It had happened without any real involvement from his brain. Before he even realized it, he’d had his phone in hand and then the line was ringing. Fail. He’d almost hung up in the moments it took Dylan to answer. Then he’d figured—two birds, one stone. He could do some digging into Lacey’s disappearance, spend time with his mate, and maybe squeeze in a dance or three. The “no rushing” rule only applied to the two of them landing in bed. They still needed to get to know each other. Howl was as good a place for that as any. The club was fair-sized with two different levels and a couple of stages where bands or drag shows sometimes performed, along with a separate DJ booth and two full bars—one upstairs, one down. The clientele was a mix of shifters and humans, though a wolf owned the club and the employees were all members of the Portland pack. Avery wondered what the humans thought of the mural behind one of the bars, which featured the silhouette of a wolf howling at the moon, or of the other, which showed an anthropomorphic wolf with razor-sharp claws and dripping fangs.
