His Bacon Sundae Werewolf (4 page)

His sheer size and the speed in which he shifted told Jules that Pat
wasn’t just the run-of-the-mill average werewolf either.

He must be a Beta at least.
And more importantly…Pat could be my mate.
My mate.
Just when I thought there’d be no one else, he had to come along.

The moment Pat looked into his
heart,
Jules
was frozen stiff with fear. The last time he’d felt that naked and exposed was
the moment Cole, his previous mate, looked into his heart for the first time
and claimed him as his own. It wasn’t less terrifying when Pat looked into him.
Jules knew what he saw. There was no need for secrets or lies. Pat saw all of
him,
even the ugly and savage parts of him Jules didn’t like
himself.

To be at the mercy and power of someone like that...that didn’t
frighten Jules as much as losing his soul mate again. When Cole died, it felt
like he lost half of his soul. Like he was tossed and torn apart in an ocean of
loss. It took a very long time for Jules to gather himself together again and
find another reason to live. But running
himself
ragged and living for vengeance, was that living?
 
Cole would have said it wasn’t. Cole would’ve
knocked him senseless for not moving on, but then, Cole was dead.

The smart thing Jules could do was to leave it alone. The other man
obviously wanted to be left alone and wasn’t he thinking that parting ways
amicably would be the best for them? But he’d seen the good and worst sides of
Pat too and the hidden grief and pain there eclipsed his and nearly swallowed
him whole.

How could Pat live each day feeling like that?

“I’ll catch you. We’re not done, you and I.” Jules wasn’t sure whom
he was talking to, but he swiftly took off his jacket and the rest of his
clothes.

Somewhere far off in the town center of New Haven, a strong,
shattering howl sounded. Jules grimaced. It wasn’t Pat, so it must be one of
the members of the local pack. The human inhabitants of New Haven seemed used
to living with the werewolves, and it surprised Jules how fully integrated they
were.

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to live in a town like New Haven.
To wake up with his new mate by his side every morning, and not in some
flea bitten bed in some seedy inn.
Jules was just so tired of hunting
and running.

Jules knew it was only wistful thinking though. He couldn’t move on
yet, not without making the bastard that killed Cole pay. Besides, he took
pains avoiding the New Haven local pack. Pat smelled a little like the local
pack, but it was a faint smell. It seemed like he hadn’t run with them for a
long while.

The wise thing was
to not go chasing after Pat, but Jules never did do the right thing. He’d
always been a reckless man and an even more reckless wolf when it came to
matters of the heart.

Jules finished
shifting. He worked out all the kinks in his neck before breaking into a fast
run. He was a big bastard with long legs too, and he’d catch Pat before the
foolish large chocolate wolf could do himself any further damage.

****

Pat and his beast
were one. The trees blurred into green blots as he ran surefooted and swift
across the uneven forest ground. Walking on two feet seemed absurd when his
paws could skate across the ground like it was smooth ice. After being trapped
in one form for years, what Pat felt was a rush of sudden exhilaration.

He could live
forever like this, in this powerful and lethal form, untouched by nasty human
grief and emotion. Very few things mattered to the wolf. The wolf lived in a
savage and simple world. There was something vital he was forgetting. Something
about not being too attached to his beast half, but it seemed unimportant for
now.

Pat’s ears rose at
the sound of sudden movement nearby.
Footsteps.
The patter of heavy feet crushing fallen leaves and grass.
Human feet.
Not any
animal’s
. He
sniffed, scenting a change in the air. A familiar coppery scent reached his
nostrils and he snarled as he recognized the smell immediately.

Blood.

A warning howl cut
through the woods.
A familiar howl.
Pat formed the
image of a large and dangerous beast with rust-colored fur and linked that howl
to a name: Derrick. The local pack’s second. Pat and his wolf hesitated. While
it was true that Carlos Medina, the Alpha, was the undisputed leader of the New
Haven pack, it was Derrick the other wolves approached when they had problems.

It was also
Derrick that had some of the wolves watch out for Pat in case he went off the
edge again. Derrick had unexpectedly been a good friend and listener when Pat
was in one of his bad days and needed someone to talk to.

Pat’s nose
twitched. The smell of the blood was too strong.
Too tempting
because it was accompanied by the image of fresh meat.
Having made his
decision, Pat ignored the call of his friend and the pack second, and ran
towards the direction of the meat.

He used his nose
to follow the tantalizing smell. The more he got closer to his destination, the
more his thoughts felt pure and cleansed of cumbersome human emotions. Hunger and
pure primal joy drove both wolf and man blindly into the woods. Pat hardly felt
the steel trap close on his left paw until it was too late.

Pain streaked up
his paws, lethal and poisonous.
Silver.

A howl of rage
tore out of his throat and he wriggled and moved, but the teeth of the metal
trap only closed in, shredding through the fur and skin of his paw.

Think like a human, not a wolf. What’s the most rational thing to
do? I have to stop moving so I won’t injure myself further.

It was hard, but
the wolf gave in to his human consciousness, trusting it would help them get
out.

Pat panted and
tried to calm down. He scented the air and the overpowering smell of rotted
meat and old blood mingled with the smell of fresh kill. His wolf associated
this location as a bad place, a tainted place that had witnessed many killings.

Growling softly,
Pat tried to turn his head carefully. His ears were perked up, desperately
trying to pick up any sound of movement from his trapper, but it caught
nothing. The trapper had either left after killing his prey or was still
somewhere in the woods. Maybe he would soon return.

Pat focused his
eyes on a figure lying on the ground just a few feet from him—the
source of the fresh kill
. It was a mangled and dark
misshapen mass clotted with bloodstains. Pat recognized the awkward shape that
was neither man nor animal.

It was a
half-changed shifter, a wolf by the smell of it. A local wolf Pat didn’t know.
Unexpected sorrow washed over Pat. Despite the fact he hadn’t been involved in
any recent pack meetings, the dead wolf was still pack and he could still sense
the lingering pack magic that coated the corpse. It felt like something had
been yanked from him.

He spied another
metal trap closed around the wolfman’s left ankle and growled softly. This was
no accident. While he was blind and deaf to what happened in the news, he knew
that there had been a pattern of killings near New Haven.
Serial
killings.
The news had no mention of animal attacks or ritualistic
animal killings though—common cover-ups the media used when there was crime
involving shifters.

This killer knows how to hunt down and kill shifters.

It was an
uncomfortable thought. Pat felt a prickling at his back and he tensed. Fear
wormed its way into his human heart, clashing with the savage and
uncontrollable rage of the wolf. The wolf didn’t understand fear. It welcomed
the thought of taking the killer with it into death.

A dark shape
emerged from the bushes and Pat snarled softly. He only had one chance, one
chance to get the killer close enough so he could wrench his paws. Never mind
the pain or
damage,
he’d leap at the killer’s throat.
Tear it out with glee, while drinking the bastard’s blood and devouring pieces
of his flesh. It would be one last act of defiance for him and for his nameless
fallen brother.

“Easy. Easy Pat,
it’s just me.”
 
A naked human man emerged
from the bushes and his hands were raised in the air in mock defeat.

Jules?
Pat didn’t know what to feel, relief or weariness. The embarrassing
incident at the car park was still fresh in his human half’s mind, but his wolf
only yipped in approval.

“I’m happy you’re
glad to see me.” Jules’s grin faded to a frown. “Gods, what happened to you?
Stay still and let me look—”

Jules didn’t
finish his sentence. Just then, another dark shape lunged at him from the
bushes. This wolf was the color of blood and was made of pure solid muscle and
razor sharp claws and teeth.

Panic made Pat
reach out for his human half. He needed his human mouth.
Needed
to tell Derrick to back off.
Pat opened his mouth, but only a mournful
howl of pain came out. His wolf refused to shed its fur, and perhaps a part of
his human half also didn’t want to revert to its awkward two-legged form
either. Pat then remembered what he was so eager to forget.

The first lesson
recently changed wolves were taught: never forget that they were human, that
they could easily lose themselves to their beast if they weren’t careful, and
never change back again.

Fear coiled inside
his belly. Derrick was pack second for a reason. There were three Betas in the
New Haven pack, but Derrick’s sheer strength could equal that of a normal
Alpha. He’d even once floored Carlos, the pack Alpha.

Another howl
slipped from his throat. This time, Derrick paused. On top of Jules’s chest,
his paws and teeth were ready to sink themselves into Jules’s vulnerable human
skin. He turned his great head towards Pat’s direction, amber eyes narrowing.
Pat tried again, but only barks came out. It seemed Derrick understood. Pat
thanked the gods that Derrick had excellent control of his beast. If he didn’t,
his mate would’ve…

Pat froze. Did he
just refer to Jules as his mate?

“Omph.
I was trying to free him, not kill him.” Jules breathed hard. The
line of his body was tense, but he managed a, “get the hell off me, you big
monster.”

Affronted, Derrick
growled softly in Jules’s face before getting off his chest.

Fur, teeth and
claws began to disappear and a man now stood in his place. If Derrick was a
monster of a wolf, then he was also a monster of a man.
A
big, tall, muscled and drop-dead gorgeous man.

Pat heard that
during his earlier days in the pack, Derrick had a body similar to his. He had
been an awkward and shy man too. He’d been constantly made fun of by the other
wolves for being a diabetic werewolf who didn’t eat meat. Well, Derrick was
still a diabetic, but he’d traded all that fat for muscle and having never lost
a fight, no one challenged him anymore.

“Who the hell are
you?” Jealousy clearly coated Jules’s usual jovial voice.

Pat could tell
because his laughing blue eyes were no longer laughing. Instead, they flickered
dangerously to amber, indicating he was losing control of his beast. Strangely,
his jealousy pleased Pat a great deal. Despite the poison from the silver
running through his bloodstream, both Pat and his wolf felt contented and
satisfied.

“Doesn’t
matter.
We need to get Pat out,” Derrick said
briskly, about to walk over to free Pat, but Jules grabbed his shoulder.

“It matters to
me,” Jules said tightly.

Derrick’s dark
brows rose. “Does it now?”

“Yes. I want to
know who you are to my mate.” The word mate was hissed in a single breath and a
shudder of pleasure ran down Pat’s spine. He whined.

Derrick turned to
Pat, his eyes contemplative,
then
back to Jules’s
scowling face.

“Cool it. You’re
lucky it’s me you met, lone wolf. If it were the Alpha or the other Betas, they
would’ve torn you apart without a second thought.”

Jules bristled,
but Derrick placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll continue this discussion
later. For now, Pat’s our priority.”

A look of guilt
crossed Jules’s face and that only made Pat let out another happy whine again.
Finally, the lone wolf had come to his senses and acknowledged him as his mate.

“Is it my
imagination, or does he sound smug?” Jules finally said, bending down on the
other side of Pat.

He pressed a hand
over Pat’s head and Pat grumbled his approval when he began scratching at his
ears. He couldn’t even feel the pain of the trap anymore, or the poison
sluggishly moving through his bloodstream.

“No. It’s not your
imagination,” Derrick confirmed dryly. “Pat, stay still or we’ll never get this
trap off you.”

Chapter Five

Jules realized he
could live like this, with Pat lying on his lap on the sofa. The chocolate
furred wolf had his head on Jules’s lap. His left paw was bandaged and healing
nicely. Jules sunk his fingers into the line of Pat’s back. Feeling his muscles
relax, Jules began to stroke it, amused when Pat let out a happy whine.