Derrick hadn't moved since ordering that they leave. Christian sighed and set his napkin on the table. "Should I take this to the kitchen, or…?" He gestured to his dirty dishes.
Emma looked up from her tablet. Her pale, pretty face was perfectly framed by her glossy hair. She wore the dark locks down again today. "Of course not," she said with a slight twang. "Aren't ya just adorable," she said without actually sounding as if she meant it. She glanced behind Christian dismissively and looked at Derrick. "Baby, make sure you take a jacket, in case it rains."
Christian choked in his efforts to not laugh out loud. Was this Bizarro World, where a grown man couldn't be expected to even check the weather before he left the house?
Derrick stomped the remaining distance and practically ripped Christian up from his chair and out of the room.
"How old are you?" Christian asked when they were further away from the dining room.
"Twenty-eight," Derrick nearly growled back.
Hm. Older. He'd thought they were the same age, but Derrick had three years on him.
"Why are you asking?"
"Do they know that?" Christian asked with a backward nod.
"She worries," he said defensively. "Moms do that."
Christian looked away. A maid approached Derrick with a jacket. He supposed maybe moms did do that. Things like that were easy to forget, and it wasn't as if his father had stepped up to take the role.
"Hey, sorry," Derrick said, stopping to lean down and catch Christian's downcast gaze. "That was dickish of me."
Christian smirked. If Derrick started to apologize for that, he'd never stop.
"Accidentally dickish," Derrick amended. "Can I get you a coffee to replace the one you left behind?"
Half an hour later Christian sat in the passenger seat of Derrick's shiny black Impala as they drove down the driveway off of the Robichaud compound. He held a—blessedly paper--cup of coffee that they'd gotten from the huge kitchen at the mansion.
Christian's hands were finally steady again. Only now had he realized that part of his nerves before hadn't been the easily breakable coffee cup at all. He'd been worried, anxious that after their sexual encounter, Derrick's attitude would have changed toward him. Simply being near him soothed his nerves. Being away from the prying eyes of his family didn't hurt either
"Where were you?" Christian asked without preamble, sliding is coffee cup into the cup holder.
Derrick leaned back in the car, having just put in the code to open the gates. "My father and I run in the mornings. It is a leftover alpha tradition from the old days when the alpha couldn't just call a pack member."
"I waited for more than an hour."
"Well, we run the bayou."
Christian tried to do the math in his head, that was a lot of miles. "The whole thing?"
"No, just about half of it. The parts where our pack inhabits."
Christian had always thought he was a good runner, apparently not compared to Derrick. "You run it while in your… other shape?"
Derrick looked at him oddly for a moment. "Yeah, we run in our shifter form, our wolf form. Much faster that way."
"Hm." Christian made a noncommittal noise.
"I went right back to your room, you know," Derrick murmured.
"That's good to know."
Derrick pulled the Impala to the side of the road, spraying up bits of gravel and dirt. "Dammit, Christian."
Before Christian could protest, Derrick vaulted from his seat. He held Christian's head in his large hands and kissed him.
It was a rough kiss that bordered on painful and was exactly what Christian needed. He responded immediately, kissing back, lurching forward to press against him only to be held back by his seat belt.
Too soon, Derrick pulled back, panting. "How do you get under my skin so easily?" he asked, though it sounded rhetorical.
Christian blinked out of his kiss-induced haze. "Where are we going? To the Babineaux headquarters?"
Derrick's hands jerked on the wheel as he brought them off the side of the road again. "No. Why would you ask that?"
Christian eyed him. "Because of what you said? To your dad?"
He visibly relaxed. "No, I thought I would take you to a few of the fisheries first."
Christian sighed. Secrets were necessary. Christian had kept a few of his own, especially from the people back at home. But here, he was almost completely in the dark. "You haven't told me what is going on, Derrick. Not entirely. I understand you are a shifter, like Finn's friend, I accept that."
Derrick growled softly at the mention of Finn.
"Apparently there are a lot of shifters in this country. Or maybe I'm just the lucky one to be a shifter magnet?" he said sarcastically.
"There are more of us than most people realize. And you are lucky. You found me." He flashed Christian a smile that was all teeth.
"Mmhmm. You keep an awful lot of secrets, Derrick Antoine Robichaud, the Third."
"I am of a secret race."
"Valid point."
Derrick reached over and casually took Christian's hand in his. He made no comment on the action but did attempt to describe to Christian all of the missing pieces in his shifter knowledge base. Christian tried not to get distracted by how nice and warm his hand felt—he was not a teenager for God's sake—and pay attention instead to what Derrick was telling him. More like, what he wasn't saying. No mention of the Babineaux family's current role in everything.
"Wolf shifters live in packs, most of them anyway. Safer that way, and we are a social sort."
"Wolf shifters? There are other types?" Christian hadn't even thought about the possibility.
"Oh sure. I've personally met bear shifters, tiger shifters and—"
"Lion shifters?" Christian suggested, smiling.
Derrick lifted a single eyebrow. Apparently, he wasn't a Wizard of Oz fan.
Derrick pulled down a short, gravel driveway. At the end was a sign that read, Robichaud Crawdad Fishery.
He cut the engine about thirty feet away. The fishery was low tech, that was for sure. It wasn't much more than a little shed and a tall A-frame structure that had ropes, cages and buoys hung on hooks, and a cement floor. There were probably a handful of workers, and they all stopped, at first curious to see who was coming and then, once the recognized who it was, a little scared. All but one of the workers suddenly found things to do inside the shed.
"Why do they look so nervous?" Christian asked.
Derrick looked at him like he'd asked a very obvious question. "Because the boss is coming?"
Christian rolled his eyes. "Exactly, the boss, not the king. They act like you are riding up about to enlist their youngest sons into war or choose their prettiest maiden for your harem."
Derrick made a face. "Not into maidens. Besides, I'll be the alpha of this pack, they know that. Alphas are different than bosses."
Christian thought about that for a minute. "When we go up, why don't you try complimenting them on their work? Be friendly. Approachable."
"What? Why?"
They were nearly there now. "Who am I again? Oh yeah, your PR adviser and I am advising you to compliment these poor people that go home every day smelling like fish so that you can sleep in your own wing." He'd gotten animated while speaking, flinging his hands around in pointed gestures.
The remaining worker under the A-frame stifled a laugh. Did everyone around him have super-hearing?
Metal bins filled the rickety A-frame. Christian smelled the crawfish before he saw them, lobster looking things with mean claws.
"Good lookin' haul," Derrick barked, startling Christian so much he jumped.
A moment later, Christian realized that that was Derrick's compliment. Christian stepped up to one of the bins, looking down at the squirming pile. The fisherman next to him had brown hair that looked like it was the consistency of cotton candy. His face had the beginnings of sun wrinkles.
"Hello," Christian started the introductions. "My na
me is Christian McGannon, PR rep."
The man stuck his hand out. "Name's Pete. I've worked here at this fishery since I was old enough to see over the side of the bin."
Christian noticed the pride in Pete's voice and the caution. He didn't trust Derrick being here, that was for sure. Christian took Pete's outstretched hand and shook it, noticing when he did that the fisherman was missing the tip of his middle finger.
"Must be hard to flip off the boss with that bit gone," Christian said with a smile.
Pete's eyes flitted over to Derrick and then back to Christian. "I—"
Christian deliberately shifted over, a bold move since it effectively blocked Derrick out of the conversation. He'd wondered if Derrick would even allow it to happen, but apparently, he trusted Christian enough to step back and stay behind him. Christian leaned toward the fisherman conspiratorially. "I know, last time I tried to flip him off, it didn't end well." He leaned down, almost touching the mass of crawdads. "Maybe I could let one of these guys just pinch my other fingers off so I can say it was an accident?"
Pete laughed. His cotton candy hair bobbed. "I reckon that may work," he said with a thick accent, but a clear, melodic tone.
"You have a great speaking voice. Do you sing?" Christian asked on a hunch.
The fisherman stood a little straighter. "Have you heard of my band? We play country night every Wednesday at the Crab Shack."
"No, I've never been to the Crab Shack, but I think now I will have to."
The fisherman gave him a genuine smile and then called the other workers over from where they'd scurried, fixing lines and looking over equipment.
"Actually," Pete continued. "We're all in the band together. Been working here, pack brothers and jamming together for as long as I can remember."
Christian sat down on a dirty wooden work bench. Derrick moved to his side. "Really? Do you have time for a song?
Chapter 10
Derrick turned the ignition an hour later. The Impala purred to life.
"Those are really, really nice guys," Christian said, leaning a little closer to him than he had during the first part of the day in the car. The crawfish fishermen had taken to him like a long-lost relative. Soon, they were singing old country songs and taking shots of moonshine. Derrick had felt like a pariah. He'd been outraged at first, it was business hours after all. And what would happen if one of them got too drunk and tried to do something that got them injured? He'd hung back, though, enjoying watching Christian do what Christian did best, put people at ease and make friends
They still had other places to go, though, so Derrick had cut the party very short, and after he had given the fishermen all the day off, they promised to make double the quota the next day. That had never happened to him before, employees offering more work without being urged to.
Now, if his suspicions were correct, Christian was just a little bit tipsy. Moonshine was rough. Derrick had woken with many a hangover caused by too much singing combined with too much moonshine.
"Pete is really undervalued, I think. In that band? With that voice? Don't you agree?" Christian asked him. He'd grabbed Derrick's free hand and held it in the small amount of space between them.
Derrick hadn't thought once to pull it away.
"I had no idea Pete could sing," Derrick said. The honest truth was that he had no idea the guy's name was even Pete. He hadn't not known the man. Pete had worked that fishery when Derrick was a kid.
Derrick had always known he could come off as a bit of an asshole, but it wasn't until meeting Christian that he realized how big of one he was.
"We should go and watch him perform next week," Christian said, nuzzling nearer to him.
The fact that Christian was making plans for next week shouldn't have made Derrick as happy and relieved as it did. "Sure, we can do that." Derrick leaned into Christian, loving his perfect balance of strength and warmth.
Christian let go of his hand and immediately placed his palm high on Derrick's thigh.
"What are you doing?" Derrick asked, a warning note in his voice.
Christian leaned his head on Derrick's shoulder and looked up at him. He batted his eyes. "Nothing," he said while massaging Derrick's crotch through the jeans. Derrick's cock sprung to life at his touch. He bit back a hiss. Things were quickly becoming very tight in his pants.
"That is very dangerous," Derrick said, doing his damned best to keep the car on the road and not careening into a ditch. "We'll be the talk of the town. Alpha's son slams into tree while being fondled."
"Hmm, I think you are already the talk of the town, with or without the road head."
Derrick choked.
Christian reached for his zipper and pulled it down.
"Christian, baby, you are drunk. I don't want to take advantage of you."
Christian scoffed. "I'm not drunk, I'm buzzed. So shut up and let me swallow your cock."
How was he expected to refuse a demand like that? He leaned back, tightening his hands on the wheel. He would not drive them into the ditch, he would not drive them into the ditch.
Christian reached his hand down the front of Derrick's pants. From his pocket, there was a vibration and a succinct series of beeps. "Fuck, my phone."
"Ignore it."
Derrick felt the exhalation of Christian's words on the tip of his penis. Then, he felt Christian's tongue swipe the tip of his cock, licking off the pre-cum that had gathered there and he nearly did just as Christian ordered.
But, not many people had his number. If they were calling, it was likely a pack emergency.
"I have to take this, one second." He swiped the screen. The caller id only said, 'Unknown.'
"Yeah?"
"Derrick, what took you so long to answer?" The senior Derrick's no-nonsense tone shattered the moment.
"I'm driving," Derrick replied smoothly. Christian tried to slide from him and back to his side of the seat, mostly likely sensing the change in his mood, but Derrick held the cell with his shoulder and clamped an arm around Christian, keeping him by his side.
"Good. Drive over to the old bar on the edge of the Babineaux border. I got a call that there is some trouble there with some pack of punks."
"Why should I? That's for the Babineaux pack to deal with."
"Son, do as I say, as a sign of good faith. You haven't exactly instilled a lot of trust lately, I need it to be you, and I need it to be now."
Derrick bit back any response he had. He knew by now, what his father wanted, he got. By manipulation and coercion if need be. He was aware that their relationship was changing, transforming into something that maybe his father wasn't quite comfortable with yet. Derrick wasn't the irresponsible high school punk he'd been, nor was he the college frat president who'd taken endless risks because life back then didn't seem to have real consequences. He was an alpha poised to take over his father's position.
And, yes, he'd just gotten back from a bender that landed him across the country with little memory as to how he'd gotten there. That didn't mean he wasn't fully committed. More so now with Christian by his side to advise him.
He'd show his commitment and then maybe his father would trust him enough to lead the pack instead of making shady deals with the Babineaux pack. "Got it," he said to his father and then hung up. "We've got to cut this tour short for now," Derrick told Christian.
Christian must have heard something in Derrick's voice because he tried to pull away, but Derrick kept his arm draped over him.
"Is there something going on?" Christian asked, the drink already seemed to be clearing from his head.
"I don't have a lot of information right now. We'll know more once we get there." He turned onto the highway that headed north, out of the safety of Robichaud territory and straight to the Babineaux border. Despite the peace treaty that his father had in place with the Babineaux alpha, the hairs on the back of Derrick's neck stood up straighter the further north he went. His wolf paced and growled. His entire life he'd been told one
thing, always one unbreakable rule, never stray north—not alone and never, ever unless you were looking for trouble.
Christian remained by his side but was so quiet, Derrick grew suspicious. When Derrick finally pulled into the gravel parking lot, his teeth were on edge. He was ready for a fight and a fuck.
He turned to Christian, finally releasing the arm he had over him. "Will you stay here?" he asked. In the car, Christian could be safe.
Christian's scoff was annoyingly expected. He opened the passenger side door and slid out.
Derrick hurried around, happy that at least it wasn't a restaurant where families with children could be present. Honestly, he didn't know how the Babineaux alpha managed his pack up here. Derrick strode across the deceptively quiet parking lot. He reached the old chipped wooden door with peeling painted letters and swung it open.
It was like popping the cork on a bottle of champagne. He'd stepped right in the middle of a bar brawl that looked nowhere near to ending. His first instinct was to shut the door and move Christian to the side of the building, away from danger.
"Stay here, or you are fired," he said.
"It looked bad in there," Christian said warily.
Good. If Christian was wary, then he would be careful. "Just stay here until I calm it down. I can't be effective in there if I am worried about you."
Something odd flitted over Christian's features, but Derrick had no time to decipher it. He went back through the bar door, doing his best to see exactly what was going on. His father had mentioned a pack of punks, but Derrick didn't know the Babineaux pack members well enough to point them out. They all looked like punks to Derrick. He searched for a face he recognized in the mess of flying chairs, breaking glass and violent bodies.
It would be more likely that someone recognized him in this mess first.
Some young guy with a silver lip ring and a bloody nose charged at him from the side. Derrick stepped back smoothly, kicking the man forward as he missed Derrick completely and slammed into a pile of tables and chairs. The guy groaned and rolled to his side.
The room was the visual definition of mayhem. Derrick mostly wanted to join in, get a few good punches in, maybe get punched himself. But he had Christian to think about and the pack. His father sent him for a reason. If Derrick waited for the fight to calm naturally, the place would be torn down by then.
Wolf's Mate Mpreg Romance Box Set Page 23
