That didn’t stop him from making tracks into town as fast as he dared. He didn’t want to get pulled over—he’d had a run-in with the sheriff when he first arrived in the area and didn’t care for a heartfelt reunion. The cops hadn’t helped him long ago when he’d needed them, and nothing had changed.

Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled up in the parking lot of the Crosseyed Grizzly, the local hangout that was just about as classy as it sounded. Fine by him; he didn’t do fancy. The people were nice and down to earth—mostly—and the drinks were cheap.

Best of all, Mackenzie was here. Mac to her friends, and he absolutely hated that nickname. Mac sounded like a truck driver with a belt buckle overlap. But Mackenzie was beautiful, kind, and funny. As great as the team had been to him so far, she was one of the first people besides Nick to actually approach and welcome him to the fold, to treat him like a person who mattered. And her smile . . . God, that wide smile and the way her blue eyes lit up as she spoke to him had been like a kick to the balls.

Anxious, he searched for a parking spot and finally found one toward the back, close to the edge of the woods. It was dark back here and he didn’t like it. He liked it even less when he saw that Mackenzie’s car was only a couple of spaces away. The thought of her walking back here in the dark with no protection set his teeth on edge. Well, he was here now and he’d make sure she got back to the compound safely.

And soon. A chill slithered through his body, and a sense of urgency quickened his steps. Something nasty was on the prowl, and it would be best not to linger.

Pushing inside, he steeled himself against the twangy country music—what the fuck else would they play in a place named after a drunk bear?—and scanned the room for the doc. He didn’t have to search for long. She was at the long bar between two other women, carrying on an animated conversation. He stood still for a moment, just drinking her in.

She was of medium height, though it was hard to tell with her sitting. Her build was lithe, arms and thighs toned as though she worked out in the compound’s gym, but not enough to get too much muscle. He made a mental note to try to catch her in action, sweating away.

That particular thought made his dick perk up with interest. He’d like to make her sweat during a hard workout, all right. And not in the gym.

An astounding thought for a man who usually went out of his way to avoid sex, or any form of intimacy whatsoever.

Automatically, his gaze went to where her tight, jeans-encased ass was perched on the barstool, looking like a firm apple he’d love to take a bite of. His scan moved upward to her narrow waist and on to the fitted red tank top with the spaghetti straps that hugged her breasts nicely. Curly dark brown hair fell in waves to her shoulders and framed the loveliest face he’d ever seen. Her profile was an amazing mix of delicacy and strength. Her cheek bones were fine, eyes large and framed by long lashes, her smile easy on a mouth that some might think too big. Too friendly.

But he’d seen how she was strong when she needed to be, especially when it involved a patient. She was perfectly capable of standing her ground with the men of the Pack, and did so frequently. He’d heard that her father, General Jarrod Grant, was Nick’s contact in the military, and he figured she came by the “tough gene” honest.

But she wasn’t strong enough to win against the evil that permeated the air, closer than before. Something big was on the hunt.

Suddenly anxious to get to her side, Kalen took a couple of steps forward—and found his path blocked by one of the local yokels who, no doubt, the building was named after. He resembled a grizzly, too, really hairy and sporting a big gut.

“Weeell, whattawe have here?” His grin boasted grungy, blackened front teeth.

So, the asshole was swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool. Good news. The bad news was the top of Kalen’s head came to the guy’s chin. His right hand twitched, itching for his Sorcerer’s staff. But he couldn’t call it, or utter a spell, in such a public place, especially since they were gaining an audience.

“I’m joining someone, and I’ve got no problem with you, mister. So if you’ll move aside, I’ll be about my biz.”

The shithead blinked, and then turned to share a too-loud laugh with his equally IQ-deficient buddies. “Ya hear that? Pretty boy wants me to move!” Chuckling, he smiled at Kalen, an unpleasant gleam in his beady eyes. “I think you’d best be the one headin’ back the way you came, ’cause we don’t take kindly to queers around here.”

Wasn’t the first time his appearance had drawn a comment like that, and he didn’t care. Now they had everyone’s undivided attention. Glancing past the jerk, he saw that Mackenzie and her friends had spun around on their barstools and sat gaping at the scene. Fantastic. Returning his attention to the mountain in front of him, he kept his expression neutral and spoke evenly.

“Then you and your fuck buddies might want to leave.”

It took the guy a few seconds to get it as he stared at Kalen. When he did, his lip curled, all traces of false humor gone. “I’m gonna give you to the count of three, boy—”

Ignoring him, Kalen made to push past him, not really believing the asshole would let it go. He didn’t.

A beefy shoulder connected with him, hard, knocking him back a couple of steps. The man was still planted firmly in his way. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to remain calm—and to not turn the guy into a fat slug, right in front of the entire bar.

“Mister, trust me when I say you don’t want to mess with me,” he said calmly. The jerk and his buddies thought this was hilarious, hooting and clanking their longneck bottles together, then turning their avid attention back to the coming fight.

There wouldn’t be one if he could help it. Mackenzie was staring at him, eyes wide and worried. More than anything he didn’t want to disappoint her by getting into a brawl, but he wasn’t about to let a sack of shit run him down in front of her, either.

“I’ll do more than mess with you, boy! I’ll pound you into the floor.”

“Bigger sons of bitches than you have tried.”

Some had actually succeeded. Best not to think of that now, when he couldn’t afford the distraction.

Again, Kalen attempted to step around the man, but two meaty hands landed on his chest, giving him a hard shove. He staggered backward, managed not to fall—but his tight control over his temper snapped.

“No one touches me,” he snarled.

And took two steps forward, unloading his fist into the bastard’s face. The man’s head jerked back and he stumbled into a nearby table. The couple sitting there jumped up, the woman letting out a shriek as they scrambled out of the way. Kalen’s nemesis lost his balance as the table tipped, and was dumped into the floor.

Kalen’s body tensed as the man brought a hand to his nose and wiped away a trickle of blood. He knew he was in trouble when the man’s lip curled into an ugly sneer and his friends stood, chairs scraping in the silence, beers abandoned and amusement gone.

“Fuckin’ kill him!” the bastard shouted, lurching to his feet.

Kalen had about two seconds to brace himself before a wall of pissed-off rednecks buried him in a sweaty, stinky dogpile. A fist slammed the side of his head and more found his ribs. The air rushed from his lungs and he bucked, pushing at the closest one, to no avail. He wasn’t going to be able to budge them without using his magic—and at the moment, his actions were concealed from the crowd.

Quickly, he summoned a bit of power and channeled it, letting the stream of energy flow to his fingertips. A whispered word fell from his lips and the weight suddenly disappeared as the four men flew off him and landed like dominos pushed by an invisible finger. The sight would’ve been funny except he’d only succeeded in pissing them off even more.