Bad Wolf (A Breed MC Book Book 5)

by Anne Marsh

  At least I hope she can.

  You know. Just in case.

  Am I expecting that level of carnage when Keelie Sue finally busts out her baby? That’s a good question. I sure as fuck hope not, but she’s not looking so good, and I’m shopping for some insurance. The only werewolf birth I’ve been a part of was my own, and since my Mommy Dearest either didn’t or couldn’t stick around afterward, I’m not taking that as a good sign. And my Alpha’s just as worried. It’s been a long, long time since the pack had mates, let alone pregnant ones, and no one knows what will happen if Keelie Sue heads to the hospital. He’s been pulling in the Breaux matriarch, but as she keeps telling him, having popped a few pups of her own does not make her any kind of expert or medical professional.

  There’s no one at the counter to pull a meet and greet when I saunter up, so I tap the little bell that’s got a sticky note taped to the front announcing Ring Me. Gotcha. Possibly I hit it harder than strictly necessary because a pretty little brunette—thankfully not pregnant—comes flying through a side door and skids to a halt at the sight of me. She looks left, right, and then down over the counter at my boots. Maybe some guys come here and their girls hit the floor and pop out babies in the waiting room? Fuck if I know, but she looks confused at my female-less state. And since I usually am sporting a female accessory, that makes two of us.

  “I’ve got an appointment,” I announce. Look at me, still following the rules. I even fish a piece of paper out of my pocket and slide it toward her. I booked an online appointment and then I printed the proof. Honestly, I’m not turning over a new leaf—I’m growing an entire goddamned tree.

  The receptionist shifts her gaze to my paper, but she doesn’t look any less confused. She examines each letter like she’s a five-year-old confronting the alphabet for the first time. “Just you?”

  “Yep.” I lean my forearms on the pretty little countertop. Sure as fuck hope it’s stronger than it looks.

  “Oh.” She drags her gaze back to my face, chewing on her bottom lip. “Mrs. Fang isn’t with you today?”

  “Sunshine, what you see is what you get.” I wink at her.

  “Oh,” she repeats. The look of uncertainty grows on her face. I wait her out because I’m not going anywhere without seeing Rain. Eventually, she rallies, nods, and shoves a clipboard and an enormous stack of paper in my direction. I grab a pen and retreat. Checkboxes aren’t really my thing, but I do my best trying to fill in the questions about how my pregnant lady is feeling. Since Keelie Sue is in no mood to overshare with me (I’ve pretty much taken up permanent residence on her shit list), I can only write down so much.

  Ten minutes later, I get bored and start doodling because that’s a whole lot of white space and this room is just filled with fucking inspiration. Or maybe not-fucking inspiration because the truth is, looking around makes me realize that sex can land a guy in some really unpleasant places. All these big bellies started with sex and a nice, big orgasm.

  When I’m not busy fighting, fucking, or shucking my human skin so I can run around on all fours, I draw. Have I shocked you? Yes, I do something that doesn’t involve bodily fluids and penetration of one kind or another. It’s not something I mention, and none of my pack knows about it. But it makes me a nice stack of cash and a guy’s got to have a hobby.

  And I don’t just draw dick pictures, although dicks have been known to make a magnificent, super-hero-worthy appearance in my panels. I draw comic books. True story? You can make a shit-ton of money when your hero is actually a bad guy vigilante whose favorite hobbies are banging chicks and killing stuff. Were, my main lead, isn’t too particular about what he kills, either. If he thinks you need killing, you get killed. He’s a demon shifter with awesome super powers, and that doesn’t include his magic, orgasm-giving dick, either. This seems to be a popular fantasy with my readers, who are naturally mostly men. It’s not that you girls aren’t welcome to come along for the party, but whenever I release a new strip I get an avalanche of angry emails pointing out that Were is more anti-hero than caped crusader and that I’m doing the entire male sex a big fucking disfavor by encouraging them to think they can do these things, too.

  Too bad, so sad. We guys are entitled to our fantasies.

  While I wait, I try to sketch Were doing a couple of the pregnant chicks, and then give up. I’m not sure how the mechanics of knocked-up sex work when the chick’s reached the watermelon stage of things, and I hate feeling uncertain. The waiting room is like the seventh level of hell. I fit in here about as well as Loki at a tea party. I’m the elephant in a chicken yard full of tiny, fluffy chicks. An elephant with teeth. I ignore the side-eye from the women in the waiting room and doodle some more. I could be here on legitimate business, right? There are super-hero villains who’ve banged chicks and left a souvenir behind. Look at the Green Goblin. He did Spider Man’s first girl, Gwen Stacy, and she ended up knocked up with twins.

  I think about gifting Were with twins, but even my imagination’s not that good. His half-drawn figure glares at me from the stack of medical forms.

  Eventually, someone calls my name from the doorway to the inner sanctum. A female someone because this is clearly a no-men-allowed zone. Fuck me, but she’s got the voice of a phone sex operator. It’s a husky alto, all do me now, big boy, and no way I ignore that kind of invitation. I bolt out of my seat, almost upending a slow-moving pregnant lady. I grab her carefully by the elbow to steady her, but she glares at me like I just farted in front of the Pope and then she bursts into tears. The tribe of females flanking her follow up with dirty looks, and promptly usher her away from me to the seat I’ve just vacated. They’re more feral than a pack of wolves, and for a moment I’m concerned they’ll pee on my chair just to mark it as theirs.

  And if it’s a question of marking or claiming territory, I’m gonna win any pissing contest. I promise you that.

  I’m debating the merits of marching back to my spot—not that I want or need it but it’s mine—and whipping out my dick when, BAM. You see those letters in 48-point Courier font?

  BAM it is.

  Because like any villain getting his come-uppance, life smacks me right on the nose. Hard. I get my first good look at the woman calling my name. Fuck me, but she’s gorgeous. Downright magnificent. More than a little fierce (pretty sure she saw me upend that other gal and I’m not winning any points for that in her book). How come she appears to be almost the only female not knocked up? If she were mine, I’d be banging her night and day, and no way I’d want anything between us. I’d take her bareback, jizz over every delicious inch of her, breed her good.

  Wait.

  Do they pump the air full of pheromones in here? I’m a babe man, not a baby daddy. This isn’t me.

  And yet I can’t stop looking.

  Wanting.

  Her hair is long and brown, twisted up on top of her head in a gravity-defying do anchored with lacquered chopstick things. In a comic book, those sticks would actually be a stealth, werewolf-killing weapon, but I suspect they were just the first things she laid hands on. Little tendrils have gone AWOL and fly around her face. She’s got hazel eyes. She’s wearing a pair of pale pink nursing scrubs that bag off of her, concealing her curves. The corners of her mouth tip up as she watches me bolt toward her. She knows I’m not comfortable and she’s enjoying my pain. I like her already, even if she is completely off-limits. I need what’s in her head, not what’s in her pants.

  I drop my gaze to her tits—which are big enough to make a spectacular impression despite the baggy scrub shirt—and spot the nametag perched above her right nipple. Rain. Ever since I looked her up online, I’ve been wondering what the fuck kind of name is Rain? Is she gonna pop out babies called Thunderstorm, Cloud, and Hail?

  Doesn’t matter if she’s got a stupid name, I remind myself. I can always rename her—or give her a pet name. Maybe Sunshine since the sun always makes an appearance after the rain comes. Kinda like the thought of that, all bad puns intended.
This is my girl.

  “Mr. Fang?” Her mouth twists, as if she thinks my name is funnier than hers but she’s trying not to laugh. Her gaze takes in my vest, my boots, the general package. Her eyes narrow. I think she’s got the idea. I’m a biker and I’m riding alone.

  She holds her hand out. She’s playing by human rules, being polite, but my wolf doesn’t give a shit. She’s offered skin privileges and I’ll take it. I wrap her hand in mine and hold on. Her fingers are slim and strong. For a moment, she tries for the quick press and release but I don’t let go.

  Don’t fucking want to. Ever.

  Her gaze drops to our hands, and a throaty chuckle escapes her throat. My wolf thinks she’s fired the starter’s pistol in some goddamned race, and we should chase her. Catch her.

  Do her hard.

  Not mine.

  I need this woman’s brain, I remind myself. I need the information she’s got locked up in her head.

  She looks behind and around me, like she’s expecting more. Unfortunate really, because what she sees is what she gets. “Are you flying solo today?”

  “Yeah.”

  You think I shouldn’t growl at her? Probably right. I don’t want to scare her, not yet.

  She shakes her hand in mine—not the polite up-and-down this time, but a firm let-the-fuck-go yank. My respect for her ratchets up.

  “I’m going to need that back.” Laughter dances in her voice again.

  Christ, she’s amazing. I force myself to let go. It would be so easy to pull her up against me, to toss her over my shoulder and storm off with her. Brain, I remind myself. Doctor. This is the last woman I should be fucking.

  Her whole face softens and she beams at me. “It’s so sweet of you to come even if your partner wasn’t feeling up to it. Come on back.”

  I should probably feel bad about the assumptions she’s making, the way I’m sort of lying through omission, but my new-leaf tree is more of a seedling than a mighty oak. Her assumptions are convenient so I let them go. Time enough to introduce her to my reality later.

  She turns and heads down a hallway. Her ass. Sweet fucking Jesus but this woman has a spectacular ass. She’s rounded in all my favorite places, and the same scrubs that hid her tits from my front view now cling to each delicious curve as she leads me somewhere. Not like I give a fuck where, although some place with a bed would be my first choice. My dick stirs to life, nodding its agreement. We’ve just had a bologna sandwich back there at the bar, and now life’s teasing us with a four-star gourmet meal. Who eats a Lean Cuisine when he could devour a steak from Wolfgang Puck?

  We reach our destination before I’m ready to be done staring. She pushes the door wide open and steps in. I don’t spend a whole lot of time in medical offices. One advantage of being a shifter is that healing is pretty much a DIY operation. I get the shit beat out of me, I shift. Problem solved. Even the well-deserved ass-kicking I took when Jace claimed Keelie Sue didn’t put me down for more than a few days. Pretty much would have to rip my head off or my heart out to KO me.

  Rain’s office, though, isn’t what I expect. I thought doctors specialized in antiseptic crap, but Rain’s walls are a deep blue like water at night. A white ceiling and white trim frame a black wood floor with a black-and-white strip rug. A desk that looks like one good fuck would finish it off holds a computer monitor, a neat stack of files, and a white vase full of orange tulips. A pair of white bookcases flank the desk, the insides painted a perfect peach, as if she just sliced open a cantaloupe and used it to color in the empty spaces. It’s all bold lines and color, like one of my comics. Got a big ass window too, so that’s perfect. It’s like the universe just put its seal of approval on my plan.

  “Normally, I’d take you and your partner into one of the examination rooms, but since you’re flying solo today…” She shrugs, her face crinkling with amusement. “I can’t imagine you want to sit on the table.”

  I’ve never had dirty doctor fantasies. Had a girl once who liked to play naughty nurse. She also had a thing about thermometers and the smell of latex made her come on the spot. Didn’t understand what she liked about the fantasy so much, but now I do. My imagination parks Rain’s sweet butt on one of those little wheeled stools and scoots her over until she’s between my legs. Then she can look up and ask me where it hurts because I’ve got something for her to kiss better tenting the front of my jeans.

  Oblivious, she waves me toward a chair, and then she walks around the desk and sits down. We’ve got two feet and about a hundred pounds of file folders between us now. I reach behind me and push the door shut.

  She smiles and my dick jerks. “Why don’t tell me why you’re here.”

  Without missing a beat, I launch into the story I’ve prepared. “My girl’s expecting, and she’s been having some issues. So I wanted to find out what I can do to help.”

  Rain nods, her gaze thoughtful and concerned. “Let’s start with the symptoms, okay?”

  And then she launches into a rapid-fire series of questions. How many months? Nausea? How often does Keelie Sue vomit? How much? Has she lost weight? Is she cramping? Bleeding? What color?

  I think I might pale at that last one. I’ve never paid a whole lot of attention to the color of the blood I spill, but apparently I’ve been missing some important clues. Does Jace know this? Because while I can smell the blood on Keelie Sue sometimes, even I don’t have the balls to waltz up to her and ask her to describe it. Not planning on fucking checking either, or Jace will skip ass-kicking and move straight to decapitation.

  And then Rain tackles the elephant in the room. “Why isn’t your partner here?”

  I smile at her. This is usually the part where the girl I’m wooing starts dropping her panties. Rain’s made of tougher stuff though because she just smiles back and waits.

  “We’re fighting,” I admit.

  I think that covers it, don’t you? Every member of the pack is well aware that Keelie Sue would like to disembowel me with a grapefruit spoon (that’s the kind with the pointy little teeth for digging into the fruit for those of you pagans who think you can eat your grapefruit however you goddamned please). And if evisceration is off the table, she’d settle for never seeing me again.

  “Mr. Fang.” Her mouth tightens, so I know I’m not gonna like what comes next.

  “Is there a problem? I’m just trying to be helpful.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs. It’s cute the way she thinks she’s put some space between us. I could be over that desk in a hot second.

  “It’s very hard to diagnose a patient I’ve never seen,” Rain says dryly.

  “Float me some theories. I want to fix this.”

  “Give me specifics about when she doesn’t feel good.” She puffs out her cheeks, blowing air through her pursed lips. It’s cute and funny and she’s clearly lost in thought, mentally replaying everything I’ve just told her. This is what makes her perfect—she wants to fix my problem, too. Oh, and the fact that she buys my bullshit. In fact, I get bonus points for being such a sweet sack of shit.

  Ten minutes later, I run out of things to say. I’ve told her about every bout of morning sickness I’ve witnessed. I’ve told her about the paleness, the pain, the way Keelie Sue constantly rubs at the side of her belly and the fear in her eyes. It’s the fear that kills me. Even I didn’t manage to scare her for long, but this baby has her worried. This seems to be the safest way to make shit up to her.

  Rain exhales slowly, her fingers stroking slowly over the folder in front of her. She’s got Keelie Sue all written down there, but she keeps looking at me. I meet her gaze. If you’re a wolf, you don’t drop your eyes unless you’re ready to submit, and I don’t do submission. Rain may not be a wolf, but she’s trying to establish dominance and I won’t let her so I stare back.

  She sighs again, her gaze dropping to the folder. I win. That’s right. She just acknowledged me as her Alpha, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

  “I think it’s wonderful that y
ou’ve taken this step to get some medical advice, but you need to convince your partner to come in person. In addition to the difficulties of diagnosing blind, there are a number of medical privacy laws that would prevent me from discussing her condition with you unless you’re married.”

  She pauses and looks up at me expectantly.

  Undeterred, I grin at her. “Sunshine, I’m the last guy she’d marry.”

  “And yet you made a baby with her,” she says dryly.

  Wish that were the truth. Wish I had some claim on Keelie Sue that was stronger than pack because maybe then I could fix her. Her belly just gets bigger and bigger, but her face stays pale as fuck, these big, purple shadows drowning her eyes. And it’s like all the weight’s gone straight to her middle or that baby’s eating her up, because her arms and legs get thinner and thinner, and I’m not the only one worried that there won’t be much left of her when this thing is done.

  Maybe there won’t be anything left.

  “She’s not with me and won’t ever be.” Oversharing with Rain wasn’t part of my plan, but it works out for me. Her face softens, as if now she’s feeling sorry for me. I don’t do pity, but maybe I can work this to my advantage.

  “What do I ask her primary care physician?”

  Rain’s forehead puckers as her thought train switches track from Pity Central to doctor mode. She pops to her feet, starts pacing, and opens her mouth. An endless, encyclopedic list falls out of said mouth. Who knew babies were so freaking complex? Still, I write everything down. She’s given me a shit-ton of stuff to remember. Only paper I’ve got is the little sketchpad I carry around with me, and it’s mostly drawings for my comic. I fit the words in around and over Were in all his ballsy, evil magnificence. She’s going too fast for me to capture this crap on my phone, so the pencil-and-paper route it is.

  While I’m scrambling to write down the last thing on her never-ending list, she sneaks up on me. I mean, of course I hear her coming, but she thinks she’s in stealth mode, so I humor her. She’s looking at my notepad. Kinda want to point out that my dick’s a way more impressive sight, but I refrain. That whole turning-over-a-new-leaf thing is really starting to stick.