Dead Man's Deal The Asylum Tales - By Jocelynn Drake Page 0,81
looking so beat up,” he added in a stage whisper that most of the restaurant could hear. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stay mad at Freddie.
“Good to see you too, Freddie,” I said, unable to stop my smile as I extended my hand to the man. It was immediately engulfed in his large paw and he pumped it vigorously in his excitement, threatening to dislocate my arm.
“How you been doin’? I’ve been meaning to stop down to see you, but Mr. Reave has been keepin’ me busy.”
“Been better,” I muttered, following Freddie back to his table. As the large man returned to his seat in the booth, I got a look at the men he was sitting with, bringing a fresh grin to my face. One man scowled at me while the other seated next to him carefully kept his eyes on his plate. “Jack! It’s been a dog’s age since I last saw you,” I exclaimed louder than necessary.
His companion snorted as he tried to hold in his laughter, which quickly changed to coughing as he reached for his mug of beer. Jack glared at his pack mate for a second before turning his black look on me.
“Not long enough,” he growled. I could imagine he felt that way. A couple months back, I had wandered through his pack’s territory and refused to pay a toll. Jack attempted to jump me, and I turned him into a Chihuahua. It didn’t hurt him, but he was stuck like that until the next full moon when his werewolf side permitted him to shift. If he’d quit nursing his bruised ego, he’d realize that I’d let him off easy. Any other warlock would have killed him and his entire pack on the spot.
I slid into the booth next to Freddie. Jack opened his mouth as if he wanted to stop me, but gave up with a grunt as he dug back into his plate. In the center of the table there were bowls filled with mashed potatoes, sauerkraut, and large sausages along with a large pitcher of beer.
“I’m surprised that your pack hasn’t stopped by for some new ink,” I said, watching the men refill their plates. “When we first met, it didn’t look like your pack had its own tag.”
Jack sneered at me. “What do we need a tag for? My pack is the only one in Low Town.”
I shrugged, slouching in the booth. “You’re the only werewolf pack in Low Town, but you’re not the only shifters. I thought you’d want a little something to proudly proclaim that you and your members are of the local wolf pack. Anyway, you’d need it if you ever traveled into another’s territory.”
Jack made some noncommittal noise, not looking up at me, but the other werewolf was watching me now. I vaguely remembered him as Jack’s caretaker when the alpha had been indisposed. He was probably Jack’s second in command.
“What kind of ink were you thinking?” he asked hesitantly.
At the same time a server approached, placing a fresh bowl of sausages on the table before setting a plate, silverware wrapped in a linen napkin, and a frosted mug in front of me. I hadn’t planned to stay for food and I wasn’t a big fan of German fare. The smell from the bowls in front of me was starting to make my stomach growl. It was getting late in the day and I had yet to eat anything.
“You got a pen I can borrow?” I asked, looking up at the server.
She smiled at me as she dug in her pocket and pulled out a black ballpoint. “Anything else?”
“Nope. Thanks.”
Spreading out my napkin over my empty plate, I clicked the pen and started sketching as fast as my brain could work. In the center, I created a stylized L and T, then placed it within a large tree that had its branches and roots spread about a larger circle. “Being the Low Town pack and proud of that, you definitely need an L and T within the tattoo. Personally, if I see one more werewolf with a full moon or wolf howling as his pack tattoo, I think I’ll puke. It’s old, predictable, and been done to fucking death. What I’d like to see you do is have the letters carved into a large oak tree. The oak is a symbol of strength, power, and virility. Kings are associated with the oak. The roots would represent your long, proud history, and the