Mark looked out over the glow of the campfire and surveyed his equipment. The motion-sensor, night-vision video-camera trap pointed toward the woods. Since it was mounted on a tripod, Mark could swivel it in any direction. If anything moved out there, he’d be able to film it, and if they came when he was asleep, it’d film without him.
Along with the camera, he had a separate sound-recording device and a small personal camera that doubled as a digital video device.
An industrial-strength flashlight, the kind used by construction workers to make dark look like day, rested next to him on the ground.
Behind him sat his two-man tent, sleeping bag nestled inside. Not for the first time did he wish Bobby was there with him, sharing this adventure. Something told him the big guy would love it out there, in the middle of the woods with the sights and sounds of nature surrounding him.
Mark identified the croak of a big gator and the answering bellow of another, challenging him for a mate or perhaps some territory. The night was alive with critters. Most of them were nocturnal, some diurnal, out in both day and night. He figured the swamp wolves, like most wolves, would be diurnal. If prey was around, they’d hunt at day or night.
Most of the sightings had been at night or at dusk. Most of the wolves had been described as large with glowing eyes. They hadn’t lingered or attacked but had slipped back into the woods or swamp without any further contact.
Not like the one that had attacked his dad at their campsite.
Mark’s father had been angry, gotten out of his sleeping bag, and left the tent, leaving Mark to stew. Mark figured he’d gone to take a piss, but he didn’t come back right away, and Mark fell back to sleep.
When his father started screaming, Mark bolted out of the tent in time to see a large wolf latched on to his father’s arm, shaking him and growling. He could still hear the sounds, and even now, in the same place where it had happened so long ago, he covered his ears to block it out.
“Fuck!” Mark knew it would be hard to be there again, but he’d told himself over and over he could handle it.
He’d lied to himself. This wasn’t going well. He was on edge and reliving that night like a bad dream. Everything in his body told him to run back to the car and get the hell out of there, but he shut those thoughts down.
Shaking, he reached for his thermos of coffee and poured a cupful. Hot and black, it warmed him as he swallowed, and for a moment, calmed him as if it had a shot of whiskey or brandy in it. Now he wished it did, but he’d made sure not to bring any alcohol with him in case anyone doubted his sobriety. He wanted this to go off without a hitch or even a hint of anything that might throw doubt on his research.
He rubbed his eyes and then opened them.
Just him and the night and whatever was out there.
Surely if there were wolves out and hunting, he’d hear the sounds. The calls and yips back and forth, the growls, and the baying once they’d gotten the scent of their prey and were in full chase. Wolves hunted in an organized pack, tracking prey, chasing it, and coming in for the kill.
That was why, now as an expert on wolf behavior, Mark didn’t understand why the wolf had attacked his father as he’d sat by the fire. So many things about that were just wrong. His father hadn’t provoked the creature. They’d been careful about sealing off their garbage and hanging it from a tree at the edge of the clearing. The fire had still been burning brightly.
Perhaps these wolves acted differently? He doubted it. He’d studied wolves on two continents and in cold and warm climates. Wolves were wolves all over. The attack hadn’t been normal wolf behavior.
His first thought had been that the wolf had been rabid, but after his father’s death, the medical examiner had checked for it, and the test was negative. No rabies.
The ME had declared the cause of his father’s death as a massive heart attack. All four of his arteries were clogged, and he told Mark and his mother that it could have happened at any time, but it most likely had been brought on by the attack.
The wounds themselves weren’t very serious, just some punctures, and they hadn’t contributed to the death. The ME declared them dog bites. Mark’s mother blamed the stress of the attack. Mark blamed himself, and within a few months the streak of white hair had shown up, a visible sign of Mark’s guilt.
If he and his father hadn’t been fighting, maybe the strain wouldn’t have been there in the first place. Maybe his dad wouldn’t have left the tent. If he had been inside, the wolf wouldn’t have attacked.
Mark never told his mother about the fight between him and his dad. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, and then before he could tell her the truth, his mom had died too.
More guilt.
The fire snapped and popped, and he glanced over at it. The past was the past, and now he was going to prove what attacked his father was a wolf, not just a big dog gone wild like the local cops had said. They’d brushed off his story of the wolf as the ravings of an upset kid, and that had pissed him off. He’d been fifteen, no kid. And he knew the difference between a wolf and a dog.
Dumb local hicks.
He rose, gave his equipment a final check, and then climbed into the tent. He jerked the zipper of the door, fighting with it to get it closed, and then kicked off his boots, hitting the other side of the tent with them. “Hicks.”
Dim light from the lantern was all he needed to climb into the sleeping bag. He punched the small pillow into a comfortable shape more than he had to as he grumbled to himself about local yokels.
Mark glanced down at his watch. Hours had passed without a sign of wolves. And it would be a long night if he didn’t calm down and let go of the past, at least for tonight.
As he breathed slow and steady, Mark thought of Bobby. There hadn’t been a morning or night when he hadn’t jerked off to the memories of their weekend together, and tonight looked as if it wouldn’t be any different.
He closed his eyes and got as comfortable as he could. His cock filled and strained against his jeans. He unzipped and ran his hand along the length of his shaft and moaned as he pictured Bobby stroking him in preparation to fuck him. His dick leaked, and he used it to slick his hand as he pulled and pushed on it.
Thinking of Bobby leaning over him, that hungry look in his eyes, almost feral, filled with lust and desire, brought Mark to a gasping, shuddering orgasm. He rolled to the side and spilled on the sleeping bag instead of his clothes.
“Shit.” He should have thought about this before he got going. He grabbed a T-shirt and wiped the bag’s flannel lining down, and then tossed the shirt to the side.
Sated, he fell back, fixed his pillow, and closed his eyes.
Maybe in the morning, he’d have captured some evidence. It was a long shot, and he knew it, but this was his last chance. If he wanted to prove his theory, it was time to put up or shut up, and Mark didn’t ever want to shut up about this.
Getting proof was too important to him. It had been his life’s work. If this all came crashing down, Mark had no idea what he’d do or who he’d be.
»»•««
Bobby woke up in the morning with a hard-on straining against his belly. He’d been dreaming of Mark, of Mark swallowing Bobby’s dick as Bobby watched. Nothing was sexier than Mark blowing him, unless it was Mark’s face twisted in pleasure while Bobby fucked him.
A quick glance at the clock told Bobby it was only a little after seven. Time enough to finish what his dream had started.
He reached into his night table and grabbed a tube of slick. After getting his hand good and slippery, he took his cock in a tight grip and worked it, thinking of Mark pleasuring him. Something about Mark just pulled the alpha out of him. The way the man submitted to him made him feel like a god.
Bobby groaned as he stroked up and down his shaft. His balls tightened, and the familiar tingling started, signaling the impending explosion. He tightened his grip, pictured Mark on his hands and knees taking Bobby’s cock in his tight ass, and that was all it took to send him over the edge.
Panting and shaking, Bobby gave his dick a final stroke, then let go, and it fell against his thigh, spent.
After his heart beat slower, Bobby sat up on the edge of the bed. Time to get going. He only had until noon to hunt for his mate, and it couldn’t be as a wolf. And he had until then to figure out what the hell he was going to say to Mark to change his mind about exposing the pack to the world and to convince him that he was Bobby’s mate.
But he couldn’t get started hunting for Mark until he’d taken care of the problem with the beer for the festival. He got dressed and headed for the office.
Once at his desk, Bobby pulled out the phone book and looked up the number for one of the local bar and restaurants, the Deaux Drop Inn, figuring it deserved this chance. The place was clean, never had too many problems with the law, and they were good about cutting their clients off before someone got too drunk to drive, or calling them a cab if they were. The owner wasn’t pack, but he was a responsible businessman in their community.
Bobby made the call, hoping the owner would be there this early. “Is Walt there?”
In the background he heard Walt’s name shouted. There was a moment of noise as the phone was handed back and forth. Then Walt Frisby got on the line.
“Walt here.”
“Walt, it’s Bobby Cotteau. I have a business proposition for you.”
Bobby told Walt about his problem, the chance to sell beer at the festival, but added Walt would have to put up his own tent. Walt, thrilled for the chance to sell beer in massive quantities, agreed. Bobby gave him the name of the tent company he’d used and hung up.
“Why don’t I meet you at the festival and we’ll get everything signed?”
“That’d be great, Walt. See you then.” Bobby swung around in his chair and pulled out the form from the file cabinet behind him. He started to fill it out so Walt only had to sign it and they’d be done.
Now if only finding Mark was that easy.
»»•««
Bobby drove through town and passed the church. The festival workers were doing the last of the decorating of the stage, hanging bunting around the bottom of the metal structure. It looked great, and something inside his chest eased. The festival would be fine. He’d done all he could to mitigate the rain day on Sunday, and the rest was up to God.
And the best thing was there were no pilgrims gathered around the tree.
He had less than three hours to see if he could find his mate. He might need a lifetime to convince Mark they were meant to be together, but even if he did, Bobby was ready to give what was left of his life to make Mark his.
He reached the edge of town where the road continued into the woods. Nothing much any farther along, except the state land everyone used for fishing and hunting. His pack used it for running also.
On the corner was the gas station and store. On a hunch, Bobby pulled in next to the pumps and parked. He usually got his gas at the grocery store on the other side of town, but he came here every now and then. One of the pack, Jack Tierry, owned it, and his son T-Beau helped him run it.
Bobby got out, sauntered over to the door, and pulled it open. The bell tinkled, and he stepped in.
“Hey, Sheriff!” T-Beau greeted him with a wave. Most of the pack still called him sheriff, even though he’d retired.
“Hey, T-Beau. Your dad around?” Bobby leaned on the counter.
“No. He’s working offshore now that they’re drilling again.”
“I’m glad. Money’s better offshore.”
“Yeah. But my mom misses him.” T-Beau grinned and blushed.
“I hear you. What about you? Got plans for college?” Bobby gave the young man a steady look, saying the answer better be yes. Bobby worked hard to impress upon the young men of the pack that college was a necessity, not a frivolous waste of time.
“I’m starting over at Lafayette next fall. Business management.” He grinned at Bobby’s look of approval.
“Good man.” Bobby nodded. “Look, just between you and me, seen any strangers around here? I don’t mean the folks going to the festival, but someone who might have stuck out.” It was a long shot, but what the hell.
T-Beau stilled, a frown turning down his lips. A long moment passed as the teen considered the question. He licked his lips and then cleared his throat.
If Bobby didn’t know better, he’d say T-Beau had a secret.
“No, sir. A few festival folks. That’s all.” He shook his head.
“Okay.” Bobby didn’t want to press it, so he let it slide. Besides, what would he tell T-Beau? He was looking for his male mate? He wasn’t ready to come out to his entire pack yet. He knew he’d have to do it eventually, but he wanted to do it on his own terms.
Bobby left, got back into his truck, and drove down the road. He checked his watch. Only two hours to search for Mark before he had to get back to the festival.
His cell phone rang, and Bobby pulled to the side of the road to answer.
“Cotteau here.”
“Bobby, it’s Father Peder. We’ve got a problem. Can you get here now?”
He stifled the expletive dancing on the edge of his tongue and exhaled. “Can it wait until twelve? I’ll be there then.”
“No. I think you’d better come and see this now.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He disconnected, turned the truck around, and headed back to town, growling the entire time.
Every atom in his body, every hair, every nerve, wanted to hunt Mark down and protect him. And claim him. Repeatedly.
But Bobby knew if the priest was calling about a problem, it wouldn’t be anything trivial. His gut told him from the sound of the man’s voice this was going to be a bad one.