CPA let him set his own hours and prevented
6
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
him from having to answer embarrassing questions about
why he couldn't work on days close to a full moon.
After months of settling into his new environment
and living without a pack, he yearned for the touch of
another werekin. Even the brief brush of flesh from the
shifters on the dance floor helped soothe the lonely animal
beneath his skin. Despite leaving his Alaskan pack only six
months ago, he was desperate for the company of others
like him. Hunting under a full moon wasn't the same
without a pack; it lacked the joyous luster, and the prey he
could catch was more of the rabbit variety than a fully-
grown deer.
Purchasing the club membership was his chance at a
new life. If he met and mated with a local werekin he could
gain acceptance into the pack. Even if he hooked up with
another lone wolf, at least they could become a pack of
two. In werekin culture anything was better than one. Lone
creatures didn't survive long in the big bad world,
especially small ones. At five feet nine inches, Ben was on
the short side for a wolf shifter. He blamed that on his
human mother. If he was full-blooded he would easily have
topped six feet. At least he could shift. He'd heard of half-
blooded werekin who were unable to shift but still felt the
call of the moon. Ben decided they must be in a special
type of hell, one he was lucky enough not to be a part of.
7
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
Using his smaller size to slip through the crowds,
Ben made his way to the long wooden bar covering most of
the back wall. The bartender moved with a fluidity that
screamed cat shifter.
"What can I get you?" The bartender batted his long
sable lashes over a pair of piercing sea green eyes. "Besides
me."
Ben chuckled. "A rum and coke, please."
"Oooh a polite one." The bartender's hands moved
so fast the motion blurred. In seconds he was presenting
Ben's drink with a flourish and a flirty wink. "Anything
else?"
After giving the cute cat a tip in the glass jar beside
him, Ben flashed a grin of his own. "Not right now, but I'll
let you know if that changes."
It wouldn't. He was looking for one of his own kind.
In his wilder days the cat would've been a prime hookup,
but he was looking for something more permanent. Ben
wanted a mate. He wouldn't get it where he came from. At
the Great Claiming none of the werekin had stepped
forward to choose him. Maybe if Dillon had been home
things would've been different.
Maybe.
An image of a tall, dark werewolf with forest green
eyes flashed in his mind. Ben ruthlessly pushed it away
8
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
along with his feelings of longing. It had hurt to leave the
pack knowing he'd never see the handsome man again, but
Dillon was part of his past and tonight was about securing
his future.
"Hello there, cute stuff," a rough voice spoke from
behind him. He turned to see a huge man with cold black
eyes looking him over like Ben was a prime piece of meat
he wanted to devour.
"Um. Hi." He gave a polite smile and shifted a bit to
the side to look around the other man. A sniff proved the
guy was werekin, but not one with any mate potential. He
didn't give off the right scent.
To Ben's shock the man settled a heavy arm around
him. "What do you say you and I get to know each other
better? I'm Ned, what's your name?" It was more a
statement than a question, as the other man was already
lifting him off his barstool and guiding him towards the
exit.
"B-Ben." Panic rabbited in his chest. Great, his first
time in the club and already he was in trouble. Why did
things like this always happen to him? All he wanted to do
was meet the werewolf of his dreams and settle down, not
be kidnapped by a Neanderthal.
"There you are, honey. Ned, thank you for finding
him for me."
9
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
"Thomas." Ned's arm fell off his shoulders so
quickly Ben lost his balance, causing him
6
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
him from having to answer embarrassing questions about
why he couldn't work on days close to a full moon.
After months of settling into his new environment
and living without a pack, he yearned for the touch of
another werekin. Even the brief brush of flesh from the
shifters on the dance floor helped soothe the lonely animal
beneath his skin. Despite leaving his Alaskan pack only six
months ago, he was desperate for the company of others
like him. Hunting under a full moon wasn't the same
without a pack; it lacked the joyous luster, and the prey he
could catch was more of the rabbit variety than a fully-
grown deer.
Purchasing the club membership was his chance at a
new life. If he met and mated with a local werekin he could
gain acceptance into the pack. Even if he hooked up with
another lone wolf, at least they could become a pack of
two. In werekin culture anything was better than one. Lone
creatures didn't survive long in the big bad world,
especially small ones. At five feet nine inches, Ben was on
the short side for a wolf shifter. He blamed that on his
human mother. If he was full-blooded he would easily have
topped six feet. At least he could shift. He'd heard of half-
blooded werekin who were unable to shift but still felt the
call of the moon. Ben decided they must be in a special
type of hell, one he was lucky enough not to be a part of.
7
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
Using his smaller size to slip through the crowds,
Ben made his way to the long wooden bar covering most of
the back wall. The bartender moved with a fluidity that
screamed cat shifter.
"What can I get you?" The bartender batted his long
sable lashes over a pair of piercing sea green eyes. "Besides
me."
Ben chuckled. "A rum and coke, please."
"Oooh a polite one." The bartender's hands moved
so fast the motion blurred. In seconds he was presenting
Ben's drink with a flourish and a flirty wink. "Anything
else?"
After giving the cute cat a tip in the glass jar beside
him, Ben flashed a grin of his own. "Not right now, but I'll
let you know if that changes."
It wouldn't. He was looking for one of his own kind.
In his wilder days the cat would've been a prime hookup,
but he was looking for something more permanent. Ben
wanted a mate. He wouldn't get it where he came from. At
the Great Claiming none of the werekin had stepped
forward to choose him. Maybe if Dillon had been home
things would've been different.
Maybe.
An image of a tall, dark werewolf with forest green
eyes flashed in his mind. Ben ruthlessly pushed it away
8
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
along with his feelings of longing. It had hurt to leave the
pack knowing he'd never see the handsome man again, but
Dillon was part of his past and tonight was about securing
his future.
"Hello there, cute stuff," a rough voice spoke from
behind him. He turned to see a huge man with cold black
eyes looking him over like Ben was a prime piece of meat
he wanted to devour.
"Um. Hi." He gave a polite smile and shifted a bit to
the side to look around the other man. A sniff proved the
guy was werekin, but not one with any mate potential. He
didn't give off the right scent.
To Ben's shock the man settled a heavy arm around
him. "What do you say you and I get to know each other
better? I'm Ned, what's your name?" It was more a
statement than a question, as the other man was already
lifting him off his barstool and guiding him towards the
exit.
"B-Ben." Panic rabbited in his chest. Great, his first
time in the club and already he was in trouble. Why did
things like this always happen to him? All he wanted to do
was meet the werewolf of his dreams and settle down, not
be kidnapped by a Neanderthal.
"There you are, honey. Ned, thank you for finding
him for me."
9
Baiting Ben
Amber Kell
"Thomas." Ned's arm fell off his shoulders so
quickly Ben lost his balance, causing him
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