What's a Ghoul to Do? : Fangly, My Dear series

by Mardi Ballou

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  What’s a Ghoul to Do?

  Copyright © 2008 by Mardi Ballou

  ISBN: 1-60504-142-4

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Natalie Winters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2008

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  What’s a Ghoul to do?

  Mardi Ballou

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the wonderful readers out there—and to Lee, my first and always reader.

  Chapter One

  Rafe Graywolf scooped his gorgeous date up and kicked open his door. Her perfume fogged his brain as she nuzzled against him. Warm. Hot. His erection throbbed.

  “I’ve been waiting all night to get you back here,” he growled.

  Lana licked his neck with her talented tongue and his balls contracted.

  Then he made his first mistake. He turned on the light and saw them, waiting. August Graywolf and Benedict Volpe. Triple shit. How had the two elders, doddering and past their prime, managed to get into his cottage?

  That was when he made his second mistake. He almost dropped Lana. Though he managed to hold onto her, her whimper came from frustration, not sexual desire. The mood was now broken, erection now history. He set her down and encircled her with a possessive arm.

  August cleared his throat. “We didn’t know you’d have company.”

  Right. Like he was supposed to check in with them about his social life. Rafe aimed his death glare at his uncle. “Unlike you, she’s invited. As in, let me hold the door open for you. Tomorrow you can tell me why you busted in here while I was out.”

  “We apologize for intruding, but we didn’t bust in.” Benedict held up a key.

  August cleared his throat. “I’m afraid we can’t leave. A situation has arisen that needs—”

  “You could have phoned.” Rafe exercised excruciating effort to hold together the shards of his temper.

  “We didn’t want to leave a message on your machine. You didn’t answer your phone or your page…” Benedict was looking at his feet.

  Oh, yeah. The vibration. He’d figured that was part of Lana’s charm. “Can’t I ever take a single night off? I’m sure there must be someone else who can handle whatever’s come up.”

  “No,” August responded. “Maybe you should give the young lady cab fare home so we can tell you what’s going on.” August was Rafe’s uncle. He and his fellow elders had convinced—more like coerced—Rafe to take up the position of pack alpha. After all their effort to get him to change his life plans and become alpha, Rafe expected the elders to be grateful. Yeah right. They messed up his dates, bugged him twenty-four seven and kept demanding more.

  “Absolutely not,” Rafe gritted out. He started to draw Lana closer, but she resisted.

  “Maybe it’s for the best that I go.” Her husky voice gave him goosebumps.

  Shit, shit, shit. This was the third date the two old men had messed up in the past two weeks. Rafe had told them, in short but expressive terms, that their interfering snouts were not welcome in his private life. As was all too clear, the message hadn’t gotten through yet.

  “She’s staying and you’re going. Unless it’s life or death, whatever you want can wait until morning.”

  “It’s life or death,” August whined. “We wouldn’t bother you for anything less.”

  Right. And they had some swamp land to sell him. He folded his arms in front of his chest and adjusted his face into his most menacing frown. “State the matter or leave. Better yet, do both. Now.”

  “We can’t speak of this confidential matter in front of someone who’s not a member of our pack,” Benedict enunciated each syllable.

  Rafe didn’t believe a word either old coot muttered. On the other hand, could he take a chance? Maybe this time there was a modicum of truth in what they were saying.

  “It’s okay. I’ll go,” his date whispered.

  No. His body screamed in protest. He didn’t want to spend another night jawing with these two about pack politics and other crap that could wait for regular business hours. “I’ll get rid of them. Lana, I don’t want you to go.”

  She fluttered her lashes and licked her pouty lips, but the mood was gone. The two old men stood hovering like vultures.

  He drew her away from their prying eyes and bent close to whisper, “I owe you, big time. Next time, let’s go out of town so these two can’t find us.”

  She kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to his lips. “I’ll count on it.”

  “Want me to call you a cab?”

  “Nah. I have a buddy who will pick me up.” She went through the door, leaving behind a whiff of her scent to torment him the rest of the night.

  Feeling murderous, he turned to the two old men. “Talk. This had better be very good.”

  “According to the latest intelligence reports, a pack down from Vancouver is planning to set up shop here,” Benedict started.

  Another pack was moving in. This was life or death news? “Calling them ‘intelligence’ reports is a gross misuse of the word. And I fail to see why this news provoked you to torpedo another of my nights off.”

  His uncle shook his head. “This is the same bunch that tried to hone in on our turf twenty-five years ago. They’re aggressive and ruthless. Last time, with your father leading us, we barely managed to repel them. All our sources say they’re better prepared and more determined than ever before.”

  Despite himself, Rafe began to realize he should pay attention. He remembered when his father and the other males had to go on battle alert. The Vancouver pack, the Loups-Noirs, had come within a very short hair of defeating the Wentworths. Though the Wentworths won, males of his father’s generation bore battle scars until the end of their days. His father, the pack alpha, had to struggle all his life to compensate for a painful limp.

  Before Rafe assumed leadership, the elders had confided the shameful news that the other packs perceived the Wentworths as weak. They’d known he wouldn’t be able to resist this challenge to the Wentworth honor. It fell to him to lead at this critical time when they’d have to rebuild their image and fight off the Loups-Noirs. Failure was never an option. Having dedicated himself to right what had gone so wrong, Rafe lived and breathed pack business. The threats they faced were not so pressing and immediate as to justify the elders’ intrusion. Still, since the night had been ruined, he might as well get to work.

  “All right. Give me the reports.” Neither of them moved.

  “Come on. You got what you wanted. I’m now available to work on pack matters. So give me the reports and then you can go mess up someone else’s date.”

  August looked at Benedict and nodded. Rafe’s gut clenched. He braced himself.

  “One more thing, Rafe. It’s past time for you to choose your mate and get her established. Though most of the pack appreciates your taking on the mantl
e of leadership and approve of how you’re handling things, there’s always a group of malcontents. They’ve been talking, starting trouble.”

  Rafe winced. “I never promised to make everyone love me.”

  Benedict waved his hands in dismissal. “We’re not saying you should. But, you see, they have a legitimate point, and thus they can complicate everything we’re trying to do by directing everyone’s focus the wrong way.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase here.”

  August nodded. “The only way to silence the troublemakers is to take away their source of complaints. Namely, present your mate to the pack.”

  Damn. There it was, the real reason why they’d come. Well, he’d asked them to get to the point. “We’ve been over this before. I made it clear when I agreed to help out. I have no intention of hooking up with a mate now. Maybe in ten years, maybe never, but not now. You all agreed that would be okay because of the emergency.”

  “We’ve had to revise that stance. Your not having a mate is having a more harmful effect on the pack than we anticipated.” August’s lips trembled and his voice became quite weak.

  Rafe bit back a harsh reply. Despite all his uncle’s manipulative schemes and outright coercion, Rafe cared about the old man, about the pack. Still… “Judging from the way you reacted to her, I assume neither of you would consider Lana a suitable mate for the pack alpha.”

  Both men grew pale. “Are you planning to propose—” Benedict clamped his hand down over his heart as if to ward off cardiac arrest.

  “I hadn’t given it a thought. But, busy as I’ve been, I’ve hardly had time to look for dates, let alone potential mates.” He furrowed his brow and then smiled, as if a great idea had just come to him. “It’s time to think outside the box. I need to update the pack’s ideas about the alpha taking a mate, starting now.”

  “No sense being hasty.” August stroked his chin. “Let’s talk. You see, Benedict and I have come up with some surefire ideas.”

  Determined not be railroaded again, Rafe sat down. He donned his psychological armor, folded his arms in front of him, and began to listen.

  ***

  When she got to work, Lilith Graves checked for any news that had come in during the night. She sighed with a mix of contentment and a more complex emotion as she read the latest wedding announcement—yet another couple matched up by Fangly, My Dear. The agency her best friend in the world, Dominique LaPierre, had founded earlier that year was exceeding all their most optimistic projections. Dominique credited Lilith as the inspiration for the successful business, dedicated to helping beings from all the communities in the San Francisco Bay Area find their best possible matches. Though Lilith’s generous trust funds meant she didn’t need a job, she enjoyed her work at Fangly, My Dear and the office’s upbeat atmosphere.

  Since Fangly, My Dear had come on the scene, Lilith would swear the percentage of happy couples in San Francisco had risen. Even Dominique, who’d sworn off relationships after a string of disastrous breakups, had found her soul mate. The most hardened cases succumbed to Dominique’s matchmaking formula—cutting edge high tech plus a good dose of old-fashioned white witch magick.

  It seemed there was only one person in the San Francisco area they couldn’t find a match for—Lilith P. Graves. She tried not to identify with the kid who had her nose pressed to the candy store window but never got any goodies. Still, despite Dominique’s efforts to find her a match, Lilith often clunked out of the system like a fifth wheel. She dreaded that her name would never grace a wedding announcement. Wedding? Heck, at this point she was more likely to travel to Mars than ever be a bride.

  She sighed. As a vegetarian demi-ghoul—her dad was a ghoul, her mom a human empath—Lilith realized she presented a matchmaking challenge of Olympic proportions. Her mom, with her exquisite sensitivity to everyone’s emotions, was not the problem. People often wondered how she’d gotten together with Lilith’s father—a real case of opposites attracting since his ancestors included creatures who hung out in cemeteries and ate the flesh of the dead. Then there was Great-uncle Henry who’d shapeshifted into hyena form to munch on the occasional lost traveler. Lilith recognized early that Dad’s side of the family was different. They’d modified their diet to fit into modern society, but the old stigmas stayed with them. Though she loved her ghoul relatives as much as her human ones, Lilith realized society relegated her family to the lowest link of the status chain. Outside their own group, ghouls were not considered particularly desirable because of their dietary choices. Understatement. On the other hand, her fellow ghouls didn’t look too fondly on Lilith’s commitment to vegetarianism.

  She might hold the world record for being a one-date wonder. No one in recent years had called back for a second date. When she’d seized the initiative and contacted guys she’d liked, their excuses for turning her down were legion. Heck, a girl could develop a complex. A solitary tear made its way down her cheek. Oh great. Now I am going to mess up my mascara and have to redo my face.

  Dominique breezed into her office, looking like she’d just won the lottery. “You’ll never guess who’s coming to us for a match.”

  “Who?” Lilith turned her head to wipe her tear away.

  “The Wentworth Werewolves.” Dominique rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe it. That group has been dragging their feet on getting with the program. Now that they’ve come around and gotten a whiff of what we can do for them, they want us. I’m psyched.”

  “The whole pack has signed up for matches?” That would be a coup.

  Her friend waved a hand. “Not yet. But they will. They’re signing their alpha up. Imagine that, the alpha! Once we match him, it’ll be a cinch to get the rest of the pack. Then our reputation will spread to other packs.”

  “What does that mean, ‘they’re signing their alpha up’? Isn’t it his choice to come in? And isn’t the alpha the big boss? How come he’s letting someone else sign him up?”

  Dominique shrugged. “I think you’re looking at this the wrong way. You see, the alpha needs a mate. The Wentworths’ alpha insists he can come up with his own mate, but he hasn’t. He also says he doesn’t want to follow the pack directives as to when he’ll pick his mate. But according to pack rules, he needs to name his mate within a certain amount of time after he becomes alpha or he has to give up his office.”

  “Nothing like putting pressure on the guy.”

  Dominique eyed her. “That sounds a very pessimistic interpretation of his situation.”

  “Well, I don’t get the impression the alpha is up for a match. That might make our job tougher.”

  “But we thrive on tough. As to reluctant candidates, remember what a tough case Antoine was? But look at him now. Not only is he one of our biggest supporters, well, do I need to finish the rest?” Dominique blushed, which didn’t happen often.

  Lilith adored her friend and was thrilled that she’d settled in San Francisco and found Antoine, the love of her life. Still, sometimes all that positive energy could be grating, like when her own chin was dragging on the ground and there were no imminent signs of change.

  “When’s the alpha coming for his intake?” she asked. Lilith figured focusing on business would improve her mood.

  “In about an hour.”

  “Do you want me to handle it?”

  “Since this one’s so important, I thought we should both be in on it.”

  “Okay. Do you have any background info you want me to read first?”

  “Check out the pack online. Their website includes information about their traditions, including the requirements for the alpha and his mate.”

  “Gee, Dominique, it just hit me. This alpha’s looking for his mate.”

  “His whole pack is behind him on this.”

  “That’s a heck of a lot more serious than looking for a date for him.” Even though many of their couples ended up in committed relationships, people usually started their search with regular dates—far less pressure.

>   Dominique nodded. “The alpha isn’t looking for social connections. From what the pack’s representative said, the alpha has no problem getting dates. But if a candidate isn’t going to work as a mate, we’d be wasting everyone’s time setting them up.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Rafael Graywolf. Everybody calls him Rafe.”

  “Rafe. I like that. Rafe Graywolf. His name sounds sexy.” Lilith went to her desk and got the website up. She didn’t know any werewolves. Given her vegetarianism, she figured there’d be the same kind of obstacles to socializing with them as there were with the hugely carnivorous ghouls.

  The Wentworth Werewolves were an old San Francisco pack with roots going back to before the 1849 Gold Rush. Just like many old San Francisco families, over the years they’d amassed great wealth and social standing.

  The website featured photos of Rafe in both forms. He had the most amazing, piercing eyes, a gaze that compelled her even in a mere photo. As to his powerful body, as man and wolf, his sleekness and strength… It wasn’t just his name she found sexy. She sighed and pushed that thought aside. Business is business, she reminded herself.

  According to what she read, the requirements for the alpha’s mate were quite rigid. Rafe had to look outside his pack for a bride. Being noble both by blood and by his position, Rafe had to choose a female of a rank equal to or higher than his own. As the agency designated to locate a mate, Fangly, My Dear would have to adhere to all the specifications. Much as both she and Dominique enjoyed challenges, setting up a search with so many stated parameters would be frustrating.

  As she gazed at Rafe, Lilith sensed working with this man would be far more complex than she could imagine. She couldn’t deny that he appealed to her in ways no one else had in a long time. With a pang she realized she wanted to be matched with him. Talk about a direct route to disaster. Almost all the other shifter groups viewed ghouls in a negative light. Many times in their long history, the other shifter groups—werewolves, all the were-cat groups, even were-snakes—had tried to overcome their own rivalries to unite and expel ghouls. In fact, werewolves had the reputation of being the ghouls’ fiercest enemies—and had tried the hardest to remove them. The werewolves had never made peace with having ghouls in the shifter community. As an alpha, Rafe was an uber werewolf. Even if she could somehow catch his interest, no way could he become involved with her—at this point, not even for one date.