by Julia Talbot
“So stubborn, chiot.” Was he supposed to apologize for that? Not going to happen. “Good thing I am, too.”
Bartholome rubbed up on him. “I was willing to wait for you.”
The touch of Bartholome’s cock was like a brand on his thigh, like he could look down and see the mark left behind.
He couldn’t, though, not with his arms tied up like they were. All he could do was stare into those dark gray eyes.
“Lord, fantome, you steal my breath away.” Barthe moaned the words, hand cupping his cheek.
“I don’t want you.” Rene lied. He lied so hard. He wanted Barthe more than his next breath.
“Yes you do.” Barthe rubbed their cocks together and the pressure was like the touch of the moon’s light -- flaring deep in his spine.
Yes, he did. So bad. He wanted Barthe’s cock inside him, wanted to touch and taste and know. Rene knew it, knew they were mates, but he wanted Barthe to suffer like he had. He wanted someone to know what it was like to be unwanted, turned away. Maybe to be laughed at by a whole pack.
“Shh. Feel for a bit, hmm? Plot your revenge later.”
“I hate you.” He wanted to, anyway. He really did. All the hurt Barthe had given him swirled in his belly.
“We’ll reckon that later, fantome. I swear.”
“Will we?” He didn’t believe it. They would mate and chemistry would take over.
“Lord, you always think so much?” Barthe nipped his bottom lip and it stung, so good.
He snorted, bared his teeth. “Not when I was out playing with men who wanted me. Didn’t have to think at all.”
Bartholome growled, the sound deep and dangerous enough to make him shiver. His cock wanted that, wanted Barthe’s jealousy.
“They did, you know. Want me. Lots of them thought I was fine, worth hunting. Worth fucking.”
“I know. I know exactly how many, chiot.” Bartholome smacked his ass with one big hand and he felt each and every individual finger.
The sudden sting and heat rocked him, bone deep, and he didn’t even cry out. Instead, he rocked forward, letting his dick speak for him. He was leaking hard.
“There will never be another one.” The blows came with every word, hard and deep.
He fought the urge to nod. No, Barthe was going to have to work for it.
“Never, chiot. For either of us.”
“Promise me. I might believe you.” He knew he would.
They were genetically programed to keep promises to each other.
“You’re my mate. My only one.”
“What if I don’t want you?” He couldn’t even hold Bartholome’s gaze. He could manage, though, if he ran.
“You do.” Barthe gripped his cock, stroking.
He did want this. His legs spread wide, his balls heavy and aching with pressure. Rene wanted Barthe to keep touching him, which would hold the confusion at bay, the anger. The sadness. The constant fucking worry.
“I did wrong by you, chiot, and I’m sorry for it.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And I mean it.” Barthe swiped a thumb over the head of his cock.
His hips bucked up, moving immediately, instinctively.
Rene’s belly drew in, his muscles going tight. God, this one got to him. No human had ever been so right, had ever known what he needed.
“Mmm. Hot spot.” Barthe began focusing on the tip of his prick, began rubbing and rasping at the slit, trying to drive him out of his mind.
Rene panted, hanging there between Barthe’s big hands.
“Please.”
Barthe nodded at him, brushed their lips together, the touch achingly soft. He blinked, his heart rising up in his throat. What a strange phrase that was. It felt true, though.
The tenderness leaked into his body, slipped into his pores and cracked at the shell he’d formed around his soul.
The touch to his cock never wavered, the pleasure building in his belly. His asscheeks clenched, his body trying to rock against Barthe’s hold as his heart broke open.
Barthe shuddered, moaned low for him, then Barthe’s kisses deepened, tongue fucking his lips, stealing his breath.
Rene pushed against to Barthe, shorting out, pleasure the only thing he could focus on.
He felt the heat as Barthe covered him with his body, the pressure and weight perfect.
“Mate.” Barthe said it definitely, like there had never been any doubt.
“Ma... maybe.”
Barthe’s growl was low and deep, frustrated. The kiss he got after that was even deeper, harder, stealing every bit of sense he had left. His hands twisted in the strips of cloth, and he let himself open up, let himself melt.
Mate.
Mate.
MATE.
The words seemed to be everywhere -- ringing from the walls, shaking the glass in the windowpane and he was surrounded by them. No. No, they were. They were blanketed in the words that no one made.
Bartholome made a deep, happy sound and pressed against him, kissing hard. His arms stretched against the ties, his hips lifted, and Rene tried to get even closer. They rubbed, Barthe’s body heavy and perfect against him.
When Barthe bit him, right where his arm pulled away from his body, he cried out, the sound pure wolf. The sharp bites were maddening, making him twist and jerk, his barks getting louder.
“Chiot. Let me hear.” Barthe kissed him again and again, rubbing until he couldn’t remember his name.
“More. More, hurry!” This was crazy. Stupid. Perfect.
All he’d dreamed.
“Oui, chiot. Always more for you.”
He was flipped and then Barthe’s tongue was on his hole, on his ass, pressing into him and he screamed with the heat, the wet pressure, the pleasure. He thrashed, completely unable to control himself. It didn’t matter, Bartholome had him, hands hard on his hips, holding him still. Barthe’s casual strength stunned him, reminded him forcibly that his mate wasn’t really all that old.
The heat flooding him proved that Barthe knew exactly what he needed. Two thick fingers slid into him next, opening him up wide. Rene bore back, taking Barthe deep, learning his mate’s touch. He’d dreamed about this, but never felt it. Bartholome was like no one else, the rough but gentle touch enough to make him wail.
“Beg for my cock, mate. Tell me how much you need it.”
“Want you. Now.”
Barthe bit the back of his neck. “Tell me, bebe. Tell me exactly what you want.”
“Fuck me. Make me yours.” He’d waited and waited, so long that he didn’t know how to live without the ache.
“I can do that, fantome.” Barthe didn’t laugh at him, not a bit. He just pushed another finger inside Rene’s body, spreading his hole wider.
“Love. Not a ghost.” He sobbed the words out, wanting them to be true.
“Yes. Oh, chiot, I been chasing you so long. I know all about you. Every scent. Every move. Now you get to learn about me.”
He spread, arching his back, begging. “I need.”
“I won’t leave you wanting.” Something slick and cool eased the way for those fingers, and all he could do was swallow, over and over, around the lump in his throat. He wanted to crawl into Bartholome and love on the man, wanted Barthe inside him. He pushed out with his hips, showing Barthe his readiness.
“Mate.” The first touch of Barthe’s cock to his hole was like lightning slamming through him. Then the man was inside him, inch by inch, slow and sure. Years of tension eased inside him, pushed out with his mate’s touch. This was what he was made for, even if the moon had played a trick on Barthe and given him a man as a partner.
“No tricks. You’re mine.” Barthe’s words were sure, firm.
“You can hear me.” They had never managed that before.
He didn’t think. Maybe in their sleep, maybe the night they met.
“You’re my mate. Of course I can hear you.”
“Well, you couldn’t before.” Rene knew he was bei
ng petulant, but he’d been so... lost.
“I wasn’t buried into you up to my balls,” Barthe snarled.
“I hadn’t caught you like I needed to.”
Rene groaned, because Bartholome moved to emphasize every word, hips slamming against his ass. Every nerve in his body felt like it was firing, starting a blaze along his spine. He clawed at whatever he could reach, his wolf so close to the surface his skin felt hot.
“Didn’t do right by you, chiot, but I will now, for always.” It was a promise, a prayer. The truth.
“Just do right by me now.” The rest they could settle later. He needed to come, damn it.
Bartholome slowed down, making him twist and groan on that fat cock. Barthe tugged him up, then lowered him, controlling it. Every inch. He could feel every inch. There were a lot of inches.
He got a soft chuckle, a pinch to his ass that made him shiver.
Rene grunted. “It’s true. You’re big, cher.”
“You’re made for me. I’ll fit.”
“Fuck, yes. More.”
Bartholome pushed in, all the way to the root, hips rolling in a lazy circle. That set off fireworks in the base of his skull. He sobbed and nodded, tugging at his bonds. So big.“See, chiot? I’m right here. In you. Loving you.”
“In.” He was never going to breathe again.
“All the way.” Barthe rocked him, pushed him, made him crazy.
He wanted to come, he wanted to wait so it could go on forever. What if this was his only time no matter what Barthe said?
Barthe slapped his ass sharply. “Stop it. I’m not leaving you.”
“Pretty words.”
Another blow landed, then another and another, the stings delicious, more warm than painful. It loosened his muscles, let Barthe move in him, back and forth. The burn inside him grew, his sounds filling the air. He was singing, howling, and he was glad for the shanty-like place he had.
No one would care.
He could hear an answering call, clawing inside the base of his skull, ringing within him. His mate loved him, at least in the biological way. Needed him.
Touched him deep, filled him up.
“Keeping you, now. Mine. Safe. Loved.”
He needed to believe that, wanted to, in his soul. So for right now he gave into it, riding Barthe hard, working toward getting them off.
Barthe made a wild sound, a deep satisfied noise, and his entire body tightened.
“Chiot.” Barthe popped the tip of his cock with the flat of one hand. “Now.”
“Now.” His body heard and understood, spunk spraying on his belly, ropes of white need splashing on his skin.
Barthe groaned, the sound like a rusty gate opening, and came inside him, hot and wet. So deep. Marking him inside as well as out.
Mate. The big male covered him, nuzzling into his throat with a soft rumble.
For a moment he stiffened up, not used to that sort of contact. Then Rene relaxed, melted. Bartholome.
The big head nodded, cheek sliding on his. “Mine, Rene.”
“Yes.” He just decided to accept it. Sleep on it.
“Nap, then we eat. You don’t eat enough for a bird.”
“Tweet tweet tweet.”
“Mmm. I eat little birds for breakfast.”
He laughed and he could still feel Barthe inside him as he did, heavy and right. “Remind me to be scared later.”
“I will. Sleep. Then feed me,” Barthe repeated.
“Uh-huh.” Whatever. He’d deal with details later.
***
Bartholome woke up from a dream of Po’ Boys and Dixie beer to the sound of someone pounding at the door.
Damn it all, had Rene disappeared again and lost his key?
He’d forgive it if there was food. He rolled to one side and ran right into Rene. So who was at the door?
He eased out of bed, yawning, his jaw cracking.
The knock came again, the sound weirdly frantic, and he growled. “I’m coming. Christ.”
He opened the door, scowling as hard as he could and he blinked, coming eye to eye with...
What the fuck?
A monster.
There was a monster.
“You said you’d help me. You promised in my dream.
You did.”
The words were odd, the... thing’s mouth half-muzzle, half-human, drool foaming at the edges.
“Who the fuck?” He went to shut the door, everything in him denying the idea of the half-formed thing standing there.
“You PROMISED!” There was a roar and then he swore Rene barked, but the sound was lost in a crackling sound.
That crackle went all the way to his skull, his chest on fire for a few brutal heartbeats before all sound dissolved with a pop and the world went black.
Barthe had no idea how much time passed before his sticky lashes unglued from his cheeks. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he smelled burned flesh. Shit.
“Chiot?”
Nothing.
Not in his ears, and not in his head.
Damn it. He was alone, and he had no idea what the hell
-- someone -- no, something, had knocked on the door. Put him to sleep. Took his boy.
He stood up, shaking himself, trying to focus, to figure out what time it was, where his chiot was.
Where his fucking clothes were.
It was dark outside and he was starving, stomach gnawing at itself. He would have to feed his body before he tried to find Rene’s scent, but he didn’t feel like he had a lot of time. Why would someone take his chiot?
There were streaks of blood on the floor, fur, proof that his pup had fought and fought hard. Rene’s blood hadn’t been the only one spilled. His nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of the Other. Damn it all.
He found himself spinning, trying to decide if he was going to hunt as a human, as a wolf. What the fuck was he supposed to do?
Pack.
Something like this needed pack.
He grabbed his phone and hit speed dial. He’d been gone hunting his mate a long while, but home was home, and pack was pack.
“Hello?” That voice was as familiar as breathing, his brother there for him, just as he always was. “Did you find him?”
“I did.” Barthe drew a deep breath. “Someone stole him this morning.”
“Mon dieu! Where are you? You need me?” Sebastien’s offer was immediate, heart-warming.
“I do. I’m in the Crescent, but I’ll have to start trailing soon.”
“N’awlins? For true? Bubba, I’m in the Bywater. I came to drink and listen to the music.”
Oh, God. It was a sign from the moon, Sebastien being in the same city, all unknown. “I’m in Iberville. Can you come? Just off Bienville.”
“I’ll bring food.”
“Thanks, frère.” Help. He had help on the way. He was just too damned tired to do it alone. Again.
Thirty minutes later he was dressed and had explored every inch of his mate’s some-time home. There were a few clothes, and some medical supplies that were still usable, but that was about all.
The smell of hot, deep-fried goodness reached him before the scent of his brother, and seconds later, Sebastien knocked on the door.
“Lord, Bubba. Smells like burned hair and fighting down the road.”
“Shit. He tased me, I think.” He rubbed the spot on his chest that still burned.
“Ow.” Sebastien came to him and they rubbed cheeks, greeting each other. The scenting comforted him.
“I just got him back, Bastien. I can’t hear him.”
“When did it happen? How long?”
“This morning. Just a few hours.”
“Okay. Eat, we’ll start searching.”
He tore into the Po’ Boy sandwich, the crunch and drip of it satisfying the need to rip something up.
Sebastien searched the place, sniffing, then his head tilted, a curious sound on the air.
“What?” He didn’t scent anything but p
ain and rage.
“I know that scent, Bubba.” Sebastien’s voice was full of confusion.
“What? What scent? Who?” He would tear them apart with his bare hands.
“I... Let me.” Sebastien pulled his boots off, his shirt.
“My wolf will know.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Bastien had good control as a wolf. He wouldn’t eat Rene’s neighbors.
The pants came off and then the air shimmered around Bastien, the big gray staring at him, then that nose went to the floor.
He waited, impatient, wanting to know what Sebastien was smelling.
His brother looked at him, then shook his head, coming back to himself. “It’s a human about to change. Someone new. He was hanging around the pack, sniffing, and the guys ran him off before I could stop him. Kid needed help, not biting.”
“Shit. Shit, that means he could be a ticking time bomb.
Can you follow his scent?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you come with me. I’ll play puppy. You tell anyone and I’ll bite your balls off.”
“Nope. Not a word.” Sebastien was such a weirdo about his wolf.
“Bring my clothes for when I need them.” Then, poof, his brother was fuzzy, sniffing hard, heading right for the door.
Barthe followed with a bag full of supplies and clothes for all three of them. He could trail Bastien easily in man form. He would know his brother’s scent at a landfill.
Bastien headed down the stairs as soon as he opened the door, moving at a lope.
Jogging, Barthe kept an eye out for cops, or for anyone who might think Bastien was a wolf and not just a shaggy dog.
They had way more on their plates, though, and Barthe found himself baring his teeth himself, warning off anyone who came too close. He had to find his mate and protect his brother. No small task.
Maybe he’d get to eat the asshole who’d tased him. That would make him laugh and laugh.
They moved fast as lightning, Bastien moving up one set of stairs, then another. On one landing there was the scent of Rene marking, strong and unmistakable. Good boy.
Before they knew it, Barthe could smell his boy again, if not hear him.
Bastien offered a sharp bark and they headed into an alleyway, the warehouses on either side storm damaged and deserted. There. He scented the acrid odor of fear, of desperation.
