The Alpha's Inferno

Chapter 2

Marcus POV

Taaffe's Bar is hopping. Before I even open the door, the sounds of old school 80's rock music and laughter spill out onto the street. When I step inside, the atmosphere is buzzing with the uplifting energy of shifters and humans all having a good time. The décor is rustic, wood and some exposed brick, nothing fancy, nothing that can't be replaced or wiped down. The smell of hops and deep-fried bar food fills my nostrils as I survey the full booths and tables, and the small groups gathered around the high tables dotted around the place.

I edge my way past the Saturday evening crowd and head straight for the bar, sliding onto an empty stool in the corner and turning to observe the patrons. This place seems to attract a nice crowd. When I enquired at the local diner where would be the best place to go for a drink, I was told that this was really the only place, so that decided it. I'm relieved that it's not a complete dive. I don't doubt that there's the odd bar fight, there always is in a shifter town where tempers are a bit shorter and emotions run a bit higher, but I don't see any evidence of a rough element in town. A bonus point for Grey Ridge. It'll be a welcome change to have a good pub to frequent that I won't have to get called to every other night.

I should probably already know a little bit more about my new hometown, but I had just been so grateful to get the job and the excuse to move away from home that I didn't care where I was going. Anywhere was better than there. A change has been badly needed for far too long.

A very large, very bald, very serious-looking barman stops in front of me with a clean dish towel tossed over his shoulder and eyes me carefully. Tattoos adorn his forearms and knuckles, but he's clean-shaven and wears a blue shirt. The owner I'm guessing given the rest of the staff seems to be dressed casually in just black t-shirts and jeans. He probably knows everyone in this town, and a big grizzly bear shifter like me sticks out like a sore thumb. He's serving me himself to mind his staff and suss me out, and truth be told he's right to watch me. Any bear shifter has the potential to wreak havoc, and there are plenty of them that like to throw their weight around just for the hell of it. Make that two bonus points for Taaffe's, it's also a well-run bar.

Maybe life in Grey Ridge won't be too bad at all.

"Hey, how are you doing? Can I just get a bottle of beer please?" I ask, and he nods, reaching into the cooler behind him before flipping the lid off and handing the chilled bottle to me. He settles his large frame against the fridge and folds his arms in front of him like he has all the time in the world as if there aren't five other people trying to catch his attention to get served.

"New in town or just passing through?" He asks, keeping his tone friendly but there's no beating around the bush, and I like a man who's straight to the point, just like me. He seems to be suggesting that passing through is the better answer. He's a shifter too, but I can't place exactly what kind. Not a bear like me, but not a wolf like the majority of customers in here.

"New in town. Marcus Lennox, Madeline's replacement," I half stand from my stool and lean across the bar, offering my hand to the man to put his mind at ease. He visibly relaxes and pushes forward off the fridge, moving in closer.

"Sean," he says, a broad smile cracking his face. His intimidating demeanor is quickly replaced by a relaxed one as he shakes my hand enthusiastically. "No shit, a bear running a wolf town. They must think this place has gone to hell if they're sending in the big guns."

I have to laugh at that. Any bear working in law enforcement is well used to people thinking we're only brought in to quell trouble, our animals large and dominant enough to put most shifters back in line.

"No, no, nothing like that, I was just looking for a change of scene when this came up," I reassure him as I settle back onto my stool.

"Well, I hope you like things quiet," he wipes down the counter as he talks, completely at ease now, "the pack here is a good one, well run, and we rarely have any trouble. You might be twiddling your thumbs, Sheriff Lennox."