Prodigal Wolf

by L E Franks

  Hey Carlo, Angelo here, I heard you were back and I’m here too. We haven’t spent much time together, okay, we haven’t spent any time together in the last four years. I want that to change. Maybe we should go camping. You know, no one ever is on the beach south of Pritchards Inlet. We could shift and swim over, spending the night together. I’d bring a sleeping bag. I know you don’t like carrying bags with you when you’re in wolf form and swimming, but you don’t need clothes. I’m fine with you walking around naked. I’d keep you warm all night long. With you in my arms I think I’d finally be happy. You probably didn’t know I felt that way about you, but I do.

  Angelo shifted in his chair, groaning, he rolled his eyes then deleted the entire message and typed a new line of text.

  Carlo, it’s Angelo. I heard you were back. I need to meet with you.

  He pressed send and waited. The minutes ticked by and he was beginning to wonder if Carlo was going to return his text. Angelo got up from the desk and paced the office. He should tell Carlo the truth. His phone dinged and he raced to the desk, checking his messages.

  Call me. I don’t want to see you.

  His chest tightened. Why wouldn’t Carlo see him? Hell, he’d tried over and over again to make things right between them, but he’d obviously failed.

  Needing time to think, Angelo left his office, taking the outside stairs to the ground level, and crossing over to the old oak tree. Standing in the shade he closed his eyes, wondering if he could have done things differently where Carlo was concerned. He’d been nineteen and Carlo fifteen, only days away from turning sixteen when tragedy had struck, leaving Angelo defacto Alpha of the pack with a grieving Carlo in his care.

  Angelo swallowed over the lump in his throat. He’d messed up so much, not knowing how to run the pack in his uncle’s absence and failing miserably at giving Carlo what he needed. It had taken too much time to wrap his arms around the situation and he’d made so many mistakes. The one thing he’d never regret was the bond he’d forged with Carlo in those early dark days when the shattered teen turned to him for comfort and safety. This distance between them now was painful and confusing—the broken connection like a festering wound.

  Angelo’s cell squawked, signaling a new message from his commanding officer in the Marines. He was due to re-up in a few months and right now Angelo didn’t know if he should make a career of it with all that entailed, or stay home to work things out with Carlo. Of course, for that to happen, Carlo had to talk to him. He pulled up his contact list, thumb hovering over Carlo’s phone number. Fuck, he wouldn’t call, he’d just show up on Carlo’s doorstep. He was tired of having the man dodge his calls and letters.

  Four years had flown by without once seeing Carlo. At first Angelo had waited for Carlo to settle into his classes, expecting him to cool off by the time the first break rolled around. By the end of the spring semester it was apparent that Carlo wanted nothing to do with him, and apparently the intervening years hadn’t moved him from that position at all. Time hadn’t changed Angelo either, he still wanted Carlo, but he needed a miracle. He glanced down at his phone again. The icon next to Carlo’s contact information showed a grinning teenager, all glowing dark eyes half hidden behind thick black bangs, and a tanned faced dominated by grinning white teeth. The shot was taken not long before graduation. Sighing, Angelo ran his thumb across the glass image before pulling up the text message from his boss. Nothing urgent, then—just another gentle nudge to get him off the fence, and in their direction.

  Angelo wasn’t back permanently. As a Marine, his current assignment at Parris Island could change at any time. He’d lucked out, able to commute to his job on the base and still manage the pack, but he had to decide if he was in or out of the Marines. He was up for a promotion and if he accepted it was almost guaranteed he’d be working a desk out of the Pentagon, or more likely a base in California or Japan. Angelo ran his thumb along the edge of the hard black shell protecting his phone. His CO had been lobbying him hard to commit, but he kept going back and forth in his mind. Part of him wanted to give in—to throw in the towel and just sign on the dotted line. It would be a relief to walk away from South Carolina and everyone he knew if it also meant leaving this mess behind. The part of his mind hardwired to his inner wolf snarled at that thought. He wasn’t fooling himself. The pack would survive without him but he couldn’t slink away in the night without fixing the current situation. Maybe this time he could set things straight and get Carlo to be the leader he was meant to be instead of hiding himself away on the island. If they could have something, he’d take it, whatever Carlo offered, even if it was only a shadow of the friendship they used to have. God, he hated pack politics.

  Angelo closed his eyes and picked up his phone. He needed to talk to Carlo even if he didn’t want to. Before he could dial, another text came through. He stared at his phone, anger ringing in his ears as his heart broke once again.

  Then again, I don’t really want to talk to you. Just leave me the fuck alone.

  Angelo stalked back to his office, shut and locked the door. He closed the blinds and set his phone on the desk after sending one last text to Carlo. Anger and sadness twisted through him as he shed his clothes. As long as he was careful, he could sneak out and go for a run as a wolf. He needed to burn through these emotions before he went to find Carlo. They needed to talk, to set things right. Fuck, he needed to blow off some steam and get his head on straight. He needed to get laid. It was time for a road trip.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Carlo paced back and forth across the kitchen– phone in hand. “Fucking Prick!” Angelo’s text had woken him early—too early to deal with his heavy-handed shit. His phone buzzed again. Glancing down once more he stared at the last entry, his heart hammering so fast he became dizzy.

  I have paperwork for you ... We need to deal with it...Please come to the compound this morning. It’s important.

  Rage rolled around his body and before he could think he thumbed in a ‘FU’, hit send and flung his phone across the room. The resulting crack of shattering plastic was only momentarily satisfying. Sighing, he turned back to his trusty stovetop espresso maker, listening to the steam hiss and build, forcing its way through the finely ground Italian roast. Only two more minutes… Fucker had to destroy the first peaceful morning he’d had in weeks. Mutt and Blondie, his two house mates who preferred to be called Joey and Ted when they weren’t in wolf form, were still upstairs. The plan was to eat a little breakfast alone, catch a few rays, and drink espresso until he sweated caffeine out of his pores.

  He looked at the makings for a frittata strewn across his counter—the onions half chopped, fresh eggs, cilantro, thinly sliced cheese—his stomach turned. Sweeping the onions into the sink he stowed the eggs and cheese back in the fridge. Fucking Angelo. One month back from California and already riding his ass, and not in the good way. He yanked the espresso maker off the stove, dumping it in the sink as well. “Fucking Angelo,” he growled, his voice echoing in the downstairs living area.

  Slamming out the door, he headed for the beach. Maybe a run would make him forget. Maybe he should just keep running and never come back. Why had he come back? Fucking Angelo. He picked up his pace, thinking back to the day before his father had been killed, leaving him in Angelo’s care. So long ago, and yet the pain still stung just as sharply.

  The sun was sinking behind the trees as he made his way down the overgrown path. The pack used this cabin each week, but even all the traipsing through the forest couldn’t stop the undergrowth. He heard a noise and tilted his head to the side, holding steady as he pinpointed the location. Moaning, straight ahead. The cabin was in that direction and he wondered if someone was injured.

  The moans intensified and someone shouted, the voice strangely familiar. He sniffed the air. Angelo! Heart pounding, he took off at a run. Even the very first time he’d shifted, he hadn’t been this scared. If Angelo were injured, he’d die. Angelo was more than his friend, he was the one per
son Carlo trusted with everything.

  He broke through the trees and into the clearing surrounding the cabin. A light was on in the main room, but he saw no shadows and no one in the window. Carlo raced silently up the steps, taking two at a time. He quietly moved around the porch, finding a window with the curtain pushed back. He glanced through the opening, gasping when he saw Angelo totally naked, his body pressed up against a young man bent over the couch. The other guy had no clothes on. Angelo rammed into him, his face contorted. Carlo froze. He sniffed, taking in the scent of the stranger. Human.

  His heart sank and his stomach twisted. Before his dad passed, he’d drilled into Carlo’s skull that coupling was special, something an Alpha had to take seriously. No humans—ever. And here Angelo, his Alpha, was fucking a human.

  He might have understood if Angelo had chosen a pack member for his mate, but this man wasn’t mate worthy. The human glanced up, his face fully visible. “What the hell?” Carlo stepped away from the window, shocked by how much the guy looked like him. Why had Angelo chosen this one?

  The emotions flowing through Carlo were like sandpaper over bare skin. He pushed them away, not wanting to think any more about Angelo or the human who looked shockingly like him.

  Angelo roared over his orgasm, the sound sending a wave of nausea through him. “You bastard.” Carlo whispered before he spun around and raced down the stairs to the forest, but not before catching the scent of Angelo hot from sex, dripping with sweat and come.

  Anger burned through Carlo. He wanted to hurt Angelo, show him how disgusted he was. Carlo shifted, tearing through the underbrush and away from the sound. He raced to the Intracoastal, bounded into the water, and swam across to the island. Once on Hilton Head, he ran into the forest, bringing down a deer, not caring if anyone heard his rage.

  ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

  Joey rolled over, burrowing under the covers and pulling the pillow over his head. Stupid wolf hearing. The problem with wolves was that no one had invented soundproofing strong enough to block out the sound of Carlo one floor below. Not even seven in the morning and already Carlo was pacing and spitting and swearing and waking up the house. Well maybe not the entire house, there wasn’t any sign that Ted had stirred next door. The cute blond was always quietly obvious in his morning rituals—so very Malibu with his morning yoga and humming, before hitting the beach to catch what little surfing was available. Hmm…such a nice thought, all that blond hair and warm tan skin. Almost enough to get him to roll out of bed and see if Ted was awake; well, “up” anyway…. He rolled over, pressing his hips into the mattress. That he and Ted hadn’t taken their explorations past a casual pet or kiss wasn’t troublesome at all. Ted wasn’t the type he would settle down with, but it wouldn’t hurt to get to know the guy on a deeper level.

  All thoughts of early morning activities were driven out by the violent crash below, followed shortly by more swearing and a slamming door. Great. Another visit by Hurricane Carlo; forecast for the day: stormy with little chance of fun.

  He lay there, eyes closed, breathing quietly, listening to the silence that had settled on the house. He toyed with the idea of getting in a ride before the sun got too high. This week’s training had done him in with over a hundred miles biked, it was more than enough, and the warm bed proved too tempting. Better make the most of it while I can, were his last thoughts before snuggling deeper under his duvet and slipping out of consciousness.

  Joey woke again to the sound of pacing. If Carlo didn’t knock it off soon the world would be short one Alpha-Beta. Joey snickered to himself at the pun. Carlo would hate that. He had to remember to use it at the earliest possible moment. It was the least he could do if the fucker kept this up much longer. A quick glance at the clock revealed it had been a full two hours since the pacing had first woken him at six this morning; that was an activity proscribed by the Geneva Convention.

  There would be payback.

  The blessing of being a wolf was that Joey could now smell coffee within two minutes of optimum brewing, and Carlo’s cinnamon rolls of rage would soon be out of the oven. Apparently this was one of those baking kind of problems for his Alpha and friend. That could only mean one thing... Angelo.

  Joey silently trod downstairs, noting a shattered piece of black plastic in the corner of the room—Carlo’s fit? He turned his attention to the kitchen, spying Carlo at the kitchen sink rinsing an antique bread bowl—shoulders and neck stiff, espresso untouched at his elbow. Ted was seated at the kitchen table working wax into his favorite short board, the muscles of his chest and shoulders flexing agreeably as he worked. It was always a treat to see Ted in his surfer boy finest, all tanned skin and low riding board shorts. Ted smiled sweetly as Joey wandered into the kitchen, a tiny smear of frosting at the corner of his mouth reminding Joey of his earlier thoughts that involved cream but not food.

  “Morning Teddy Bear!” Joey teased, licking the sweetness from the man’s face, enjoying the taste of the man as much as the sugary frosting.

  “Ass,” grumped Ted lightly before the brief lean of affection revealed his sweet happy nature. Such a stereotype, their California recruit who’d followed Carlo home from college and set up camp at the beach house. He patted Ted’s head before moving into the danger zone and hurricane Carlo’s reach.

  “Mornin’ Carlo,” Joey purred into his Alpha’s ear before snagging his own roll.

  “Coffee,” Carlo jerked his elbow backwards to the carafe, Joey’s favorite mug sitting next to it. Nice. At least they were going to reap the benefits of this morning’s bitch-off with the top dog… he snickered under his breath, which was a mistake of epic proportions. Shit.

  Carlo rounded on him sharply. “You two need to keep your shit together. We have neighbors again, and I don’t want you fucking around like you always do. I have enough trouble with Beaufort without getting reamed out about ‘inappropriate behaviors that risk exposing us to humans.” Something sounding like ‘fucking prick’ slid just under Joey’s audible range and he ignored it to focus on the more interesting part of Carlo’s speech.

  “Neighbors?” Joey lifted his eyebrows, hoping they were cute and not another family of six packing overloaded coolers of disgusting prepackaged meat to the beach for an all day roast-off with kids that shrieked every time a little piece of sand got in their eyes. It would be fine if they were roasting real meat, but usually it was their pale skin that took the brunt of the sun as they forgot to reapply sunscreen. Humans.

  “Moving in now, across the way,” Carlo jerked his head towards the stretch of land that separated their house from a complex of holiday condos. The one closest to them was unoccupied most of the year, apparently not part of the whole vacation rental industry that seemed to drive the local island economy.

  Joey moved to stand beside him at the sink. “Whoa! Dude!” he threw over his shoulder, “Ya gotta check this out—twinkies!!!”

  Ted tossed his rag on the board and crowded in to check out the scene. “Sweet!”

  Two slender young men were unloading a little red Audi A3 hatchback, pulling bags and suitcases out of the rear. They looked like twins from this angle—all light brown curls and tan skin. Typical East Coasters in their pastel polo shirts and colorful madras shorts. You could literally pick them out of a Vineyard Vines catalog. Everything you ever thought about a preppy was currently bent over across the way. “Yum!” Joey couldn’t resist. The change in Carlo was immediate, his eyes darkening, a scowl fixed on his face. One glance had Ted slinking back to his seat at the table.

  “That is exactly what I’m fuckin’ talking about! You stay the fuck away from them! You do not shift in the house without drawing the curtains… No. Wait. No fucking shifting in the house at all. You want to run, you take a drive and walk into the refuge or head to Pinckney Island. Period.”

  “Hey! What the fuck Carlo. You can’t tell me…” Joey was protesting when a finger jammed into his breastbone, Carlo’s breath in his face, brows drawn.

  �
�Grow up, Joey... Just….” He jammed his finger, highlighting each word with a thump before moving back to lean against the counter, running his fingers through his thick black hair.

  “Shit. I need you to drive to Beaufort and pick up a package. I also have a list of errands, it’s there on the counter…”

  Joey stared at the man. Carlo was completely losing it.

  “Christ Carlo, just chill. I can pick up the stuff later—”

  Carlo growled, his eyes narrowing and turning yellow, indicating the wolf was about to show. “Pick it up now.”

  “Fuck! Just because Angelo crawled up your ass this morning doesn’t mean you have to take it out on us!”

  “That’s the prob, Carlo wants Angelo up his ass...” Ted muttered under his breath.

  The silence was shocking and Joey knew they’d gone too far. Normally they kept their razzing at a low hum, but this morning he and Ted had thrown wisdom out the window, pouncing on the man.