Free Wicked Magic by Madeline Pryce

Except, even
those few-and-far-between encounters had lost their appeal. He might be an
asshole, but even he knew screwing one woman while thinking about another was
shitty. Sam was all he wanted. All he couldn’t have. Why in the hell did he
have to come to the Watering Hole tonight anyway?
    The door creaked open, the sound raising the hair on his
arms. As soon as he entered the main floor of the bar, heat slapped him in the
face. He deserved it. The music pulsed, penetrated him. The tune had shifted
from country to hard electric guitars and vocals that sounded like women
shrieking. If his head hadn’t hurt before, he knew it would in only a matter of
minutes.
    He had one mission—get the hell out of the bar before he
took out his aggression on his brother. The bastard had actually offered to
fuck her. He should kick his ass. He was going to kick his ass—right after he
went home and drowned his sexual frustration in liquor. He’d been blindsided
tonight. Jeremiah had been the catalyst.
    “Worse than a goddamn, pansy-assed matchmaker,” he mumbled
under his breath and stormed across the room.
    Every step he took increased the buzzing in his head. The
jaguar roared, paced, did everything it could to let his agitation be known.
The only thing that kept him from shifting was his hand on his feline’s tail,
holding it below the surface. Sweat beaded at the nape of his neck, trailed
beneath his collar and down his back. Sam had touched him there, traced her
nails over the many battle wounds he’d acquired in the last few years. Her
scent, the taste of her skin, lingered in his mouth. He had a clear picture of
her breasts, the indent of her stomach, the tiny mole left of her hip. When
she’d spread her thighs, exposing the tiny black panties, he’d almost come in
his pants like a schoolboy.
    “I know it’s been awhile, but damn, that was quick. Where’s
Sam?” With a wide grin, Jeremiah stepped in front of him. His brother’s gaze
darted from him to the door he’d come out of as if expecting the little witch
to appear at any moment.
    Trent took in a deep breath through his nose and curled his
hands into fists. ’Miah meant well—he really did. He lifted his head to meet
his brother’s eyes. One step forward closed the space between him and ’Miah
until their chests touched. Jeremiah’s eyes went wide. His back stiffened.
Good. At least he had the sense to be afraid.
    Aggression, anger, pent-up sexual frustration…it all jumbled
inside him. His hand slipped on the tail he was clutching. It was the inch his
kitty needed. Canines slipped from his gums and the first strands of fur grew
from the tops of his hands.
    “Don’t bullshit me.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. “I
can’t believe you planned on fucking her, making her yours. Dad always did say
it should be you.”
    “Brother,” Jeremiah warned, then took an immediate step back
when a growl ripped from Trent’s throat.
    The collective smoke in the bar hazed around him, filled his
lungs. He was already moving before his brain could catch up. A gasp sounded
from the poor guy who’d picked a table in his line of sight.
    “Cigarette, now.” He slapped a hand on the table, looked up,
and met wide, terrified eyes. Even shifters got a little uneasy when you were
half human, half animal.
    Scrambling, the kid did his best to open up his pack of
smokes. Jesus, was this pip-squeak even old enough to be in the bar? The white
stick hovered in the air, shaking, before Trent rolled his eyes and snatched it.
He ripped off the brown filter and stuck the rest between his lips. When he
held out his hand, a lighter landed in it.
    He scraped his thumb over the wheel of the Bic, sparked the
flint and took in a deep breath. The smell of the flame mixed with the sweet
nicotine. He drew the smoke into his mouth, brought it into his lungs, taming
the sudden craving. In, out. He ignored the loose tobacco that stuck to the
inside of his lip.
    He tossed the lighter to