“Suit yourself. Frankly, I don’t care where the bastard is,” Bret said with uncharacteristic venom in his voice.
Keenan shrugged, and with trepidation, hesitantly knocked on the colonel’s door. There was no answer, and he knocked again. Looking back at Dr. Seagal, he gently pushed open the door.
The office was empty, and nothing seemed to be out-of-place.
Not knowing what else to do, Keenan went back to his office. When Areetha arrived, he asked her if she knew where the colonel was.
“I don’t keep no track of that man, Colonel. You know that,” was her surly response.
Keenan went back to his office, but the work in front of him didn’t seem to register. He answered a few emails, his mind on other things.
Could he be undergoing transformation? he wondered.
His own first shift had been pure torture, but he’d had Hozan right there to help him through. He could imagine what it would be like to go through that alone, with no idea of the pain and agony the first shift inflicted. Despite his heavy dislike of the man, a small puff of compassion passed through his thoughts.
“Major?” Aretha said from his door a couple of hours later. “I’ve got Sergeant Frick on the line from down at SOCOM. She wants to know what to do with Corporal Kaas. Do you want them to cut him TAD orders back up here?”
Keenan had known Aiden was done with school and was returning back to Bragg today, but with the colonel taking his attention, it had slipped his mind. He was about to agree with her, but then another idea struck him.
“No, get him out on leave,” he said.
“But the colonel—” she started.
“I know what the colonel wanted, but he’d not here now, is he? And Corporal Kaas was promised leave after the school, so let’s get it done.”
Areetha looked at him as if trying to read his thoughts. Evidently, she didn’t have ESP, because she simply shrugged her shoulders and said, “Your funeral.”
The “promised leave” was a lie, but Keenan wanted to keep Aiden away from the colonel as long as possible, and this put off their inevitable meeting by another week or two.
Chapter 15
Aiden looked out the window where Claire lay on the lounge, feet up on the porch railing, head tilted up (and probably snoring).
Damn, I’m a lucky guy!
He watched her for a few moments, just savoring the view before going to the front door, opening it, and walking over to sit down on the wooden lounge next to her. He leaned forward and placed the base of the cold Bud Longneck against her cheek.
She startled awake with a small shriek.
“I bring offerings of peace!” he protested as she hit him in the chest, offering her the beer.
“Doesn’t get you off the hook, mister,” she said, taking the beer.
“You can spank me later,” he said, taking a swallow from his own bottle as he settled back.
The leave had been a nice surprise, even if he was sure Keenan had authorized it to keep him away from Tarnition. Aiden wondered if he could keep playing that card to get more time off to spend with his fiancé.
Ten day’s leave was a nice chunk of time, but when he and Claire had tried to decide where to go, thinking Hawaii, San Antonio, or Vegas, none of them had struck a chord. Vegas and San Antonio were out as family would take up too much time, and without discussing it, they both knew that they needed this time together without distractions. Hawaii was another choice, but without advanced warning, the plane fare and hotel costs were too high.
On a whim, Claire had suggested the beach lodges at Lejeune, and Aiden knew that was the right choice. Fort Bragg was a great base, and the Army was a good host, but Marines need other Marines, and they both needed a fresh breath of semper fi to recharge their souls, not to mention a trip to cash sales to replenish needed uniform pieces. Ft Bragg had some Marine rank insignia and Navy-Marine Corps ribbons, but not much else Marine-related.
The base-owned lodges on the beach were long sold out, though, but they were able to find a beach house on nearby Emerald Isle for the week that didn’t set them back to badly. Both “beach” and “house” were stretches, however. It was a one bedroom, 700 square foot house at least 60 years old, and if you looked at the right angle from the far left side of the porch, you could just see open ocean through the gaps in the other houses between their place and the beach, but the air was clean and salty, and the cries of gulls easily reached them. Spring was in full form, and the wind could be brisk, but here on the porch, lounging in the sun, it was warm and cozy.
“Don’t think I won’t, little boy. You’re not too big to bend over my knee.”
“Promises, promises.”
She shifted her feet from her lounge to flop her ankles over his. They sat there in silence, just enjoying the beers, the ocean setting, and each other’s company. Their lives had been hectic and stressful lately, and Claire had been edgy with Aiden gone, but for the moment, the outside world did not exist. Aiden sat there, and while he liked the simple contact of their ankles, Claire’s weight started to dig his bare heels into the wooden rail. With a quick twist, he flung her feet off of his where they fell to thunk on the deck.
“Oh, you brat!” she shouted, jumping up to land in his lap.
“Hell, girl, you’re not some little elf,” he said, grabbing her ass. “That some meat there, prime cut!”
“Speaking of meat, mamma’s hungry,” she retorted, reaching under his shorts to grab his cock.
“Uh, let’s not give the neighbors a show, OK?” he asked, picking Claire up and carrying her through the door, or at least trying to. He tripped on the high, old-fashioned door jamb, falling on his face and dropping Claire to land on her back.
“I can’t believe your dropped your future wife!”
She lunged for him, knocking him on his back, and managed to sit on his chest, her legs pinning both arms. Claire had always been a strong girl, and since she’d been infected, she’d gotten even stronger, but Aiden was a full kreuzung, and there was no way Claire could hold him down. He broke one arm free, grabbed her left arm, and rolled over, sending her to the floor while he slid on top.
There probably wasn’t an official mixed martial art or wrestling name for the position, but he ended up with one leg under her, pinning her left arm to her side and lifting her hips, with the other across her thighs. With his right arm under her neck, he grabbed her right arm, bending it back and holding it. Claire was trapped, and she couldn’t squirm her way free.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” he asked in an evil tone.
“Aiden Kaas, you’d better let me go, or I’ll, I’ll . . .”
“Or you’ll what? I don’t think you can do anything. You’re at my mercy, young lady,” he said, leaning in to blow a raspberry in the hollow of her neck.
Claire shrieked in a half-laugh, half mock anger.
“Ah, yes, my sensitive fiancé! I know how much you love to be tickled,” he said, lifting his free left hand to hold it over his trapped but struggling wife.
“Oh, no you don’t Aiden. I swear you’ll wish you hadn’t!” she said, a note of real anger slipping into her voice.
“Or you’ll spank me? As I already told you, promises, promises.”
Aiden knew things could get out of hand, and Claire might actually get mad, but he didn’t think she was at the point yet. And he was frankly getting aroused while holding his wife’s taut body in such a compromising position.
He brought his hand down and tickled her exposed side where her T-shirt had ridden up.
Claire shrieked and bucked, which aroused Aiden even more.
“I’ll never fuck you again, that’s what I’ll do!” she shouted, squirming and trying to break free.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Aiden said. “You like it too much!”
He brought his hand down again, giving her side a prolonged tickle.
“Stop! I mean it Aiden. It’s not funny anymore! Stop!”
He knew he
should stop now, but a perverse sense of something—whether it was the feeling of power or just wanting to have fun—kept him going. He reached with his free hand and started tickling her side. She bucked hard, almost throwing him off, but he maintained his position.
“Stop right now! I’m serious!”
Something in her voice gave Aiden pause.
Is she serious? he asked himself, suddenly unsure.
He wondered if his varg was making itself known, if Claire’s struggles had initiated some sort of hunter instinct in him. He loved her and cared for her, but he knew he was taking things too far, and he wasn’t sure why.
“OK, OK,” he said as he started to let up and begin to untangle himself from her. “I was only playing.”
But she kept struggling, harder and harder.
“Wait a second, Claire. Let me get my leg out from under you,” he said before he realized that something was happening, something big. She was not struggling so much as changing in his arms.
He looked at his wife in amazement as a powerful, hairy paw struck him flush in the chest, almost crushing his ribs as he was flung across the small room’s wooden floor.
Getting to its feet in front of him was a full-fledged varg, ready to pounce.
Chapter 16
“Let’s do it again,” Claire said from where she lay naked on the small couch in the room.
Aiden was on his back on the floor, equally naked, but simply staring at the cracks in the ceiling.
“Are you sure? I mean, aren’t you hungry at least?”
“Sure I am. Famished. But this, I mean, I couldn’t imagine, this is ridiculous!” she said dreamily.
“Tell you what, baby. Let’s get dressed, then go get something to eat. Then, if you still have the energy, we’ll do it again.”
“Oh, I’ll have the energy,” she promised. “But OK.”
Aiden sighed with relief. For the first time in his life as a werewolf, he was physically exhausted. For the last five hours or so, Aiden had led Claire in shifting to her varg and back to human no less than six times, and each shift drew a tremendous amount of energy. Werewolves had amazing recuperative powers, but those powers had to have energy to work, and the two had not eaten solid food since breakfast.
Claire swung her legs off the couch and sat there, facing him, her knees less than a foot from his face. The view was rather interesting, but it only drew a passing interest, a faint flicker of desire. He was just too depleted.
To think we thought we could fuck as vargs, he noted. Oh, well, the best-laid plans of mice and men—and werewolves!
He’d have to ask Hozan about that. Before today, the two of them had discussed little fantasies involving the bedroom and their varg forms, but now that they had both made the shift together, the sexual aspect had frittered away. They’d wrestled (breaking one of the chairs in the room, something they’d have to replace), but while there had been something akin to sexual tension between them, it was not actually sexual. He’d been excited, there had been nipping and biting in their play, but there had been no sexual arousal. He’d felt no compulsion for sex, and she’d felt the same, she told him. And this was after her third shift with him, when they’d told each other they’d be having sex as soon as they shifted. One moment, Aiden was randy and ready. He shifted, and that was gone, to be replaced with a simple desire for rough-and-tumble fun.
Still, the day had been most fulfilling. When Claire had first shifted, Aiden had immediately followed suit, more to protect his own skin than anything else. But unlike Aiden with his first shift, Claire had known what to expect, and her “pounce” had been to grab and hug him in celebration, not to initiate an attack.
With people outside on the beach, they couldn’t leave the little house to run wild, and they’d had to stay cooped up. Still, they’d remained vargs for an hour that first time before Claire said she should try to shift back. To Aiden’s amazement, and maybe with more than a little jealously, Claire’s shift back was easy. One moment, she was a varg, the next a human. It had taken Aiden hours of effort with Hozan assisting to make the return transition to human the first time.
Even her first shift seemed to be relatively painless when compared to his. It had probably taken only ten seconds or so, and she said the pain had been easy to endure. When they talked about it after shifting back to human, she had offered that it might be because women are better able to endure pain, possibly an evolutionary adjustment to take into account childbirth. Aiden didn’t know anything about that, but he wasn’t sure it was fair that she’d had it so relatively easy.
The first shift and shift back had taken a couple of hours. Over the next few hours, the two of them had shifted back and forth four more times, each time Claire getting quicker and smoother. Aiden thought that by the fifth time, she’d actually made a quicker shift than he had.
Despite any slight jealousy and disappointment about the sexual aspect, or lack thereof, Aiden was happy. Claire’s inability to shift had drawn a slight but noticeable curtain between the two of them, and now, that curtain had been drawn aside. He may technically be her patron, but they were equals in all ways, and this just made them “more equal.”
He also knew his outgoing future wife wanted something more than to shift again in the small rental unit. She wanted to run free, and patience was not one of her virtues.
“What say we try out Harvey Mansion in New Bern tonight instead of tomorrow?” he asked.
“That’s a little far, dontcha think? I mean, I sorta want to get back and try again. Can’t we grab something at the 7-11?”
“You’re kidding me, right? Do you think a hotdog and a Hostess cupcake’s going to do?” he asked, surprised. “I need me some protein, girl, and I want to pig out. Besides, you saw Googlemaps on how to get there. What do we pass?”
“Cherry Point?”
“No, well, yeah, we do. But the Croatan National Forest. Miles upon square miles of pine trees with no people. We can eat at the restaurant first, relax a bit, then—”
“Then shift again and run wild in the trees,” Claire finished for him. “All night?”
“All night if that’s what you want, baby. But first, please, please, please let me get something to eat and replenish this tired old body!”
But she had already sprung off the couch in an amazing display of energy, quickly checking and discarding the torn clothing they’d been wearing when they’d first shifted before grabbing clean(ish) clothes they had in their suitcases and throwing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt at the still prone Aiden.
“Get on up, boy, or I’ll be leaving on my own!”
Aiden smiled as he plucked the clothes out of the air before they hit his face and started to get dressed, mesmerized by Claire sliding on her own jeans before hopping up and down to get them over her ass.
I’ve got me one fine fiancé, he thought, knowing full well they’d entered a new chapter in their lives, one that thrilled him to no end.
Chapter 17
Keenan’s ID was checked by a serious and well-dressed young man who simply reeked of danger. The man looked at his pass, then at his face, then back at the pass again. Obviously satisfied that Keenan was, in fact, Keenan, he reached under the podium and pressed something. I small green light flashed, and a click revealed the door behind him was unlocked.
“Please go inside, Colonel,” the guard said.
Colonel! Keenan thought with pride, trying to get used to the address.
He’d only gotten the authorization that morning to pin on the silver oak leaves. He hadn’t even waited for a ceremony but had just put the insignia on his uniform himself.
With the colonel still missing, it was up to Keenan to answer the call to go “upstairs.” It wasn’t upstairs, though, to one of the broad offices of the E-Ring that exuded power. It was to another non-descript office in the same basement level as Keenan’s own Office of Waste Management: Effluent. This office, though, didn’t even have a name posted outside. Without the guard st
anding outside behind the temporary podium, Keenan would have never given the door a second glance.
Keenan had visions of some sort of James Bond secret lab behind doors upon doors, each one opening in turn. Instead, the small office inside was almost bare. Behind a desk sat a civilian, a 40’s-something man in an ill-fitting navy blue suit. On the desk was an impressive looking phone system and a computer monitor, but that was about all. Keenan didn’t know if the balding man was a receptionist or the chief bottle-washer.
The man indicated the simple burnt orange couch that was pressed up against the wall under the photo of the president, the lone piece of art in the office.
“We’re waiting for one more person,” the man said. “So please, make yourself comfortable. We have water, if you wish,” he added, pointing to a small fridge in the corner of the room.
Keenan declined, and he simply sat, wondering what the heck was going on. From the hints the colonel had left (purposely, Keenan was now sure) the rest in the office assumed his meetings “upstairs” were heavy-weight meetings with all sorts of brass. Maybe that was true, but with the colonel missing, it was also possible that the top brass didn’t think Keenan was important enough to rate their time, and this flunky behind the desk was deemed good enough.
Keenan surreptitiously tried to read the man’s pass, trying to get his name and civilian rank, but it hung from his neck below the level of the desktop. So Keenan had to be content to sit quietly while the man silently and intently read off the monitor.
It was a good twenty minutes later before the door opened and a man walked in, a man Keenan immediately recognized: Rob Knutson, the CIA agent who had come to his makeshift office in Afghanistan. Rob’s mission had been the same as Keenan’s: find a werewolf.
“Director, thanks for the meeting. The Director, uh, our director, that is, thanks you and is looking forward to the mission.”
“Director?” This man is a director? Of what? And Rob’s “the Director” has to be the head of the CIA.
The Werewolf of Marines Trilogy Page 47