DENLEY GRANT
Dennie Grant sat at the scarred wooden table in a shifter bar he'd been partial to since he'd been in Ash City.
The werewolf family that owned this place welcomed all who entered. In here, he felt safe. He'd been alone since his half-brother, Henderson, had banished him from the werecougar colony.
Dennie was considered a pariah and no werecat within the Grant territory would give him the time of day.
Outcast.
The word tasted bitter on his tongue.
But the alternative was death, and he wanted to live—even if that meant living without connections to friends and family.
They'd all turned their backs the minute Henderson issued his edict.
Dennie looked around the bar. The worn but comfortable furniture, the yeasty smell of beer, the easy smiles of both staff and customers—he took it all in.
