“Time for a show, Sir John?” she whispered.
“Want to get vocal?” I whispered back.
She giggled and nodded.
I turned and slammed the palms of my hands into the doors, making them boom and rattle.
Marie giggled loudly and then shrieked.
“Oh, is that for me?” she trilled. “Yes, please. God, yes, that’s good!”
I was having trouble keeping from laughing. Marie kept up a chorus of screams and moans as I rhythmically pounded the doors. The volume and intensity increased until she launched into what was, to my way of thinking, a faked orgasm that was just a touch too perfect. She trailed off into a panting, moaning finale.
Anna banged on the doors from the other side.
“Okay, you two can drop the act. He’s gone.”
I met Marie’s eyes and shushed her with a finger to my lips.
“What makes you think it was an act?” I said through the door, panting.
“Oh, God,” I heard her say. “I did not need to know that.”
Marie wrenched the door open and strode out, pretending to straighten her skirt.
“You’re just jealous,” she said.
Anna laughed and stuck out her tongue.
“Of what? Mr. Hair Trigger here? I’ve had sneezes last longer than that.”
“Well, you know how it is,” I said. “Anal sex is always a little more intense.”
“Maybe for you,” said John. “I always manage to last …”
He trailed off and blushed as we all stared at him in silence.
“Nice one John,” I said. “You hound!”
“Thank you, dear heart,” said Anna in disgust. “Anything else you’d like to share?”
Marie was laughing so hard she had to sit down. I took my jacket off and slung it over a chair, then flopped down on the couch next to her. I lay back and nestled my head in her lap.
“Hello, love,” she said, smiling down at me.
“Just in case anyone comes up,” I said and winked.
“Oh, of course. We must keep up appearances.”
“Okay, so tonight we go see the werewolf pack, that’s me, Marie and Cam. Anna seems determined to go shopping, provided she’s not to busy discussing certain matters with her husband.”
Anna gave me a frosty look and I winked.
“But if she does manage to get away I want plenty of protection. John, you stick with her, of course, and Bolt, you too.”
“I don’t need bodyguards, boss.”
“Tough shit,” I said. “You’re getting them. We’re flashing enough wealth around here, I don’t need some idiot getting ideas about kidnapping you for ransom.”
“Fine, boss,” she said with a sigh. “Isn’t it sweet how he worries about us?”
“It certainly is,” said Marie, stroking my hair.
“So, how are we going to contact this pack?” I asked.
“Already done,” said Cam, putting his cell phone away.
“What, you call directory enquiries and ask for the nearest werewolf?” I asked.
“Nope, I called Liam.”
“He knows the pack?” said Marie.
“Yeah, apparently he met the alpha earlier this year. All part of his plan to civilize the world’s werewolves.”
I laughed softly. Liam had a plan, that’s true. Thanks to centuries of vampire propaganda the average person still thought of werewolves as ravening, uncontrollable beasts. Thanks to Liam, this was changing. Sheffield, once a city on the front lines, had rapidly become one of the safest cities in England thanks to the presence of the pack, and werewolves from across the country were cautiously coming out of the closet.
Still, that Liam had ambitions across the Channel was news to me.
“So you spoke to someone in the Paris pack?” I asked.
“Yep, we’ve got to go see the alpha tonight. Almost the whole pack will be there.”
“Any of these boundaries Marie mentioned?”
“Yeah, some, but one that’s weird.”
“What?”
“You have to be armed.”
“I do? Why?”
“Apparently they consider it a point of honor,” he said, scratching his chin with one silver-sheathed claw. “Another werewolf is one thing, but they don’t want a human to feel like they were intimidated into anything, so they request that humans either come armed, or they allow them to nominate a member of the pack to stand with them. I told them you’d be bringing your own wolves and you’d be coming armed.”
“Okay, but why is this about me?” I asked. “You two are the wolves.”
“Not according to the pack. Apparently you’re causing a lot of debate. Liam acknowledges you as Marie’s mate and his pack is willing to treat you as his brother.”
Marie drew in a startled breath and my eyes snapped to her.
“What is it love?”
“It means you’re … I don’t know if there’s even an English word for it. There isn’t really a werewolf word for it. It means you’ve proved yourself worthy of being in the pack, even though you’re not a werewolf. The idea hasn’t been used in decades.”
She covered her mouth and giggled.
“What’s so funny?” I said.
“Um, you’ll like this, the last time any pack in England did this for a human was during the Second World War. The pack was living in London at the time and their alpha was killed during the Blitz. The pack voted and agreed to go to the War Department to offer their services. They also voted to accept a human into the pack and then elected that human as alpha. It was the first time—ever—that a human led a pack. That human was Winston Churchill.”
I sat up, stunned.
“The government knew about werewolves sixty years ago?”
“They certainly did,” said Cam. “It was classified way above top secret. You’ve heard of Operation Foxley, right?”
“The mission to assassinate Hitler with a sniper?”
“That’s the bunny. Very few people know, even now, that there was a second plan. A group of werewolves were training to go in and kill him. And anyone else who was nearby.”
I stood up and paced the room, shaking my head.
“That’s amazing,” I said. “Just when you thought you had a handle on the world it comes and knocks you on your arse.”
“Jack,” said Marie. “One of Oliver Cromwell’s most trusted lieutenants was a werewolf.”
“Oh, now you’re just taking the piss.”
“No, straight up,” said Cam. “And two of those who made it out of the Charge of the Light Brigade were wolves.”
“What, ‘Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, into the valley of death, rode the six hundred’?” said Bolt from across the room.
“I’m serious,” he replied. “One was my great-great-something grandfather.”
Bolt and I stared at each other.
“Naah, pull the other one,” I said.
Cam laughed.
“Believe what you want, boss,” he said. “It’ll still be true whether you believe it or not.”
“Next you’ll be telling me Boudicca was a werewolf,” I said.
“You wouldn’t believe that?” said Cam, straight-faced.
I thought about it for a moment.
“Yeah, actually, that I’d buy. That Boudicca was a lot of woman all in one place.”
“Remind you of anyone?” said Cam, definitely not looking at Marie.
I shrugged noncommittally. Actually, I could just imagine Marie in a shiny breastplate and helmet, commanding the armies of the Iceni from a chariot with scythes on the wheels.
Anna and Marie were giving us a pair of very dangerous looks. We met them with innocence.
“Shall we have some lunch?” I said.
The bathtub in our en-suite bathroom was sunken into the floor and was more like a miniature swimming pool. It was brimming with sudsy water.
“Wow,” I said. “That’s a big-arsed bathtub.”
<
br /> “Care to join me?” Marie asked.
“Try and stop me,” I said.
Once we were settled Marie straddled my hips and began washing my chest with a sponge. I slid my hands along her thighs and up her hips, leaning back against the edge of the tub and allowing the water to relax my muscles.
Marie’s hands traveled over my chest and down, under the water, over my stomach. After a few moments she was playing with my erection.
“I thought we were supposed to be getting clean, not dirty,” I said.
“Well, I have to clean you everywhere,” she replied, her voice low and husky. “Stand up so I can do this properly.”
I climbed to my feet while Marie worked a bar of soap into a thick lather. She wrapped her hands around me, spreading the suds along my length, pulling back the foreskin and rolling the head in her slippery palms.
“Careful,” I said breathlessly. “That’s a little sensitive.”
“I’ll be careful,” she whispered.
She grabbed the soap and went back to what she was doing, glancing up at me with a cute little smile every so often.
After a few minutes she put the soap aside. Good timing. Too much more of that and it would have been all over. She cupped water in her hands and used it to rinse the soap off, leaving me glistening and clean. She leaned forward and planted as soft kiss on the very tip, then looked up at me. With her eyes locked to mine she flicked her tongue out, gently circling the head.
“Don’t, not yet,” I gasped.
I had her sit on the edge of the bath and I knelt between her legs. I took the soap and returned the favor, my fingers slipping and sliding over her, finding and caressing her clit. I quickly settled into a rhythm, my hand working her sensitive nub, watching the rise and fall of her chest increasing as I stroked.
“Oh Jack,” she whispered. “Don’t stop. Like that, yes, don’t stop.”
Abruptly she threw back her head, her body trembling and tensing. Through clenched teeth she drew in a sharp, hissing breath and then let it out in a rush. My fingers kept up the rhythm as her body responded more and more strongly. Suddenly she let out a soft whimper, her back arched, her body went rigid, and her eyes screwed shut. She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. The orgasm seemed to go on for a very long time, her body clenching around my questing fingers, soft, muffled screams coming from behind her hand.
Finally she collapsed backwards, landing on the tiled floor, panting for breath. I busied myself rinsing the soap off of her skin as though it was the most usual thing in the world.
“Jack,” she said weakly. “That was amazing, but—”
“Way ahead of you, love,” I said.
I got to my knees, which put me at the perfect height.
“If, that is, you were going to ask me what I think you were going to ask me.”
She giggled and shook her head.
“Jack, just make love to me and stop being such a smartarse.”
I gently took her hips in my hands and pulled her towards me a little, then shuffled forward until we were touching.
“No teasing, Jack, that’s not fair,” she said.
“Who’s teasing?” I replied.
With one slow thrust I pushed inside her. She groaned in pleasure and wrapped her legs around my waist.
“Gently,” she whispered. “Please. Make love to me.”
CHAPTER
22
Even in plain clothes there is something uniquely recognizable about a seven and a half foot tall werewolf, so we took the back stairs and left via the employee car park. I didn’t hold out much hope that we’d leave unnoticed, but I did hope that people would assume we were simply going slumming somewhere. Marie had her hair pulled back into a ponytail that was sticking out of the back of the baseball cap pulled low over her forehead. I thought she looked especially cute.
The car was a Range Rover registered to the hotel, available for rent by guests. The records would show that we’d taken it to drive around the football stadiums in the area. That’s why I was wearing an England shirt, the three lions proud on my chest.
This particular Range Rover had a nice feature—it lacked the GPS system that all of the hotel’s other cars had. We didn’t want any records of this trip, anywhere. Well, the real destination, anyway.
We pulled out of the car park and out onto the streets of Paris. Unlike many of my countrymen I don’t have much of a problem with the French. Ever since Frenchie and his friends came floating down out of the sky all those years ago I’ve had a different perspective. Still, having said that, I hate driving in Paris. Everything you’ve ever heard about the insanity of French drivers is perfectly true.
Luckily I wasn’t driving. Cam was. He’d taken to driving like a fish to water back in England, and the Range Rover was big enough to accommodate his massive frame—if only just.
He swung out into the rapidly darkening evening and drove down the road like a native, eliciting honks and obscene gestures from his fellow road-users.
Marie and I were sitting in the back.
“So how unpleasant is this likely to be?” I asked.
She pursed her lips and thought about it for a second.
“That depends on what we’re dealing with,” she said.
“Worst case scenario.”
“Worst case scenario is that this pack is almost totally feral. Cam will be overpowered, you’ll be killed, and I’ll be forced to be somebody’s mate.”
“Oh, so nothing bad, then?”
“Not really, no,” she said and smiled. “But the fact that they were willing to meet with us, the fact that they have protocols for dealing with humans, suggests they aren’t feral at all, or at least not completely.”
“So no death-slash-mating thing?”
“Probably not. There may be some macho bullshit, me-big-man chest thumping.”
She turned to me and studied my face.
“What?” I asked.
“You have to be strong, Jack,” she said. “If they decide to test you, you’ll have to be strong, but not stubborn. You need to stand up for yourself, but not be too aggressive.”
“So, just be my usual charming self, then?”
“We are going to die,” said Cam in a quiet voice.
“I’ll be diplomatic,” I promised.
“Actually, your brand of diplomacy might just win them over,” she said. “Just try to become Death, okay?”
“The Destroyer of Worlds,” I said.
“Exactly,” she said, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. “I know you have a problem with that where I’m concerned, but please, keep your emotions in check. Don’t go all …” she trailed off.
“Don’t go all John on us,” said Cam.
“John? Like how?” I asked.
“John gets all homicidal when Anna is threatened.” He explained. “You do the same for Marie.”
“Aren’t I supposed to?” I asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“Okay, then.”
Marie smiled and rolled her eyes.
“Just try to be careful, love. They might try to provoke you into a reaction.”
“Okay, I can deal with that,” I said.
I found myself clamping down on my emotions, analyzing the situation and making strategies. I was dealing with a pack of werewolves. That meant certain things, regardless of the nationality. I just wish I could really be sure what.
We were driving out of Paris, into one of the less fashionable suburbs, the buildings getting shabbier and the roads becoming less well maintained.
Cam pulled off of the road into the car park of what looked like an abandoned factory. Lounging outside were a group of guards, looking sleepy and disinterested until we pulled up. I carefully unzipped my jacket to free up my weapons.
“Tell me you guys came armed,” I said quietly.
“Yep,” said Marie, opening her jacket to show the pistol holstered under her arm.
“Cam?”
; “Got my MP7,” he said.
Only on someone his size could the little PDW be considered a concealed weapon.
“Good,” I said. Then let’s go meet our hosts.”
We stepped out of the Range Rover and walked towards the guards. Damn, these boys were huge.
One of the guards stepped forward, a hulking, scar-faced bruiser who looked like he’d been built in a shipyard under a defense contract.
“Are you the Pagan?” he asked in broken English.
“Yes, I am,” I replied in French. “We’re here to see your alpha.”
The guard grunted and motioned us to follow him. The factory’s interior was something of a surprise. It was clean, well lit, and in good repair. Evidently the run-down exterior was just a cover.
Our guide led us down a corridor to a large pair of doors. The guard stopped.
“Did you come armed?” he said.
I opened my jacket. I was wearing a double shoulder holster, a SIG under each arm. A small pouch on my left hip held a pair of spare magazines and a scabbard on the right hip held my commando knife. I neglected to mention my two holdout weapons: the slim SIG P229 in the concealed holster at the small of my back and the dirk in the top of my right boot.
The guard nodded and opened the door.
Inside was a large, open-plan room. A huge fire blazed in an open fireplace and several furry figures could be seen lounging in chairs around it and, in at least one case, curled up in front of it. Off to the left was a long wooden table with chairs arranged around it. A large map was spread on the surface which also held mugs and half-eaten plates of food. A group of figures were bent over the table, talking in low voices. To the right was a small group of wolves, sitting on chairs and couches, their eyes glittering in the firelight as they stared at us.
The guard led us over to the table.
“Ah, this would be our new friend, Pagan,” said a small man.
“This is our alpha,” said the guard. “Alpha, this is the Pagan.”
I studied the man for a second. For a werewolf he wasn’t very impressive. He had the sharp-featured face that usually puts people in mind of a ferret or a weasel and his frame was slight and spare. I was studied in return. He had quick, intelligent eyes and a shrewd look. This looked like the kind of werewolf who had risen to the top of the pack by guile rather than brute strength. I found that thought oddly comforting. His handshake was firm and straightforward.
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