The Wolves Bar Los Angeles Novels & Stories

Parker swallowed the last gulp of his drink before placing the empty glass back on the dark wood of the desk, careful to avoid the papers. "I'm not requesting access to all of the rogues. I would only be going after the one who participated in my death. Maybe all three of the wolves who had attacked me, if they are all present." Parker looked amused at my statement as he clasped his hands together over his stomach with his elbows remaining on the arms of the chair.

Getting wasted drunk at Drunken Dragon Bar just outside Wildwood Pack grounds, on the other hand, easily makes my top-10 list of stupid decisions. At the time, going to that particular bar seemed to make a lot of sense. It was close by; it was open 24-hours; and it had wolfsbane cocktails advertised on its signage, meaning that it was werewolf friendly. Inside, the bar was full of wolves and a handful of humans. The music was loud and the liquor was flowing. Nothing in the bar screamed, “Turn around and go home.” Instead, Drunken Dragon Bar seemed like the perfect place to drink my problems away.

I said, sitting down on a barstool. "I'll take a beer," Zane ordered. Matthew simply nodded and took a seat, opting for a glass of water. We talked amongst ourselves and let the alcohol work its magic in calming us down. The rich and powerful blend of the wine bursting and filling my mouth with different Savours. However, our peaceful night was quickly interrupted when a group of rogue wolves stormed into the bar, blocking the exits.

“Of course, Mother. I will bring your golden child home in one piece with no irreputable woman on his arm.” Five hours later I am standing in parking lot looking at the shithole bar my brother insisted that we come to. It looks like it was built with whatever spare wood they could pick up for free. Several different colors of siding line the sides of the building and iron bars cover the windows that are already broken and covered with plywood. A crudely painted wolf howling at the moon hangs above the door with a neon sign that is flickering ‘The Wolf’s Den,’ except the only letters that are still lit up are the ‘W’ and the ‘D.’

The bartender eyed me and nodded. "What'll it be?" He asked while throwing a white bar towel over his shoulder. "Beer. Draft" "Leaded or unleaded?" He asked with his brow raised. Apparently, that was this bar's code for human beer, or wolves’ beer. A normal beer to a wolf does nothing for them. A slight buzz if they drink enough, otherwise, not a thing. A "leaded" beer was for wolves only. Had a shot or two of wolfsbane in it to enhance the effects of the alcohol. Gets us drunk and faster.

I whispered with a wicked gleam. Ragus searched my eyes and pushes me away. "What do you want here?" He grunts. I rubbed my neck, smirking. " I came to collect my cat and the two wolves you have here." He raises a brow and in a flash is now seated on the stool. The entire bar has gone deathly silent as everyone seemed to have their attention on the two of us. It was like they were watching an entertaining film right in front of them. "I do not have any cat here but two wolves and an odd creature. They taste lovely and their blood has made me some good coin so I do not think I can bargain for them." He smirked, looked at the man behind the bar and asked for a glass of blood.

At least the Gaelic Wolf is a cool place to work. It's a time capsule of an 80 year old bar, a relic from a time only werewolves lived here, complete with taxidermied deer heads and tin ceilings on both floors, the only modern concessions electric lighting, a booth for the disabled, and some of the labels on the bottles behind the bar. The Wolf collects misfits, Goths in particular, as both patrons and workers.

Sam (POV) I was sitting in a local bar near the pack house, everyone in here was a werewolf and it was known all over the pack that this was the place where you could come to have a little fun or in my case a little misery. It was not the most outrageous bar you would see around the city. It was well hidden between different big buildings as the werewolf community wanted it to be away from any prying eyes of humans or vampires, so strictly a werewolf bar. The bartender was an old friend of mine and right now was attending a few of the hot she wolves serving them their poison.

Oh fuck no! “Go get ready!” I barked at Ryan. “We’re leaving in five minutes!” “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He questioned. “She didn’t exactly invite us.” “Cold Creek is wolf territory. That bar is going to be full of male wolves.” I stated by way of explanation. “Did you see what she was wearing? They’re all going to want to put their hands all over her.” “Meet you at the car.” Was all he said in response

My mother would be so disappointed me. I took Vanessa out to the pack’s bar. It was lively at this time of night, packed with wolves laughing, drinking, and throwing darts at a target on the far end of the room. The scent of alcohol and fried food clung to the air, mixing with the usual musk of wolves who’d spent their day working hard. The moment we stepped inside, heads turned—not because of me, but because of her.