amid the tumultuous world of rock & roll that you won’t be able to put down.

Just click the links above to purchase the books. Now go enjoy
Wolf’s Run
and thanks again for reading!

He walked through the mass of leather-clad men and women looking for some food. He needed to eat to banish the hangover he suffered from. Some of these bikers had yet to go to bed though it was nearing nine in the morning but the bars weren’t nearly as crowded as they were the night before. The busy sidewalks of downtown smelled of whiskey and pot with a hint of urine and worse. This sleepy town wasn’t so sleepy this week.

Then he saw the diner ahead, the little hole in the wall with the Belgian waffles that would make the headache go away, or at least take the edge off. He pushed through the crowds, some up relatively early like he was, until something hit him like a brick wall. He’d been waiting, searching his whole life. He knew it would be like this when he finally discovered what he’d been searching for but still it was unexpected. The scent was faint but unmistakable. It was her, his mate.

He scanned the sea of bikers trying to determine the source. He’d know her when he saw her but she wasn’t there in the crowd or across the street. As he turned and peered into the diner, however, there she was. Raven black hair, green eyes and that golden complexion. Mediterranean he thought, maybe Italian but more than likely of Greek heritage. Her breasts were full and heavy, her hips broad and soft, her ass round and supple. She was definitely his type of woman but something wasn’t right.

Two middle-aged bikers and their old ladies seated at the table by the window stared at him as he pressed against the large front window. He ignored them as he watched her go about her work. The woman poured coffee at a nearby table and then turned to take the order from the table next to it. She was beautiful but older than he would have thought. Usually mates were younger but not always. She finished jotting down the order and as she moved away she noticed him staring.

It wasn’t her, however. He could see she wasn’t the one in her eyes. She looked the part and the scent was there but faint and sweet. She pulled her gaze from his and went to submit the order. There was no connection. He almost left the diner to search for the source of the unmistakable scent. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was the hangover. But as he watched the woman round the counter she led him to the true source. That was her!

She was the spitting image of her mother with long black hair and emerald eyes but a fairer complexion. She was still thin but he knew that wouldn’t last. He smiled to himself as he watched his mate make another pot of coffee. Her scent was sweet, innocent and not yet ripe. He understood now. The girl was only about twelve years of age. He was six years too early. Still, she was beautiful. The code, however, forbid contact. He lived by the rules of humanity. Two hundred years past, a girl her age might be looking to marry but in modern society, she was still considered a child and he was compelled to respect that.

He took one last look, his heart pounding and his blood hot. Tonight, he would run. He would howl at the moon and make a kill. He would celebrate as his kind always did. He had found his mate. He could wait for her. It was worth it, she was worth it. He could already tell she was the one, the girl he was made for, the girl that was made for him. Six years was a long time by human reckoning but to his kind it wasn’t all that long. Still it would seem like eons.

His headache was gone, his hangover cured. He reluctantly left his mate behind to grow into a woman. He would watch over her from afar but he would make no contact. After one last look, he turned and headed for the cheap motel where his bike sat outside his modest room. He would ride today, feel the wind in his face and the exhilaration of the road but tonight he would shift and feel the excitement anew. He would become his alter-ego, his other self, the gray wolf, and he would feed on fresh meat, feel the earth under the pads of his paws and dream of the day his mate would run naked by his side.

~~O~~

Phil brought in yet another hand truck full of food and wheeled it into the freezer. I checked off the list on the clipboard cradled in my arm. It appeared that was the last of it.

“I’ll be back on Friday to restock you, Cassie” Phil told me as he emerged again. Phil had been delivering supplies to the Rusty Skillet since I was a young girl. I still didn’t even know his last name. He was Phil, the delivery guy, and always had been.

“I hope I don’t run out. I remember the last time they were here. Mom couldn’t keep enough food on hand to feed all the bikers,” I told him. The last time was seven years ago. I was only twelve but I was working for mom in the diner over the summer. I pulled double shifts that week but I made enough money to buy myself a new bicycle and an iPod.

“I think you’ll do fine. How you doing, anyway?” Phil asked. I didn’t know his last name but Phil made a point to know his customers. I knew exactly what he meant.

“I’m doing OK. I miss her,” I replied.

“Your mom was a fine lady and a good customer,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied. It had been two years since mom passed and I’d come to terms with it for the most part but hardly a day went by I didn’t think of her. I’d decided not to go to college after I graduated. I just couldn’t leave the diner and all the memories behind. I couldn’t let the place close. The Rusty Skillet was mom’s dream. I couldn’t let that die.

“Well, I’ll see you in a few days. Good luck!” Phil told me and tipped his cap after handing me the invoice. Then he wheeled his hand truck out the backdoor and closed it behind him. Good luck? I was going to need it.

Seven years ago Wolf’s Run came to town. Wolf’s Run was a motorcycle gathering and a rowdy one. The run made the rounds of small western towns and it was Gold Canyon’s turn again. Every five to ten years the Wolf’s Run held their annual gathering here and the town’s people had a love/hate relationship with the event. The money it brought in was a godsend to the folks here but it was a wild week filled with drunken bikers, topless women, fights and arrests. The last time, seven years ago, there was even an attempted rape and the Sherriff was forced to shoot the rapist. Wolf’s Run was almost more than this sleepy little town could manage.

But manage we did. Full motel rooms, restaurants and bars were worth the trouble in a town that struggled to survive most of the time. I was sure without the gathering of bikers I’d have to close mom’s diner. The money I’d make over the next few days would keep the Rusty Skillet in the black for several months. After that, who knew? I’d been struggling to keep the Rusty Skillet open for two years and I’d keep struggling to keep my mom’s dream alive.

I went about putting the dry goods away, restocking the lunch counter and refilling the condiments in preparation for the rush that was on its way. Tomorrow morning, Tuesday, they would begin to arrive. By Thursday, it would be one long twenty-four hour a day party until Sunday when the bikers pulled up stakes and went back to wherever home was. In the meantime, I’d spend every waking hour, eighteen hours a day, serving food to the hungry visitors. Next Monday couldn’t come fast enough and hopefully I’d have enough money to keep from closing the doors for a while longer.

~~O~~

“Holy fuck! If another of those sons-a-bitches pinches my ass I swear I’ll punch him in the back of the head,” Edie exclaimed as she burst through the door into the kitchen. I giggled at her theatrics and after glaring at me menacingly for a moment she joined me.

“You like it,” I teased her.

“Yeah, sure I do,” she replied sarcastically.

“They tip well when you let them feel your butt,” I added and pulled a wad of bills out of my blouse that had been stuffed into my bra and waved it at Edie.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Edie replied and pulled her own wad of bills out of her hip pocket. “But my bra won’t hold it like yours will,” she said and cupped her nearly non-existent bust for effect. I laughed.

“But your back won’t be a wreck by the time you’re fifty either,” I reminded her. Edie nodded in agreement and then Willy rang the bell to let us know several orders were up and ready to be served. Back to work. We put our money away, all of which would be divvied up among myself, Edie, Willy and Jesus, the kid that helped Willy in the kitchen, bussed the tables and washed dishes, and headed back out to serve the food Willie had put under the heat lamps.

As I carried two arms full of plates to a party of six in the back of the small dining room, Edie took a couple of plates of waffles to a couple in front. Then I heard plates hit the floor and assuming Edie had dropped something, I turned to look. Instead, a foursome of bikers, all dressed in black leather, chains and denim were demanding another group give up their table. To my surprise, the bikers seated at the table did just that as the rest of the patrons looked on. Edie, however, wasn’t so amiable.

“Hey, who do you think you are? You can wait like the rest of them,” Edie challenged the upstarts. The big one that seemed to be their leader, the one with the big, unruly black beard, gray-green eyes and the scar down his left cheek, picked up another plate and dropped it. It shattered at Edie’s feet as he stared at my small friend daring her to say more. “Hey, knock that off, you big bully,” Edie demanded.

“It’s fine. We was almost done anyway. Here’s sixty bucks. That should cover the bill and the broken dishes,” one of the customers said as he got to his feet and pulled his wife along with him. “Table’s all yours, Dolan,” he said as the other couple they were seated with followed them out of the diner.

“Hey, you don’t have to...,” I called after them but it was too late. They were gone but Edie was still staring the big biker down. I shuffled my way through the crowded dining room to put things right. “Look, this is Sweden...,” I began to say.

“Switzerland,” Edie corrected.

“Oh yeah...Switzerland. Leave your differences at the door. This is neutral ground, got it?” I challenged the biker. I’d learned the last time Wolf’s Run had visited Gold Canyon that you had to stand up to these guys. They respected that. Even the meanest and toughest among them respected strength.

“The Fangs don’t wait, bitch. Now grab your little friend here and go get us some fucking menus,” the big one apparently named Dolan said. Edie had that look in her eyes but I grabbed her arm and pulled her away before she did something stupid. Even though she barely weighed a hundred pounds, it took all I had to drag her behind the counter.

“Show's over, folks. Food’s on its way along with free refills of coffee,” I told the patrons sitting at the dozen tables and the six stools at the lunch counter. Then I turned to Edie, “Settle down. They’re bikers. Half of them probably have police records. They cause trouble but that’s not our business,” I began to say.

“But, Cassie, they...,” Edie interrupted. She was always a tomboy, ready to fight, even now. She and I had been friends since junior high. What a pair we made. I still remember the day Edie punched Billy Wagner in the nose and sent him to the nurse’s office for suggesting we looked like Laurel and Hardy. We were the big girl and her hyperactive, tomboy friend, as opposite as you could get. I didn’t let Edie finish protesting.

“Edie, it’s not our business. Just serve them. They’ll be out of here in an hour and gone forever on Sunday. Can you be nice for a little while?” I asked. Edie sighed.

“Yeah, I suppose. But if he gets out of line...,” she said and smiled at me.

“If he gets out of line, I’ll help you kick his ass,” I told her. Edie laughed and turned to get back to work. Willy rang the bell again. I grabbed the hot plates and went to deliver them. It was only Wednesday and already we’d almost had a fight. I wondered if the Rusty Skillet could get through the week without a brawl or being burned down.