Winter’s Wolf (7 page)

The phone buzzed in his hand. He jumped a foot and dropped it, the light still shining out into the dense green. “Shit!”

“Don’t answer it.”

For one instant, he considered it; then he sighed. “Sorry.”
Oh so very fucking sorry.
He knelt down and grabbed the phone, clicked the circle, and held it to his ear. “Partridge.”

“Yeah, Matt. We need you in for a briefing. Whatever you’ve got pertaining to the investigation, we’ll take it.”

“I’ll see you as soon as I can get there.”

“Where are you?”

Good fucking question.
“About forty minutes away.” He didn’t add that “where he was” was mesmerized and about to compromise his investigation for the most awesome cock he’d ever seen. Yeah, on the most awesome man. He clicked off the phone and the light.

In the dimness, he could just make out that the uncut masterpiece had vanished into Winter’s fly. The pale hair shone and eyes flashed with an occasional reflection of light.
Eerie.
Why the fuck wasn’t he scared? “I have to go.”

“I gathered. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Jesus, he couldn’t say if he used up his vocabulary for a thousand years how sorry he was, but at the same time, he felt like he’d dodged a bullet.

Winter’s voice came out of the dark. “Can you find your way back? I think I’ll hang here for a few minutes.”

“Yeah. FBI, remember?”

“Can’t forget.”

Funny. I forgot.
Matt turned back toward the club, flicked on the flashlight, and started to walk.

W
INTER
LEANED
against a tree and watched Matt walk away. His near perfect night vision made out Matt’s retreating form until the trees swallowed him.
What just happened?
Simple. He’d tried to fuck a human male, and it hadn’t worked out. Why wasn’t he walking into the club, picking up another human male, and fucking him? Or going back to the party and finding out how hetero some of those other young werewolves really were?

He sighed and pushed away from the tree. Funny, he didn’t even think of fucking a female, so whatever jury might have been out while he lived in Canada had pretty much rendered its verdict.
Gay.
His father would be so disappointed.

He stared in the direction Matt had gone. What was it about the guy? Just another dorky human—but not. Something magnetic, but kind of steady and deeply solid, formed the guy’s core, covered over with this gnawing curiosity. Winter saw it in his eyes—a need to know, to understand, to grasp, and yet himself a mountain of secrets. Secrets Winter wanted to know. The man was a Winter magnet. Would Partridge come back? Did Winter care?

Hard to describe how much.

He sighed. Speaking of secrets. How had his uncomplicated life suddenly become this big-budget drama? Gay werewolves. A half human who looked way too much like a Thane. Why the fuck had Damon come back here—really? Crap, Winter hated drama, and he now felt like the star of a soap opera.

He stripped his clothes, piled them under a bush, and gazed at the quarter moon. He didn’t want to think about it.

The huge white wolf ran off into the trees.

“I’
M
COLLABORATING
with the local marshal about the increase in drugs on the streets.” Matt pointed to the map and looked back at the five agents sitting in front of him. “But the region is pretty rural even though it’s between several good size cities. A lot of the people in the area are connected to the Harker and Marketo families.”

Matt’s special agent in charge, John Caruthers, nodded. “Yes, both families have a lot of influence. They’re also connected somehow to the Vanessens, and we all know who they are. They, in turn, are pals with the governor.”

The agents murmured agreement. One of the most powerful families on the east coast didn’t escape notice.

Matt put down the marker and wiped his hands together. “I’m planning on staying in the area. I got to know some of the locals during the kidnapping case, and I want to leverage that familiarity to build trust. I don’t live too far away, so it’s no hardship. There has to be a reason Kubelik dropped that body in those woods.”

A couple of other agents working the cities gave reports. A dead agent trumped almost everything in terms of priority. Matt watched the intent faces of the field agents. Good men. He liked them—some of them a lot—but they hardly knew anything about him. Caruthers and a few others knew he was gay. Hell, he didn’t have any social life, so why did they need to know? But none of them knew about his father’s illness—or his own.

He finally dragged his body out of there at two a.m., drove the half hour home, and keyed the lock of his single story condo.
Exhausted.
But was it from working the case most of the night or frustrated desires? What the hell had possessed him to go off with a stranger? He didn’t even have the full moon to blame.

A lamp on the living room table was set to low. He flipped on the small lamp he kept by the door. Enough light to see, but not so much it would wake his dad. Buster, his big shepherd, padded across the room and nuzzled his hand for a head scratch. The night attendant, Rita, stuck her head out of the bedroom, then came into the hall and closed the door quietly. Redheaded and pretty, she worked her way through graduate school by acting as a home care specialist, and he’d hired her privately. One of his many secrets.

She smiled. “He finally went to sleep. Not too bad tonight.”

Matt thumbed through the mail she’d brought in and left for him on the table. “Good. Of course, it’s not such a bad time of the month.”

“True. You need something to eat?”

“Thanks so much. I actually think I’m too tired to eat.”

She frowned. “You need to get more rest.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“There is that.” She grinned. “I guess we’re living our dreams. Too bad we can’t dream about sleep.”

He laughed. Rita was adorable, and he knew she kind of wished he wasn’t gay. Hell, there were times he wished the same thing. “I’ll look in on him. Why don’t you lie down? I’ll hear him if he calls—or freaks.”

“Thanks, Matt. I’ll take you up on that.” She went off to the little enclosed porch he kept heated just so they could have a place for the attendants to sleep.

He tossed the mail—nothing interesting, but why would there be?—and stepped lightly to his father’s bedroom door. He looked into the room dominated by an adjustable hospital bed and softly lit by a small night-light. Buster followed and lay down on the rug at the foot of the bed.

“That you, Matty?” His father rolled onto his back and immediately hit the up control on the head of his bed.

He chuckled. “Yes, sir. I’m home. Sorry to be so late. We had a briefing in Hartford. How are you?”

“Tired.” In the pale light, his dad’s skin looked white as Winter Thane’s hair.

“That’s why you should be asleep and not waiting up for me.”

“I’ll sleep now. I worry about you in those woods. You need to take me with you. It’s not safe.”

Matt sat on the edge of the bed and took his father’s hand. Though shrunken from the heart problems, his dad still outweighed Matt and stood three inches taller. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“Tomorrow, tell me all about it, okay?”

“I will. I’ll go in later and we’ll have breakfast. I’ll fill you in on the case.” His dad hung on every detail. Despite the mental disorders they classified as schizophrenia for lack of a better label, he was bright and totally competent when he wasn’t in the midst of a hallucination or delusion. The dreams and aberrations occurred most powerfully during the full moon, which doctors assured Matt was common. “Sleep now.”

He reached over and pushed the down button on the bed control. His dad smiled and held his hand. As he descended his eyes closed, and by the time he was almost flat, his breathing had evened.
Thank God.
He gently touched his father’s forehead, and the old man sighed. Jesus, he loved him. His father had raised Matt, and now it was Matt’s turn to give the care.

He stood and left the room quietly. No way he’d put Jason Partridge in a facility. His dad was only hard to control a few days a month. Matt shuddered. He hated full moons—and he knew all about being hard to control.
Remember that the next time you get tempted by a nine-inch cock and ice-melt blue eyes.

W
INTER
STARED
at the ceiling from the narrow bed. Weird to look up and see wooden beams instead of sky and trees. At least he could walk out the door of the small three-room cabin and be in the forest. A member of the pack had rented them the place at a good price.

Pack.
Shit.
The word more than the accommodations reminded him where he was.

From the main room on the other side of the door, he heard pans rattling. The place boasted the minimum accoutrements necessary to live like a human. Living like an animal was one hell of a lot easier. He turned on his side and stared out the window.
Hiding out. Pretending to be asleep. Pussy.
Hell, lying here thinking about Matt Partridge sounded lots more fun than hashing out his father’s fucking soap opera of a life.

Wonder what Matt’s cock would have looked like?
Definitely circumcised since he’d commented on Winter’s uncut condition. Not as big as Winter’s, but probably not small since he hadn’t hesitated to show it—until that fucking phone rang. Then all bets were off. What would it take to get the bets back on?

The rap on the door made him sigh. His dad called, “Winter, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

The door opened a crack. “Are you alone? You didn’t bring any of those lovely females back with you, did you?”

“Knock it off, Damon.”

His father walked in, and Winter sat up and pulled the sheet over his lap to hide the stiffening that thoughts of Matt Partridge produced. He waited.

Damon sat on the straight-backed chair that stood against the wall opposite the bed—only a couple of feet of space in the small room. “So I guess you figured out what was going on last night.”

Winter frowned. “I think I can say I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on in my whole life, and it all boils down to one big neon-lit question. Why the fuck are we here?”

“I want you to have pack and family.”

“Bullshit.”

“Winter!”

Winter leaped out of the bed and stalked the few feet to the opposite wall, bare-ass naked. “How many times have we laughed at the poor suckers stuck in the politics and angst of pack life? All of a sudden it’s almighty important that I not miss it! Like I said, bullshit. Maybe you were so desperate to prove I’m not gay that you figured the whole pack could gang up on me. Well, man, I don’t have to tell you that you just brought coals to fucking Newcastle. You brought Sodom to Gomorrah.” He flopped on the edge of the bed. “What’s really going on here?”

Damon’s voice barely made it across the room. “I wanted to find her. See her again.”

Winter narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

“The human woman. Lindsey Vanessen’s mother.”

Winter just stared. “No.” He shook his head and tried to rattle out the sound of Damon’s words. “No. You’re kidding me. You came back here for a woman? A
human
woman?”

Damon stared at the floor.

What the fuck?
“You spend twenty years teaching me the cardinal rule of werewolf life and you come here for a human female?” He could feel his voice rising. “What are you planning on doing with her, Damon? You going to march down the aisle with her? Will you have your wedding night before or after the fucking pack kills her?” He jumped up and grabbed his jeans from where he’d dropped them on another straight-backed chair. “I can’t believe any of this. I can’t believe we’re here. I can’t believe that everything you ever told me is a lie.” He ripped the sweater over his head. “I’m outta here.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get a fucking job so I can afford to get as far from you and the rest of this loony bin as possible.” He slammed out the door.

Outside, he breathed in the scent of trees and dirt—his favorite perfume. It smelled a lot like Matt Partridge. Breaking into a jog, he headed in the direction of the nearest town. It took him a half hour, but he finally got to the outskirts of Broad Oak—a sort of two-and-a-half-horse community. He slowed to a walk. What kind of work would the good citizens of this fair town have for a hungry werewolf? Nobody did shit in gas stations anymore. Fast food? He shuddered at the thought of all that greasy cooked meat. Retail? A few shops lined the streets.

He stopped. The sign on the window of the last building on the block said
Marshal
. Law enforcement. Would that be Freedman’s office? He’d know what kind of work might be available.

Winter crossed the tree-lined street and entered the low-rise building. An older woman, clearly werewolf, sat at a desk. Probably the right place. At least Ben Freedman employed his own. She looked up, her eyes widened, and she smiled. “Can I help you?”