Absinthe

by Julia Talbot

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Absinthe

  Torquere Press Publishers

  1380 Rio Rancho Blvd #1319

  Rio Rancho, NM 87124

  Copyright 2013 by Julia Talbot and BA Tortuga Cover illustration by BSClay

  Published with permission

  ISBN: 978-1-61040-601-7

  www.torquerepress.com

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., 1380 Rio Rancho Blvd #1319, Rio Rancho, NM 87124.

  First Torquere Press Printing: October 2013

  Printed in the USA

  Absinthe

  By Julia Talbot and BA Tortuga

  The booze was flowing like the river herself, pouring freely and Bartholome was feeling no pain. He’d had a little more to drink than ever before, his cheeks bright with little numb spots.

  The entire pack was celebrating the birth of Celeste and Henri’s pups -- two of them, a boy and a girl, as pretty as pictures. A pack couldn’t ask for better. He leaned against the back of his lawn chair, watching the celebration, a goofy smile on his face.

  “You gon’ make us some babies, cher?” Old Ouisa sipped her drink, bare feet swinging. “That white one that’s yours, he ain’t never gon’ grow up yet, him. You could sire a bunch of pups for us first.”

  “He’ll get there, Maw-maw,” Bartholome said, his smile fading.

  His Rene was different, was all. Loic had found the pup bled near dry on the riverbank years ago, and though the moon swore Rene was his mate, Bartholome worried on it.

  Barthe was a good ten years older than the lad, after all, and there wasn’t nothing sexual about the wee white pup, even now that his balls had dropped. He was skinny and sad, as pale as light and skittish as all get out, not even letting Barthe too close to him.

  The pup stood at the edges of the younger adults who were dancing, playing together. Hell, all those young’uns acted like Rene was an odd one out, but Bartholome wasn’t afraid of being different; he had a man for a mate, after all.

  What he did fear was that Rene would never grow into a real mate, one who could satisfy Bartholome’s enormous appetites. Right now he could just crush the pup, mar that pale skin.

  Their gazes met, Rene’s eyes the color of the sky itself, the pale hair the color of the moon, and Rene stepped toward him. The temptation to move closer was fierce, to take his mate’s lips, learn the length of the lean body, but it was too soon. Too early.

  Rene was still just a kid.

  He turned his back, breaking the connection. At some point they would bond, would mate, but not now. No, now Rene needed to learn things, to be with his age-mates and explore.

  “You want to come with me, bonhomme?” Alicia stepped up to him, rubbing against him, her body warm and lush, ripe for the picking. “You have to be bored, waiting for your fantome to grow.”

  “A bit. He’ll come around.” Ghost, hmm? It suited Rene to a T.

  “Well, we could make the next alpha.” She did a little dance against him, sensual, but not appealing, really. He did have a mate, whether or not they were in the same bed.

  “The stories about you make me wet, cher, and I’d make a mother, me.”

  “He’s mine.” The voice was soft, but came from close by, shaking with emotion.

  Alicia smiled, and there was no malice in it. She wasn’t evil or nothin’, just looking out for her eventual progeny.

  “You’re so young, fantome. He’s got plenty to go around.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “Child, enough. Go on, little one, find someone to teach you how to please a man and then come on home.” Briar leaned against the doorframe, the big male the only other Barthe known to have the moon give another male as a mate. “You ain’t no use to him ‘til you do.”

  Those blue eyes moved to him, searching him, begging him to refute the words.

  Bartholome stifled the urge to growl at Briar. He wanted Rene close, but he had to let the chiot grow up, too. It was only fair. “You are just a pup, Rene. You need to do things.

  Learn things. Get on out of here.”

  It wasn’t until the laughter started -- the sound racing through the pack like a bonfire caught kindling -- that Rene’s eyes dropped and the pup backed away into the darkness, disappearing like the bayou swallowed the sun every night.

  If he’d known it would be six years before anyone even caught a whiff of his fantome again, he might have followed.

  ***

  Rene headed up the rickety stairs to his beloved salon off Frenchman’s, intending only to grab some of his clothes and what cash he had left before heading west.

  The deep South had not been kind to him, non, not a bit.

  He’d run from Bartholome for well over a year, once the big male had caught scent of him in New Orleans, and he had thought he’d be safe in the sticks, but no.

  His mate had found him.

  He’d run until his pads were torn, until his fur was gray from soot and mud. Then he’d found his stash of clothes and ID and come home, hoping Bartholome was still heading east.

  God, he just wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep.

  Just sleep.

  He got his locks opened and stumbled inside, the scent of home perfect. Oh. Shower. He could shower first. He tore off his filthy clothes and limped to the bathroom, hand slapping on the hot water tap.

  Cold water spurted from the tap, but it didn’t take long for the steam to pour out. Oh, yes.

  Rene climbed in, knees buckling as he landed on the floor of the tub with a soft sob. Better. So much better. He lifted his face to the spray, so tired of running. His bones hurt.

  “Oh, chiot, you’re all skinny and bruised.” The voice was low, husky, but tickled, and Rene groaned.

  Seriously?

  Fucking seriously?

  “You can’t be here. This is my house.” His place, and he hadn’t even noticed that Bartholome was there, goddamn it.

  The moon was playing tricks on him.

  “It’s a tiny little bolt hole.” The big one, Bartholome, was right there. Right fucking there. Huge and dark and beautiful, like the river at night.

  “It’s mine and you’re sitting on my toilet.”

  “Well, you don’t have chairs.” Shifting his weight, Bartholome stared at him, dark eyes crinkled up with a tiny smile.

  Rene was so tired, so tired, and the thought of running again made him want to whine. “How did you find me so fast?” Why won’t you go away? You sent me away. You told me to go. They all laughed.

  “You just ran, chiot. You didn’t hide.”

  “Give me until morning and I’ll do better.”

  “I can do that. We can nap together.”

  It was a terrible idea. Awful, but it sounded so appealing.

  Bartholome had never wanted to share a bed before now.

  “The bed is good, soft.” And he was worn to the bone.

  “Then come on, chiot.” Bartholome held out a hand. A big, square, hard to resist hand.

  A voice in the back of his head insisted this was a huge mistake, a stupid act, but he took it anyway. Bartholome pulled him to the bed after turning off the shower.

  The top blanket was dusty and they tossed it, but the rest worked and Rene collapsed into a fuzzy pile as soon as he climbed up, body refusing to go another single step. He snorted a little, wigglin
g around to try to get comfy.

  Bartholome settled him once and for all by flopping down on top of him.

  “Ooph.” Bossy old man. Rene was going to bite him. In his dreams. After he’d headed west.

  ***

  Bartholome hummed when he woke up. Despite the musty flavor to the air, the little warren smelled like Rene.

  His boy.

  His naughty pup was curled up, skinny and worn and worried. So frustrating, this one. And worse, it was his own fault. All this running, all this drama and all they needed was to mate, damn it.

  It was going to be fierce when it happened, wild. Intense.

  Hopefully worth it.

  Oh, who was he kidding? He needed Rene like he needed to breathe and all the waiting and searching was his penance. He’d chased enough, though. Now they had run to ground.

  He slipped out of the bed as quietly as someone his size could, hitting the head, then looking in the kitchen. There were the barest stores, and most of those alcohol. His belly rumbled, but he wasn’t about to leave and find food. He’d just caught up. So he went to the bed and leaned down, slapping that perfect, round ass, his handprint pink on the pale skin.

  Rene yelped and jumped up, leaping across the room, blue eyes staring at him like he was a dream.

  “Wake up, fantome.” Bartholome grinned hugely. “Time to find food.”

  “What? No. I. I.” Rene’s long blond hair was wild, flowing over his shoulders. The stuff made Barthe’s fingers itch to touch it. He wanted to bite and lick, to hear Rene scream for him. Stay for him. “I’m not your ghost. Go away. Shoo. Get on, now.”

  “Yes you are. You’re mine, bone deep and we both know it. First, though, food. I’m starving and the cupboard is bare.”

  “The Coffee Pot is just down the street. You’ll like it well enough. There’s grits and bacon.”

  “I will?” Hell, he may have been there before.

  Sometimes days passed and he didn’t remember much. The wolf was too strong in him. “Well, get dressed, chiot.”

  “I... I’ll meet you there. Just go.”

  He looked at Rene, staring his boy down. Honestly? Did the pup think he was stupid? Those eyes wavered, and Rene looked away. Right. That was what he thought.

  The good Lord challenged him every day with this pup, with his mate.

  Bartholome grinned, showing his teeth. “Get. Dressed.”

  “I’m not going with you.” Rene pulled out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, covering that beautiful body. Barthe wanted to worship every inch of it.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No.” The amazing hair was thrown into a rough, messy braid. “I’m not goin’ with you.”

  “Are you going to run from me again?” He moved to block the door, but kept an eye on Rene’s body language.

  He’d been chasing for years, he knew all the tricks.

  “You don’ want me. I want to have fun. Play. You ain’t...” Rene’s lips twisted, proving that the last night with the Pack had left deep scars on his mate’s soul. He never should have started looking and wanting and drinking at the same time. Made him snake mean, guilt did. Maybe some shame, too. All those women wanting pups and his dick was begging for Rene’s tight ass.

  The thought of being buried deep in that tiny hole made Bartholome need to howl, and his entire body flushed with heat. His fantome, his mate was right there.

  “Not want you, cher? I been following you for-fucking-ever.” He stepped up close, sharing his body heat, his scent.

  “Go find you a pretty girl and leave me be.”

  “Why on earth would I ever do that?” He gave up on subtle and grabbed the man, yanking Rene close.

  “You can’t touch...” Rene arched and cried out, electricity sparking between them, sharp as a live wire.

  They were mates. Of course he could touch. He’d been formed to touch this man. He bent and rested his teeth on Rene’s skin, right there at the throat, waiting to sink in and mark what was his.

  Rene had been running wild and biting humans, setting his teeth to them, causing trouble, mischief. Deliberately breaking the laws of the Pack, baiting Barthe, punishing them all. He needed a lesson. A spanking.

  “You’ve been fucking around, mate.” A good hard spanking and then a plugging that his lover couldn’t forget.

  “No. I mean, it’s your fault.” Rene struggled, body twisting against him. “I itched. I needed a hard fuck.”

  “Well, I can do that for you, chiot. I surely can.” His prick agreed, so hard against Rene’s jeans that it ached.

  “No.” Rene shook his head, that long hair coming loose from its braid. “I ain’t interested.”

  Little liar.

  “I’m sorry.” That was the one thing he hadn’t said to Rene that he needed to. “I am, chiot. I know you felt I was mocking you. I wanted you to have a chance to grow into me.”

  “Grow into you?” Rene rolled his eyes, tried to pulled away and Barthe tightened his grip. No. He was never letting his fantome go again. Not a chance. “Let me go! You don’t want me. I’m just a pup who got left to die on the banks. Ain’t your fault they didn’t let me die and you got stuck with the ugly one. Go on home, now. Shoo.”

  “I am going to bite you so hard.” He was. He was going to make Rene understand.

  He loved how Rene’s nostrils flared at his words, how those blue eyes went wide with need. Yes. They talked too damned much; they had since the start. It was time to bite and lick and fuck. The rest they’d work out together one day.Bartholome bit. Hard. Right there Rene’s neck. The heat of the blood rushed to the surface, meeting his teeth.

  Marking. He was finally marking his mate. The flavor of his chiot hit him like a Mack truck and he growled deep, dragging Rene closer so he could have more.

  “Please. I don’t. I can’t do this.” Rene pushed and pushed.

  “You’re made to do this, chiot. With me.” He should have been there for the first time, for the whole thing, and that was his fault. He would be there for every time from now on.

  “No. No, I think I’m supposed to be on my own.”

  He had to shut Rene up, so Bartholome kissed him, pushing inside that hot mouth with his tongue. He shoved his hands in that long, soft hair, learning how it slipped between his fingers. There was too much he didn’t know about his mate. So many things to learn.

  It was so easy, to draw Rene close, feel him from hips to shoulders. Bartholome gave up on the idea of food for now, focusing on stripping Rene back down. He’d waited too long for this. Grits could wait.

  He gripped Rene’s shirt to pull it off and Rene leaned away, long throat working for him, his mark there, dark and sweet.

  “Where you think you’re going, chiot?”

  “To hell, if I stay here like this.”

  “Why? You done your learning and so have I.” That was the truth.

  “And now you’re old and I ain’t hunting you and so I’m worth looking at?” Those blue eyes rolled. “Bah.”

  “Old?” The little fucker. “I’m going to tan your ass, chiot.”

  “Ancient. Like a grampa.”

  Rene was asking for it. There was no other way around it. So Bartholome just went to stripping the boy down, ready to give that sweet, pale ass some color. There was more confusion and worry than anger, like fighting their bond sapped Rene’s energy.

  Time to focus the lad on the important things. He got that ass bare and smacked it. With his whole hand.

  “You can’t do that!” Rene pulled away, cock hard, curving up against the flat belly.

  “No? I think I should have found you and done it the day you left.” He reached up, cupped Rene’s cheek. “You were badly done by, chiot, but the running is over now. I won’t have it.”

  Rene stared at him, quivering, muscles at the ready to flee.

  “Do I need a tie down leash?”

  “Ass.” That long, curved cock bobbed. Someone liked the idea of being bound. Bartholome grinned hugely, ripping Re
ne’s shirt into strips.

  “Give me your hands, fantome.”

  “That’s my shirt! You can’t rip my shirt!”

  Was. Bartholome had to grin, then he put all the Command he had into his voice. “Hands.”

  Rene held out his hands, then stared at Bartholome like he couldn’t believe he’d done it. Barthe wasted no time tying them together. He could see the way the ties had Rene’s shoulders relaxing, easing down. Yes. Someone needed the choice taken away, needed a reason to stop fighting. He raised those bound hands over Rene’s head.

  “Let me go. I ain’t staying.”

  “You’re full of shit, chiot.” Running was no longer an option. “We wasted plenty of time. Now this is for us.”

  He dragged his hand down Rene’s body, nails scoring the sweet skin. He loved the shiver he elicited, the way Rene’s flesh rose up in goose bumps. This mating was written in the stars, given him by the moon and they’d denied it too long.

  No more. Now they would face the world together.

  ***

  Rene was burning. His hands were bound, his cock hard and leaking, and he was standing there. Just standing there like the world’s biggest moron, watching Bartholome touch him.

  He wanted to run. He’d been running so long he didn’t know what else to do. His mate didn’t want him. No matter what the man said.

  “Not going anywhere, chiot. Need you.” He was walked over to the bed, his bound hands attached to the headboard with another strip of shirt.

  His shirt. He was going to explode. That would be fun.

  Boom.

  “Over and over.”

  His balls were cupped, squeezed, rolled in Bartholome’s burning hand. The touch was too perfect, was fine and made his heart clench in his chest.

  “No. No touching those,” Rene said. Bartholome had made too much noise about his balls not dropping all those years ago. The giant dark jerk didn’t get to admire them.

  “I’ll touch everywhere, so deep you’ll never forget.”

  “No! They’re mine!”

  Bartholome growled, a sound of pure alpha rage. “They, and every other part of you, is mine.”

  His entire body responded, jerked, just buzzing. He wanted to offer his belly, wanted Bartholome to really want him. He didn’t, though. He panted through it, fighting for control.