SixBarkPackTabooMobi

by Carys Weldon

  It took Tommy to connect the dots for me, but that came later.

  He knew, though. Barklay. Maybe it was in the back of his mind, lurking around in the shadowy corners. But my looks, even my first name had made him squint. Oh, I don’t think he placed me right off, but there was some definite ‘heads up’ going on, making him think he had to get rid of me.

  And then I pulled my stunt in the car.

  So I took a drink, handed it back, and asked, “Did somebody take our picture?” Like I could’ve mistaken the blinding flash or the chaos that had ensued.

  “Yeah.” He set down the glass, pulled out his smokes, lit up, glanced toward the door. “Don’t worry. Spit’ll get him.”

  “Spit?” That made me smile. “Great name.” What was it with garou bitches and the labels they slapped on the heads of their pups? Jeez.

  He shrugged, “His real name’s Nick. I just call him Spit.” He chuckled. I could tell he was tight, though.

  And I noticed that he didn’t seem to want to pounce me any more. That kind of worried me. I mean, that’s why he brought me to his place. Right? And my pants were ripped open, so I know my scent was wide out there.

  I had to ask, “So...what’s up?”

  “Not much.” Certainly not his cock anymore.

  “You tore my pants.”

  He sucked hard on his cig, blew it out his nose. “Yeah, I know.” He was waiting, I guess, for Nick to come back.

  Tired of the sleepy act, I pushed myself up. Honestly, I was wondering if he had anything good I could take. When Leo and Tommy caught up with us, I didn’t want to be totally coherent. And there’s only so much acting you can do.

  To tell you the truth, I really wanted to feel Barklay inside of me again. Never really had the urge to do the same guy twice. That was all new. I didn’t quite get it. I mean, he was a garou. I shouldn’t be interested in him at all. And vice versa.

  There was just something plain wrong about it. He’d been right in the car.

  And I didn’t know just how wrong it was--for him. I mean, CEO of the most racist organization on the planet and he’s screwing me, a bastet? He was obviously fucked up.

  At least, I didn’t know who he was or what he stood for, so I wasn’t as much out of line as he was. Right?

  Not even knowing all that, I wondered what the hell he’d been doing down in the lane in the first place.

  “Why would someone want a picture of who you brought home? Who you’re with?”

  He flinched. “Who the fuck knows?” He flicked, stubbed into the ashtray. “Doesn’t matter. Nick’ll get him.”

  The noise died down outside--really quick, actually.

  But Nick never returned.

  Barklay started to pace. I got a little worried. Finally, I suggested, “Why don’t you go look for him? It’s obvious you’re not gonna relax until you--”

  Bark rested his hands on his hips. I noticed that he wasn’t as oblivious to me and my scent as I’d thought. Bulging submarine in his pants--rising. Maybe that’s why he’d been pacing? Working off some of that energy that was building up.

  Hating to go at me again, in case Nick needed him? Or all was not right out there? Nobody came to make a report.

  It goes to show...he wasn’t pussy-whipped. I know I couldn’t have held him by that alone. Not that night, anyway.

  “I don’t want to leave you.” It came out on a huff, straightforward.

  “Why not? I’m not going anywhere.”

  Really, I wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t know how far, exactly, I was from town. Or what was between here and there. I wasn’t going anywhere until I figured out that much. But yeah, I was already thinking about escaping. And two, my pants were hardly in one piece. I’d be dragging a scent trail a mile wide. I didn’t want a bunch of bitches howling after my path--on top of the other dogs that were out there.

  I needed some space, time to think about why I would want a garou twice in a row--when I never wanted any man more than once.

  He clenched his fists, debating. In the end, he shook his head, and said, “Nah. I’ll wait.”

  Patient? That was not really a dog trait, as far as I knew. I mean, cats could wait and watch their prey for hours before pouncing, picking the moment. Wolves aren’t really good at that.

  It wasn’t patience holding him back. It was the sure knowledge that the wolves would smell me from a mile away. He didn’t tell me that. I figured it out on my own.

  I had to wonder...why would he do that? Bring me to a place where his kin would know...?

  There is no way he could have suspected that I’d show up in the lane that night. So, I never thought that he’d been laying a trap for me. I don’t care what anyone else believes.

  But something was up. He was fighting the urge to climb on me again.

  I put my knees together, slid a hand between my thighs. Getting a bit of draft down there. You know?

  Watching him, I said, “You’re prowling like a cat.” Smiled. Tried to get a reaction.

  He stopped. Went to the door and opened it, stepped out. “Spit?”

  That’s when I heard a gurgling whine.

  Bark spat, “Shit,” and over his shoulder. To me, he said, “Stay put.”

  I know the sounds of a dying animal when I hear it, and the scent of the guy’s blood carried straight to my nose. I balled up a little, wishing Bark had shut the door before running off. But--he didn’t go very far, I guess. A minute later he lugged Spit inside, kicked the door shut, and asked, “What happened?”

  Yeah. The poor guy wasn’t gonna die in peace before he told Bark his story.

  I tried not to be interested, but I found myself up on my knees, looking over the couch--getting hungry.

  Sorry. Animals are like that. Smell of blood. The healthy dying. Watch the Discovery Channel. That’s nature.

  Bark growled, “Who was it?”

  Chapter Four

  I guess Barklay hadn’t looked either when the flash went off. Was too concerned about protecting my identity, covering my face.

  Nick spit, “Lupe Press.”

  You may have heard of them. It’s a division of the AP. Broadcast on their own satellite these days. Cover politics, anything gangland, and society. Nothing else. Certainly no heartwarming little fuzzy stories. Mostly garou stuff. I never watched their broadcasts--ever. Though, my dad and brothers did regularly.

  Bark groaned. “You get the camera?”

  “No,” Nick downright gurgled at the lips. He’d been slashed across the chest. He muttered, “Crinosed in a split, Bark.” It was gross to see his bloody hand pawing at Barklay. Not because of the blood. Because of the desperation in it. I didn’t understand what he meant when he said, “Fucking unnatural.”

  I have to say...a lot of bastet and garou can go crinos in a split second. But, as far as I know, we don’t create unnaturals. Maybe we do. If we do, they don’t hang out in our side of town.

  My Daddy taught me not to bite. So I don’t really know. I sure as hell never met one.

  You hear all kinds of stories about the garou, though. Who knows what is true? And who can keep Hollywood’s version straight from the real world? I can’t.

  But I knew one thing; unnaturals were their bitten relatives. The werewolves they make movies about. The ones made from normal mortals who are dumb enough to walk alone on full moon nights.

  It was not a full moon night. There was no way any unnatural that I’d ever heard of could have been slashing like a wolf. Just couldn’t happen.

  I didn’t know about the DNA experiments, and other shit the garou were up to. Not then, anyway. You’ll have to read about that somewhere else, though.

  My curiosity got the better of me. I climbed off the couch and slunk over to take a better look at Nick. Sniff around a little. You know?

  Nick said, “I got him, though. He’ll be leaving a trail.”

  Howls went up about then, so obviously any wolves that had been gathering at the scent of me took off on the new trai
l. I swear, they’re damn carnivores. Snicker.

  Bark looked a little upset. I think it was the pawing, too, bothering him, because Nick was spitting up blood, and suddenly writhing. On closer inspection, I could see a claw print the size of an elephant’s foot splayed out over his chest. It had ripped into his stomach and the upper part of his colon. It didn’t take him long to die.

  But that kind of left me in an awkward position.

  Comfort Bark? Stay quiet? Ask if I could eat? Tell him to throw the guy out?

  The blood was going to my brain. The smell of it, anyway.

  My belly was squalling on its own. I held my lips together and sucked air in from the sides, through gritted teeth. I wanted to shift, eat natural. But then again, I didn’t want to show my true self.

  Nick. Spit. Whatever you want to call him, sucked in his last, and Bark pried his fingers loose, laid him on the floor, looking over his wound. I thought the claw mark was too big. Bigger than Bark’s would have been, even. And that’s massive.

  Finally, I had to ask, “What are you gonna do?”

  “Nothing, at the moment.”

  We stared at the body for several minutes, neither of us moving at all. Guess he got over his attachment pretty fast, because he asked, “Hungry?”

  It was pretty funny. I mean...why waste a good meal?

  But I still had the dilemma of staying a lady or not. I wasn’t sure if he’d like the other side of me. I didn’t know what to say.

  Cut and dried, he told me, “I’ll throw him out if you want me to.”

  I screwed up my face, tipped my head sideways and looked down at Nick. “Were you good friends?”

  That made him laugh.

  “Not that good, puss. Have at him.”

  But he didn’t back up. And I wasn’t sure if it was some sort of trick, or what. I mean, I’m out in B.F.E.--Bum Fuck Egypt--Timbuktu or someplace like that--I don’t any more than climb out of the car and then some guy is attacked, and offered to me on a virtual platter. But I’m in some garou place. I don’t know the customs, but I’m pretty sure that showing my cat tail was asking for trouble that I couldn’t handle.

  And eating their relatives...? Didn’t sound like a smart move.

  Just what I needed--to get in the middle of a feeding frenzy and be pounced by a bunch of murderous wolf types. At least in my human form, I figured I could appeal to the manhood in them. You know, tease’em. Buy my way out with sexual favors. In feline? All they were gonna wanna do was eat me alive, and not the way Barklay had done.

  The thought of that had me torn.

  I know that an animal is an animal. The scent of blood gets us...feral. When it comes down to the bottom line, we only have a few basic instincts: eat, copulate, equals survival. Not necessarily in that order. In fact, I’m sure that my own desire to get jiggy is stronger than my other hunger.

  Still, I closed my eyes, let the smell of the blood climb up inside my head. Downright light-heads ya. I tried to concentrate, to keep from shifting.

  “What’s it like for you?” I had to ask him. “I mean, when I smell blood--”

  Bark chuckled.

  Then he pounced me. Leaped right over his buddy, rolled me to the floor. Took me by complete surprise. In a squealing tumble, that included some claws, and some definite wrestling before we ended up with him on top of me, completely locking my backside to the floor, he growled real sexy-like, “It makes me hungry.”

  The man knows how to devour. That’s all I can say. Appeals right to your center being. Or mine anyway.

  And maybe you don’t like being held down, feeling helpless, but I get off on it. That might be because cats tend to pounce around, too light on their feet. Real acrobats, ya know? It’s all a lambada. Squealing salsa.

  But garou...they’re solid. At least, Bark is. Makes you feel completely...surrounded. He’s all over you, in you, blocking everything else out. Creating a whole new world.

  It’s great to feel...encompassed, protected. Guess I never felt like that before.

  Funny, huh? I mean, Daddy’s compound should make me feel like that but it just--what? Caged me.

  This was different. Voluntary.

  It might look to you as if I were a prisoner, but I never felt like I was.

  Because, as much as he consumed me, I felt some gentleness in the firm grips. And, actually, when he had me, there on the floor, he stopped for breath and said, “I don’t want to let you up.” Like he would, if I insisted.

  “I wasn’t asking you to.”

  “No. I mean--I don’t want you to run away.”

  To leave him? That confused me. “What do you mean?”

  I wondered if he’d connected my name, my reputation. Not that I thought garou paid that much attention to bastet aristocracy and their offspring. Boy, was I wrong on that! And yeah, I thought you figured that out already. My Daddy was somebody. I don’t like to talk about that, though. It’s not who I am.

  Bark settled down on me, forcing my legs apart, making me cradle him, shifted around until he was totally comfortable. Wrinkled his nose once or twice, while he looked over my chest, totally nosed around the edge of the corset top before he looked up at my face and said, “You run. I chase. K?”

  I frowned. I knew that wasn’t real smart. I mean, he’s a friggin’ dog. Everybody knows what happens when a dog chases a cat. Right? I tried to read his mind.

  Not that I could. Part of me wanted to think he wasn’t talking about hunting me down...in the literal sense of the word. You know--that he meant...like Leo and Tommy did, always came after me, fished me out of the trouble I found. But I wasn’t sure. It didn’t sound like a threat.

  He rocked his cock into me. “K?”

  Annoyed, I said, “K,” but I didn’t like agreeing to something I didn’t quite get.

  He kissed my puss. In fact, he took a lot of time kissing me. You know, kissed me once, looked at the spot, kissed me again right in the same place. Then, tipped his head, found another spot. Did the same thing again and again. Over and over. So long I forgot about the dead body in the corner.

  Experimenting?

  At first, I kept trying to kiss him back--throw a pucker up here and there, try to snatch his lips. Then I realized that he was ignoring me, completely and totally intense on his little private game. It took me a bit to get it.

  He systematically covered me with kisses. One side, then the other. High. Low. On my nose. Temple to temple. All along my jaw line.

  And, oh, when he went down under my ears...trailing kisses and a few tongue flicks toward my breasts, I thought I was gonna die. I mean, I was totally squirming under him.

  See what he did to me, does to me, every time? Has me writhing beneath him.

  He used his teeth to pull the bow of lacing loose on the corset. Yeah, he had to tug a few times. I loved it. Thought, Gaia fucking sexy. Then he just nudged the top with his nose, let his tongue slip under the edge of it.

  My hands were on his shoulders. We were fully dressed. And I had never been so hot in my life. Except maybe back in the car with him.

  After all my years teasing men, I knew what a tease really was. No wonder they clawed after me.

  No wonder he had me at the first hooded glance. I didn’t know if I was coming or going, but I knew I wanted to come more than anything else.

  Did I mention that a garou tongue is about as long as anything you’ve ever seen? Not that I was looking. I was too busy groaning with my eyes closed. But I felt that marvelous wonder of his work its way at an angle under the leather shirt to tingle-touch my nipple. Yeah. Tingle-touch. That arousing, almost makes you want to giggle, you can’t hardly stand it, type of tease?

  First one. Then the other. Return to the first. Lave a little longer in its flick and lick until they were both puckered up, begging to be sucked. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more. I reached up between us, and yanked the sides of the corset completely wide, begging, “Oh, my Gaia, get to it!”

  He chuckled, pushed my b
reasts up--but damn if he didn’t do anything but lie like that, just enjoying the feel of my skin against his nose.

  I groaned. Boxed him in the ears.

  Not hard. Just enough to get his attention. To bring his head up.

  I tipped my head up, too, and looked him in the eye. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

  He grinned. Now, let me tell you something about Barklay’s face. It’s pleasant. Not pointy. Not flat. Nicely rounded features. His lips aren’t fat, but they aren’t skinny. Same with his nose. In human, he just looks...happy. Like he was made to make you feel good.

  Maybe it’s because with me, he’s in his own little heaven. Or I see him that way because he makes me feel like I’ve gone and lost myself in tongue-fucking nirvana. Whatever.

  There’s a light in his eyes. I feel like it shines just for me. That he wonders how he got so lucky--every time he looks at my face.

  Honestly, he said, “You make me crazy. It’s only fair.”

  “Could have fooled me.” I couldn’t tell I was making him crazy. I mean, his whole body had been very still--just his tongue and head moving.

  The growl rose up from down in his groin. I felt it roll up between us. He asked, rather dangerously, “Don’t taunt me into showing you how crazy I feel. I’m trying to make this pleasant.”

  I felt like I’d had my whiskers popped. Confused. I ‘pussed’ my lips.

  Bark growled again, rocked into me so he could reach my mouth with his.

  I have never been kissed like what he does. I mean, I never know what he’s gonna do next. Hard kiss, soft kiss. Tongue. Eat me alive. Always leaves me guessing. And every time I think I know how to meet him in the middle, he changes on me.

  It’s good and it’s bad.

  Makes him happy to know he’s got me like that. I know, because he chuckles every time he sees that look in my eyes. I stopped asking, “What the hell are you doing? I can’t keep up.” Or... “I don’t know how to--” Cut off with another kiss. Or the damn flick of a tongue to my nose.

  He totally enjoys himself at my expense.