by Lynn Lorenz
He’d killed any hope he’d had of a new life, a new love, and now he faced the slow, draining death of a wolf without a mate. He’d been on that path since Carol had died, but now instead of a gentle stroll, he felt as if he were hurtling down the road toward a dead end and someone had cut the brakes.
He didn’t want to die. He just didn’t see any way out of it. Finding yet another mate? The odds of that were astronomical. He’d had his chance with Mark, and he’d chosen the pack.
He’d thrown Mark away for the pack, his duty to protect it. Keeping the pack safe had been driven into him since childhood. Keeping that secret had been so hard when he was a kid, dying to tell someone about who and what he was, but knowing it could spell the end of his family, his friends, and his entire way of life. Thank God, there had been other kids in the pack to ease that urge to spill his guts.
Nothing left to do but accept it, move on, do what needed to be done, put his affairs in order, and check out. Over the last three years, he’d thought of the end, and he’d decided to just take his camping gear, go into the swamp, and trek as far as he could until he hit salt water and marsh. Make a camp, and just enjoy his last days in the sun on the edge of the gulf.
Fish. Hunt. Sleep. Die.
Bobby exhaled and hit Print. Scott would need to see the numbers on paper.
»»•««
Mark still had a job. That was the good news. The bad news was that he’d had to eat crow in front of the dean of zoology. He’d returned to the university from his failure at the swamp the next best thing to devastated, only to be called to the dean’s office to report his findings.
Or the lack thereof.
The dean had been cool about it. He hadn’t gloated at all, but he’d made it clear that was the end of it. No more talk about swamp wolves. Ever. On pain of losing Mark’s possible tenure.
Now Mark sat in his office, wondering what to do next. His life was in a shambles. No proof of the wolves survived. Whatever chance he’d had with Bobby had been nuked into oblivion.
And he had a hole in his heart a fucking Buick could drive through. Mark knew the kind of pull, the sort of feelings he’d had, still had, for Bobby were stronger than anything he’d known in his life.
He felt as if someone had torn part of his being out and tossed it away.
How in the world had he become so deeply invested in a man he’d spent two weekends with? It didn’t make sense, yet it made perfect sense.
Bobby was the one.
And Mark understood why Bobby did what he’d done. If he went with the notion that Bobby truly was a werewolf, and there was an entire pack of them living in St. Jerome, then protecting all of those people, friends, relatives, had been the right thing.
Mark could even admit he’d have done the same thing.
If it were true.
Out there in the swamp, in the dark, with adrenaline coursing through his body, the howling of the wolves, and Bobby, Mark had believed it.
Now, in the comfort and safety of his campus office, not so much. Maybe he should have asked Bobby to prove it, to change again, until he believed there had been no tricks. No sleight of hand. No magician’s smoke and mirrors.
But it still stung that Bobby chose his pack over Mark. Had he asked too much of Bobby to choose him? Probably.
Had it been asking too much of Bobby to allow Mark the proof he needed to destroy everything Bobby held dear? Probably.
Mark stood. He needed to get out of there. Get a drink. Get drunk. Shit-faced. Wasted. Until he couldn’t remember Bobby Cotteau, St. Jerome, or fucking werewolves.
He’d drink Bobby away. Good-bye and good riddance.
After he locked the door to his office, he shoved his keys into his pocket. Getting drunk never solved anything.
But sex did.
Maybe he’d get that drink at the casino. Find a boy toy and fuck his way to oblivion.
»»•««
Scott walked into the office and froze in the doorway. Bobby sat behind the desk, bent over some papers, his shoulders hunched, and a frown on his face. He looked old.
Bobby had never looked old to Scott, not even when Scott was a kid. Bobby had always looked alive, vital, a man in his prime.
Hell, he didn’t look anything like he’d looked just last week at the festival.
Losing Mark had taken it out of Bobby. Scott could see that, and the realization that Bobby was wasting away hit Scott like an 18-wheeler.
“Hey, man. Are you okay?” Scott stepped forward and pulled out the chair in front of the desk to sit.
Bobby looked up, smiled, and shrugged. “I’ve been better.” Sadness clung to Bobby’s face, dragging down the smile he usually wore and dimming the light in the man’s eyes.
“What’s up?” Scott sat and crossed his legs, balancing his sheriff’s hat on his knee.
“It’s the festival finances. I’m not going to beat around the bush. We barely broke even. There’s not much money to spread around this year. I’m so sorry.” Bobby looked crushed, weighted down by God knew what. The festival, Mark, his fate.
Just like Bobby to take on this money thing also.
“It’s not your fault, man. You did everything you could to make it a success, but you can’t control the weather. And if you hadn’t brought in the beer to sell, it would have been worse.”
“Father Peder isn’t happy with me right now.” Bobby gave him a lopsided grin.
“Well, he’s a hard man to please.”
“So bottom line. We have about four thousand dollars over expenses. You know that’s not near enough to do what we usually do with it.”
“Damn. That sucks.” Scott scratched his head.
“Yeah. So. You have to make the call. Who does the money go to?” Bobby sat back, eyebrows raised, and waited for Scott to decide.
“Oh, man! You’ve got me in a tight spot. So many of the programs need our funding. How’s the club’s finances?” Scott asked. “I seem to remember the treasurer’s report from the last business meeting saying we’re pretty flush.”
“We are.”
“So let’s count the club out.”
Bobby nodded. “We can split it up and give to the library and the church. Or just choose one. Four grand’s not that much, but it’s better than nothing.”
“How about we just divide it fifty-fifty?”
“I’m fine with that, but it’s your call. And Father Peder might not see it that way. He lets us use the church grounds, and if we’d had to rent a space like that, it would have cost a lot.” Bobby tapped his pen on the stack of papers.
“If you think I should discuss this with Father Peder, I will. Let’s call him now.”
Bobby pushed the phone toward Scott and then punched in the numbers.
“Father? It’s Scott. Listen I need to talk to you about the festival funds.” Scott listened. “Yeah, that’s right. Not such a good year. If we hadn’t sold beer, we’d be trying to find money to pay for everything instead of trying to figure out how to split the money we did make.”
Scott listened again. “Can I put you on speaker? Bobby’s with me, and I’d like him to be part of this conversation.”
Bobby waved his arms wildly to indicate that he didn’t want to talk to the priest, but Scott just grinned at him and winked. The bastard.
“Hi, Father.” Bobby gave Scott a hard scowl.
“Bobby. Now what’s the problem?”
“Like Scott said, we only made about four thousand this year. Scott’s decided to forgo giving any of the money to the club. That leaves the church and the library. We can split the funds or give each some. We’d like your thoughts.”
Scott grinned at Bobby and gave him two thumbs-up. Bobby shook his head.
“Four thousand? Well, I’d be thrilled to get half of that, for sure. We can do a lot for the seniors with that money. And I know for a fact, the library’s mobile van could use some funds to keep them going.”
“Great! We’ll split it down the middle.
Thank you, Father,” Scott replied.
“Anytime.” Father Peder paused. “And Bobby?”
“Yes?” Bobby winced, knowing he was about to get his head handed to him on a plate for the contest fiasco.
“Great job. You called it right with the weather on Sunday. Selling the beer?” Again a pause that kept Bobby’s heart from beating. “It was the right choice, despite that little hiccup on Friday night.”
Bobby let out his breath. “Thanks, Padre. I appreciate you saying that.”
“Good. Scott, I’ll talk to you about the presentation of the check, okay?”
“Sure. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” The priest hung up, and Scott pushed the button to disconnect. “Man, you were damn lucky, Bobby.” He grinned.
“No thanks to you. I thought I told you to keep me out of this.”
“Hey, we’re in it together.” Scott stood. “Gotta go. Want to catch some lunch?”
“Sure. Just let me get my—“ Bobby halted, and stared at a woman who’d just appeared in the doorway. Sarah Guillory. Again. Didn’t that woman have anything better to do than hunt him down?
“Hello, Bobby. Scott.” She smiled at them both.
“Hello, Sarah.” Scott managed to keep the surprise out of his voice. “What brings you here?”
“I was just passing and wondering if Bobby had plans for lunch.” She gave him a hopeful look. Damn.
Bobby looked at Scott hoping for a rescue, but Scott threw him under the bus.
“We were just about to go, but you can take my place. I’ve got stacks of paperwork that need going through.” Scott winked at Bobby as he put his hat on and left.
Bobby stared at Sarah. He was going to kill Scott. That boy’d gotten too big for his britches, and the next time they were running in the woods, Bobby was going to teach him a lesson, for sure.
“Shall we?” Sarah smiled.
There was no lie he could muster at this point. Bobby sighed and stood. He locked the computer and then came around the desk. “I was just going over to the diner for the blue plate special,” he mumbled.
“That’s fine. It’s Friday, and they’re having fried catfish, hush puppies, and potato salad.” She made it all sound so good.
Bobby wondered if he could eat, but for that meal, he’d try. Too bad he had to navigate around Sarah and her quest for a husband.
As he locked the front door of the club and Sarah waited for him at his side, he thought maybe this was his chance.
He’d done it before with Carol.
Would marriage to another woman be so bad if it saved his life?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ted knocked on Bobby’s door. He should have called first, but from what Scott had told him, the man needed help. Ted had a weak spot for fellow cops, and Bobby fell into that category.
Bobby opened the door. “Ted! What brings you here?”
Ted tried not to look too closely at Bobby, but the man had changed. “How are you feeling?”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “You know about it, right? I’m still kicking.” He shrugged and stepped aside so Ted could come in.
“I feel like I still owe you, Bobby.” They sat in the living room, Bobby in his chair and Ted on the couch.
“For what?”
“For not finding Mark and talking to him. Perhaps, if I had, I could have saved you both the heartache.” Ted grimaced. He’d failed, and now two men meant to be together were apart. For Mark only a broken heart, but for a werewolf like Bobby, it could turn out to be a death sentence.
“You did fine. You found him. I knew who he was. I could have put the festival on hold and searched for him.”
“Let me help you.” Ted didn’t know how, but he could at least offer.
“Well, unless you can find some way to prove there are swamp wolves without outing the pack, I’m not sure what you can do.”
Ted sat back. No way to do that.
“What are you going to do?” Ted asked.
“About?”
Ted sighed. “Dying.” No reason to beat about the bush here.
Bobby put his head back and closed his eyes. “I used to be afraid of it, you know. Then I decided to live what life I had left. I met Mark and figured I had a second chance.” He chuckled. “Stupid. Now Mark’s gone, and well, there’s nothing left. Hell, there might have been a chance, but I turned her down.”
“What? Turned who down?” Ted sat forward.
“Sarah Guillory. She’s a widow in the pack. And she’s had her cap set on me for a while now.” He shrugged. “She wants me. I could claim her as my mate and perhaps save myself.”
“Is she your mate?” Ted was confused. “I thought mates were like…the one and only.”
“They are. But sometimes a werewolf can take a new mate, like after a death, and sort of postpone it all. But it’s not the same as a true mating.”
Ted stared at Bobby. “You’d marry a woman, a woman who cares for you, to prolong your life?” He’d never thought Bobby would do something like that, but…
“Hell no!” Bobby laughed. “No fucking way. I wouldn’t do that to Sarah. She’s a nice woman and deserves a man who’ll love her. And I told her so today at lunch. Told her to stop coming around, that I wasn’t interested in a new mate, at least not a woman.”
“Did you tell her you were gay?”
Bobby pressed his palms into his eyes, then took them away. “Yeah. At first, she didn’t believe me, because of Carol, but she came around. I swore her to secrecy, but you know what that means. It’ll probably be all over the pack by tonight.”
“Maybe not.” Depended on how hurt Sarah was or how much she really cared about Bobby.
“Maybe. Shit. I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of hiding who I am inside. Maybe if I come out, it’ll help some of the younger members of the pack. Scott’s coming out helped Billy to come out. Who knows?” The big man shrugged.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“Let nature take its course. Nothing else to do.” Bobby shrugged. “So don’t worry about me. I know you want to help, but at this point I’m going to go back to living what’s left of my life. When the time comes, I have a plan. Scott will get a letter with all the necessary information.” Bobby stood, signaling the talk was over.
Ted rose. He held out his hand for Bobby to shake. “If you need anything, call me.”
“Sure will. Thanks for caring, Ted.” Bobby walked him to the door and opened it. With a final nod, Ted left.
Bobby might not think there was anything left to do, but Ted sure as hell did.
»»•««
Ted knocked on the apartment door. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken matters into his own hands. He was a born problem solver; that was why he was a cop, then a PI, and now…househusband and artist?
Well, okay. That didn’t quite go along with it, but he still kept his hand in the PI work, just off and on when something came up. His love lately had been painting. And keeping Scott happy, which meant keeping himself happy too. So him being there, outside Mark’s apartment, was just the completion of the job Bobby had hired him to do in the first place.
He hated not getting his man, especially not getting Bobby’s man. And he found he liked Bobby and not just because he was such a part of Scott’s life. The retired sheriff had been through so much and deserved happiness. And Ted would do everything he could to see he got it.
Mark opened the door. “Yes?” He gave Ted a wary glance up and down.
“Professor Mark Bradford?” Ted asked, even if he knew this was the man from the white streak in his hair.
“Yes. Can I help you?” He held the door partially closed against his body, as if shielding himself from Ted.
“No, but I can help you.” Ted gave Mark his most friendly smile. “Can I come in?”
“Who are you?” Mark still didn’t trust him and rightly so. At least the man wasn’t one of those egghead types with no common sense.
“I’m Ted C
anedo. I’m from St. Jerome. A friend of Bobby Cotteau’s.” He wasn’t sure if this would get him in or not, but what the hell? Best to lay his cards on the table.
“A friend of Bobby’s?” Fear flashed in Mark’s eyes.
Ted shook his head as he held out his hands in a hold on gesture. “Look, I’m not here to hurt you. Can we talk inside? What I have to say probably shouldn’t be heard by the general public.” He glanced up and down the empty hall of the apartment building.
“Okay.” Mark stepped aside, and Ted stepped past him.
The apartment was nice if a bit cluttered. Most of the stuff was wolf themed, but stacks of papers, notebooks, and other professor-like stuff covered most of the available counter and tabletops.
“So, you’re a wolf expert?” Ted asked as he sat on the couch Mark pointed at. A blanket with the picture of a wolf’s face on it covered the back of the sofa.
“Yes. I’ve devoted my life to researching wolves.” Mark gave off waves of tension. Ted looked around at the photos of wolves adorning the walls. He’d bet Mark had taken most of them.
“Sort of ironic, huh? You being a wolf expert, and Bobby being a wolf.” Ted figured he’d really lay it out there.
Mark stared at him, his lips a tight, thin line.
“I know he told you about the St. Jerome pack.”
Mark nodded, wariness still in his steady gaze.
“I’m not a werewolf. Don’t worry. But I am a pack member. My partner, Scott Dupree, is the alpha. He took over from Bobby when he retired.”
“He didn’t have to fight for his position?” Mark frowned as he leaned forward, showing the first interest in the conversation yet.
“No. Bobby practically raised Scott. Scott’s a natural alpha. No one in the pack had a problem with it, although when Scott brought me in, he was challenged.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed, as if he were taking it in, working it through in his head. “You’re his partner? Like mate?”
“That’s right. Scott was straight, but his wolf is gay. His wolf wanted me, a gay man. Let’s just say it took some convincing on both our parts to go through with this relationship.” Ted chuckled.
