Attraction [The Wolves of Shade County 3] (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove)

by JC Holly

  Mica smirked. “They both think I’m only coming here for, and I quote, ‘big city cock’.”

  Molly raised an eyebrow. “You mean you had another reason?”

  “Hey!” He punched her lightly on the arm. “I also came for work and a change of pace.”

  “But the cock is the motivating factor, right?”

  “Doesn’t hurt.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

  Mica shook his head and feigned disgust, which only made Molly grin wider. “So, on another topic entirely, what are your plans today?”

  They discussed a few ideas about where they could go to see the sights, and eventually decided upon a tour, starting with the leafier parts of the city and ending up in a classy art gallery that Molly swore would change Mica’s entire view on art. Given that his current view was “bleh,” he wasn’t hopeful.

  While Molly got ready to go out, Mica headed to the shower and cranked the heat as high as it would go. It was the only way he really felt anything. Not that he could enjoy the shower anyway. For some reason his brain was stuck on the guy he’d seen the previous night.

  It made no sense. He’d seen him once, for a couple of seconds. And he wasn’t even his usual type. Lean and mean was what normally got his blood pumping. Still, big guys could be cute too, and there was something to be said for having someone on your arm that people would think twice about messing with.

  Mica shook the water from his hair and the thoughts from his head, and focused on the shower instead. He’d probably never see the guy again, anyway, especially in a city so big.

  * * * *

  The “park,” as Molly had called it, was more akin in size to a nature reserve. The park in Mica’s hometown would have fit five times with room to spare.

  Lined on three sides by thick groups of well-established oak trees, the area was beautiful. A running track looped around the outside, and even at the relatively early hour, Mica could see a few people pounding away at the dirt.

  Smaller gravel paths spliced the lush green grass, allowing easy access to the various areas of the park. Despite there being a large sign forbidding cyclists there were already a couple of kids enjoying the quiet on their bikes.

  In the very center of the park stood a stone fountain, built in a style that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the grounds of an old English manor house. Twenty feet high, and tiered like an elaborate wedding cake, the sound of the water dropping down brought a smile to Mica’s lips.

  “That’s beautiful.”

  Molly beamed and pulled him along by the arm. “Then that’s where we’ll sit.”

  The bottom tier of the fountain was worn smooth from years of sitting. As they settled, Molly pulled her camera from her bag and turned to face Mica.

  “Say cheese!”

  The flash went off before Mica could do anything more than frown. “Hey, gimme a sec.”

  She waited this time, and he put himself in a classic thoughtful pose, hand propping up chin, looking off into the distance.

  “Yeah, right.” She laughed and took the shot. “Now a proper one I can send to your mom.”

  Mica wasn’t listening. As he’d turned away to pose, he’d noticed a man jogging along one of the paths. A tall, well-built man that he’d seen before. And he was jogging toward the fountain.

  Chapter Three

  Jerry nearly lost his footing from surprise when he realized who he was jogging toward. He managed to keep any recognition from his face, lest he look like he’d planned it somehow, and carried on past the fountain and on toward the trees. While he was out of sight of the man and his friend, his supernatural hearing meant he certainly wasn’t out of earshot. As soon as it was inconspicuous to do so, he stopped at a bench and pretended to adjust his shoelace.

  “He was cute,” the woman said. “If you like ‘em big. Which I do. In more ways than one, if you get my meaning.”

  “He’s gay, Molly,” the man replied.

  Molly sighed. “You gay guys and your radar. Takes all the fun out of my window-shopping.”

  That confirmed a question that Jerry had been wondering about. His own “radar” wasn’t quite as accurate, he’d found over the years. The woman continued on about gay guys and their apparent “luck” in the trouser department, as she put it, but the guy didn’t reply.

  “Hey, Mica,” Molly continued. “Are you even listening?”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Mica. It wasn’t a name Jerry had heard much, but it had a ring that he liked. It suited the guy, too. On his run toward the fountain, Jerry had gotten a better look at Mica, and it had certainly been worth the furtive glances. A little under six feet tall or so, slim but toned, and with hair as black as night that was just long enough to grab a handful of. His eyes had been bright in the morning light, too, and seemed to take in everything around him. They looked older than they were.

  The sense that something wasn’t quite right reared its head again, and once again Jerry found himself wracking his brain for what it could mean.

  He jumped as his leg buzzed, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his cellphone. It was the alpha, Brook Conway. He stood and jogged a little further away from the fountain, then answered the call.

  “Hey, boss.”

  “Get down here ASAP.”

  The call ended, leaving Jerry staring at his phone for a moment. Conway was never a man for small talk, but he usually put in more effort than that. He also hated discussing pack business over phones too, though, just in case. From his voice, it sounded like trouble.

  “Guess the run can wait.”

  * * * *

  Mica watched, his eyebrows raised, as the mystery guy streaked past the fountain. He didn’t look much like a sprinter, but looks were definitely deceiving. Judging from the time it took for the man to get to his car, either he was training for the Olympics or his house was on fire.

  “Oh hey, I think I’ve met him,” Molly said. “Jerry something…Met him through a work friend at a party last year.”

  “That’s probably too flimsy a connection for you to introduce us, right?”

  “Probably.” She drummed her fingers on the stone. “I mean, I’ll give it a try if you like, though.”

  Mica smiled and shook his head. “It’d be a little weird.”

  “True. Anyway, I thought you liked your men more…uh…what’s a good word for ‘not built like a tank’?”

  “Svelte?”

  “Sure, svelte.”

  “Usually, yeah.” Mica scratched at his arm as he watched the man pull out of the parking lot. “Something about him, though.”

  “He clearly has a lot of energy.” She smirked. “Bet he could ride you all damn night.”

  “Molly!” He glanced around, but thankfully there was nobody nearby to hear.

  “What? Like you weren’t thinking it.” She put a hand on his knee. “And relax. This isn’t some backwoods town with lots of closet-cases. This is the big city. The place is dripping with loud and proud gay guys and girls, and nobody bats an eyelid.” She stood. “Now, I think it’s time for the art gallery.”

  Mica feigned a smile. “Yay.”

  * * * *

  In his hurry, Conway hadn’t given Jerry an address, and a few hundred meters from the parking lot Jerry realized with a curse. He pulled over to the side of the road and pulled out his phone. A text message was waiting, sent just after the call ended, telling him to head to the Hope Clinic.

  “Shit.” He stuffed his phone away and turned the car around to face the opposite direction. “Must be serious.”

  Shifters were tough to hurt, and even if someone or something managed to damage one, usually the shifter would head home with a bottle of whisky and be fine in a day or two. When they were too bad for that, they went to the clinic.

  The public thought that the place was an exclusive hospital for the rich and famous who wanted to recover in privacy. That was half-true. The privacy was important, but most of the clients wer
en’t famous. Most of them weren’t even human. Staffed by the best in the field of supernatural healing, the clinic mixed modern medicine with ages-old magic. As a result of that, and the patients’ own abilities, the recovery times were ten times better than that of a regular hospital.

  After a tense, if short, drive, Jerry pulled up to the front of the hospital. Conway stood outside, flanked by two senior pack members, and walked over as Jerry parked and jumped out of his car.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Inside.”

  Jerry nodded and followed. From Conway’s body language, it was clear that he was nervous, and paranoia kept Jerry’s own senses on full alert.

  Once inside the doors of the clinic, Conway relaxed a little.

  “There was an attack,” he said as they walked toward one of the hallways that lead into the hospital. “Not one of ours. Packless.”

  “Another?”

  That made three in the last month. All shifters, all people who had chosen to not join with a pack. One could be unlucky, two could have been simple coincidence, but it was beginning to look to Jerry like someone was intentionally targeting packless shifters.

  “Anyone we know?” Jerry asked, his voice thick.

  Conway shook his head. “Bear shifter.”

  The disdain in his voice was clear. While the other major pack in the city accepted all comers, the Brooks, as the pack was commonly called, was wolf-only. Jerry hadn’t realized at the time of joining, and by the time he had it was too late.

  It wasn’t that the pack hated non-wolfs, they just didn’t want them in the pack. Conway occasionally spouted something about wanting his pack to be true to the definition of the term, but it just sounded like an excuse for intolerance.

  It wasn’t the time for such thoughts, though, and Jerry pushed it aside for the time being, promising to have a serious think about his position later.

  The shifter had been placed in a private room on the east of the building. Two more Brooks shifters stood outside the door, and stepped aside as Conway approached.

  The shifter was a mass of bandages, and many of them were red. A bad sign, since anything but a serious wound would have healed already. Despite being mostly covered up, it was clear the guy was big. Not quite as big as Jerry, perhaps, but big enough to make an opportunist think very hard before attacking.

  Another two people were in the room, one a succubus nurse who was busy checking a dressing, and the other a shifter with hair as white as snow. It was where he’d gotten his nickname from, in fact.

  “Snow,” Jerry said, holding out a hand.

  The man glanced up and smiled, taking the offered hand firmly. “How are you, mate?” he asked, his London accent thick.

  “Good.” Jerry nodded to the sleeping shifter. “Friend of yours?”

  Snow shrugged one shoulder. “Sort of. Tried to recruit him a couple of years ago. Always polite, but a solitary sort of person, you know? Name’s Bobby.”

  “Good guy?”

  “Definitely. Wouldn’t harm a fly.”

  Jerry glanced back at Conway. “Where was he attacked?”

  “On the outskirts of the wooded area near Westfield. He managed to call a friend before he passed out. He was naked, so we figure they got him when he was disoriented after shifting form.”

  “Did he say anything on the phone about his attackers?”

  Conway shook his head, his expression grim. “We know nothing. He gave his location and muttered something about perfume, that’s all. His friend went for clothes. She was pretty shaken up, as you can imagine.”

  Jerry nodded. “Any police yet?”

  “No, and it doesn’t look like there will be. She managed to get him in the back of her car and straight here before anyone else spotted him.”

  “That’s a bit of luck, at least.”

  As helpful as the police were to most of the population, with supernatural issues they either got in the way or ended up dead. Jerry glanced at the nurse, who smiled back.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

  “Multiple lacerations, and a lot of lost blood, but nothing vital was damaged.” She dropped an old dressing into a nearby bin. “It looks a lot worse than it is. They attacked with regular weapons, with nothing fancy on the blades, so I’ll be taking the stitches out in an hour or two and leaving the rest up to his own healing ability.” She smirked. “He’ll be damn hungry when he wakes up, though. I’ll make sure someone delivers some steaks.”

  “Thank you, nurse.”

  “Zeth’s the best,” Snow said with a grin. “If I wasn’t such a confirmed bachelor, I’d be chatting her up every time I visited.”

  Zeth raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let that stop you.” She turned back to Jerry. “I need to grab some things, so you can talk in private if you need to.”

  The nurse left through the door and closed it behind her. Conway moved closer to the bed and cleared his throat loudly.

  “Bobby, are you awake?”

  At first there was no response at all. Just as Conway opened his mouth to try again, Bobby stirred. Realizing he was in new surroundings, he growled, and his fists clenched, ready for action. Snow patted him on the forearm.

  “Keep it calm, Bobby. You’re in the clinic.”

  The man’s hands relaxed, and he let out a long breath. “Thank god. I don’t think I could fight a squirrel right now.”

  “You’ll heal. It’s what we’re good at.”

  Bobby opened his eyes a little, squinting at the bright light. “Who are these guys?”

  “Guy on your left is Mister Conway, head of the Brooks. Guy on the right is Jerry, muscle of the Brooks.”

  Jerry smiled, restraining the urge to roll his eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

  “We need to know what happened,” Conway said, cutting off any further pleasantries. “How many of them were there?”

  Bobby’s forehead creased. “Uh, three. One woman, two men.”

  “Human?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “It happened fast, and they masked their scents with strong perfume. They weren’t fast enough to be shifters, but I was half out of it from my shift.” He snarled. “If they’d tried it when I was myself they’d have regretted it. Fuckin’ cowards.”

  “I’m sure.” Conway glanced away to the door. “Is there anything else you can think of that may help in identifying your attackers?”

  Bobby shrugged, then winced and cursed under his breath. “Uh, I’m not sure. One of them had an accent, I think. One of the guys.”

  “What kind of accent?” Jerry asked. “Different state or different country?”

  “Country. He told the others that they had to leave before someone saw them. I think it was Irish. Maybe Scottish. They sound pretty much the same to me.”

  Snow snorted. “You’re lucky I’m English, or I’d be taking offense.” He patted Bobby’s arm. “It’s something though, right?”

  Conway nodded once. “It’s something. If you think of anything else, let me know.”

  It was clear that he’d already lost interest in the conversation. He’d been hoping for a lot more information, and now that he knew he wasn’t going to get it, he had other places to be.

  “I’ll take over here, boss,” Jerry said. “I’m sure you’ve things to do.”

  Conway half smiled. “Quite. Call me later.”

  Jerry waited in silence until he was certain the man had left the clinic, then turned to Snow and Bobby. “Sorry, he’s not the most patient guy.”

  “He’s also an asshole,” Bobby rumbled.

  Jerry shrugged. “Can’t argue with that. He keeps the pack together, though.”

  “You seem like a nice guy, though. Maybe you should take over.”

  Jerry chuckled and sat in a chair. “Thought about it. Too much responsibility.” He leaned forward. “Now, from the top. I’d like to hear everything you can remember. Doesn’t matter how long it takes, or how
dumb it sounds.”

  Chapter Four

  They had been in the art gallery for three hours, and Mica had still only been dragged through half of the exhibits. Molly was having a ball, and it was nice to spend time with her doing something she enjoyed, but if he had to look at one more terrible painting that was supposed to symbolize something or other, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

  He had to get out of there.

  “What do you think of this one?”

  He looked up from his position on a low stone bench to find Molly gesturing to something that looked like a computer that had been fed through a waste disposal unit.

  “Don’t tell me,” he said. “It signifies the stress of living in a world full of technology.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’re starting to get the hang of this.”

  Actually I just picked the biggest pile of bullshit that sprung to mind. Much like the artist. Mica smiled and shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

  “Well, come on. More to look at.”

  “I have a better idea.” He stood and feigned a sore back. “You enjoy yourself and I’ll go home and sleep some more.”

  “Already?” Molly rolled her eyes. “You’ve no stamina.”

  “Not for art, no.”

  After further complaints, Molly finally gave in and let Mica go. With a hug and a peck on the cheek, he promised to go straight home and not “end up mugged in a back alley,” as she put it, and as he strolled out of the gallery he almost felt guilty about lying to her.

  He’d noticed on their arrival that there was a bar nearby, and while it was still a little early to get drunk, there was nothing wrong with checking out the local talent.

  * * * *

  Jerry settled onto a stool and nodded to the bartender. The woman came over to take his order, handed him a beer, then disappeared back down to the other end of the bar. He didn’t blame her. As big as he was, and as dour as he no doubt looked right then, he’d probably have done the same.

  He flipped the cap from his bottle with a thumb, and took a long, slow drink. The alcohol would have almost no effect on him, but the cold and the taste were all he was interested in anyway.