Wolf in Sheep's Clothing (Big Bad Wolf)

by Charlie Adhara

  “How’d that go?” Park asked mildly, despite the intense curiosity in his eyes.

  “We gossiped about you. It was super fun,” Cooper said. He was in a much better mood than before. Sometime during the test taking his headache had faded and now that the AQ was behind him entirely (for the last time, please and thank you), he felt very light and optimistic. “Did you find it?”

  Park gestured for Cooper to follow him and led him around the lodge and down the hill. The back of the building also had a large porch overlooking the lake, this one at second-floor level. Underneath was a gravel patio thick with pebbles, as if it had been replenished recently. Against the wall of the lodge, in shadow, was a bike rack with a few old-looking mountain bikes, a covered grill and a metal door painted dark green.

  Park flourished his hand, looking pleased. “May I present the utility room and Kreuger’s office?”

  “Good hunting,” Cooper said, impressed. “Did you already start looking?”

  “I thought I’d wait for you.” Park winked. “What do you say, a little B and E for this week’s activi-we?” Cooper groaned and Park opened the door. It let out a long squeal of rusty hinges that got lost in the constant roar of the falls. “That and if someone interrupts us, I can think of about fifteen more alibis for two people to be hiding down here than for one person.”

  “Only fifteen? Maybe we should hit up the intimacy talk tomorrow after all,” Cooper said, walking into the utility room and neatly sidestepping Park’s hand reaching out to slap his ass with a laugh.

  Inside, it was dark and all Cooper could really see were large square shapes and a rack of rakes, shovels and hoes by the door where the slightest sunshine could reach. The smell of old cut grass was strong and there was a persistent humming sound in the room.

  Park’s dark form eased past him and found a pull-chain. A single bare light bulb lit the room and Cooper blinked, adjusting. On his right, the large square shapes—the source of the humming—appeared to be the electrical boxes for heating/AC units, and generators in case of power failure for the lodge. The other side of the room had a mess of landscaping equipment: a lawn mower, leaf blower, sacks and sacks of mulch, sand and ice melt. Along the wall, mostly fallen to the concrete floor, were miscellaneous items. A single plastic kayak oar. An empty, crusty birdfeeder. A metal sign that said Danger. Swim at your own risk.

  Cooper gave them all a careful going-over, then followed Park into the back of the room behind the electrics. Here there was a rudimentary metal desk covered in papers, eons away from the sleek oak piece in Dr. Joyce’s office. Along the back of the wall were a couple of wall-mounted cupboards, a free-standing metal sink splattered with white paint, a mini-fridge with a microwave balanced precariously on top and another dark green metal door that must have led into the lodge.

  “You try that?” Cooper asked, pointing at the door.

  “Locked,” Park said. He was going through the cupboards, and over his shoulder Cooper could see an equally grim interior. One bowl. One mug. An open box of cheap tea bags. A spoon. Pantry-type foods that never got used and never got thrown away.

  “Christ, I’ve seen city dorm rooms less depressing than this.”

  “Let’s say he really did go off the grid. Maybe he took all the good stuff with him.” Park held up a cardboard container of breadcrumbs and shook them at Cooper. “The real question is, do you think these lead anywhere?”

  Cooper gave him a look. “And you told Dr. Joyce I’m the one that can’t take things seriously. Slander and lies.” He sat in the wheely chair behind the desk and pulled open a drawer. It was empty aside from some masking tape and pens, but when he closed it the unstable desk tilted with a jerk and a large stack of papers from the top scattered to the floor.

  Cursing, Cooper bent down to regather the papers, going through them at the same time. Most of them were old bills in Kreuger’s name and a few receipts where the landscaping items were circled in pen. But one credit card statement caught his eye. It was from March of that year and issued to Vanessa Claymont. Underlined in the same blue pen that had so diligently circled bags of mulch and weed killer was a payment of $595.50 to someplace called Iaso Supply. Sorting through the papers still on the desk, Cooper found five more statements for Vanessa Claymont. Each with an underlined $595.50 payment to the same company.

  “Have you ever heard of a place called Iaso Supply?”

  “No,” Park said, checking the fridge. “But Iaso’s the Greek goddess of cures and stuff like that. They might sell medical supplies.”

  Cooper looked back at him, startled. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “I said I like folklore, mythology, all that. Used to be pretty obsessed as a kid, actually, tracing the ways wolf and human lore overlap.”

  Cooper filed that away in his treasured Facts About Park that Surprise and Delight Me drawer and held up the card statements. “Any clue what a couple’s counselor would need from a medical supply company?”

  Park scanned the documents, frowning. “Based on our session? A helluva lot of lavender.”

  Together they slowly started going through the rest of the papers and drawers.

  “Tell me about Kreuger,” Cooper said, skimming through an old bill. “What was he like?”

  Park shot him a look. “I’d hardly say I knew him. I just met him that once and it wasn’t what you’d call a social visit. You probably have as good a grasp on his psychology as I do, from going through his drawers.”

  “You went there, to CT, to remove him as alpha, right? Because he was a bad leader?”

  “He was a dick,” Park said bluntly. “He was a bully who only wanted to lead over others to make himself feel important. He teased offers of security, pack, shared resources, but then kept everyone around him struggling, just enough to need him. To not be able to walk away. You’d almost be better off with the rebels.”

  “And your family didn’t like that?” Cooper asked tentatively.

  Park shrugged. “I know what you’re thinking. They’re hardly leading figures of morality. But the fact is, long term, we’re only as strong as our weakest member. Just like any other group or system. Kreuger believed otherwise. Or maybe he just didn’t care about long-term success, only that he could keep living the way he wanted in that moment. Feeling that little extra bit taller by standing on top of those around him.”

  They continued to sort quietly, with nothing but the rustle of papers between them for a moment. When Park spoke again, he sounded very matter-of-fact. “So one day the Shepherd showed up. Told him he was unfit to be a leader and no longer welcome in our territory. He could agree and leave. Or he could choose to fight. He fought.” Park shook his head. “I don’t know why. He must have known how it would go. But he was arrogant and he lost.”

  “Muñoz said Kreuger was different after. Like he wasn’t an alpha anymore.”

  “He was never a real alpha,” Park protested.

  “What do you mean? Like a low AQ?”

  “No, I’m sure he scored perfectly within the range he felt he deserved. A nice, neat sixty-seven. Not higher than expected, but not lower, either.” Park fell silent once more, but Cooper could tell he was chewing on something he wanted to say.

  Finally, he exploded. “It’s just such bullshit. Literally all it measures is thinking patterns. Interpersonal habits. Personal strengths. It’s not bad to get a low score. Just like it’s not good to get a high one. The people who really succeed are the ones who understand it doesn’t matter what number you get, it’s what you do with it. If you’d asked me back then why Kreuger felt different after we fought, I’d have said it was because he’d finally been forced to see himself differently.”

  “Back then, but not now?” Cooper asked, studying Park carefully.

  Park ran an impatient hand through his hair. “I thought it might have changed,” he mumbled, and his words were near
ly lost.

  “What?” Cooper asked. “Kreuger?”

  “No, me. My number. I thought it might be lower because—” Park cut himself off. Shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just thought it might have dropped. I had this theory that we’re not actually born with an innate, static AQ. That we develop one based on people around us, the way we’re treated. How it informs our self-perception. When I would visit the packs in my family’s territory as the Shepherd, I’d see a ton of wolves like Kreuger who were loud and aggressive toward people they knew wouldn’t be naturally inclined to fight back. Conflict-averse. Pleasers. In their minds, that’s what made them an alpha—using people. So I thought, now I’m not with my family anymore. I’m not the Shepherd anymore. Maybe I don’t have to be this anymore, either.”

  “But it didn’t change?”

  Park laughed darkly. “Oh no, it did. Ninety-one to ninety-three.”

  Cooper blinked rapidly, trying to process all the different feelings he was having at once. Shock: Park had told him most alpha-types scored between sixty-five and eighty.

  Anxiety: Park hoped his relationship with Cooper’s long-fabled but never proven high-AQ ass would lower his own. The opposite had occurred. What the fuck did that mean?

  Tenderness: he may not understand jack-shit about these numbers, but he could plainly see Park’s worldview had been shaken.

  “I know that doesn’t mean a lot to you, but it’s kind of a ridiculous jump,” Park was saying. “And exactly the sort of thing my grandfather would have loved. Would have thought we were owed because of our bloodline.” He groaned. “I don’t know how I can be so adamant that something is overrated, outdated, erroneous bullshit but still get that number and feel so excited. For a moment I was fifteen again and so, so proud to tell Joe.”

  A small, sympathetic noise escaped Cooper. He’d never met Park’s recently deceased grandfather—doubtless a good thing considering the man hated humans and Cooper blamed him for a lot of Park’s insecurities today. But relationships were complicated, especially those with the people who raised you. The pain of loss wasn’t always about missing the person themself. Sometimes it was the free-fall shock when you stumbled into the bottomless blank space that they’d always filled before.

  Cooper tentatively reached out and slipped his hand into Park’s, who looked at him, surprised. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Park said immediately.

  “I’m sorry this hurt you.” He bumped Park’s shoulder with his own, then kissed it quickly. “I’m sorry anything’s ever hurt you, but especially something like this that seems entirely...avoidable.”

  Park laughed and rubbed his face tiredly. “It’s a joke how obsessed we all are with this, isn’t it? Fucking thing didn’t even exist eighty years ago, but now it’s all anyone wants to know.”

  “Not a joke,” Cooper protested. “If you’re told something over and over from the day you’re born, of course you’re going to internalize it.”

  Park sighed. “Well, I’d like it out now.” He slammed the last drawer and the desk tilted dramatically again. He knelt on the dusty concrete to examine the legs. “One of these is missing a foot.”

  Cooper crouched to see, a sharp throb shooting through his leg where the bite was, and he, too, saw that only three out of the four metal desk legs ended in black rubber knobs.

  “Here, help me with this,” Park said, and they moved the papers into neat stacks on the floor. When it was clear, Park lifted the desk on two legs easily with one hand. Cooper was momentarily distracted by his casual inhuman strength and the lines of arm muscle peeking through his shirt.

  “Hello,” Park said.

  “Hello yourself,” Cooper said in his best leer, before noticing Park gently tug a tightly folded piece of paper out of the naked leg hole. He put the desk back down and spread the paper flat on top.

  “It’s...a map?” Cooper said hesitantly. It was obviously a map. He could see the topographic lines, the faded greens and blues indicating land and water, the outlines of buildings. He could even tell, based on the quarry and falls, that it was a map of the retreat property. He only sounded hesitant because he couldn’t see a reason someone had gone through the trouble of hiding it up a table leg. There was no X marks the spot. No illegal poison spillage here or helpful doodles of oilcans and dollar signs.

  “Does it look sort of old to you?” he asked.

  “All maps look old these days,” Park said absently, and tapped the largest rectangular building. “This is the lodge. And over here’s the staff quarters we saw yesterday. Look, there’s the back road we took.” He traced the lines with his finger.

  “This would have been more helpful than the map we were actually given,” Cooper mumbled. “This must be Montclaire Mill.” He tapped a collection of smallish square buildings, about a mile away from the lodge. One of the buildings even had Mill scrawled in blue pen under it. The same blue pen Kreuger had used to circle items on the bills.

  “It looks closer than I thought.” Cooper got his phone out and took careful photos of the map before Park folded it back up and replaced it in the leg. “Now I feel like we should check every nook and cranny in here. Who knows where else Kreuger was squirreling things.”

  “I’m not sure he—” Park stopped, staring off into space, head tilted slightly. Before Cooper could react, Park swiftly kicked over the neat stacks of paper, still on the floor, scattering them messily, then abruptly grabbed Cooper around the waist and lifted him onto the desktop.

  “What—?” Cooper whispered, and was cut off by Park’s mouth covering his. Park kissed him deeply and moaned louder than he usually would. One of his hands slid up Cooper’s shirt, massaging at his chest while the other knocked his thighs open so he could tug Cooper closer, encouraging his legs around Park’s waist.

  Cooper accepted the touch, holding on to Park’s back tightly, kissing him back, but he couldn’t shut his eyes. He kept scanning the room, searching for what had set Park’s warning bells off.

  That’s why he noticed right away when the previously locked, dark green metal door at the back wall cracked open.

  Cooper reached down to grab Park’s ass and pull him into a slight humping motion and waited for the intruder to burst in on them. He mentally prepared his embarrassed, fumbling excuses. Going for a swim. Got sidetracked. Snuck in here for privacy. Sorry.

  But no burst came. The door stayed slightly cracked, but nothing else happened.

  Cooper ran his hand through Park’s hair, tugging his mouth free, and pressed a couple of kisses along his jaw until he could whisper, barely more than a breath, in his ear, “Gone?”

  “No,” Park growled, pushing Cooper flat onto his back on the desk. He half-crawled over Cooper and nuzzled his neck. “Plan?”

  Fuck, Cooper thought. Well, that certainly wasn’t the plan. But what were they supposed to do, stop now and risk major suspicion? Or get off while someone with best-case creepy, worst-case nefarious intentions listened?

  Cooper’s skin prickled and he shuddered beneath Park at the thought. He wasn’t aroused, really, but he was excited and hyperaware of every sound he and Park were making; every shaky inhale and satisfied hum, every movement they made. Cooper’s hands worked their way down from grasping Park’s ass to the backs of his upper thighs, then inward, digging his fingers into the thick muscles.

  Park’s eyes slipped shut and he seemed caught on the edge of speaking. His mouth hovering directly over Cooper’s, lips parted, brow furrowed, motor control stripped down to its most basic, animal function. Cooper’s hand dipped deeper still to nudge at the back of Park’s balls and felt him jerk impulsively, knocking between his legs. He knew if he wanted to, he could make Park come, right here, like this. Knew that he could ask him for anything and receive it, no matter how many people were watching. He imagined, fuzzyheaded with lust now, what th
ey looked like, the two of them, rutting fully-clothed over a desk in the dark.

  Power. That’s what it was. To have a man like Park trembling and desperate for his body. Willing to do anything for him. Let them watch. Let them see how powerful I am.

  Cooper gasped and shoved Park away. His face felt hot and he was breathing quickly. “Stop. Don’t,” Cooper said.

  Park stood up hastily, backing up a couple of steps. He, too, was breathing hard and looked wide-eyed with confusion. Confusion as to what they had come close to doing as opposed to why they had stopped, Cooper suspected guiltily.

  Pull it together, Cooper. Someone might still be watching.

  “I can’t...keep doing this. We can’t just fuck every time we fight and expect that to make it better,” Cooper added for their possible audience.

  Park nodded, back to the door, but his face was still unsure, worried. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Cooper said, meaning it this time. “I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into me. We should go.”

  He walked to the door, hoping to surprise the eavesdropper, but when he opened it—not locked now—there was no one there. Just a dark set of wooden steps leading upstairs and presumably into the lodge. He crouched to examine them, hoping to find a convenient, thin layer of dust and perfect footprints, but there was nothing. The steps were perfectly clean. Well-used, even.

  “Someone had easy access to Kreuger’s office, whether he knew it or not,” Cooper murmured, not able to meet Park’s eye yet. “Come on, they might still be close.”

  As quickly as he could, Cooper climbed the steps, Park at his back. It became pitch-black as soon as Kreuger’s office door closed behind them and Cooper stumbled a few times, catching himself on the wall, rough planks beneath his palm. The darkness felt oppressive, watchful, and it was a relief when they made it to the door on the other end and found it unlocked as well.