by Lynn Lorenz
He’d never been like this before. Something had taken over his body, and he no longer controlled whether or not he breathed. His body was stuck on hyperdrive, and his mind was stuck on “What the fuck?”
Not a pretty combo.
They paid, and everyone stood and headed for their cars. Peter edged next to him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Ted glanced at the younger man.
“Can I ride with you?” Peter frowned, maybe unsure about asking.
“Sure. But what about Darcy?” Had something happened between them?
“It’s the paint thinner and linseed oil. You were right. I’ve got a killer headache building. If I ride in his car to the plantation, I won’t be worth shit.” He rubbed his temple, his eyes looking tired and hurting.
“Did you tell Darcy?” Ted wasn’t going to get between them. He had no designs on Peter or Darcy for that matter.
“Not yet. Can I ride with you?”
“Sure.” Ted shrugged. “What about the ladies?”
“They talk too much.” He wrinkled his nose, looking fucking adorable. Seriously, something was broken inside Ted’s body if he didn’t want to fuck that sweet, tight ass.
“Okay, tell him and meet me at the truck.”
Peter walked off, and Ted headed to the men’s room. No telling how long they’d be out there, or if they had bathrooms to use. He didn’t mind peeing against a tree; he was a guy, after all, but it might be frowned on by the ladies and the plantation’s people.
After he came out, he bought a soda to go and went to his SUV. Peter leaned against it with all his stuff in a pile next to him, looking alone and lost.
“I’m ready.”
“How’d Darcy take it?” Ted unlocked the doors, and Peter loaded his equipment in the backseat and then got in.
“Take it?” Peter’s eyebrows rose.
“Look, kid.” Ted exhaled. “Don’t try to play me. I’m not interested in you. Darcy is. Fuck him. Don’t worry about fucking me, ’cause it ain’t gonna happen.”
“What?” Peter’s eyes widened.
“Innocent doesn’t cut it with me, either.”
Peter sat back, his long, delicate fingers playing with the frayed section of his jeans over his knee. Golden hair peeked through.
“Darcy just thinks he can have whatever he wants.”
“He wants you. You want him. What’s the problem?”
“Nothing. Everything.” He huffed and crossed his arms.
Ted drove out of the parking lot, following the others to the plantation.
Damn, he hated being some kid’s counselor. Still.
“Okay, what’s really the problem?”
“Promise you won’t tell. Promise you won’t go haywire.”
“I promise.” What could the kid be thinking? That Ted cared enough about him to give a shit about his problems.
“Darcy wants to fuck me.” Peter stared out the window.
“Right.” Ted made it sound like an encouragement.
“Bareback,” Peter whispered.
Ted nearly stomped his foot on the brakes and pulled the SUV over to the side of the road, but he just kept himself together. “What? Are you nuts?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Peter, I don’t know you from Adam. But I do know guys like Darcy. He’s probably fucked every man in his classes, and he’s been on the road for months.” Ted put his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Look, kid. Tell him no. If he can’t respect that, then tell him to go fuck himself. Bareback.” Ted growled.
“I did. It’s just…” he faded out. “I really like him. As an artist, I mean.”
Ted could tell the guy was torn. “You came here just to study with him, didn’t you? Just to get to meet him?”
“Yeah, I did.” Peter stared out the window again.
“I’m sorry. Really, but you’ve got to know, people aren’t always what they seem. I see it all the time in my line of work.”
“What do you do?” Peter turned to gaze at him.
Shit, he’d said way too much. “Insurance.” He shrugged.
“Oh, yeah, I can see that.”
“Let me tell you, from one gay man to another. No one who asks you to bareback, and isn’t involved with you in a long-term relationship, and can’t prove he’s negative? That’s twisted, man.”
“I know.” Peter smiled at Ted. “Thanks. I mean it.”
“Nada.” Ted nodded.
Peter sank back against the seat, looking way younger than twenty-three and more than a little relieved.
When Ted got a minute with Darcy alone, they were going to have a serious talk.
Deadly serious.
Chapter Eleven
Scott ate a late lunch at the diner. He chatted with a few folks and listened patiently to them complain about whatever bothered them. His job as sheriff meant he had to be open to everyone, even the pains in the ass of this parish.
But when Wyatt Boudreau strolled in, it was Scott’s cue to leave. He tossed some bills on the counter and stood, settling his hat on his head.
“Hello, Sheriff.” Wyatt nodded at him. Scott nodded back.
“Wyatt.” No skin off Scott’s nose to be civil. Despite everything, Wyatt was pack, and as such, Scott would fight to defend him if it came down to it.
They gave each other a wide berth as Scott left and Wyatt settled at the counter with another firefighter. Scott recognized him, but he wasn’t a pack member.
“Leaving so soon?” Wyatt grinned at Scott.
“Back to work,” he replied and edged out the door.
Once on the street, he exhaled. He didn’t need a run-in with Wyatt, not with the entire diner looking on. Like Vegas, what happened in the pack, stayed in the pack.
Scott got into the cruiser and fired it up. His radio came on, and the dispatcher called.
“Boss, we just got a call reporting a bunch of cars at the Bon Rive. You’re the closest man free.”
“I’ll check it out,” he answered into his mike. He didn’t normally patrol, but if there wasn’t a closer car and he was available, he took the call, and his dispatcher knew it.
When he reached the plantation, the tall black gates, usually chained shut, were open and half a dozen cars had parked along the gravel road leading to the stately white mansion. Green manicured lawn stretched toward the house, flanked by woods.
He pulled along, driving slowly, taking down license plates to run later.
Several people stood in a group farther down. Probably nothing more than one of the scheduled tours, but he had to make sure they were legit. He parked, got out, and made his way toward them.
As he approached, he recognized the group, stumbled, and caught himself on the hood of one of the cars. When he looked up, it was right into the dark brown eyes of the stranger from the restaurant.
“Ho-ly shit,” he muttered. His body split in two, one half needing to run as fast as he could away from there, and the other to run as fast as he could toward the stranger.
Stuck in between, unable to move, he cleared his throat, straightened, and remembered who he was. Sheriff Scott Dupree. Right.
“You folks got permission to be here?” He dragged his gaze away and searched the others’ faces.
A striking man, with long white-blond hair, a deep tan, and ice blue eyes stepped forward. “I’m Darcy Wentworth, the artist. I have permission from the foundation. We’re going to be painting here on the grounds.”
“Is someone from the foundation here?”
“No. But the gates were open, and someone was supposed to meet us.” He shrugged, his hands buried in the front pockets of paint-splattered jeans.
“Do you have any paperwork?” Scott had to be thorough about this; if he let some trespassers on the grounds and they vandalized the place, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Paperwork?” The man held out his arms. “My assistant set this up. I promise you, we’re harmless. Just a troop of artists.” He gave Sc
ott a winning smile.
Scott nodded. “All right then. Can you put in a call to your assistant? I’ll wait around until someone shows up.”
“Of course.” Darcy turned away and pulled out his cell phone.
The others watched, their gazes darting back and forth between Scott and Darcy. Everyone except the stranger. His gaze never faltered. It burned Scott with its intensity, demanding he return the look, answer the call.
After a few minutes, Darcy closed his phone and turned back. “She’s going to fax it to your station if that’s all right? Now, can we get started? We’re on a schedule.”
“Sure.” Scott nodded. He’d call Terri and confirm it.
“Come on everyone,” Darcy called out. “Let’s get set up. Choose your spots for the best views, lighting, and colors.”
They broke up, carrying chairs, easels, canvases, and paint boxes. The man didn’t move. Maybe he didn’t even breathe. But he sure as hell stared.
Scott turned away and headed back to his cruiser.
Steps crunching on the gravel told him the man followed him.
“Sheriff!” A deep voice called, and Scott’s cock stiffened.
He kept walking. He didn’t want to do this. Whatever this was going to be, Scott knew it wouldn’t be good.
Scott made it to the cruiser when a strong hand landed on his shoulder. A shudder ripped through him, and he nearly staggered.
The other man groaned, and the grip tightened, almost bringing Scott to his knees. But not in pain. Oh hell, what he felt couldn’t be called pain at all, but damn if he’d name it.
Scott spun around, staggering a little. “You! Leave me alone.” He shrugged off the guy’s hand.
“My name is Ted Canedo.”
“I don’t want to know your name.” Scott shook his head.
“Sure you do. You want to say it when you’re jerking off, don’t you?” He growled, his brows laced together.
“Merde. I don’t know what you’re—” The guy cut Scott off by stepping forward, catching his arm by the wrist and holding on. “Let me go.”
“Not until you explain this.” Ted stared into his eyes. Scott lost himself there, deep in those dark pools.
“I can’t. I don’t know what the fuck is happening.”
“That’s a lie. I can smell it on you.” Ted leaned closer and inhaled. “Shit. I can smell you in my dreams. Smell you when I touch myself.”
Despite himself, Scott inhaled. Ted. His mate. The scent overpowered him, sent him reeling. His wolf howled to break free, to claim this man.
He looked around to see if anyone watched them, but couldn’t see a soul. “Get in the car.” He jerked his head to the cruiser.
Ted nodded and walked around to the passenger side and got in. Scott closed the door and realized this was a big mistake.
Their scents filled the car in seconds, and he was lost. Scott moaned. Ted cursed. They lunged together, lips biting, hands demanding, tongues fighting for dominance.
Scott wouldn’t let go, back down, or come up for air, until his chest burned and his lips were cut and bruised. Nothing about this felt weird; his body didn’t scream that it was wrong to kiss another man. All he knew was his wolf’s desperation to be with this man, to taste him, to hold him, to fuck him.
Then Ted pushed him away, panting, huddled against the doors of the car as far away from Scott as possible without bailing out.
“Fuck.” Ted gasped.
“Merde.” Scott ran his hand over his face. “That can’t ever happen again.” His fingers touched his swollen lips.
∙•∙
“No. Never,” Ted lied.
The only sounds in the cabin were the air rushing in and out of their lungs and a low humming coming from their throats.
“Start talking.” Ted clamped his hand around the door handle to keep him on that side of the car. If he let go, he knew he’d fling himself like an eager puppy at the handsome sheriff again.
Scott cleared his throat. “My name is Scott Dupree, and this is all my mother’s fault.”
Ted stared, then laughed. “You’re blaming your mother? Isn’t that sort of clichéd?”
“Not for being gay. I’m not gay. I told you that.”
“Right. So how did I taste? Want more?” Ted pushed the man, knowing he should just keep his mouth shut, but damn him, he wanted another kiss, another touch.
“No. She cast a spell.” He rolled his eyes.
“A spell? Like a voodoo spell?” Ted frowned. “I don’t believe in that shit.”
“So how do you explain this?” Scott waved his hand back and forth between them.
He had him there. Ted didn’t know how to explain it. But if Scott really wasn’t gay…?
“You are straight.”
“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Scott’s gaze begged Ted to believe him.
“I believe you.” He slumped. “I can’t do this again. I can’t fall for another straight man.” He bit his lip, winced, and looked out the window. “It’ll kill me, this time.”
“This time?” Scott cocked his head. “This has happened to you before?”
“Not this. But back in New Orleans, I fell for my patrol partner. Straight and married with kids.” Ted traced the line of the dashboard with his fingertip, unsure of the wisdom of telling his secrets to a complete stranger. “It didn’t turn out well.”
“Merde. I would say I didn’t believe in spells either, but here we are. And I just kissed a man.” He bumped his head against the headrest. “And it gets worse.”
“Worse? Than this?” Ted grunted. “Lay it on me.”
“You’re my mate.” Scott closed his eyes.
Ted listened to the change in Scott’s breathing, to the way the man’s smell changed, wanting to do nothing more than lick his way over every inch of skin.
“Your mate?” Ted swallowed. It sounded weird, yet perfectly right. “I’m your mate? What are we? Tarzan and Jane? ’Cause I’m telling you right now, you might be bigger than me, but I am not a bottom.”
“Forget it. Forget I said that.” Scott shook his head. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. I know what I want to do.” Ted groaned, praying Scott would ask.
A long moment later, Scott whispered, “What do you want to do? To me.”
“I want to suck your dick. Take you in my mouth, taste you, lick your balls, make you say my name when you come, and swallow your cum down.” Ted looked Scott straight in the eye.
Scott stared back, and then his gaze dropped to Ted’s crotch, where the evidence of Ted’s arousal strained against his jeans.
Ted found Scott’s erection answering back.
“Ho-ly shit,” Scott whispered. He’d never been so turned on, so hot and primed for sex in his life. Just the thought of Ted’s mouth on his cock nearly set him off.
This was so fucking bad he wanted to cry.
“I think I can break the spell,” Scott said. “I think I can get my mother to reverse it.”
“Can she do that?” Ted looked hopeful, and something about that cut right into Scott’s heart.
“I’m not sure. This is some powerful stuff.”
“You’re telling me. I’ve been dreaming about you for months, man.” Ted ran his hand through his hair, and Scott resisted the urge to push back an escaped lock.
“I just need some time to talk to her and Mike.”
“Mike? Who’s that?” Ted sat up, bristling as if threatened.
“Whoa! He’s my best friend.” Scott put his hands out to halt the other man from getting his hackles up. Just like a wolf would.
“What’s he know about this?”
Scott exhaled. “There’s more.”
“More than we’re under a voodoo spell? More than you saying I’m your mate? What the hell else could there be?” Ted shouted.
“I’m a werewolf.”
Ted froze. His heart beat strong and steady, and just like that, he felt Scott’s heart be
ating in time. Smelled Scott and knew he’d know that scent anywhere and for the rest of his life.
Scott’s blue eyes darkened. “I’m a wolf. I’m the alpha of our pack here in St. Jerome.”
“Okay, Scott. I’ve been a cop in New Orleans for ten years, a PI for two years, and I’ve never heard anything about werewolves being anything but stories.” More than anything, Ted wanted to believe Scott was full of shit, but something in the man’s attitude, the way he held himself, told Ted it was true. It was all true.
“It’s sort of a secret.” Scott smiled, and it melted Ted’s heart, curled his toes, made him want to reach for the man and pull him down on top of him.
“I would think so.” Ted cleared his throat. “So, you think you’re a werewolf, and I’m your mate because your mother put a spell on me.”
“I don’t think I am; I am. There’s a whole pack of us here. Haven’t you heard of the legend of the rugarou here in the bayou?”
“I’ve heard of it. I’ve also heard of vampires and zombies and little green men from Mars, but that doesn’t mean I believe it or that they exist.”
“I don’t know about the others, but weres exist. I exist.” He thumped his chest.
Ted held out his hands to calm the sheriff down. “Okay, for now, let’s go with you’re a werewolf. And your mother is a voodoo queen.”
“No, she’s just a crazy old lady with the power to cast a love spell to bring me a mate. You came.”
That was quite different from being caught in some trap, and Ted understood the inherent problem.
“She was talking about a female mate, right? You were expecting a woman.”
“Right.” Scott sighed. “None of my pack is gay, Ted. I’m their leader. I’m supposed to bring a female into the pack, mate with her, and have children.”
Ted whistled under his breath. “So I’m guessing this won’t go over well with the folks here in St. Jerome, or with the members of your wolf gang.”
“It’s a pack. And no, it’s not going to go over well.” Scott looked on the verge of throwing up.
“No problem. I go back to New Orleans at the end of the week.” Ted shrugged and opened the car door. “Save us both a lot of heartache.”
“You can’t just go.” Scott shook his head.