Things that Go Bump in the Night

by BA Tortuga

  His mate began to move, lips gentle and hot as hell on his stomach, tugging the little hairs and making them sting.

  “Houston, baby. Making me need.” Shivery. There was a lot to be said for Houston’s mouth.

  “Need you.” That laugh just suited his ass to the ground, Houston settled in his own skin.

  “Well, good. It would kinda suck otherwise.” Oh. Sucking. He could so go there. Maybe a nice sixty-nine.

  “I kinda suck anyway.” Houston got a hold of his cock, sucking firmly.

  “Not… uhn. Not. Shit, baby.” Incoherent much? He would just have to give a little back. He tilted, pulling at Houston to get him to move those skinny hips around.

  Heavy and wet-tipped, Houston was ready for him, ready for his mouth. Jesus fuck. The howl he got when he wrapped his lips around that full prick vibrated all around him.

  Shaking, Jacks got his hands up around Houston’s hips, encouraging his mate to move as he sucked. They found a rhythm, sharp and hard, both of them fucking the other, pushing and pulling and sucking and needing. It went on forever, but it only lasted minutes. Damn. Fuck. He could feel it coming.

  Houston’s nose was in his pubes, throat squeezing around the tip of his cock.

  Jacks shot so hard that he shouted, right there around Houston’s cock, his whole body shaking. Then he did a little swallowing of his own.

  His mate humped him, pushing in deep over and over, cock jerking as Houston came for him, howling into the air. The taste was amazing, all salt and earth, and Jacks sucked it down. He closed his eyes for a second, thanking the universe for giving him this.

  Houston rumbled and grunted, the sounds all about pleasure and peace and happy.

  He moved around to face Houston and took a kiss, letting it be lazy and yet toothy. “Fucking love you.”

  “Mate.” Houston grinned, right there with him, happy as the day was long. His. His mate.

  That was all he cared about right now. The rest would wait until he had to think about it. Later.

  THE TRUCK was there again, waiting, watching. Every hair on his body stood up and Houston growled, fingers tightening on the windowsill. “Mate.”

  He didn’t think they could hear him, but he wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t going to risk it. Come on, Jacks. Hear me.

  Damned if Jacks didn’t hear him, appearing from behind the shed outside, fading back toward the house like smoke. From the road, the truck might not see him.

  He stared, eyes locked on the people in the cab. Two of them. One woman. One older man in the passenger side. Didn’t look like soldiers, but they weren’t talking, weren’t doing anything but staring at them.

  The back door opened, Jackson padding in on bare feet. “Where’s the .22, baby?”

  “In the hall closet. Are we going out there?” He wouldn’t look away, wouldn’t back down.

  “I am. You keep them in sight. I’m going around from the back; I’ll try to get a jump on them. We’ll find out why they’re here.” Jacks just did everything full tilt. No fear.

  “I’ll come out through the front, keep their attention.”

  “You be careful.” He was proud that Jacks wasn’t telling him no. That his mate trusted him.

  “You too.” Their fingers brushed, Jacks squeezing his pinky just a bit before the back door opened and his mate slipped out. He waited two minutes and headed outside, not trying to be quiet or subtle.

  The truck idled, both of the watchers just… watching. Not making a move. His senses seemed super attuned, because he thought he could hear Jacks moving out back.

  Houston headed for the gate, moving past the cactus, toward the road. Their road. Their fence.

  Jacks thought so too, because the man moved like lightning. One moment he wasn’t there, the next he was shoving the rifle barrel through the open driver’s side window, his “Hold it right there, asshole” ringing out loud and clear.

  Jumping the fence, Houston made his way to the truck, growling, the wolf right at the fore. Kill them. He could kill them both and leave their bodies for the vultures.

  One sharp growl from Jacks stopped him in his tracks, quivering, waiting for the order to attack. But he would wait. Jacks was the alpha.

  “Who in hell are you and what do you want?” Jacks snarled.

  “We want him.” The female pointed at him, face somehow familiar.

  A hair-raising sound came from somewhere in Jacks’s chest. “Well, you can’t have him, so you’d best move on.”

  “He was the last one that saw our kin. He was with them. He’s the only one who escaped. We have to know what he knows.”

  Oh.

  Oh fuck. There had only been two left.

  Two.

  “Your kin.” Sighing, Jacks shook his head. “You’re not government.”

  “No. No, we just… we’ve been following people.” A pair of dog tags were held up; he could smell the blood on them. “They were hunting you.”

  “Well, shit.” Jacks looked at him, one eyebrow going up. Asking the question. He understood. Deal with them now or later, he’d still have to deal with them.

  “Did you kill them all?” He stepped closer, sniffing the air.

  The big male nodded, teeth bared. “There were six. Outside of Yuma. Did you know Saraya? She is my wife.”

  “No. No, I only knew….” He shook his head, suddenly confused. “What do you want?”

  “Come on. At least get your truck out of sight. I’m not sure I want to let you in our house, but we have the shed.” Jacks jerked his head, motioning for him to come along, making the two in the truck give them some privacy. “We have to at least find out about the soldiers they’ve seen.”

  “I don’t trust ’em. I want them gone, Jackson. I don’t want to talk to them, explain about the others.” Explain how he’d left them.

  “I know, baby. But we have to know how close they are. How many might have followed them.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess. I just… I didn’t stay to….” His lips snapped shut.

  “No. You got the fuck out and came home to me.” Jacks’s hands landed on his arms, holding so tight the bones creaked. “Mine. My mate. There was nothing you could do for them.”

  “No. No.” He leaned close, whispered, “There were two left—both bitches. One was crazed, the other crippled. I had to leave them.”

  They would have caught him.

  “I know, baby. I know. You did what you had to. Come on. Let’s get our guests some water. We’ll pick their brains, send them on their way.”

  Jacks kissed him, once. Hard and right on the mouth.

  It was enough to settle him, bone-deep. Enough that he was halfway to the little drink fridge Jacks kept in the workshop before he shook it off.

  The truck pulled around in back of the shop, and the two got out. Jacks stepped in, keeping between them and Houston.

  The female was smaller than he expected, the male obviously wounded, still limping a bit. “We’re not interested in hurting you. We just want our families back.”

  There wasn’t anything left to save.

  Jacks rescued him the telling on that one. “They’re killing everyone they have. They beat them down and kill them. Your families are most likely gone. I’m sorry.” He could see Jacks muscle up, get ready for an explosion.

  “Most likely?” The woman’s eyes burned into him. “How many were there? How many did they take?”

  “I don’t know. There were only two left, when I ran. I was in a room.” In a single room. He didn’t know.

  “Look, how did you find us?” Jacks asked, puffing up like a big old frog, shielding him. “You know what you could bring down on us?”

  “We followed the soldiers. Then, once we killed them, we followed our noses.” The old man snarled. “You just left them?”

  Jacks growled, leaning right down into the old man’s face. “One couldn’t run. The other was crazy. They were going to take his balls.” The last came out as a roar. “My mate.”

&n
bsp; “My mate was there! Could be there!” The old man howled, the sound desperate. “You left them! You didn’t even get them a quick death!”

  Houston snapped at the air, the beast demanding out, even in full sunshine. He’d made his decision. He did what he could.

  One arm slid across his chest, Jacks holding him back. “I’m sorry about your mate. I am. But he would have died if he’d set off an alarm trying to get to them, and I won’t be sorry for that.” Quiet, determined. Just pure Jacks, those words.

  He panted, eyes rolling, the entire world a wash of red, except for his mate. His Jacks.

  “He’s changing. How can…? What did they do to him?” The woman sounded horrified, sick. Shamed.

  “What do you think? Now you see. Can you blame him for anything he would do to get out of there?” Turning, Jacks grabbed him, holding him, humming a little. Soothing him until the wolf stopped trying.

  “I could not help them. I would have. I swear to you. I could not.” He met the old man’s eyes, refusing to hide from his shame.

  The old man scrubbed one hand over his face, tears swimming in those rheumy old eyes. “I believe you, son. I do.”

  “I’m sorry.” He was. For all of them.

  “You can still help us,” the woman said, eyes hard again. “Help us find them. Dead or alive, they deserve that.”

  “Go back?” Everything inside him stopped and not even Jacks could prevent the wolf from breaking free, making him scream with the sudden change.

  No.

  No going back.

  No more cages.

  No more tests.

  No more.

  His eyes rolled and he crouched, waiting for the others to move so he could run.

  JACKS STOPPED, scenting the air. Houston was close. He knew it. He could feel it.

  Now if he could just get his mate to stop running.

  Soon Houston would need water, would need food to refuel. When that happened, the wolf might leave him, the panic going down in the face of practicality. But until then, he knew Houston would be like a coyote that had almost been hit by lightning.

  He’d sent the others away, but he’d been patient enough to take their information. To promise he’d call.

  Barely.

  There. That had to be Houston he’d caught on the wind. Jacks changed direction, heading for a scree of rock that marched along an arroyo.

  Houston was fading, the run easing into a limping lope that eased into a walk every few seconds. He could scent shame and exhaustion on the air, along with the remnants of mindless terror.

  God, he could kill those two who had come. He would have done the same for Houston, but that didn’t change his rage one bit.

  Not one bit.

  Those tired eyes saw him and he could see it—see Houston deciding whether to run or stop, to let him come.

  Jacks met them calmly, banking the fire inside, knowing Houston needed him to be calm. Controlled.

  Slow and sure, he went on, moving in close, making no sudden moves.

  Houston called out for him—little chirping barks that let him know his mate was done running, knew him. Needed him.

  Jacks rushed the last few yards separating them, leaning right up against Houston, mingling their scents. Oh. Better.

  Mate. Houston leaned against him, full-weight, sounds just pouring out, offered to him.

  Rubbing, pushing, Jacks gave Houston everything, all of his comfort and love and gratitude. His mate.

  Houston relaxed, tongue on his nose, his chin. Love. His. His.

  There. Now he could take Houston home. Show him that no one else was there. No one but them.

  Houston followed, barely holding on to the wolf by the time they reached the yard.

  Jacks pulled Houston with him, murmuring, “Come on, baby. Come on. A few more steps and there’s water, meat.”

  Houston sniffed, looked, searching for the others, only entering and relaxing when he knew they were gone. It was his lover, human and naked and scratched, who landed on the sofa with a plop.

  “There you go, baby. Welcome back.” Jacks tried for a grin and fell a little short, but Houston gave him a weak smile, so it was worth it.

  “I’m sorry, Jacks. I couldn’t stop it.”

  “I know. I should have sent them away.” He understood the others, though. He would do anything to find Houston if he knew his mate was taken.

  “No. No, they were….” Houston sighed, hands in his hair. “They have a right to come hunting me.”

  Jacks crouched down by the couch, sliding his hands on that scarred skin. “No. Not a right. But I would do it too.”

  “I’m not a coward, Jacks. I just…. What else could I have done?”

  He’d bet Houston’d asked that question thousands of times. “Not a goddamned thing.” He gave Houston a biting kiss, making sure he felt the sting. “You came home.”

  “I did. I came for you. I had to see you. To tell you I should have stayed.”

  Crawling up on the couch, he just wrapped around Houston, holding on. “You did what you had to. Love you.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Yours.” Houston eased for him, let him hold on and heal them both.

  “Good. That’s the important thing, baby.” His lips moved on Houston’s skin, not with intent, really. Just wandering.

  “Do we have to go back there?”

  “No. No, we don’t. Nothing would get me to make you go back.” He’d thought about it. He had. But no. Houston was the most important thing to him.

  Houston went boneless, clinging to him. “I know I’m a coward. I know. It’s too big, Jacks.”

  “No. You’re not a coward or you wouldn’t be here.” God, all the work he’d done, gone in an hour. “We’ll leave. We’ll find someplace far away….”

  “No.” Houston bared his teeth, eyes flashing. “No. They took and took. This place is yours. They can’t have what is yours, mate.”

  He lifted a hand, cupping Houston’s cheek. God, he loved that fierceness. “You’re what’s mine, baby. I’ve just been biding my time.”

  Houston pushed into his touch, growling deep and low. “They can’t have what is yours.” That was a deep, sweet satisfaction in that voice.

  “No. The rest is all details. You know I just need space to run. I can get that anywhere. Mexico. Canada. Well, maybe not Canada.”

  “No. It’s cold there. We’re not built for that.”

  “Nope.” Joy filled him, just the knowledge that Houston would go with him making him want to tip up his nose and howl. Once upon a time, the idea of going farther into the wilderness had left Houston in a panic. “We’ll figure it.”

  “We will.” Houston nudged his jaw. “Mate.”

  That was all he needed to hear. They’d leave both the damned government and the worn-out pack behind and start over, just the two of them.

  Which was just the way it should have been all along.

  Instinctive Harmony

  CONNOR ARRIVED in the United States the way countless other Irishmen had over the last century. On a boat.

  Luckily for him, the freighter he was on paid well for unskilled labor, and he had a handful of the unfamiliar paper money in his pocket as he wandered into the city. Baltimore had seemed smaller than Boston or New York, but it looked huge to Connor, who had rarely even been let out of his cage long enough to see a tree or some grass.

  The noise… the noise was like the pit on the busiest fight of the year. It made him wince, made him hunch down in his sweater and peacoat, his watch cap pulled low over his eyes, hiding his scarred face in the dark.

  People paid him no mind, for which he was grateful, but he still had no idea where he would lay his head this night or how to put food in his rumbling belly.

  The pubs were scattered along the street, some bright and busy, others dim, people slinking in and out, smelling of ale and grease and flesh. The farther he walked, the fewer dim taverns he saw and the more bright lights poured out onto the street.

 
People were coming and going, laughing, giddy with food and drink and the hope of fucking and—

  Damn it straight to hell!

  A door swung open, nearly catching him right in the face, rocking him back on his heels. A tall, lanky bastard hurried out, dark hair flying, something in his hand, completely ignoring him.

  A growl rose in Connor’s chest, and he took a step forward without even thinking, his hands clenching and unclenching as he invaded the man’s space.

  “Oh. Oh shit. Man, I’m sorry. I tripped on the stairs and hit the door going ninety to nothing. I didn’t hit you, did I?” He got a visual of long arms and legs and huge dark eyes, long coat fluttering like a dying bird.

  The voice seemed too quiet for the loud street. Too gentle. Connor didn’t think he’d ever heard the like of it. “No. No, you didn’t. Sorry.”

  “Oh good. I hit that crooked stair and whoosh. Too long legs and too short stairs.” He got a quick grin, a wink, a nod.

  Connor backed up two steps, staring at the man’s face. A wink. Well, that was…. Huh. He shook his head like he’d been hit. The little nuances of human kindness still escaped him.

  “You sure I didn’t whack you one? You okay?” One hand landed on his arm, steadying him.

  “No. No, I’m fine.” He tried not to growl, the touch making him jump, making him expect pain.

  “Okay. Cool. Sorry. Again.” The man patted his arm and turned toward the sidewalk and the lights, case swinging, the black shiny in the lamplight.

  His mouth opened to—to what, to ask the man where he might stay the night? Connor clamped his mouth shut. No. He’d not ask. That led to owing a body something.

  What he did do, what he couldn’t help doing, was follow the man down the street, watching him move in the night.

  The man whistled, wandered, bouncing a little bit as he walked. Every now and again those dark eyes would look back at him, bright as a magpie’s.

  All he needed was a flute and he could be the Pied Piper, making Connor follow him somehow. He didn’t wish to scare the man. He just… didn’t know where else to go.

  Finally those long legs stopped, stepped out of the flow of people, those eyes on him again, waiting on him to catch up.