Bayou Dreams

by Lynn Lorenz

  “Everything fine?”

  “Uh, yeah. Just thought I knew someone.” He picked up his beer and finished it off.

  “And did you?” Darcy cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “No. Wrong guy.”

  “I’m glad.” Darcy winked. “The way you bolted out of here, I thought it might have been something I said.”

  “No.” Ted shook his head. Darcy played it so cool. Ted didn’t know what to think about the man. Instead, he focused on the real reason he was here and watched Darcy’s interaction with Kirsten to see if he could pick up anything going on between them.

  The rest of the dinner proved uneventful.

  Kirsten talked with almost everyone at the table, including Ted. Darcy spoke with his admirers and Ted. So far, the only thing the two of them had in common was Ted.

  As Ted drove Darcy back to Bayou End, he remembered they were still one man short.

  Peter Graham.

  »»•««

  Scott drove faster than usual down the uneven asphalt and gravel road, then came to a car-rocking stop outside the little cottage.

  He jumped out, hood-slid across the car, took the steps in one leap, crossed the lit porch, and banged on the screen door.

  “Mom! Open up!”

  A light came on behind the door, the curtains parted, and then his mother opened the door.

  “What the hell you makin’ all that racket for, boy? You tryin’ to wake the dead?” She glared at him, but he glared right back.

  Scott jerked open the screen door and pushed inside.

  “I need to talk to you about that fucking spell you cast.” He headed straight to the kitchen where he knew she’d have a pot of coffee on.

  “Watch your language. What spell?” She padded behind him in her pink slippers.

  “I want to know what you did. What you said. Just exactly what was in that spell”—she frowned at him—“that prayer you did the other night in the woods.” He grabbed a cup from the cabinet and poured his coffee.

  “Oh, that old thing. That was just a prayer to Mary.”

  “I know that, Mom, but what did you ask for?” He took a sip of the thick black steaming liquid.

  “The usual. A mate for you. Been asking for four months, every full moon. I’m about to give up.” She shrugged and picked up her own cup. A newspaper had been spread out on the kitchen table, telling him that he’d interrupted her reading.

  “Tell. Me. Exactly.” He growled. Good Lord, sometimes he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. Anyone who knew her would understand. If the trial stayed here, the worst he’d get would be justifiable homicide.

  “I prayed for the Virgin to bring you a mate. The perfect mate meant only for you.” She reached out and put her hand on his. “That’s all.”

  “Any particulars?”

  “Particulars?” She stared at him.

  “Yeah, you know. Height, weight, hair color.” Gender.

  “Non, cher, like I told you, I just want someone who’ll love you for you. Someone who can hold their own with your alpha, who’d stand by you no matter what.”

  “Right.” Scott groaned. Like another guy.

  “A good woman.” She nodded and took a sip.

  “Did you say woman?” He jumped in his seat.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Just asking, that’s all. But did you?”

  She cast her gaze heavenward, perhaps hoping divine inspiration would come to her, then shrugged. “Nope. Don’t think I said woman at all. As well as I can remember, I just asked for a mate.”

  “Just a mate?” Scott exhaled and fell back into the chair. He was screwed. Somehow, for once, his mother’s voodoo-hoodoo actually worked, only with a backfire of cosmic proportions.

  There was only one answer. He’d been sent a mate. Only it was the wrong fucking sex.

  Scott groaned and cupped his head in his hands.

  “Oh, Mom. Oh shit.”

  “Scott, stop. You’re scaring me.” His mom tried to pull his hands down. “What’s going on, son? Tell me.”

  “I can’t. I just can’t. Promise me, you’ll never, ever do that again. No more spells, no more prayers.” He dropped his hands and stared into her face. “Please, for my sake.”

  “Well, you can’t ask me to just stop praying. I’m a Catholic; it’s what we do best. That and guilt.” She reached into her apron and pulled out her rosary. “See? I pray all the time.”

  “The kind of praying I’m talking about is the one with dead cats and candles and is done at midnight.” He growled again.

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll stop.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” She looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

  “Thank you.” Well, that was great for the future, but what was he going to do about now?

  She’d called on whatever godforsaken powers of Heaven or Hell and brought him a mate. Only it was a man, not a woman.

  A fucking man.

  A fucking gay man.

  Scott had no idea how to make this go away.

  “Mom, if I reject my mate, what happens?”

  “What? No one does that, cher.” She chided him with the tone of voice she’d used when he was a child.

  “But what if? As alpha, I can deny a mating, and I know that the male can fight me, leave the pack, or find another mate.”

  “That don’t happen very often. Usually, a wolf finds another mate if his own mate dies, or the one he would be mated to dies.” She picked up her pack of smokes and tapped one out.

  “What if he doesn’t like his mate?”

  “That’s impossible. Your mate is your mate. You two are bound to each other, destined to be together.”

  “But what if someone doesn’t want their mate?”

  “They don’t. No one gets a divorce.” She shook her head, flicked her lighter, and lit a cigarette.

  “Then why the prenup?”

  “It’s really just to show the woman how serious this whole werewolf thing is.” She sat back and tapped her ashes on the edge of the ashtray. “Scott. Think about it. Who do you know in this pack who’s ever been divorced?”

  Scott thought. Not a single name came to him.

  Oh, he was so screwed.

  “But for argument’s sake, say I don’t want my mate. What would happen?”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m not sure, cher. I know a wolf without a mate can wither and die, that’s for sure. Turning away your mate would be like committing suicide, child. It’s crazy, and no one I know of, or ever heard of, has done that.”

  Suicide.

  God, it just might come to that.

  How could he…what could he…what would everyone think? They lived in conservative, Catholic bayou country. There were no gay marriages in Louisiana. As far as he knew, there were no gays anywhere around here.

  A sheriff with a gay partner? He’d never get reelected, no fucking way.

  Oh hell. An alpha with a gay mate? What would Bobby Cotteau say about that? At fifty, he’d stepped down, trusting Scott to lead the pack in his stead. How could he face Bobby?

  Wyatt. Wyatt would jump all over this. Push for a pack decision against his mating.

  The bastard would pounce on the opportunity to knock Scott out of the alpha spot. Scott’s only choices would be to leave the pack, give up his mate and take a chance on not finding another and dying, or stand up to the pack and fight for his mate.

  Right. Fight Wyatt to the death for a man Scott barely knew. He could hope Wyatt won, or maybe he’d just let Wyatt kill him.

  There had to be a way out of this, but his options looked slim.

  Leave his home and career behind.

  Be mated to a man.

  Or suicide.

  Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.

  Right now, Scott didn’t know which one he’d chose.

  »»•««

  Ted pulled into the parking lot of the B and B and turned off th
e lights as he rolled to a stop. Still shaken from what had happened at the restaurant, he needed some time to think. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

  “Hey, you don’t look okay.” Darcy rubbed Ted’s back, his hand gliding gently over his muscles.

  Darcy had been so quiet, Ted had forgotten about him.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He straightened, making Darcy move his hand.

  Really it had been comforting. Not for the first time, Ted thought about hooking up with Darcy.

  He turned to look at the man next to him.

  Darcy gazed into his eyes, then let his gaze drop to his mouth, and leaned forward.

  What the hell.

  Ted caught Darcy’s mouth with his, taking control and pushing the man back against the seat.

  Darcy gave in, opening his mouth, letting Ted take what he wanted.

  Usually, this surrendering would turn Ted on, but tonight, nothing.

  His cock didn’t even twitch.

  Shit, what was going on? He must be more out of it than he thought, so he tried harder. He’d force himself if he had to.

  Ted deepened the kiss, grabbing the back of Darcy’s head, clutching a handful of hair, stroking the artist’s mouth with his tongue.

  Still nothing.

  He broke the kiss, leaving Darcy panting and gasping for breath.

  “Goddamn, man.” Darcy put his hand on his chest. “That was intense.”

  “Sorry.” Ted shrugged. “Guess I’m not really in the mood.”

  “If that’s not in the mood, I’d be terrified to see what was. Although, it might be a wild ride.” Darcy chuckled.

  “Yeah. Wild.” Ted snorted.

  “Are you sure that guy wasn’t the one you knew? It seems like that encounter has upset you.”

  “Yeah. It has. I can’t explain it right now.” Nor did he want to tell Darcy about the overpowering lust that hit him at meeting the sheriff’s blue eyes.

  Ted opened the door and got out. Darcy followed him up the walk and through the front door.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” Darcy gave him a wave and went up the stairs. Ted was thankful the man didn’t push for more because right now, he just couldn’t deal with it.

  Marie stood behind the counter and smiled at Ted. He remembered a little unfinished business.

  “Oh, by the way, did that other fellow ever show up?” Ted leaned on the counter.

  “As a matter of fact, he did. About an hour after y’all left. I told him where everyone had gone to dinner, but he said he was tired and went straight up to bed.” She nodded to a few of the other guests as they came through the door.

  “Guess I’ll meet him in the morning.” Ted turned and climbed the stairs. He waited until he was in his room before peeling off his jacket, so no one caught a glimpse of his gun.

  Once he’d grabbed his kit, he took off his shoes, and stowed his holster and gun in his luggage, then headed to the bathroom. The door stood open, and he went inside. Either Darcy had gotten there first, or Ted had beaten him to it.

  Ted brushed his teeth, washed his face, and decided to shower in the morning. He trod barefooted back to the room. As Ted closed the door, Darcy slipped across the hall to the bath, wearing only his jeans. Ted watched through the crack in the door.

  No denying it, the man was fine. Why didn’t Ted’s body think the same thing?

  After replacing his kit on the bedside table, Ted undressed down to his briefs and climbed into bed. He sank into the feather bed, groaning with relief.

  With everything he’d been through tonight, he doubted he’d have a hard time sleeping.

  But an hour later, Ted still lay in bed, thinking about the sheriff.

  Blue eyes. A killer body. And Ted couldn’t be certain, but he thought just for a moment, he’d seen light reflect off golden hairs on the man’s hands. Across his knuckles to be exact.

  Tanned hands.

  Ted closed his eyes hoping he could shut out the truth. No fucking way. It couldn’t be the guy from his dream.

  That would just be too fucking unreal. Too much of a cosmic joke.

  Well, the universe could try to screw Ted Canedo, but Ted wasn’t going to bend over for it. The universe could take a flying fuck, for all he cared.

  There was no way he’d get involved with another straight man.

  He might as well just pull out his gun and shoot himself right now.

  Chapter Eight

  Scott parked his cruiser under the carport, picked up his now cold dinner and trudged up the stairs to his house. In a trance, he unlocked the door and made his way to the kitchen, tossing his jacket on the sofa.

  He put the food in the fridge and pulled out a beer. Twisted off the cap. Stood there and downed it in one long, throat-gulping pull.

  Then he reached for another.

  After the second beer, he toed off his work shoes, undid his uniform shirt, and stripped.

  This called for a run in the swamp. He’d hunt something down and kill it. That’s what he needed. Expend some of his pent-up energy. That’s what this was really all about. That’s all he needed.

  He turned off the porch light and slipped through the front door, pulling it shut behind him. Trotting down the stairs, he let the change begin.

  By the time he’d hit the last step, he leaped from it in full wolf form and disappeared into the blackness of the woods that surrounded his secluded home.

  »»•««

  Ted rolled over and looked at his travel clock glowing in the darkness of his room. Two a.m. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, and if he had that fucking dream again, he’d lose his mind.

  Another straight man? He had the most intense case of the hots for a straight man.

  He groaned and rolled onto his back. The light of the full moon gave an eerie glow to the world outside his window.

  Ted sat up, ran his hands through his hair, and went to the window. The parking lot was full. Every car accounted for, and one extra. Must be Peter’s. It was a black Camero. Sleek and sexy.

  Would Peter be the same? Would he be the one Kirsten had come here to meet or was she just getting away to do some art?

  Charbonnet was nothing more than a creepy, insecure old man. Still, it was early days in the trip. He’d keep his mind open about Kirsten and see what happened.

  A movement near the edge of the woods caught his eye, and he leaned over to stare through the glass. A dark shape moved, and for some odd reason, Ted thought it watched him. Could see him in the darkened window.

  At first, he thought it was probably a dog. But even at this distance, it looked bigger than any dog he’d ever seen.

  Then it was gone, faded into the shadows of the oak trees that surrounded the property.

  He shrugged and went back to his bed. Crawling under the covers again, he tried his deep-breathing method to relax.

  But all it did was fill his dick. With each deep breath in, his cock grew harder, until it dripped a string of precum on his belly and dotted his black briefs.

  What the fuck was he supposed to do here? No gay bars to hit in Cajun country, for damn sure. He got up, padded over to his kit, and got his lube.

  He’d just get rid of his boner the old-fashioned way. By hand.

  Back in bed, he covered his right hand in slick and went to work, sliding up and down on the rigid shaft, bringing up his tried and true jerk-off thoughts, like a parade of strung-together scenes from porn films. Guys going down on each other, guys fucking, guys kissing.

  Oddly, it was always the kissing that got him the hottest. Tongues and lips and mouths. Hands buried in hair, gasps and sighs and soft moans.

  All the things Ted never allowed himself to do.

  He never pictured himself in any of his fantasies. Always good-looking guys, buff, and hard-bodied. Just like that sheriff.

  Oh shit. He wasn’t going there. That was a nonstarter. He readjusted the film playing in his head. Back to our regularly scheduled broadcast, folks.

  But
the sheriff returned, and no matter what Ted did, he couldn’t shake him.

  Ted gave up and let the images flow as he jerked his meat. The sheriff had him bent over the cruiser’s hood, his cock pushing its way between Ted’s ass cheeks. The sheriff, in the car, legs spread, and Ted going down on him.

  Those big hands buried in his hair, pulling him up for a kiss, opening for Ted, surrendering to Ted.

  Ted groaned as he spilled over his belly.

  Yeah, the kissing always did it for him.

  Minutes passed until Ted’s breathing steadied, and he leaned over to snatch a T-shirt from the floor and wipe the cum off his stomach.

  He rolled over and closed his eyes.

  He would not have the dream again.

  »»•««

  Scott ran the trails only the wolves knew, killed a rabbit and ate it, then ran them again. As the sun came up over the swamp, he padded back to his house.

  Under the carport, still in the shadows, he changed back and ran up the steps. He rushed inside and shut the door, leaning against it, breathing hard.

  Hoping it had been enough.

  He’d spilled blood. Torn and bitten and ripped flesh from bone. Ate red, juicy meat, tender organs, as delicious to him as a wolf as the finest food he’d ever eaten as a man.

  He needed a shower and then bed.

  Exhausted, he ran the water until it got hot, then stepped under the hard spray, sluicing off the sweat, blood, and stink of the swamp.

  His cock had been half-hard, even as a wolf. He needed to fuck and needed it bad.

  So Scott did what he did every morning since this thing had started. He soaped up his hand and slid it over his cock, pulling and tugging, swiping over the head, at first hard and tight, then loose and fast, as he took himself to the edge of orgasm…

  Where he hung, refusing to visualize what he knew would send him over the edge.

  No fucking way.

  He wouldn’t do it. He’d never done it before. Thought of a man to get off.

  Not just a man, one man. His mate.

  “No!” he shouted. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be!”

  His jerking became erratic as he fought the images that loomed just on the edge of his vision.

  He wouldn’t come that way. Not if he could help it.