Ruff Trouble

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  They’d been in the house a good couple of hours. Not enough time to dig through every inch—a fact that made his skin itch—but they’d done enough searches to know the likeliest and least likely places to look. They’d done the best they could.

  “No one will believe the lost dog routine if we leave the alley now.”

  Unbelievably the front door had an old mortice lock. They went out that way and shut the door behind them. Bobby went into the hall, Sam on his heels, and crouched ready to change.

  “Driffield sometimes spent his off time with MaCaw back at the family home. He used to brag about their nights out, their weekends when they weren’t working. The people MaCaw mixed with. They were…” Bobby’s voice trailed off. “Hunting types. Wealthy. The horsey set.”

  “The kind to own big country estates?” Sam met and held Bobby’s gaze for a beat, then spun back to the living room and the pile of magazines. Minutes later he handed Bobby the article he’d spotted, having quickly found and scanned through. “Well, well, well, Benedict and Sebastian McCaw, son of Mackinley McCaw. They have a sister, Maddison.”

  The reason the article had caught his eye was because the name, Maddison, had been written on the page on top of a photo of a big country house with a date and time. The magazine was almost a year old. The date a few months. He’d believed Driffield had doodled an appointment he needed to remember until Bobby mentioned a country house. He’d missed the McCaw link completely.

  “I almost overlooked this.” He was nauseous at the thought.

  “No reason you shouldn’t have.” Maybe Bobby meant it. Maybe he tried to sooth Sam’s nerves. The man sounded distracted, so it was hard to tell. “This place is in Wiltshire, about a two-hour drive.”

  “We’d make it before Chantelle’s disappearance becomes official.”

  “Without backup.”

  Sam growled, startled by the alien sound coming out of his human throat. “I don’t think we’ll need it.”

  * * * *

  Thank goodness for the blankets. Thank goodness she’d swallowed her pride. It didn’t get cold here, but like in any cave the air sustained a constant but chill temperature. Clothes would be an improvement for warmth and modesty though. Not that she’d cower because of bare skin if the opportunity came to fight, but still…practical reasons won out. Skin and flesh peeled, cut, split, and bruised. Humans didn’t wear clothes purely for decency’s sake, and she’d take all the protection possible. She also used more energy if she shivered and, with the threat to withhold food and water, she didn’t know what would happen. If she grew too weak, she might not control the change. She didn’t know for sure—if it might come upon her without warning—but the possibility existed. The stranger might get his wish.

  Lunch, when it arrived, was again stew, and she ate it steadily. Stew provided her with more liquid, which was more important than food. She’d saved what water she could, rationing it.

  * * * *

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Thinking?” Bobby tapped the steering wheel as they drove. They’d slipped onto the M3 ten minutes ago, heading to Wiltshire. “Can’t you tell?”

  “I can guess your feelings, even sense them, but thinking? I need you to enlighten me.”

  “Well I’m deciding what I want to do to the bastards who have taken her.”

  “I’m sure. But you’re also mauling something over.”

  Funny how Sam could tell almost in much the same way as Chantelle could. “I wish we could drag Driffield in. Talk to him.”

  “Atkins might. An unofficial talk.”

  “Trouble is he won’t be able to hold him, doubtful even with a missing person’s report filed. He can ask him questions but…”

  “Yeah.” Sam sounded resigned. “To do so would tip Driffield off and, if he’s involved with anyone else, which he must be, he’d warn them.”

  “Though with Atkins watching, maybe the tip off would lead us to where they’re holding her, but…”

  “Too much risk involved.”

  The only reliable solution would be to track Driffield and ‘question him’ themselves, but if the man went off the radar, again, if they linked others to him, Driffield might put Chantelle in more immediate danger. Why they’d taken her…Bobby glanced at the files on Sam’s lap. Case files he shouldn’t have. They’d called in a few favours. Probably their last.

  “Keep your eyes on the road.”

  Though Sam sounded calm, Bobby deciphered what he didn’t say—if he’d found evidence he’d speak up. Bobby needed to learn more patience, but he didn’t know how. This was too like when Sam was taken, and he recollected too easily how that had turned out. Saved and transformed but…he’d almost died, suffered so much. Bobby swallowed so hard the movement hurt his throat. Sam spoke but Bobby struggled to make out the words. Only when Sam touched his arm, did Bobby come back to himself.

  “Maybe you need to pull over.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Bobby.”

  “I am. Honest. I just…” Bobby swallowed again, sniffed, blinked. “I was remembering when Manning took you. How I had to track you. What I went through. It’s weird but though I’ve suppressed it, the underlying panic is always there.”

  “Yeah, I know. We’ll find her. I promise you. I know family means so much to you.” A moment of silence stretched out. “Sorry. That sounded daft.” Sam’s voice was laced with apology. “I know she’s everything to you. I meant our pack. I know because I’ve been alone so long.” His voice trailed off at the end there, became soft. Embarrassment scented the atmosphere.

  “You’re spot on.” Bobby gripped the wheel tighter. “Family, pack, to me is everything. The oldest sons, we often go out into the world to seek mates. Shifters are rare, so sometimes we choose humans but…it’s a risk. And our children…well, there’s no knowing whether they’ll inherit our shifter ability. None of us know whether it’s a blessing or a curse, but we can’t help hoping they will. It’s part of our blood almost.”

  Sam sat quiet. “I hadn’t even got around to thinking that far ahead.”

  “Of Chantelle and me having kids?”

  “I guess. It’s inevitable now I think about it.” Sam sounded uncertain. The man’s confusion and doubt lay thick on Bobby’s tongue.

  “You can’t hide what you’re feeling from me, remember. Sam, you’ll still be a part of our pack. Any children Chantelle and I have will be shifters and as we’re the same breed they’ll be just like us. It’ll be within a shifter unit, which is a very different thing.”

  “What do you mean shifter unit?”

  “I have a mate. I can return home if I wish. Or I could form my own unit. If Chantelle’s family still lived, we might have chosen to live with her family. It’s not uncommon for shifters to spend some years away only to return once they’ve found a mate and then to build the pack or create another, sometimes with some younger siblings in tow. Sorry. I guess we should have explained all this to you at a better time, but we’ve been so busy forming this small family pack of our own.”

  “And enjoying ourselves too much.”

  Bobby glanced over. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Not saying there is.” Sam paused. “I’ve been as guilty, not thinking ahead. I haven’t asked many questions.”

  “It’s not your fault, Sam. It’s ours. We…I guess we didn’t want to overload you and then we were opening the business, grateful not to have lost you, adjusting to everything—”

  “Including my transformation.”

  “Yeah, that too. And having fun. We’re not at the point where we want children yet or to form a larger pack.” Though being in a larger group now counted for more than he was ready to think about. Not the time to consider that. Bobby eased up his grip with considerable effort. He needed to concentrate on rescuing Chantelle.

  “And if she happened to fall pregnant by me?”

  Bobby stared ahead. “The children might or might not be shifters. If you’re
wondering if she’d keep it, I can tell you she would. It’s not presumption. It’s part of being pack. And…we talked. Long before we ever took you to our bed.” Bobby risked one more glance over, first checking there were no cars riding his tail and the way ahead was clear. “How would you feel about that?”

  “Shell-shocked but…not that surprised.” Sam stared back. “I hadn’t given much thought to being a dad but…there’s time to talk about that.” His lips quirked. “I’m not going anywhere no matter what. You’re stuck with me.”

  Bobby’s relief was so strong, quite possibly Sam picked it up in his scent. He said no more but went back to the files while Bobby concentrated on driving. He didn’t doubt Sam’s determination for a minute, but he had to wonder what the future held. They wouldn’t stop until they found her, but was all this talk of possible future offspring pointless? By the time they saw her again, would Chantelle still be breathing?

  Chapter 8

  Warm. Almost comfortable. Something digging into her back though. Chantelle shifted, became aware she struggled against sleep. Why fight? She ignored the small discomfort and drifted back.

  “Rest, love.” Bobby’s voice, lips curling. Where was she? The answer lost importance in the wake of Bobby’s seductive smile.

  She breathed in. The damp smell reminded her of…

  A dark night. Leather interior. The distant sound of traffic. They had parked on a quiet road. Why?

  She remembered.

  Her lips stretched wide. Bottom lip caught between her teeth, Chantelle let out a small moan.

  “Show me.”

  The sparkling silver dress had been so damn tight she’d tried on every piece of underwear she owned. Everything showed, so she went without.

  “If I do as you ask, you’ll never make it through the evening.” A glance taking in the bulge at his groin told her all she needed to know.

  “It’ll surprise you what I’m capable of.”

  They hadn’t dated long, but dared each other often. A little shimmy of her hips and the dress slid up exposing bare buttocks. Discrete. Less than one often saw on a beach, but the lump in Bobby’s throat bobbed and he tightened his hold on the steering wheel.

  “God, woman.”

  She was so certain he’d cup himself. When he resisted, her blood went to a simmer. The way he held the wheel like it was a life buoy…Chantelle grew wet on the instant.

  “How will I last a whole evening hoping no one notices my hard-on?”

  “Can you?” The certainty lurked…they would slide into the back seat or retrace their journey, find somewhere, anywhere to screw each other’s brains out. Everything about her tightened. Inside she was molten, wet. No need to touch herself to be aware, but she clawed at the seat trying not to.

  “Go ahead.” Bobby’s whisper brushed over her, making her shiver. The sound forced her to close her eyes. Caressed her in places even his dick never reached.

  She loved him. Had known it the first moment they’d stared at one another. Sex merely bound them together.

  “Someone will—”

  “There’s no one.”

  She opened her eyes, scanned the street. Everything blurred. Sounds came through muffled. Such was the strength of her need.

  “We’re under a tree. Even if there are cameras and I don’t believe there are, they won’t have a clear view. If something goes wrong, I’ll drive away.” He leaned over. Hot breath pushed at her. “Do this. For me.”

  She didn’t know when someone saying something like that had ever struck her as so arousing.

  Chantelle moved in a dream, slid a hand between her thighs. The ghost of an engine purred, vibration soft within her. The smell of leather rose as she settled, making herself more comfortable, if that were possible. Beneath the scent of hide lay the musk of a shape-shifter. She became boneless with need, fingered slick warmth and soft slippery folds, and coaxed her own flesh to open. One touch on that hard nub, and this would all be over.

  A force slammed into her, stealing her breath. The force of an orgasm and she was in its throes even as her skin froze and the power of water threw her against the stone wall. Tangled in blankets she struggled to protect herself, to move, to flee. What was the point? There was nowhere to go. An image of flinging herself left and right against the bars of her cage came to mind while she forced an arm up to protect her face, bent her neck, tried to cover her head. The blankets saved her from the full force of the water jet, yet threw punches to her kidneys.

  As fast as it had begun, the torment stopped.

  “We’ll be back to do this again.”

  She didn’t recognise the man’s voice. Didn’t care who he was.

  “We’ll see how you feel an hour from now.”

  Sounds of movement told her they moved away. A door swung closed. Left dripping and shivering, Chantelle tried to make sense of what had happened. Bobby…was never here. She had drifted in the clutches of a memory. As much fun as the long ago night had been, she didn’t want to linger on the recollection. The chances were her mind chose that particular night because she had only her own touch to pleasure herself. Would she ever experience Bobby’s touch again? Would she ever see Sam, watch him watching them? Get to see her men together? Would her men warm her?

  * * * *

  “Why are we stopping?” Never one to have much faith in a Satnav, Sam picked up the map as Bobby pulled the car into a lay-by. Bobby had driven the whole way, not letting Sam take a turn. Not difficult to appreciate why. If Bobby was the passenger, he’d have more time to worry. Though Sam might have resented taking the passenger’s spot, he understood. Yes, he loved Chantelle, but he didn’t love her the way Bobby did. Same as Chantelle didn’t love Sam the way Bobby did. They both belonged to the Alpha in their pack. While they would stay together if Bobby’s life ended before theirs and they would always love each other, they adored Bobby and were connected by the intense emotional attachment they shared for and with the man. While Sam shared the sense of panic threatening to bubble over and spill out of control, whatever Bobby suffered was much worse. Sam would go through horrendous loss if Chantelle died. For Bobby it would feel as if he’d died himself, but Sam would also suffer Bobby’s intolerable grief.

  Bear it he would, though; for Bobby’s sake.

  “We agreed to leave the motorway here.” Sam tapped the map returning to the strategy they’d discussed. They had planned to pull off one junction along, not this one.

  “I know but…” Bobby’s peered at the signage ahead. “I’ve been this way before, though not for many years. There used to be a vantage point…” He put the car into gear and pressed his foot on the accelerator taking the car back into traffic. “Bear with me.”

  Twenty minutes later they pulled off again, drove a distance, parked, and got out. Bobby hadn’t kidded when he called this a vantage point. Some of the hedging had been cut back, leading into a field. Far below the McCaw mansion seemed like a doll’s house. Bobby had pulled the car to one side, leaving them to peer through a line of trees. Even if someone had binoculars trained their way, they had little chance of spotting the vehicle.

  “The estate runs from the edge of the road over there.” Bobby pointed, “To the start of the village on the left.”

  Not much of which was in view, but a church marked the spot.

  “That’s a hell of a lot of acreage.”

  Bobby peered at the sky as if he’d not heard him. “A few hours of daylight left. We shouldn’t wait. Atkins may put the report through, try to get in touch with us. Not too worried about that, though if he tells all we might have the local constabulary breathing down our necks. They might make things worse.”

  Red tape. Procedure. Sam appreciated what Bobby meant, though they both accepted most times those systems were in place for a reason. When it seemed Bobby didn’t want to voice what else was on his mind, Sam filled in the rest. “And we don’t know what else might happen while we hang around outside.”

  Bobby gave him a long,
slow nod. “We’ve got to go in.” He hesitated. “You know what I’m asking you to do.”

  Sam nodded. “To change.” Though in human or animal form, Bobby was strong, when he shifted he was just a dog. Sam…Sam was something else.

  “There’s a good chance you can follow her tracks better than I can even as a dog. I’m hoping that’s all you have to do.”

  Did a question exist in there somewhere? Sam met his man’s gaze. “I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

  * * * *

  By the time the men returned, Chantelle’s teeth chattered. Had she ever felt so cold?

  “Ready to change?” The old man stood with one hand in front of him folded over the other. Probably wasn’t aware his posture suggested he protected his groin. Chantelle envisioned mangling him for all time.

  “You’re mad.” Hard to snap out without her teeth clicking together but she managed, sheer determination winning.

  “Come on. Imagine how much warmer you’ll be with a thick fur coat.”

  He spoke to taunt her, but she pictured it too easily, the temptation real.

  “You’re out of your f-fucking mind.” Okay, her voice wavered, but they knew how she felt. The one comfort she had was water-soaked blankets. Earlier, and while alone, Chantelle had pushed the covers off, and tried jumping about to get warm. Seconds after sitting, she shivered again. After wringing out the fabric she wrapped it around her, though it was hard to tell which was better or worse—wet naked skin in the naturally cool air of the cave, or trying to snuggle under heavy wet blankets.

  “We both know I’m not.”

  She didn’t have time to say another word. The water came again. It hit the side of her head, bashing her skull into the wall. The force stifled her yelp, the only thing she was thankful for. She clung to the struggle—not to reveal her pain—as she curled into a ball to protect her most vulnerable parts…and endured.

  * * * *

  Bobby and Sam left the car and walked into the trees separately. If anyone spotted them, they likely believed the driver was out to take a leak. Both men stripped and put their clothes in a pile nearby to collect on their return. From there they’d walked a long way, resisting the urge to change.