The Drunken Dog

By Ofelia Gränd

Zev Nightfall has a secret. For two years, he's been the beta in a loosely knitted werewolf pack, but he's not a werewolf. He's a crossbreed, part wolf, part fae, which is a death sentence in most packs. That's not his only problem. One night he meets Otis, a vampire. Shifters and vampires aren't friends, yet fighting is the last thing on Zev's mind.

Otis Miller is in the middle of rebuilding his rockstar persona. Again. A hundred years ago, all he had to do was to move when people started noticing him not ageing. With cameras and social media, it doesn't work anymore, and he isn't sure he has the energy to start over. Then there is the shifter coming to the bar where he's singing. He makes Otis want to jump off the stage and never look back.

Zev knows he shouldn't get involved with a vampire; he has enough problems as it is. But Otis is alone and vulnerable, and it tugs at Zev's heartstrings. Normally, Otis stays away from other supernatural beings, but something about Zev makes him want to curl up on his lap and forget about the world around them. But how would two people from enemy species make things work, and will Zev's pack ever accept not only a crossbreed but a vampire as well?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Feb 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685500641

Ofelia Gränd

Ofelia Gränd is Swedish, which often shines through in her stories. She likes to write about everyday people ending up in not-so-everyday situations, and hopefully also getting out of them. She writes contemporary, paranormal, romance, horror, Sci-Fi and whatever else catches her fancy.Her books are written for readers who want to take a break from their everyday life for an hour or two.When Ofelia manages to tear herself from the screen and sneak away from husband and children, she likes to take walks in the woods...if she’s lucky she finds her way back home again.Subscribe to Ofelia's Mailing List!https://subscribepage.io/68FxpG

Book preview

Chapter 1

Zev Nightfall of the Halfhide pack pushed through the door to The Drunken Dog—one of the smallest bars he’d ever been to. He’d discovered it a couple of weeks before when he’d been out wandering, and it’d quickly become his hidey-hole.

He stopped before nearing the bar. There was a band playing, and worse, the place smelled of vampire. He groaned. He needed a drink away from the guys, but the scent of shifters was like catnip to vampires, and while he didn’t have proof since he’d always done his damnedest to stay away from them, he suspected his scent was worse.

Looking at the small stage they’d built along one of the walls, he met the gaze of the singer. The moment he did, he messed up the lyric and fell silent for several seconds. Fuck.

Zev glanced at the door, ready to run should the vampire decide to attack, but he was singing again. His black jeans hung low on his hips, and he had a white unbuttoned shirt, showing off a large butterfly tattoo half-hidden in his underwear. Zev snorted. Vampires.

He couldn’t claim to know any, but they were always so dramatic. Why on earth would anyone go through the pain of getting tattooed with silver mixed in the ink? Or he suspected it was what he’d done. Maybe it was ordinary ink and would be gone when he rose the next day. Maybe it was one of those rub-on tattoos. He chuckled to himself.

Leaning against the bar, he nodded at Gerald—an old man with white hair and watchful eyes who owned the bar. Whiskey, please. As Gerald reached for the bottle, he spoke again. Make it a double.

Gerald nodded. Long day?

Zev sighed. Long day, long week, long life. I’ve had better, and I’ve had worse.

Gerald smiled, a quick twitch of his lips. This is not the solution, son. You’ve been in here a lot lately.

Son? No one had ever called him son, and while it was a word thrown in as some would say man or dude or asshole or whatever, it made his heart ache.

When he’d met Roarak a couple of years ago, he’d believed he’d finally found a home. They’d built a small pack, though no other pack acknowledged them, and especially not since Roarak had taken a male mate—a non-shifter male mate.

In most packs being queer was a death sentence, but they weren’t most packs.

Zev believed the others were happy—he hoped they were—and he’d believed, hoped, he’d find peace, but he was still an outsider. He loved them, but he wasn’t like other wolves, and they knew. He kept as much distance as he could, and he never shifted with them, but they all had working noses.

There was no way they couldn’t tell he was of mixed breeds—another death sentence in most packs—but they were polite enough not to say anything.

He snorted. The guys were many things, but polite wasn’t one of them.

Roarak knew he submitted out of courtesy and respect rather than some ingrained need to follow pack structure. It was nothing you could hide from your alpha—he’d tried many times, but they could always feel it. Roarak hadn’t tried to kill him though, and the more time that went by, the surer he became Roarak never would. So, he had found a home—all he’d ever believed he wanted—but there was still a hole in his soul.

He didn’t want to leave, but he would if he caused problems for the others.

They could sense his lack of…inclination to follow hierarchy—they had to—but no one had challenged him. Roarak had named him beta, and Zev believed he was strong enough to