The Pack or the Panther

by Tara Lain

  And now these idiots had stumbled on something that could be important. If Merced Marketo was marrying off his daughter, it could mean nothing. A happy occasion. But what if it meant more? What if it was an alliance? And one logical ally would be Pack Harker. They had an alphanta. But wasn’t the guy gay?

  Hell, he had to know, because this was one happy marriage that was about to end in divorce.

  * * *

  Cole walked into his room, threw his suit coat on the chair, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed on the bed. He’d managed his big exit. Said the perfect line. What for? He understood why Landon asked him to marry for the alliance. If he was alpha, he’d be asking the same thing of his son. If he had one. Which he never would.

  But truth was, the cat had hurt him, and Cole had acted like a child and wanted to make someone else hurt.

  He rolled over on his side. Couldn’t Paris have paused just for a second? Considered the thought of marrying Cole, rather than vomiting his frustration and running out of the room? Sure, it was stupid to think of him and the cat marrying, but was the idea that disgusting?

  It was funny, really. These werewolf arrangements were supposed to be set in stone. An established tradition. And he’d been repudiated twice. He couldn’t even get someone to take him when they got a whole pack alliance along with him. Not very good for a guy’s ego.

  He swiped at his cheeks and fell asleep.

  * * *

  The sleek, black panther slipped into the bushes. Deep breath. Another. His mind—turned inside out. Body, scent, movement, deep breath, awareness, mind, consciousness, breath, self—yes, self-awareness. He stretched. Human. He sat up and dropped his head onto his bare knees.

  Insane. Wolves were crazy. And Cole had said he was like his father. God, what could be worse? Like some hive mind from science fiction. He was no damned wolf. He’d never met his mother, but he knew he was just like her. Not a wolf, dammit. And he’d never tell them what he could do. Never.

  He threw his head back. Move it, cat.

  He untaped the plastic bag containing his wallet from his chest—he’d discovered years ago that his little travel pack would survive the shift—and then reached behind him for the packet of clothes he always kept there in the bushes. Sometimes a child or homeless person found them before he did. Those were creative moments, trying to get home nude. But they were there now. Don’t think. Dress.

  A couple of minutes later, he crawled out of the thick foliage, stood up in his sneakers, brushed off the jeans and sweatshirt, and headed toward his car. Every few days he moved the car to a new parking place. This time he’d chosen a rest stop off the parkway.

  He shook his arms as he walked, getting used to being human. There was the nondescript, piece-of-shit car. A quick search inside the wheel rim, and he had the keys in hand. Home. Only his dad had the slightest idea how to reach him, and that was just a cell phone number. No one knew where he lived. Not family. Not employer. Not friends. Friends? He spat out a laugh. He certainly didn’t have to worry about that problem.

  He turned on the ignition and put the American sedan into gear. Nobody wanted to steal this little loser. That’s why he felt safe leaving it around town. He pulled out onto the parkway and kept it at the speed limit. Never attract attention.

  Wasn’t it ironic that those idiot wolves wanted him to save their fucking alliance by marrying into the pack? The very pack he’d spent most of his life trying to hide from.

  Marrying Cole. He sighed.

  He shook himself. He was a cat and that was all he wanted to be, so he couldn’t marry any fucking dog.

  He turned on the radio. Christina Aguilera. No. He changed stations. Some rapper. Good. He turned it up. Hos and blades and guns and—Shit! He flipped it off.

  How could they ask him? Why did they ask him? Damnation, his hands were shaking. Too many people clamoring at him. Too many demands. He pulled the car to the side and stopped.

  He hammered his fist against the steering wheel. Fuck! It hurt. They had no right. No right. They’d never asked him to do anything before. Just a hint that he might come to his sister’s wedding. And he’d felt like some big magnanimous hoo-ha showing up.

  And then they’d sprung this. If he hadn’t done the first thing, given that inch, they never would have tried to take a fucking mile. The only time they ever needed him and it was something impossible.

  He closed his eyes and shivered. Silver eyes stared back at him. Silver eyes reflecting the golden light in his own.

  Chapter Nine

  “Cole. Come on, wake up.”

  One eye opened. Oh crap. Daylight. Cole closed it again. “Why?”

  “Shit is hitting fans and we need to discuss it.” Landon’s voice sounded worried.

  Okay. Try two eyes at once. Semisuccessful. He squinted. He reached down for covers. None there. Oh right. He was still wearing his suit pants and a white shirt. He raised his head. And he was still lying on the end of his bed.

  Landon stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips. “I came to check on you last night, but you were so sound asleep I didn’t want to wake you up just to undress.”

  Cole sat up. Oh man. Places hurt he’d forgotten he had. Like his cock, for example. Sex with that feline could replace a fortune in gym memberships. Sadly, he wasn’t going to get that kind of exercise again.

  He cleared his throat. “So what ever happened to Paris?”

  “He vanished. His mother went up to talk to him just a couple minutes after you left, and he was gone. The only thing he’d taken that she could see was his wallet.”

  “He probably shifted.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Check the news for panthers in New York.” He shrugged. “Those Marketos may not need an alliance. They’re so good at disappearing, maybe they can escape Eliazer that way.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Cole. The female had someone else. As you said, her father should have known better. And as for the panther… well, I guess we were clutching at straws. Merced suggested it and I thought, hell, at least you could be married to a guy. So I went along with it. I apologize.”

  Cole’s throat clutched, so he just nodded. They didn’t know. Landon couldn’t guess how forcing the cat’s rejection had hurt. Stupid. Stupid.

  Landon sat on the end of the bed beside Cole. “Sadly, this whole thing has combined to undermine Merced Marketo’s position. His wolves don’t like losing face to us, and some of them are saying he made a mistake in attempting the alliance. They say we’re the ones in danger and that Eliazer will probably leave them alone.”

  “That’s fantasyland.”

  “Yeah, even the ones saying it probably don’t believe it. And, of course, some of them are saying he made a mistake trying to marry his daughter off to a gay werewolf.”

  Cole punched his fist on the mattress. “They didn’t care so damned much when it was about to happen.”

  “Yeah. Well, those are the facts.” Landon sighed.

  Cole gritted his teeth. “It’s not like I chose to be fucking gay.”

  Landon put a hand on his thigh. “I know, son.”

  Cole stared at his father. Maybe it was too much to ask the alpha to be happy about having a gay son, but it sure as fuck was hell feeling like an imposition because of being who you were.

  Landon stood. “Anyway, here we are with no alliance, so we better prepare for whatever the hell comes next.”

  Cole started unbuttoning his shirt. “It would help if we knew what Eliazer was planning.”

  “I agree. And for that, we need your nose, eyes, and ears.”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty conspicuous.” He stood, stretched, and headed toward the bathroom.

  “Yeah, but you’re the best and we have to use it. Come downstairs after your shower.”

  He tossed his clothes in the hamper and stepped under the hottest water he could stand. The heat felt good on his crimped back. God, how long had he held Paris around his waist? Not long enough. Just the
thought made him shiver.

  It would have been nice to remember the cat leaving his car after that sweet kiss. A perfect memory. Not the shrieking feline who slammed out of his parents’ living room, practically tearing down doors at the thought of being stuck with Cole.

  He slid the soap over his body, did a fast run of the razor on his face, and got out of the shower. A fluffy towel soaked up the water in his hair.

  Now his gayness was toppling the whole Marketo pack. And he’d never be alpha of Harker. Talk about liabilities. Shit. He should just leave.

  He stopped in mid-towel-stroke. Leave. Yes. Not now—he had to help with the reconnaissance—but after that he could just leave. Lone wolf. He shuddered. But hell, he hated crowds anyway. Then Landon could groom one of his seconds for alpha status without having to push aside a clumsy alphanta. God, had his life ever been so up for grabs? Pack usually meant stability. No more.

  He dressed quickly. Hell, he might as well hurry to war.

  He rushed down the stairs, but as he approached his father’s office, he heard voices. Familiar smells. He knocked on the doorjamb and looked in. “Hi, Lindsey.”

  Landon smiled at him. “It seems we’re not alone. Lindsey’s volunteering for the war.”

  Cole walked into the room. “What? Hey. I thought you were a lover and not a fighter.” Whoa. That was too much like Paris’s parting words in the car.

  Lindsey shrugged in that elegant, English-drawing-room-comedy way of his. “Us gay werewolves have to stick together. Besides, Landon says you need information, and I know a lot of people.”

  Cole sat in the guest chair beside Lindsey. “That’s brilliant, actually. I was thinking about where to start. We know so little about Eliazer or where to find him.”

  Landon nodded. “Yeah, we know he frequents a warehouse by the docks, but he moves around and—”

  Cole held up his hand. “When I was talking to Paris Marketo”—he swallowed and tried to keep his voice even—“he mentioned that Eliazer comes into the club where he dances a lot and gives him big tips. I think we can start there. I can go to that club and watch for Eliazer. Maybe follow him. Or at least sniff out his mood and intentions.”

  Linds leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “And how, pray tell, do you plan to get into the most exclusive erotic club in Manhattan?”

  Cole smiled. “Uh, maybe you could help?”

  Lindsey laughed. “My relatives are valued members of the Black Leopard Club. If you speak to me very nicely, I will escort you in with bells on, dear.”

  “I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  He smirked. “Well, you’ll just have to, won’t you? Because you won’t get in any other way.”

  “God, thanks, Linds. I can’t imagine how I can ever repay you.”

  “We’re pack, dear. But much more important, we’re friends.”

  Now that was a lesson to learn.

  Landon cleared his throat. “The Black Leopard Club. Is it named for Paris Marketo?”

  Lindsey shook his head. “No, the owners are human. They have no idea, I’m sure, what they have in their midst. I suspect the attraction may have been the other way around. The Marketo pup might have been attracted to the irony.”

  “I understand Marketo is quite a dancer.”

  Cole swallowed hard.

  Lindsey laughed. “That would be a yes.”

  * * *

  “Do I look okay?” Cole turned to Lindsey in the limo as it slowed in front of the club.

  Linds laughed and smoothed Cole’s silver tie. “Are you worried about fitting into the club or impressing the cat?”

  Damn. That was a joke. It shouldn’t hurt so much.

  Lindsey’s teasing smile faded. “Sorry. That feline is really a sore subject, isn’t he? Well take a deep breath, my friend, because you are about to get a face full of your furry friend, I suspect.”

  Cole’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t shift.”

  “Oh no, not into fur, but I hear he transforms into some kind of aerial sex god. I’ve been asking around. I think this may be a test of those great-looking trousers.” He nodded to Cole’s trim-fitting dark-blue suit that Lindsey had picked out.

  Cole shrugged. “I just want to get information.”

  Lindsey patted his shoulder. “Yes, dear, I know.”

  The car door opened as the limo driver stepped back to let Cole out. Lindsey put a hand on his arm. “Ready? Show time.”

  Deep breath. He wanted to do it just the way Lindsey told him. He adjusted his glasses so the camera flashes wouldn’t reflect off his eyes and stepped out. Whoa. People crowded against red velvet stanchions on either side of the walkway. Pop. Pop. Pop. The cameras recorded his exit. He faced the crowd and then pulled himself up to his full height, just as Linds had instructed him. Give them a second. Look important. It worked. A little “ooh” went up from the people. His height, hair, and expensive suit were giving him credit for a lot more celebrity than he deserved, but tonight it worked in his favor. He glanced up at the marquee where it said Anthony Moreau. Cole shivered.

  With a flourish, he turned to the car and extended his hand. Lindsey took it and slid out of the limo. Cole didn’t know what “dressed to the nines” meant, but Lindsey clearly had done it. Maybe dressed to the tens. A white dinner jacket with a deep-blue ascot to match Cole’s suit and dark trousers set off Lindsey’s trim figure. Though he was tall himself—about six two—he still fit nicely under Cole’s arm. He waved to the cameras, flipped his blond hair off his forehead, and put a guiding hand around Cole’s waist, nudging him forward.

  When they got to the door, the doorman practically fell over himself opening it. “Good evening, Mr. Vanessen. Good to see you back, sir.”

  “Good to be back, Charlie. This is my good friend, Cole.”

  “Good evening, sir.”

  Cole nodded, but no way was he getting a word out of his mouth in this crowd.

  Inside was not at all what he expected. A small, elegant waiting room. A beautiful, young, Asian, human woman walked over to Lindsey. “Mr. Vanessen. Welcome back. I don’t have a dinner reservation for you but will be happy to make one.”

  “Thank you, Margo. No dinner tonight. My friend and I want to see Anthony.”

  Cole’s muscles jumped at the name. He had to remember to call Paris Anthony.

  She smiled. “Oh yes. I don’t believe you’ve ever been to the show, have you?”

  “No. But I’ve heard so much about it from my friends. He’s quite the rage. We’d love to meet him.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Anthony is very reclusive. But I’m sure you’ll love the show.”

  So he managed to stay aloof. Interesting.

  She tapped a few things onto her tablet and pointed toward an elevator door. When she hit the button, it opened. “Todd will take care of you. Enjoy yourselves.”

  They stepped onto the elevator and it immediately closed. Cole started to speak and Linds touched his hand and glanced up. Cameras. Discreet but there. Cole pulled Lindsey against him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. That should make the proper impression.

  The doors opened. Now this was what he’d expected. Noise, heat, and the smell of hot lust. Not just human either.

  A good-looking young man stepped forward. “Good evening, gentlemen. Let me show you to your table.” Linds smiled and extended a hand. Cole knew that hand contained at least one hundred dollars. “A good view but not too close, please.”

  “Pleasure, sir.” He walked them around the perimeter of the room that surrounded a stage on three sides. On the stage, two human females revolved on their poles. Cole inhaled. A few wolves in here. Maybe one or two other shifters. He glanced around. He’d seen pictures of Eliazer. Big male, fat but tall, with thinning hair he wore to his shoulders. Nobody like that here. Damn.

  The maître d’ pointed to a comfortable leather booth, and they slid in until they were side by side. They ordered drinks. Cole leaned into Lindsey. “I don’t see Eliazer. What
if he doesn’t come in?”

  “Then we come back tomorrow. After all, we’re passionate fans of Anthony.”

  That was kind of true.

  The two females finished and a male dancer took the stage. Funny. He was talented, but obviously a “stripper,” while what he’d seen of Paris put the cat in a whole different category. Art. Sexy art, but art.

  The pretty blonde waitress brought drinks and some snacks, even including pâté with crackers and some caviar. Cole smiled at the girl, then nodded at the appetizers. “Fancy hors d’oeuvres.”

  Linds pasted a little goose liver on a cracker. “Fancy club.”

  People walked by their table. Chair by chair, the place was filling. Waiters brought in a few more chairs to fit around some of the cocktail tables. Cole leaned back and looked around. One booth like the banquette he and Linds occupied sat conspicuously empty. Every other table and chair seemed to be filled.

  The dancer exited the stage. A general hum filled the room. The curtains closed and everything waited. The lights in the audience, which had been at about one-third brightness, now darkened very slowly. As the lights dimmed, noises came from over Cole’s shoulder. He didn’t even have to look. One sniff did it. Yes! Wolf! Powerful wolf. He bumped a hand against Linds’ and cocked his head toward the back, then nodded. Lindsey smiled but didn’t look.

  The room went black, like someone in the light booth had been waiting for Eliazer to arrive. Maybe they had. A female voice started crooning in a wordless singsong and the curtains pulled back. The smoke that had filled the stage at the Way Station looked puny next to this. The backdrop shone like a night of a full moon and brilliant stars.

  Wham! Cymbals crashed. A figure ran onto the stage and leaped until he grabbed the second of three poles now on the set. He spun like a pinwheel in a single brilliant spotlight, with his mane of black hair streaking behind him. The whole audience gasped, although most of them had likely seen the act a dozen times.

  The spinning slowed and Paris grasped a strap at the top of the pole and let his body hang with one leg pressed against the pole to thrust his hips forward.