Pack War [City Wolves 3] (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove)

by JC Holly

  * * * *

  By the time Victor arrived back at Farrell’s apartment, some two miles across town in one of the fancier districts, his friend had upgraded from nude to a thick green bathrobe. He grinned from the doorway as Victor came up the carpeted hallway.

  “Smelled ya coming.”

  Victor feigned sniffing his armpits. “Coulda sworn I’d used deodorant.”

  Farrell smirked and waved Victor into his apartment. “Take a seat.”

  Farrell’s apartment was larger than Victor’s, but held a lot less stuff. Where Victor loved his gadgets and big-screen televisions, Farrell preferred old-world charm and simplicity. Victor knew from past visits that there was a TV, but it was hidden in a large dark-wood cabinet, and rarely saw the light of day.

  He sat on the comfy suede sofa and threw an arm over the back. “So, how’s the leg?”

  “It’s on its way.” Farrell closed the door and walked over, barely even limping. “Throbs like a bastard, though.”

  “Probably a minor infection from the bite. It’ll pass.”

  He nodded and dropped into an old armchair opposite. His robe came open a little, revealing the bandaged leg and a pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts. Suddenly Victor’s own boxers weren’t so loose. What the hell is going on with me? He shifted his position a little, then cleared his throat.

  “So, where’s the drink you owe me?”

  Farrell raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why you’re here so soon after your last visit? And here was me thinking Avani had ordered you to keep an eye on the wounded soldier.”

  Victor smirked. “She may have mentioned something along those lines, but I was heading over anyway.”

  “Sure you were.”

  Farrell reached down to a cabinet beside his armchair and pulled out a green bottle, along with two short glasses. He thumped the glasses onto the table between them and poured out two generous measures.

  “Scottish whisky, I assume?” Victor said as he took his glass.

  Farrell snorted. “Not in this lifetime.”

  They downed their drinks as one and slapped the glasses back onto the table. Farrell refilled, and Victor took his again. Wolf shifters had an increased tolerance to alcohol, which was a blessing and a curse, depending on whether you wanted to get drunk or not.

  Right now it wasn’t that important either way, so Victor sipped at the second glass instead of downing it. Truth be told, he preferred Scotch, though he’d never tell Farrell that. It was tantamount to regicide in his Irish friend’s book. Almost as bad as mistaking him for English.

  Farrell sat back in his chair, his whisky cradled in his hands. “I take it you weren’t viciously assaulted by wolves on the way over, then?”

  “Not that I noticed, no. From what I hear, Gabriel’s boys and girls have gone quiet.”

  He nodded to himself. “Aye, likely planning something.”

  “That, or we killed too many of his boys and he’s giving up.”

  They both smirked grimly at the thought. Gabriel had already proven that he didn’t care how many of his wolves went down in battle. He’d keep coming until there was nobody left. Scumbag. He wanted their pack leader, Ethan’s, territory, and he wasn’t going to go away without it.

  The pair sat in silence for a while, sipping the whisky. Victor assumed Farrell was having the same thoughts as him. Fighting, war, death. It was probably weighing harder on Farrell’s mind than Victor’s in fact. Victor was a pragmatist. What happened, happened, and he could only deal with what came from it, rather than mope about things he could not change.

  Farrell was more of a “why can’t we all just get along?” kind of guy. He avoided conflict whenever possible, and when he was forced into a confrontation, he’d try his hardest to avoid bloodshed. The war had removed that possibility lately.

  Farrell was the first to speak. He leaned forward again and snatched up the bottle. “See this? I brought this from Ireland. Bought it in a duty-free shop and said to myself, ‘I won’t drink this till I’ve a good reason.’”

  “And having your leg ripped open is a good reason?”

  He laughed and poured another glass. “Having my life saved, Vic.” He raised his glass. “Sláinte.”

  Victor raised his glass. “Santa to you, too.”

  “Cheeky bastard.” Farrell downed his with a grin. “Means ‘to your health.’”

  “I know. I just enjoy mocking you.”

  “So I’ve noticed, damn Yank.”

  Victor smirked. “You love us Americans. Admit it.”

  “Eh, you’ll do till I get the urge to move again. So, what’s the plan?”

  “Plan?”

  “Well, I may be off wounded for another couple of days, but you’re still fit ‘n’ able, and I doubt Ethan will want you wasting your time nursing me to health.”

  “Ah.” Victor cradled his glass in his hands. “Off for the rest of the night, then I’m on patrol by the bar tomorrow morning and afternoon. Evening’s my own.”

  The bar was the pack’s meeting place. It was owned by the pack leader, Ethan, and was mostly staffed by other members of the pack. As such it was a major target to Gabriel. While he’d hardly send in a pack of wolves in broad daylight, it wasn’t beyond him to have someone try and burn the place down.

  “Tough shift,” Farrell said with a nod. “Who’re you patrolling with, since I’m down?”

  “Paul.”

  “Ah, well at least you got a good ‘un. Heard he and Darren moved in together.”

  “While back, yeah. Fuckin’ like bunnies, no doubt.”

  “Can you blame him? That Darren is a cutie.”

  “He’s not my type, but I can see the attraction.”

  Farrell stood and came over to the couch, flopping onto the opposite end and putting the now half-full bottle between them, lodged between two seat cushions. “So what is your type? What gives you a hard-on these days?”

  Victor finished his whisky and ran his tongue around his mouth. “Oh, I dunno.” He took a slow breath. “Redheads.”

  Farrell raised an eyebrow. “Really? Don’t suppose you mean scruffy redheads who happen to also be just under six foot and remarkably trim for a beer-drinking nature boy?”

  “Maybe.” Victor swished a droplet of whisky around his glass. “Sound like something you’d be interested in?”

  Farrell reached over and placed his glass on the table. “Maybe. I’d be a bit worried that it could mess up a friendship, though.”

  Victor nodded. “I can see that. Just, you know, after last night I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea.”

  “Not gonna lie, so have I.”

  He looked up. “Yeah?”

  Farrell adjusted his position, and his robe fell open again. His boxers bulged at the front. “Yeah. Of course, I’m a little fragile right now. Can’t go doing anything too strenuous.”

  He slid a hand into his boxers and pulled his stiffening cock free. Victor watched as his friend slowly pulled the foreskin from his cockhead, toying with it as it hardened.

  Victor’s pants felt like they’d burst, so he reached down and unfastened his belt and loosened his jeans, then lowered them enough to pull his own cock free.

  “Yowzer,” Farrell said, his eyes on Victor’s crotch. “Looks like we’re pretty evenly matched.”

  Victor stood just long enough to slide his jeans down his legs, then moved up the sofa, his knee brushing against Farrell’s. Something needled him in the back, and he reached around and found the whisky bottle.

  “Looks like this is an even more special occasion,” he said as he placed the bottle on the table.

  Farrell smirked. “Maybe this was my plan all along.”

  “Yeah?”

  He grinned. “You’ll never know.”

  Gazes alternating between each other’s faces and crotches, the pair slowly stroked their now fully erect cocks. In close comparison, Victor noted that, while he had the thicker cock, Farrell’s was the longer by no more than half an
inch. Easily eight inches.

  “Never done this before,” Victor muttered, his eyes back on Farrell’s.

  “No?” Farrell licked his lips. “I’ve done it a few times. Know what’s better though?”

  Before Victor could reply, Farrell let go of his cock and reached over, gripping Victor’s instead. Victor moaned softly at the sensation of another man’s hand, then copied the maneuver, running his thumb over Farrell’s cockhead.

  “You’re right,” Victor said. “This is even better.”

  He matched Farrell’s steady movements, speeding only when Farrell did, and slowing when he felt he needed Farrell to. He leaned in and kissed Farrell on the bottom lip. Farrell smiled and moved in closer, turning it into a full kiss. Victor parted his lips and let Farrell’s tongue explore, and his own did the same.

  Farrell broke the kiss first and licked his lips. With an impish grin, he lowered his head and kissed the very tip of Victor’s cock.

  “Fuck,” he hissed. “Suck it.”

  Farrell ran his tongue around the head. “Bedroom.”

  Victor didn’t have to be told twice. He undressed as he walked the short distance, leaving a trail of clothes on the thick carpet.

  The bedroom was large, but furnished with only a large bed and two dressers. Farrell came in behind him and moved close enough that his cock nuzzled Victor’s ass.

  “Lie on your side on the bed.”

  Victor did as he was told, and Farrell climbed up beside him, facing in the opposite direction so that his head was next to Victor’s cock, and his own cock was inches from Victor’s face.

  Victor gasped as Farrell gripped his cock and slid his mouth down the thick shaft, teasing the head with his tongue. Victor shifted his shoulder a little then reached for Farrell’s cock, stroking it back to full hardness before sliding it between his lips. He felt vibration on his own cock as Farrell moaned while he sucked. Victor worked the shaft with his hand and sucked and licked at Farrell’s cock, letting it slide a little farther into his mouth each time, and reveling in the sweet-salty taste of his friend’s pre-cum.

  They stayed in that position for the longest time, sucking each other’s cocks and moving their own hips to heighten the sensations. When Farrell sucked harder, so did Victor, and when Victor reached around and slid his index finger into Farrell’s tight ass, Farrell did the same.

  They quickly built to an oncoming crescendo, and just as Victor came, thick spurts of come hit the back of his throat. He coughed once then forced himself to keep working Farrell’s cock, swallowing what he was given. He could feel Farrell do the same, and it wasn’t long before they simultaneously rolled onto their backs, breathing hard.

  “Wow,” Victor said when he got his breath back. “That was…wow.”

  Farrell laughed and adjusted his position so he was facing the same direction as his friend. “Yeah, that was a lot of fun. We’ll have to do it again.”

  “Definitely.” Victor ran a soft hand over Farrell’s bandage. “And when this is off I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

  Farrell grinned. “Not if I fuck you first.”

  “Hmm, looks like we’ll have to toss for it.”

  “Works for me.”

  Chapter Three

  Farrell woke the next morning in an even better mood than usual. The weather was calm, his leg wasn’t bothering him, and he’d gotten laid. Granted, it was with his best friend, but at that moment he couldn’t think of any way it could jeopardize the friendship.

  “Friends with benefits,” he said as he climbed out of bed. “It happens all the time.”

  Victor had left a few hours after the fun, as he had to be up early to patrol. Farrell had slapped him on the ass and told him not to get killed, then headed straight to bed. He wasn’t the worrying type in general, and in Victor’s case it really wasn’t an issue. The man may not enjoy his time spent as a wolf, but he certainly knew how to work the form. Only a handful of wolves in the pack were stronger, and only two were faster. Farrell fell into both categories, but that was something he didn’t like to broadcast.

  The wolf that had bitten him had been a very powerful one, and along with a slower aging process than most Weres, that also brought more power. In the past he’d been honest and told his pack about it, but it had led to far more responsibility than he wanted. He didn’t want to be an enforcer, nor did he want to settle disputes amongst his kin. He just wanted friendship and people of a like mind to talk to.

  The phone rang in the other room, and Farrell tossed on his robe then walked in to pick it up. He sat in his armchair and pressed speakerphone while he pulled the bandage from his leg.

  “You’ve reached Mystic Mark’s combination fortune and sex line. How may I direct your orgasm?”

  “Farrell?”

  “Ethan!” He leaned forward in his chair to drop the bandage onto the table. “How the devil are you?”

  “I’m good. How’s the leg?”

  He glanced down to see pale flesh, a pale scar, and some thread he wasn’t looking forward to extracting. “Still sore, but if you need me I’m ready to go.”

  “No, you rest up for a couple of days. Don’t want you reopening the wound.”

  He was already past that point, but even Ethan didn’t know how rapidly he healed. “Well, all right, but if there’s an emergency I want you to call.”

  “I will. Don’t worry. We got your car back to civilization, by the way. I have a friend who works in a garage, so he replaced your tires as soon as the tow truck dropped it off. I told him to drop it off later today, if that’s good for you.”

  “Yeah, that’s great. I’ll settle up when he gets here.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ethan said. “You were wounded in the line of duty. The pack will cover the tires.”

  “That’s right kind, but you don’t need to do that.”

  “I insist. The least I could do.”

  Farrell smiled. “Look, I’ll tell you what. You pay for the tires, and I’ll make an anonymous donation to the pack.”

  “Then I won’t accept the donation.”

  “Ah, but it’ll be anonymous. Could be someone else you’re offending by not taking the money.”

  Ethan laughed. “Fine. Deal.”

  Farrell told him he’d be in touch soon, then hung up the phone.

  Ethan was a great leader, but he was a little bullheaded at times. Farrell had been around a long time, longer than any of them knew, and had built up quite the savings account. Four tires and a delivery charge weren’t going to bother him. Still, the fact that Ethan was willing to cover it, likely out of his own pocket, put him head and shoulders over many pack leaders. Somehow Farrell doubted Gabriel would be so charitable.

  Farrell cocked his head as footsteps came down the hallway outside his apartment’s door. A moment later he caught a scent and relaxed. Avani. She knocked on the door, and Farrell stood, then ducked down and grabbed his bandage, slapping it back into place before opening the door.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Decided to try and turn me straight?”

  The short and slim Indian woman raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, then reached out and grabbed his crotch. “Pretty sure I could keep my hand here all day, and all I’d get for my trouble was a cramp.”

  Farrell grinned and swatted her hand away. “’Tis true, I’m as gay as I am gorgeous.”

  She smirked and stepped inside the apartment. Farrell closed the door behind her and gestured to the sofa.

  “So, almighty second-in-command, what can I do for you?”

  Avani put her feet up on the table, next to the half-empty bottle of whisky from last night. “I’m off shift for a few hours, and I’m not tired, so I thought I’d check on you and let you tell me what you got up to with Victor.”

  “What about your kid? Shouldn’t you be checking on her?”

  “She’s out of town, staying with her grandparents. And stop changing the subject.”


  Farrell grinned again. “The leg’s mending. I told Ethan I was ready to go but he wants to give it another day or so. And how do you know anything happened between me and Vic?”

  Avani raised her eyebrows. “I’m a wolf, Farrell. I can smell two kinds of cock in this room, and since I’ve yet to grow one, somebody had some fun last night.”

  “Hell of a sense of smell you’ve got on you.”

  “Men get the strength, women get the nose. Believe me, it’s more hassle than it’s worth most days. The smell of day-old cock is not an aphrodisiac.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Farrell scratched at his stubble. “Victor came over, and we shared some good whisky. We got on to the topic of men, and the next thing I know we’re swapping saliva and semen.”

  Avani grinned. “Awesome! Give me the details.”

  “You know, I worded it like that to gross you out. Why aren’t you grossed out?”

  She shrugged. “I’m an enormous pervert. So, who made the first move?”

  Farrell frowned as he tried to remember. “I think Vic brought up that he found me attractive. Which is no great shock.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re god’s gift to men. Who made the first physical move?”

  “That would be me.”

  She nodded. “Thought as much. Any regrets?”

  “Nope, not one.” He shrugged. “I try to live in the moment, and these moments are a lot of fun.”

  “You don’t think it might mess up your friendship?”

  He shook his head. “We’re both easygoing grown men. I think we can make it work.”

  “Well, I’m rooting for you.” Avani slapped the arm of the sofa. “Now, where’s this damn Irish hospitality I’ve heard so much about? Beer me, boy.”

  * * * *

  Rain hammered onto the roof of Victor’s car as he sat parked in a parking lot across from the club. Water spattered in through the open window onto his shirt sleeve, turning the white gray. If it wasn’t for the need to constantly sniff the air, he’d have closed the water out.

  The shift had been quiet. No sight, sound, or scent of any Weres other than members of Ethan’s pack or known allies. Still, there were another two hours left. He almost wished something would happen.