Frank hated the heat. The sun beat down on the Wraithkillers’ MC with vengeance, and the aroma of pig shit, cow manure and hay, cut and drying in the fields, bombarded his sense of smell. Sweat trickled through his hair, caught by the black-and-white bandanna rolled into a long strip and wrapped around his head. He watched Crow, president of the Wraithkillers, for any signs of deceit, wishing he could just kill the man, piss on him, and walk away. He blinked several times and willed those thoughts to pass. Their days of Claiming and Maiming—as the old timers of their clan called it—were over. He had to control his urge to spill blood. They all did, humans and werewolves alike.
“It’s a fair trade, Frank,” Crow stated, bringing Frank back to the problem at hand.
“You stole one of our women,” Frank growled, furious with Crow, “and you call it a fair trade?”
“Sure.” The man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth that looked ten times brighter against his dusky skin. Some said Crow was part Native American and part African American. Others swore he was of Jamaican descent, and some even said Crow had Japanese in his bloodline. Whatever his nationality, he was shrewd, smart, strong, conniving, and women gravitated to his good looks and charm. Men admired him and desired what their president had, but they knew better than to challenge him.
To Frank, the man’s grin hinted at a panther preparing to attack. However, this one appeared to have had one too many hits of something today, so Frank would have to be doubly careful not to piss him off.
“You have our crate of guns and we have one of your women,”—Crow glanced over at a prospect—“who is Beastman’s 
old lady, I believe.” When the prospect nodded to confirm the woman’s identity, Crow continued. “Return what is ours, and we’ll give back what is yours.”
“Dammit, Crow!” Frank thundered.
Crow’s men all reached for knives or pistols.
Frank prayed he could curb his temper. “My men didn’t steal anything from you. They found the crate sitting half-busted in the road with 9 millimeters and AK-15s spilling out of it. You’re lucky we found the box at all. The Wraithkillers are known for dealing weapons. If the pigs had come across it, you know they’d be sniffing around your club to tie you to that crate. We did you a favor.”
Crow shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. You still took what doesn’t belong to you.” He swept one hand toward the woman at the back end of a tractor where a couple of Crow’s prospects had bound and gagged her. “I like to keep things even.”
Frank looked over at Phil, his second-in-command, who shook his head and sighed.
“Might as well swap for what’s ours,” Phil said. “You know, if Beastman doesn’t get his old lady back he’ll break protocol, and come in here to Crow’s compound and take her. Probably start another war, too.”
“Listen to your second-in-command,” Crow urged, his tone smug.
~~~~~~~~
This excerpt came from the opening page of Nightshade's Flame. You can find the trilogy at these two links but the books are available at other online book retailers--B&N, etc.--too. Both ebook and print for each is available. 🤪
