The Wolf Fount

by Gayla Drummond

  “I didn’t,” she replied. “I left this morning.”

  He laughed, gesturing her toward the door. She took two steps and halted, crooking her finger at him, and Jerome lowered his head. She kissed his cheek. “Thanks.”

  “Welcome.” Gold briefly lined his pupils. Wondering if the same were happening to her eyes, Morgan continued to the door. While pulling it open, she looked over her shoulder and saw the trio of women she’d pushed through staring. Blowing a kiss at the blonde in the blue dress, she went inside.

  There she is. Cal smiled, watching Morgan head for the west bar. Good.

  He resisted the urge to hurry downstairs, preferring to study her. She seemed to be less tense, sauntering instead of shoving her way through the early arrivals.

  Just before taking a seat on a barstool, Morgan looked up and smiled. His grin widened, though he knew she couldn’t see him through the mirrored surface. Yet she had looked directly at him. Amused, Cal waited until she’d ordered a drink before leaving his suite. Noise filtered up the stairway, bringing another smile to his face.

  Chanteloup had been an experiment, and quite a successful one. The location had been chosen for its proximity to the base, where they had an underground complex as their main headquarters.

  He’d never believed in full secrecy, preferring to make contact with key people and build connections. Explaining the situation and providing proof had always worked, resulting in a worldwide network that had held firm for centuries. As a result, the war against the vampires wasn’t fought solely by Weres. His people had the backing of the governments of nearly every country in existence.

  The vampires had romance writers and movie producers.

  Cal snorted, leaving the stairs and walking around the front of the bar to sit beside Morgan. “Hey, darlin’.”

  “Your DJ’s killing it tonight. Feel like dancing with me?” She polished off the beer she had, obviously expecting a positive response.

  He was happy to give her one. “Sure.”

  They hit the dancefloor to “Gasoline and Matches”. No passivity in Morgan this evening; she followed his lead into a quick Two-Step, laughing when he spun her. They danced through two other songs, and then “So Hott” began to boom out.

  Morgan’s eyes were fairly blazing halfway through, as she ground her ass against him. One arm was up, her hand draped around the back of his neck, her other hand on his thigh. She turned her head and tilted it back in invitation.

  Cal’s hands were flat across her stomach, to keep her against him, and he dipped his head to kiss her. When the song ended, he swept her off her feet and walked back to the bar. “Break time.”

  With a husky laugh, she wound her arms around his neck. “Sure.”

  Not a hint of her usual attitude had appeared, and Cal couldn’t keep from wondering why. Morgan seemed happy and relaxed, which he was completely enjoying. He hoped the change was because of him, and the night before. It could be. He was the Fount, and his people—the wolves—often displayed happiness when spending time in close quarters with him, especially when he was in an approving mood. Depositing her on a stool, he waved a bartender down and ordered two beers.

  “No whiskey tonight?” Morgan propped her right elbow on the bar top, resting her chin in her hand while watching his face.

  “I like to save it for later in the evening.” He ran his fingers down her back, feeling her shiver in response. “Any reason you left in such a hurry this morning?”

  Morgan surprised him with a candid answer. “Habit. Guy in the shower has always been my signal to leave. I’ve been working as an escort and hooker for years.”

  Cal almost said “I know,” but instead, curious how much she might reveal, simply nodded. “I see.”

  The faint smile she’d been wearing had faded. “I want a new life, and now, with this,” she indicated herself, and presumably, her Awakening, with a low wave of her hand, “I think I don’t have much choice about getting one.”

  Their beers were delivered, and he pushed hers over. “Nearly everyone has to start over when it happens.”

  Morgan took a long swallow of her beer before meeting his eyes. “Do you think less of me now that you know I’m a whore?”

  “You were one,” he corrected with a shake of his head. “People do what they have to for survival. That’s not the worst path you could’ve chosen.”

  She leaned closer, and Cal followed suit. “I don’t do drugs. Never been involved with them by choice.”

  “Good to know.” He hesitated, studying her face. “Do you need a job?”

  Morgan straightened, began fiddling with the label on her beer bottle. “I have some money, but it’s not going to last forever. What kind of job?” Then she laughed. “It’s not like I have a long list of marketable skills. I know one thing extremely well.”

  Cal smiled. “That you do, but since you’re wanting out of it, how about learning some new skills? I could use a personal assistant.”

  He didn’t, but thought she’d require close supervision for a while after her Awakening. Keeping her close suited him just fine for now. Morgan pursed her lips, staring at the bar top. “What does a personal assistant do?”

  “Runs errands, fields calls, and keeps me on schedule for meetings and the like. You interested?”

  She worried her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at that.”

  “Listen, darlin’, you’re going to have to expand your boundaries. Learn things in order to turn over your new leaf. You know, make an effort? You’re not stupid, and while it may not be easy, you’re perfectly capable of doing a number of things that don’t involve sex.” Cal grinned. “But we could make that a perk for us both.”

  Morgan arched an eyebrow. “Still thinking with your di... cock?”

  “Guilty.” He winked at her. “No hurry. Think it over. You have maybe two days to go, and you’ll need some time to adjust afterward.”

  “All right.” Her lips curved. “Salary and benefits would be useful information to have.”

  “I’ll work up a proposal and have you look it over,” he promised. She nodded in agreement. “Great. Have you had dinner? I was going to order something.”

  Morgan lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “I could eat.”

  Chapter Six

  Calhoun wasn’t treating her any differently after her confession. Morgan felt relieved and uncharacteristically grateful. He’d ordered dinner and led her to his private booth, which was located behind a half-wall next to the DJ booth. Lattice ran from a dropped ceiling to the wall’s top. A curtain of beads covered the booth’s entrance.

  It was quieter, both booths ensconced behind the club’s built-in speaker system. Even so, Morgan realized the booth afforded a nearly complete view of the club’s dancefloor, with little effort. “You like to watch all the time.”

  He laughed. “I have to. It’s part of my job.”

  “As club owner, or?” She cut another bite of prime rib. Takeout in his world apparently didn’t involve Styrofoam containers and greasy paper bags. It had been delivered on white china plates, with heavy silverware.

  “As the Fount, and last living one at that. Guess you could call me a king of sorts.” Calhoun shrugged. “It’s my job to keep as much of an eye as possible on my people.”

  “Is everyone here one?”

  “No, some are like you. Sleepers, we call them. Some are human. Actually, most of the women here are human.”

  Morgan mulled that over while slicing another bite. “Why?”

  “Not a lot of women in our ranks. About seventy-five percent of Weres are male. We were changed to fight, and men do have a tendency to be bigger, more aggressive and violent.” He’d finished his dinner and pushed the plate away.

  It made sense, but brought up another question. “So the women stay home and pop out babies?”

  He chuckled. “Some do. Those who’ve chosen mates and enjoy the whole process of having and raising children. Others do what they’r
e good at, and want to do. One of my top soldiers is a woman. I have men who are house husbands. We’re as diverse as humans are.”

  “Good to hear.” Becoming a brood cow wasn’t her idea of turning over a new leaf. Morgan glanced at the front of the booth and caught a glimpse of bright blue. “You fuck a lot of humans?”

  Calhoun cocked his head. “Over the years, or currently?”

  What the hell kind of answer was that? “Currently. That’s what this place is, right? A meat market.”

  She sat back, tracking the blonde’s progress toward the booth from the corner of her eye.

  “Everyone needs to unwind from time to time. Currently,” his grin made an appearance, “you’re the only woman I’m spending any quality time with.”

  Quality time. Funny way of putting it, but Morgan decided she rather liked the phrasing, and smiled. “Does that make me special?”

  His grin widened. “You were special before that.”

  The blonde had finally reached the booth, and was hovering just outside the beads. Morgan leaned toward him. “Feel like spending some more quality time with me?”

  “Depends. Are you planning on taking off before sunrise again?”

  “No.”

  “Cal?” The blonde stuck her head in. The other woman was pretty smokin’, Morgan had to admit, as they both looked at her. “Hi.”

  Calhoun smiled, not immediately responding, and Morgan nearly snorted. Just like a man. He can’t even remember her name.

  His smile was enough implied invitation for the blonde to step inside, wiggling her way to the table’s edge. As she reached it, he blinked, and Morgan could almost see the connection being made. “Patty. Nice to see you again, darlin’.”

  “I heard you were back, and decided to come out to see you.” She shot a quick glance at Morgan. “I’ve missed you.”

  You mean, decided to come stake a claim. Morgan picked up her wine glass.

  Calhoun ignored the blonde’s subtle offer. “Well, nice of you. You look great. Have you met Morgan?”

  Patty pouted. “No.”

  “Morgan, this is Patty, one of our regulars. Morgan’s new in town.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Patty,” Morgan said, slanting a look at the blonde. You are out of luck tonight, Blondie.

  “Same here,” was Patty’s smiling, teeth-clenched response. “Would you mind if I borrowed Cal for a few minutes?”

  “Sorry, but we were just about to head upstairs,” he said. “Maybe some other time, darlin’.”

  His rejection sent her shoulders slumping, and Patty edged backward. “Oh, sorry for interrupting.”

  Morgan couldn’t resist making a jab after hearing him call the other woman darlin’ twice. “Don’t worry, you didn’t.”

  She met the blonde’s scowl with a wide smile after Patty turned her back to Calhoun. Glaring daggers, Patty said, “Nice meeting you.”

  “Same here. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, since you’re a regular and all.” I will jack you up, Morgan silently promised the other woman. Don’t fuck with me. Don’t get in my way.

  Watching the silent, and not-so-silent, byplay between the two women, Cal was torn between laughter and dismay. If a catfight exploded, his money was on Morgan. She played dirty.

  He didn’t remember saying anything to Patty that may have led her to believe a relationship was in the mix. In fact, he was careful never to imply he was interested in a long-term relationship. Unfortunately, some people, both men and women, seemed to think a few nights spent in bed together segued directly into relationship territory.

  A permanent intimate relationship wasn’t possible with Morgan either. The two of them could spend enough time together to get each other out of their systems, which was exactly what Cal planned for them to do.

  But long-term was reserved for one woman, and only one: His Chimaera. Whenever she finally appeared. Until she did, he had to be careful about becoming involved with anyone beyond a certain point.

  Maybe Thane would interest Morgan? Cal tucked the thought away, uneasy at the brief flash of jealousy it aroused. Thane, the only were-liger in existence, was one of his most trusted companions—and not a man he’d ever felt jealousy toward. He slid out of his seat, and offered his hand. “Shall we, darlin’?”

  “Oh, let’s.” Morgan took his hand and rose from her seat. Patty exited the booth, pausing outside to give him a longing glance as they followed. Cal smiled, mentally adding the blonde to his “Never touch again” list.

  “Is she your normal type?” Morgan asked as they walked away, skirting the dancefloor.

  “I don’t really have a type.”

  “She’s jealous. How many times did you fu...”

  He interrupted. “How many clients have you had?”

  Her eyes flashed gold and bright green. “None of your goddamned business.”

  “Exactly.”

  Morgan had the grace to nod. “Sorry.”

  “Already forgotten.” They reached the stairs and began climbing. Halfway up, Cal halted and turned, catching her chin with his fingers. Tilting her head up, he said, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, me asking that.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  He kissed her. “It won’t happen again. Promise.”

  She nodded as he let go, and they continued up the stairs.

  A few hours later, Cal absently stroked Morgan’s arm, which lay across his chest as she dozed beside him. Those electrical surges had turned to warm flickers, even those that occurred as he slid into her. He hadn’t figured out what they were yet, but was grateful they’d eased into less painful territory. Perhaps her Awakening included a touch of the psychic? He did have a few people with such abilities.

  I really shouldn’t have asked her that. Unless it involved useful skills or information, he left other people’s pasts alone. Their pasts were just that: their pasts.

  If they wanted to share, that was one thing, and he’d listen. He tried to never judge, because his people began fresh with him, shedding their human lives with their Awakenings. And usually, after their Awakenings, he stepped back to let the system he’d built take over their training and placing them where they’d be most useful.

  Yes, Morgan had been rude first, but her question hadn’t been unreasonable under the circumstances. Any woman would’ve been curious in that situation.

  Though possibly less blunt. Cal half-smiled. Her bluntness was part of her odd charm, and really not a bad trait as far as he was concerned.

  She stirred. “Buck for your thoughts.”

  “Inflation?”

  “Yeah.” Yawning, she rolled free and sat up, both her hands rising to smooth her hair. “What’s burning your brain cells, Calhoun?”

  “That was shitty of me.”

  Morgan hitched herself around until she could see his face and sat tailor-style. She was completely comfortable with her own nudity. He liked that kind of confidence in a woman. “What was?”

  “Asking you that.” He sat up as well, scooting until his back was against the wall.

  She snickered. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re the first guy I’ve ever met to worry if he’s hurt a whore’s feelings.”

  Cal winced. “You’re not one anymore. That’s done with. New leaf now.”

  “I guess, but my past isn’t going to disappear. I lived it. It’s a part of me.”

  She’d dangled an opening for him, and he took it. “Actually, records of it can disappear, if you have any. I have friends in high places, and you aren’t the first Were with a past they want to walk away from.”

  Morgan’s expression smoothed, and she tilted her head. “You can make my record disappear?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you need?”

  That was easy. She’s serious about wanting out. Cal smiled. “Full name, place and date of birth, driver’s license and Social Security numbers.”

  “How much will it cost?” was her next question.

&nbs
p; He laughed. “Nothing. It’s part of my job. I take care of my people.”

  She blinked, before a small smile curved her lips. “Got a pen and paper?”

  Feeling better, Cal reached for her. “I’ll get things rolling in the morning.”

  Morgan opened one eye, focusing on the clock. It was after seven AM. Calhoun was asleep, one of his arms lying across her lower back. Her stomach growled, and he muttered something, but she couldn’t make out what he’d said.

  Sliding free, she sat up and stretched before ambling to the bathroom. Her morning urge was briefly ignored as she stepped into the room. It was a wonderland of white-streaked, gold-flecked black marble. All of the fixture handles were gold, even the toilet’s.

  There was also a lot of red present; the linen- and under sink-cabinets were a rich, red wood, while blood red rugs lay before the toilet, sink, shower stall, and huge corner tub. Morgan took care of business before peeking into the linen cabinet. The towels were also black, red, and white. “Guess he likes this color scheme a lot.”

  “For a reason.”

  Startled, she turned to find him standing in the doorway. “You’re quiet.”

  “You’ll be the same way.”

  Morgan turned back to the linen cabinet and chose a red towel. More high quality, silky Egyptian cotton. “What’s the reason?”

  “Red for blood, black for death, and white for hope.” He nodded at the toilet. “If you don’t mind me joining you in the shower in a few minutes, I’ll explain further.”

  “Are you going to wash my back?”

  Calhoun grinned. “Sure.”

  “Okay.” She moved toward the shower stall and hung the towel on a handy hook. Stepping in, she shut the frosted glass door and turned on the water, discovering there were dual shower heads, one on each end of the stall. Steam was rising by the time he joined her.

  He didn’t waste time making good on his promise. “Blood is interwoven into everything. It’s food for the vampires, their method of creating more of themselves, and they spill it often. For us, it’s a tie of kinship, and a reminder of our duty.”

  “Black for death,” she prompted when he paused.