“As close to stock as we can get. I’d like the seats done in leather, though.”
“Original colors?” He opened the door and ran a hand over the dark red steering wheel. Man, where’d the quality go in cars these days?
“I’ll keep the paint stock, so let’s keep the interior the same as well.”
He could picture the Speedster with a gleaming black-and-white paintjob, its chrome polished to a high sheen. He straightened up and gazed at Blacque, taking a moment to appreciate the artistry of his rugged face. As he looked, the wolf colored up slightly.
“Call when you’re ready for me.” Their gazes held for a breathless moment. Bleu finally exhaled. “I’ll work up an estimate. Damn nice vehicle. Can’t beat the fifties when it comes to cars. Especially Studebakers.” He gave the door a push, and it closed with a satisfying thump. He might have more fun with pimped-out cars and customized limos, but restoring a classic brought out the best in Bleu. He followed Blacque to the back door and paused, watching him lock up.
Blacque turned to face him. Excitement fluttered in Bleu’s belly. “Thanks, Bleu. I appreciate it.” Again the big man hovered, looking ill at ease. He reminded Bleu of a kid angling for his first kiss after a date. Well, that could be wishful thinking on his part. Clearly the mechanic had something to say.
“Well, good night.”
Or not.
“Good night, Lukas. You have a good evening.”
“You too.” The wolf started out to the parking lot, where his big pickup truck waited. Blacque paused and then turned back to Bleu.
“See you around.”
He waited for a moment, gazing at Bleu, and then started back out to his truck, moving with swift, graceful strides.
Beautiful. From the top of his bristly head to the soles of his steel-toed feet, the wolf was beautiful. Bleu shifted, letting his cock find a more comfortable position in his work pants. Dickies. What a name for a pair of pants. When he threw back his head and laughed, the tips of his fangs glinted in the moonlight.
This was a bad idea all the way around. Such a bad idea. The were community here in Arcada had been tolerant of him so far. Vamps and wolves never got along particularly well, and he valued the uneasy peace that existed in this quaint little town. Blacque had been a temptation he’d long denied himself, and one that Bleu should continue to ignore.
He laughed again. Hell. What was life without a bit of risky self-indulgence now and then?
Fuck. What was he thinking? Blacque started the truck, catching a glimpse of the vampire before he returned to his shop. He was facing enough shit with the alpha, and now he was hungering for a vampire…a male vampire, no less.
He scrubbed at his scalp and then brought his fist down, banging it on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath, gathering his control. He reached between his legs and grasped his cock hard, willing it into submission. Had the vampire’s gaze lingered there, even for a moment? Had he mistaken something else for the scent of arousal? He squeezed at the base of his swollen shaft, grunting when his arousal began to wane.
It had been bad enough when his wants had been vague and amorphous. He’d craved another male, but it’d been years since a name or face was attached to his need. These past few years, a pale, tall vampire occupied his lust. How old was Oliver Bleu anyway? He seemed pretty modern, but you never knew. In fact, Bleu probably passed for human to most of Arcada’s residents. Other than his scent, the only telltale sign was the slight accent in his voice. He’d originated in Europe somewhere but had been in North America long enough for the accent to have faded.
Shit. He was getting as moony as a teenage girl. His heart raced in his chest, and heat prickled along his skin. He wasn’t one to talk a lot, but the damn vamp had him flat-out tongue-tied. In fact, he couldn’t clearly remember what they’d talked about.
The air grew crisp and cold, and Blacque steered through town with his window down, barely seeing the town square with its fairy lights and the couples strolling arm in arm. He rolled through a stop sign and headed north, away from the orchards and out toward where the real wilderness started.
The official city limits of Arcada extended much farther than the actual town itself, and within its borders, paranormals like him found a measure of safety. That safety came with a price, though. The town didn’t like bad behavior. Not the townspeople, but the town. It had a way of punishing those who tried to violate its code of sanctuary. There was no hunting within the unmarked limits. No stalking, no pack wars of any kind. He wondered if the vamp had to leave town to hunt. He and Dru had come here as kids when their mother died, but many of Arcada’s residents were outsiders who were drawn to the sense of safety here.
Of course, everyone in Arcada had their secrets, and conversely, everyone knew everyone else’s secrets. The place was so rife with oddity that someone had jokingly nicknamed the city “Normalville, USA.” That’s how the sign greeted visitors as they coasted into town on the two-lane approach strip. Hell, even the most mundane humans in town were far from normal. There were witches and psychics and even the occasional oracle, all busily living their day-to-day lives.
He turned off the highway and took a narrow road out to the little house he’d purchased the year before. It was humble, but sound and private. He could shift, go for a run deep into the surrounding forest, and be back without ever encountering his neighbors.
His father, the alpha, lived in a sprawling two-story farmhouse that was buried in acres of orchards. The old house was always filled with his visiting children. Sometimes he took in strays—shifters who were without pack ties elsewhere. If one of Dane’s families was down on their luck, the alpha fed them, and when possible, paid their bills. The vast orchards and pack-owned businesses helped with that, as did his day job as the county sheriff. The pack also paid a tithe to help out.
Damn socialist werewolves, always taking care of each other. The thought made him grin.
Blacque pulled up in front of his house and shut down the truck. The silence out here was complete, broken only by the wind in the trees and the occasional flutter of wings as bats and night birds hunted. He took a deep breath, scenting the wind, and deemed it safe to go inside. Arcada might be a safe haven, but the outside world wasn’t. Dane continually preached caution to his pack.
Like most residents of Arcada, he didn’t bother locking up when he left. Locks on the doors wouldn’t stop anyone here. He skipped the stairs, jumping smoothly to the raised porch, and entered, pausing before turning on the lights. Like the outside, the interior of his house was small and neat. It was old, maybe dating to the 1930s or earlier. At night he loved to lie in bed and listen to its old bones settle.
He headed straight for the fridge, grabbed a beer and popped it, then took a long drink. He drained it, opened a second, and then leaned back against the counter. His cock was hard again, aching and swollen. He reached down and cupped himself, indulging in the brief fantasy of Bleu’s swollen, dripping cock sliding into his mouth. He licked his lips, imagining the salty taste of his seed as it melted over his tongue. He took the imagery just a bit further…still on his knees, but leaning forward or maybe bent over the kitchen table…Bleu covering him from behind.
Shit! What the hell was his problem?
Blacque rolled the cold can over his sweaty forehead and swallowed hard. It wasn’t going to happen. Not if he wanted to keep all his limbs. He might get away with occasionally fucking another guy, but not a male vampire. He took a second to readjust his cock and then headed into the living room.
“Son of a…!” He nearly dropped the can on the polished wooden floor. “Fuck! What the hell are you doing here?”
Had he walked right past his father, or had the old man followed him in? He’d scanned both the property and the house. The alpha sat on the big leather sofa, all sprawled out and at his ease. How was the alpha able to sneak up on him like that?
“Wanna get me one of those?” Dane grinned, his strong white teeth gleaming in
his deeply tanned face. He was still in uniform; the olive green of the fabric nearly blended into the brown leather of the couch. His thick black hair, waving back from his handsome face, was a bit long for the uniform; it brushed down past the collar.
Blacque returned to the kitchen and grabbed another beer. Without looking at his father, he tossed it in his direction. He gathered his anger and settled into a battered recliner, then kicked back and propped his boots on the footrest. The can tab hissed, and he hoped the old man would spill brew all down the front of his pristine shirt.
No such luck. Sheriff Dane Blacque sipped at the foam, catching it before it spilled. Too damn perfect by far.
“So Dru says you’re busy at work. That’s good. Real good.” His dark eyes glowed, and goose bumps ran down Blacque’s arms. The alpha was pushing power at his son. He was making certain Blacque knew who the boss was. “You got a project car going?”
“Fifty-five Studebaker,” Blacque replied.
“Nice. Good year for a car.” He took another pull at his beer. “She tell you what’s up?”
“Yeah. It’s about time you stopped populating the world.” To his satisfaction, Dane’s face darkened a bit. Blacque didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger, but decided it was safest to back off.
“I talked with a couple of elders. Alice Mitchum brought out genealogy charts and such. Showed me how my bloodline’s gotten pretty deep.”
Deep as the ocean and wide as the Mississippi.
“You’ve been alpha for a long time now.” Maybe too long. Yet Dane was still healthy and vital. There was no reason for him to step down, and thus far, no one had successfully challenged him for the position. In truth, Blacque couldn’t think of anyone better suited to be alpha.
Dane sat back and studied his son. The silence drew out until it began to grow uncomfortable, but Blacque felt no need to fill that void. Blacque and Drusilla hadn’t grown up with their father. He wondered how different his life would have been if he had. Would he have developed into another person completely if he’d been under the care of a strong male like Dane Blacque? Would he feel this…small?
“You didn’t make the meeting Sunday night.”
Well, that had been obvious. He waited for the alpha to continue.
“I told the pack the basics, that we need to diversify genetically. I didn’t tell them everything.” He sipped his beer and then continued. “It’s getting pretty bad with other packs outside Arcada. Their birth numbers are falling. I’m going to send some of you out of the area to move in with other packs for a time.”
“I’ve got a business, Dad.”
“I know. That’s why we’re screening a few females from outside the pack who want children. They’ll be coming to stay here.”
Blacque stifled a grin. He could just imagine a pack of horny females lodging in with his father. He suspected there’d be a few more little Blacques in the world soon after. Good intentions aside, he’d never seen a werewolf who could stay celibate when breeding season rolled around. His father was the worst.
“So there’s too much of your bloodline out there. That should leave me and Dru out of the pool.” He couldn’t hide the hopefulness in his voice. Maybe Dru had been wrong after all.
“No, you two are my oldest. And you’re different. I’d like to see grandchildren soon.”
“Different.” He snorted. That was an understatement. “How are we different?”
“Well, for starters, you were both born years before I became alpha. I fought for the right to your mother.”
“Okay.” Blacque sat and did what he was best at doing: he kept his mouth shut. The alpha clearly had something on his mind, and if he had to wait to hear it, then he’d stay quiet. Dane emptied his beer and set the can on the floor.
“I had big ambitions back then. I knew that settling down wasn’t in my future.” He looked steadily at Blacque. “Still, I was at the hospital when you were born. Spent a couple of months with you and your mom, just till she could get back on her feet.”
“And a year later, Dru was born. And then you went on your way.”
Dane rubbed the bridge of his nose in a gesture Blacque recognized in himself. The alpha was getting frustrated. Or maybe he was feeling guilty about walking away.
When he looked at Blacque, his eyes were slightly reddened. “I loved your mother.”
Okay. He hadn’t seen that coming.
“Guess I never stopped loving her. When she died…” He cleared his throat. “Well, yeah, when she passed, I was…” He trailed off.
Blacque remembered those harsh days. He remembered the sudden emptiness in his life where his mother had been and the abrupt move to a new town, into a new home and life. He remembered how quiet Dane had been back then. The alpha had grieved privately and deeply. All the while he was helping two shocked teens absorb the sudden changes in their lives.
“Anyhow…uh, something happened a while back.”
“When you were knifed on the job?” Blacque clenched his fist and then released it as his fingers shifted into claws. With some effort, he brought his hands back to normal.
Dane nodded. “I never told you much about the attack.”
And that little fact had pissed Blacque off to no end. His father had spent days in the hospital, and nobody had known outside of his inner circle. When Blacque had found out and tried to visit, he’d discovered his father’s room was off limits to all except his betas and law enforcement.
That had told Blacque what he’d suspected all along—he was firmly on the outside of the elite circle. If Dane had wanted Blacque on the inside, he could have brought him in at any time over the past decade. At least Dane had the grace to look slightly ashamed as he spoke.
“I nearly died.” He didn’t meet Blacque’s gaze. “I was transporting a suspect to the county lockup. The deputy didn’t search him well enough, and the bastard had a shank. Opened me here”—he gestured across his throat—“and caught me in the liver. That’s what nearly did me in.”
Blacque’s skin crawled when he saw the fading scar, but he made no comment.
“Got me to thinking. Before I die, I’d like to see Bianca’s face in her grandchildren. And I’ve got to think of the future. Of the pack.”
“What’s that got to do with me?” He ignored the comment about grandchildren. That was an issue, but it was the lesser issue. His father rarely talked to Blacque about the inner workings of the pack. In fact, he was as near to being a lone wolf as they came. Even as his father answered his question, Blacque braced himself, knowing that his world was about to fall apart.
“Things happen, Lukas. I wasn’t ready when your mother died. Somehow, I always thought she’d be there and someday we’d work things out.” He swallowed hard, and the expression on his face was bleak. “She was my mate, Blacque. I left her behind, and now there won’t be another for me.”
That’s right. Their kind mated for life. He stifled a sympathetic groan. Nausea hit his stomach like a fist. He hadn’t known. No one had known.
“I wasn’t ready to find myself in a hospital. The only reason I didn’t have an outside challenge then was that Mallory and Michella had kept it on the lowdown. If I’d died, it would have left the pack in chaos and open to invasion. I don’t want to be caught unprepared again.”
Dane Blacque looked steadily at his son. “It’s time for me to look for the next alpha. And I’ve decided it’s you.”
Chapter 3
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold…
Bleu pondered the words by Yeats as he surveyed the grubby little bar. Maybe this wasn’t really a sign of the end of times, but for him, things were looking pretty grim. A few years ago, Bleu had no problem finding willing donors. He’d flash a roguish smile, bat his baby blues, and they’d come. But the more tired he became, the more the hunger ate away at him. Now it was nearly impossible to hunt by seduction.
He’d tried hunting the old-fashioned way, by stalking and sneak attack, but he wa
s too slow, too clumsy. He watched more and more victims run away untouched, reporting the madman to the police. Now here he was, sitting in a bar, hoping to find a hooker or someone willing to be hustled by a pale, ghostly man.
It wasn’t so bad, really, when he prostituted himself. It was a fuck and a meal, plus a little spending money to boot.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Ollie. Someday you might believe it.
But this was survival, and staying alive was everything at this point in his undead existence. After all, his mother country had a reputation for producing the most excellent whores in the world. Some had even worn crowns.
Bleu nursed his drink and eyed the crowd. The Roadhouse was a rough-and-tumble place, filled with bikers and truckers and those who sought their company. On Thursdays, their doors opened to men who loved men. Tuesdays were ladies’ night. Too bad this was Friday—he’d have done just fine on either theme night. Most of the tough, blue-collar men who filled the bar on Fridays wouldn’t be interested in someone like him. And their ladies? Damn. They were just dangerous. But still, there was plenty of prey to be had.
He sipped his whiskey and scanned the bar, making eye contact with a likely tough. He’d seen the fellow before and knew the man took the occasional stroll to the other side of the block. He’d want Bleu on his knees and wouldn’t object to a little love bite to the groin. One of these days, Bleu was going to glamour the hell out of the biker—he’d have that bastard on his knees for a change. He lowered his lashes slowly and tried not to look too hungry as he made the connection. The man met his gaze, flushed, and started in his direction. Bleu exerted a tiny bit of compulsion and…lost his focus as he was jostled by a large body on his left.
He stifled a frustrated growl. His fangs dropped, and he saw the room through a red haze.
“Beer. Whatever’s on draft.”
A deep voice, an angry voice. It grabbed his attention. Bleu’s mark drifted away to check out the pool table. He turned, a slight frown on his face. And then he smiled. Deliverance came in the form of a hot, rich-blooded werewolf.
Blacque-Bleu Page 2
