Bayou Loup

by Lynn Lorenz

  With his flashlight in hand, he set off.

  »»•««

  Darlene Dupree sat at her kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. She knocked off the long gray ash and sighed. She’d really screwed up this time. Okay, she’d done some wild things back in the day, but God knew she was a true believer. She did see Jesus in that oak tree. But…

  Meowwr.

  She glanced over to the cat sitting on the rug by the stove.

  “Shut up, cat. You ain’t helping. I’m in a pickle, and I have to figure a way to fix what I screwed up.”

  It stood, arched its back in a stretch, soft footed over to the couch, and then leaped up onto the seat, and lay down. Darlene rolled her eyes.

  “You need to git, cat. You’re costing me a fortune in cat food.”

  The cat turned away from her, sat up on its haunches, and proceeded to sharpen its claws on her sofa.

  “Oh, hell, no!” she shouted and rose to her feet as she dropped the cigarette into the glass ashtray. Waving her hands at the cat, she stomped toward it.

  “I said, stop that!”

  The cat paused, released the hapless couch, and then leaped to the top to sit. It watched her with green eyes as she bent to inspect the damage.

  “Damn it, cat. You’re working my last nerve. Here I am trying to dig myself outta a deep hole, and you’re destroying my property.” She ran her hand over the fabric.

  Darlene straightened. “Hey.” The idea that popped into her head grew into a plan.

  She chuckled. “Thanks, cat. I think you just gave me a way to get outta this mess.”

  It would work. Once she destroyed any evidence of Jesus, everything would go back to normal. No Jesus, no pilgrims.

  The cat blinked at her, settled onto its belly, and wrapped its tail around itself.

  “Don’t look so smug, cat. It was my idea.”

  Meowwr.

  »»•««

  Bobby sat in the chair behind the desk and pulled up the list of contestants. He opened the festival’s e-mail account and copied and pasted all the addresses he could find. Any latecomers, well, if it was storming on Sunday, they wouldn’t come out anyway.

  Outside the large windows of the club’s office, night had descended, and all he could see were the occasional flash of headlights from passing cars. His belly rumbled, reminding him that he’d only had coffee earlier in the day.

  Once he’d built his distribution list, he composed a letter saying due to weather on Sunday, the contest would be moved to Friday evening at six p.m. If they couldn’t make it, to e-mail back, and he’d refund their fee.

  He hit Send. It was the best he could do in a bad situation.

  Merde. What could be worse? Sunday rained out? Jesus in the oak tree behind the main stage? Sarah chasing him? He didn’t even want to think about anything else going wrong. That would just bring on the badness.

  He’d never thought of himself as superstitious, but lately he was beginning to feel as if he were cursed. Everything he touched seemed to go to hell, his life being just a small part of it.

  “Now the hard part.” Bobby got his cell phone, searched his contacts for Father Peder’s number at the rectory, and called.

  “Hello, Father Peder here.”

  “Father. It’s Bobby. I need to talk to you. Can I come by?” He figured better to do it in person.

  “Sure. You’re always welcome, Bobby.”

  “Thanks. Be there in a few.”

  He shut off the computer, checked his cell phone, and pushed away from the desk. The chair creaked as he rose. The club needed a new one. He’d have to ask Scott to put in a request for it. Most of the money the club raised through the membership fees, which were in truth pack fees, went to their various charities. The biggest chunk funded the First Responders Fund, for the families of pack members lost in the line of duty.

  No matter what, the pack took care of its own.

  Bobby turned out the lights, set the alarm, and locked the door behind him.

  »»•««

  When Bobby pulled into the church parking lot, he could see the work that had been done. He passed the church, headed to the small house behind it, and pulled in next to Father Peder’s car.

  He got out, went up the short walk, and before he could knock, Father Peder opened the door.

  “Hey, Bobby. I heard you drive up. Now”—the older man stepped back to let Bobby in—“what’s the problem?”

  Bobby sighed as he moved into the small living room. It was cozy, filled with overstuffed, secondhand furniture, just enough to be welcoming but not cluttered. He sat on the couch, leaving the chair for the priest.

  “I’m going to get straight to it. Sunday will be a rainout. Storms all day. We’re going to lose all the revenue from that day. I’m moving the contest to Friday to keep from losing the registration money, but as it looks now, we’re going to go into the hole this year.”

  Father Peder frowned and sat back. He leveled a stare to make anyone confess. “And?”

  “I’m going to raise the price at the gate one dollar. It’ll help, but most folks bought tickets online. Can’t do a thing about that.”

  “You still haven’t gotten to the ‘and yet,’ son.” The old man put his hands together, as if in prayer, and waited, his steely gaze never leaving Bobby’s.

  “No. Okay. I figured if we sell beer, we could make our money and then some,” Bobby said in a rush. “Now I know you’ve been against it in the past, but this year…” He ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he hadn’t lost it all yet.

  “Are you sure this is the only way?” The priest tapped his fingers together.

  “If there was something else I can do, I’d be doing it and not asking you to go against your beliefs.” And that was the God’s honest truth.

  The silence stretched as Father Peder considered the proposal.

  “Just this year, Father,” Bobby added.

  The priest’s gaze caught his again. “All right. Just this year.”

  “Thank you!” A rush of relief spilled over Bobby. “I swear, I’ll never ask you about selling beer again.”

  “You better not. Sometimes, son, we have to do what we have to do for the good of the people we are charged with protecting.”

  Bobby didn’t have to be told that. As a former pack leader, he knew the responsibility of a leader to his followers.

  “Yes, sir. I can’t tell you what this will mean.” Bobby stood.

  Father Peder didn’t. “Go on home, son. Get something to eat and get some sleep. The festival will be fine. It’s just beer, and it’s just this once.”

  “Right. What could go wrong?” Bobby nodded and let himself out.

  He whistled all the way to his truck. He’d settled down the pilgrims, averted disaster there, and now had fought off the financial disaster.

  Not bad for an old wolf.

  His belly rumbled, reminding him it was past suppertime.

  Food first, then home.

  He drove to the fast-food place, got a burger, and swapped out the fries for a baked potato. Better, right? He tried to eat well, although werewolves tended to burn calories like mad, especially if they shifted frequently.

  He hadn’t shifted in a long time, since the night he had to hunt Scott down, find him, and bring him back. The man had been going loco denying his mate, Ted. Scott and Bobby were a lot alike.

  Scott had been a straight man with a gay wolf inside.

  Bobby had been a gay man with a straight wolf.

  Damn. They were a pair, but together, they’d both helped each other through some hard times and tough decisions.

  Now Bobby was taking his own advice to Scott. Claim your mate. Once he found Mark, nothing would stop him from doing just that.

  If he found Mark, and if Mark accepted him. Sarah had accepted him, but at what cost to Bobby?

  Once Bobby got home, he opened the take-out bag. He spread the burger wrapper open, got out the plain baked potato, and stared at it. It ne
eded something. He went to the refrigerator and got out a container of sour cream, took off the lid and scooped out a large spoonful. He plopped it on and watched it melt.

  He leaned against the counter, thinking of how uninterested he was in eating. Going through the motions was more like it. But he had to eat to keep up his strength.

  Something had to give. Find Mark and claim him, or die. Marry someone like Sarah and die on the inside. Which was the worse fate?

  Dying on the inside. He knew that now. He couldn’t go back to living a lie or hurting that nice woman or any woman. Because now that he’d experienced what he and Mark had together, there was no way in hell he’d be able to be with a woman again.

  He picked up the burger and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. Next a forkful of potato. It needed salt. He grabbed the shaker and sprinkled some on, and took another mouthful. It was good, but he just didn’t want it.

  His apathy had gotten worse since he’d met Mark. Most days, he survived on coffee and lunch. By the time dinner rolled around, he’d make a weak attempt at it, soup or a peanut butter sandwich, and maybe wash it down with a cold beer.

  Everything in his body told him this had nothing to do with aging and everything to do with withering away. He knew if he hadn’t met Mark, he would eventually have gotten so weak it would be all he could do to shift.

  Bobby kept his.45 caliber semiautomatic in his nightstand. There was always that choice, but damn, he didn’t want anyone who cared for him to find him that way. No, he’d sworn he’d never resort to a messy death.

  Mark had changed all of that. Mark was his mate, and as soon as Bobby claimed him, his vigor would return. A second chance at love and a mate. He knew he was damned lucky. That was, if he could just find Mark.

  And thinking of Mark, well, that just got him hard as if he were a horny teenager again, his dick rising to every wayward and deliciously nasty thought that popped into his mind. He shifted his cock to ease the strain of it against his zipper.

  A knock at his door interrupted his mood, and he jerked his hand away. He chuckled at the feeling of being caught, then sobered as fear shot through his body at the thought that it might be Sarah back again with another meal.

  He adjusted himself and went to the door, dreading whom he’d find on the other side.

  He took a deep breath and opened the door to Ted Canedo. “Hey, Ted! I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Can I come in?” Ted’s face reddened, and the lines around his eyes grew deeper.

  “Of course. What’s wrong?” He stepped back as Ted entered. “Have a seat. Can I get you a beer?”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to get right to it, Bobby. I found Mark.” Ted eased down onto the sofa and clasped his hands in his lap.

  “Great!” Relief rushed through Bobby’s body like a wave, and he dropped into his chair. Could this day get any better?

  “His name is Mark Bradford. He’s a professor at Louisiana State in Lafayette.”

  “Wow.” Mark a professor? He didn’t seem like what Bobby thought of as a straight-laced professor type at all.

  “I didn’t talk to him, because he’s on a research trip.”

  “Sure. Okay, when’s he coming back? Can I reach him then?” Bobby wanted Mark now, but a few days wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

  “There’s a problem.” Ted’s voice set off warning bells in Bobby’s belly.

  “He’s married?” God, don’t let it be that.

  Ted shook his head. “No. Far as I can tell he’s single.” He held this breath, then spoke, “Mark’s a zoologist. His field of study is wolves.”

  Bobby opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shook his head to clear it. “What? You mean, my mate studies wolves?” He laughed. “Damn, if that don’t beat all.”

  “Don’t laugh.” Ted moved forward, dropping his hands between his knees. “Mark believes there are wolves living in the swamp. He’s on a research trip right now to prove it.”

  Bobby stared at Ted, not understanding, not wanting to understand.

  “Bobby, Mark is going to try to prove the pack exists. At least as wolves. I don’t think he has any idea that y’all are werewolves.” Ted spelled it out, and it slugged Bobby right in the gut.

  Bobby doubled over as his breath rushed out. “No! He…he can’t…he…”

  “You know as well as I do, if the pack gets wind of this, what could happen to Mark. You’ve got to find him and tell him the truth. He’s got to know what’s at stake.”

  “Why? Why is he going after us?” Bobby searched Ted’s face for a hint.

  “I don’t know. But the dean of the department says it’s been his life’s work to prove wolves exist in the swamp. I’m not sure it’s going to be easy to persuade him to give it up if that’s really the case. From what the dean said, he’s built his life and career around it.” Ted leaned back and wiped his hand over his face. “He’s your mate, right? He loves you? You’re sure?”

  “Yes. No. Fuck, I don’t know.” Bobby waved his hand at the air as if brushing his doubts away like pesky skeeters, but they returned with a vengeance. “Where is he now?”

  “Somewhere in the woods, near the swamp. He’s got equipment, cameras, and recorders.”

  “I’ll find him. My wolf can track him.” Bobby stood, but Ted reached out and caught his wrist.

  “No. You can’t. Not now. It’s dark. How the hell are you going to explain finding him in the dark? Especially since you haven’t explained anything to him. Trust me, you don’t want to just spring this on him. I know. It’s hard as hell to take in the light of day, but at night?”

  The pleading in Ted’s eyes told Bobby the man was right. “Okay. Not tonight.”

  “Good man. Look, no one in the pack knows he’s around or what he’s up to. The morning will be fine. You can find him then, and you two can talk.”

  Bobby groaned. “Merde. The festival. It starts at noon tomorrow, and I have to be there all day and night.”

  “Can someone stand in for you?”

  “No. The only other person would be Scott, and he has his hands full with festival security and the usual traffic stuff.” Bobby didn’t mention Scott’s mother’s disaster; Scott could do that himself. “I’ll try to find him in the morning. But if I can’t, could you find Mark? Bring him to me?”

  “Sure I could find him, but I’m not telling him about your wolf. That’s between you and him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ted stood and went to the door. “Call me when you find him or if you need me to take over. I’m no wolf, but I can track a man. Once we find his vehicle, it should be easy enough from there.”

  “Great. I’ll call.” Bobby watched from the doorway as Ted went down the walk to his SUV, climbed in, and took off.

  He shut the door and then leaned against it. Mark was out there, close, but Bobby couldn’t do a damn thing about it until morning.

  This was going to be one hell of a long night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mark looked out over the glow of the campfire and surveyed his equipment. The motion-sensor, night-vision video-camera trap pointed toward the woods. Since it was mounted on a tripod, Mark could swivel it in any direction. If anything moved out there, he’d be able to film it, and if they came when he was asleep, it’d film without him.

  Along with the camera, he had a separate sound-recording device and a small personal camera that doubled as a digital video device.

  An industrial-strength flashlight, the kind used by construction workers to make dark look like day, rested next to him on the ground.

  Behind him sat his two-man tent, sleeping bag nestled inside. Not for the first time did he wish Bobby was there with him, sharing this adventure. Something told him the big guy would love it out there, in the middle of the woods with the sights and sounds of nature surrounding him.

  Mark identified the croak of a big gator and the answering bellow of another, challenging him for a mate or perhaps some territory. Th
e night was alive with critters. Most of them were nocturnal, some diurnal, out in both day and night. He figured the swamp wolves, like most wolves, would be diurnal. If prey was around, they’d hunt at day or night.

  Most of the sightings had been at night or at dusk. Most of the wolves had been described as large with glowing eyes. They hadn’t lingered or attacked but had slipped back into the woods or swamp without any further contact.

  Not like the one that had attacked his dad at their campsite.

  Mark’s father had been angry, gotten out of his sleeping bag, and left the tent, leaving Mark to stew. Mark figured he’d gone to take a piss, but he didn’t come back right away, and Mark fell back to sleep.

  When his father started screaming, Mark bolted out of the tent in time to see a large wolf latched on to his father’s arm, shaking him and growling. He could still hear the sounds, and even now, in the same place where it had happened so long ago, he covered his ears to block it out.

  “Fuck!” Mark knew it would be hard to be there again, but he’d told himself over and over he could handle it.

  He’d lied to himself. This wasn’t going well. He was on edge and reliving that night like a bad dream. Everything in his body told him to run back to the car and get the hell out of there, but he shut those thoughts down.

  Shaking, he reached for his thermos of coffee and poured a cupful. Hot and black, it warmed him as he swallowed, and for a moment, calmed him as if it had a shot of whiskey or brandy in it. Now he wished it did, but he’d made sure not to bring any alcohol with him in case anyone doubted his sobriety. He wanted this to go off without a hitch or even a hint of anything that might throw doubt on his research.

  He rubbed his eyes and then opened them.

  Just him and the night and whatever was out there.

  Surely if there were wolves out and hunting, he’d hear the sounds. The calls and yips back and forth, the growls, and the baying once they’d gotten the scent of their prey and were in full chase. Wolves hunted in an organized pack, tracking prey, chasing it, and coming in for the kill.

  That was why, now as an expert on wolf behavior, Mark didn’t understand why the wolf had attacked his father as he’d sat by the fire. So many things about that were just wrong. His father hadn’t provoked the creature. They’d been careful about sealing off their garbage and hanging it from a tree at the edge of the clearing. The fire had still been burning brightly.