Jack In The Pack

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Wanton Werewolf Series Book 3 - Jack: In the Pack Copyright © 2005 Carys Weldon ISBN: 1-55410-588-9 Cover art and design by Sara Creasy All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2005 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.extasybooks.com

Dedication: This book is dedicated to men who’ve tried some pretty great stuff, maybe a little bit of everything, indulged every fantasy, and then come around to the realization that one woman, someone you connect with, is worth fighting the world for. Special thanks to everyone who made this book possible: Artist Sara Creasy, my editors, Cindy, Stef Kelsey, and Tina Haveman.

Carys Weldon

Jack: In The Pack: Introduction he big problem with society is narrow-mindedness. We get something in our heads, think it’s the God’s honest truth, and we refuse to see what’s right in front of our faces. All I can say is…WAKE UP. Kansas ain’t like it used to be. Neither is Philly, L.A., Toronto, or Bangladesh for that matter. And maybe you should do what I’ve been doing. Scanning old movies, newsreels, and paper archives. Some of those whacked out stories, the strange fiction ones, aren’t sounding too far out there now. Not now…that I’ve been bitten. I used to consider myself a realist, a straight shooting, up the middle kind of guy. An overachiever with one personal dream...to win the world. A triathlete Olympian with an eye single to the glory of my country. People said I was good-natured, even-tempered, focused. I don’t think that’s changed all that much, all things considered. But, I am considering all things differently now. Looking at the world with a new eye. And that ain’t shitting ya.

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Jack in the Pack I see movies about demons, monsters, werewolves, and I think…little truths in all of them. I watch animal behavior documentaries with intensity, learning hunting strategy, the way other animals think. And I think, holy shit, it’s a wonder there’s any humans left. Did I say, wake up? There is an underworld on this planet, and yeah, it smacks big time of the Mafioso crap you’ve seen on T.V. but it ain’t that easy. And it ain’t anything you’d call normal. But there’s been a million signs pointing you to the truth. Wide-scale, unexplained, heinous, murder scenes. You see it on the world news, every day. Biowarfare. You know that’s happening. Genetic experimentation. Hello. Cloning. Stem cell research. Hitler rising and falling. It’s all moving us toward one end: world domination. Remember the movie where Lon Chaney plays the werewolf and all the villagers hunt him down? Remember how all those old horror flicks leave you thinking that maybe, just maybe, the beast got away, or left another for the sequel? Yeah. All I’m saying is, it’s too late to get your guns, your shovels, your axes. You better start opening your eyes and asking yourself, what’s the best way to get along? I say, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. I know that’s cliché. But one day you face a demon in the dark, beg for your own death, and wake up to find you are everything you never believed in. Then look around. See all the victims waiting to happen. And see if you don’t change your vision of the world,

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Carys Weldon and what’s important. Work through your thoughts that isolation may be a good thing. There is a New World Order forming, and I’m telling you, it’s sink or swim. Hunt or be hunted. I, for one, choose to be on the top of the food chain, not on somebody’s menu.

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Jack in the Pack

Prologue he concrete courtyard of Lobos International is something to see. The wolf logo is imprinted on brass placards all over the place. Bronze statues have been placed strategically among the trees, which rise up out of holes in the concrete, to shade the place, and give the illusion of a forest filled with wolves. At the edges to the courtyard, the wolves look like dogs, lying quietly. Their tongues loll out of open, laughing mouths. Some are even rolled over, so you could lean down and pet their bellies if you wanted to. Many children do that, when they come to Wolf Wonderland—as it’s been billed. I thought, amazing. Amazing how much money they put into the sterile park. Fantastic. Fantastic stretch of the imagination. In the center is a magnificent fountain, wolves dancing, water spraying from their mouths and genitalia. When I first saw it, I thought, Geez. Wow. Fucking cool. I didn’t have a lot of time to contemplate it then. I had an appointment inside. So, dressed in my best three-piece suit, crisply starched from the cleaners, I

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Carys Weldon snugged my tie, checked that my shirt was fully tucked in, and stepped through the rotating door of one of the biggest buildings I’d ever been in. At least, it felt like it was. Very open. Personnel at Lobos are a little claustrophobic, I’ve learned. The elevators are huge, biggest available. Lots of plants. And like outside, trees literally come out of the floor. One of the Lobos’ building’s claims to fame is the fact that it’s environmentally friendly. Got a lot of Greenpeacers in their pocket—all over the world. The whole bottom floor of Lobos is a museum-like nature exhibit. Lobos has a high profile, family friendly reputation. It’s all a crock. Like any business, they created an image that works for the general public. Wait. I need to amend that. Lobos is very ‘family’ oriented. But, they’ve got their own definition of family. You’ll find it in Webster’s under ‘pack.’ You’ll find it in Encyclopedia Britannica under ‘wolf.’ I was met at the door by a concierge type. “May I help you, sir?” “Jack Barton. I’m here to see—” The bellhop old-timer interrupted me with a big smile, “Ah. Of course. I should have recognized you. We’ve been expecting you, sir.” That was good to hear…since I had an appointment. They’d asked to see me. Me. Tri-athlete extraordinaire. American golden boy. Winner of many Olympic medals. I was making

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Jack in the Pack my rounds, checking out the sponsor opportunities, looking to plaster my pretty face all over the commercial spots. Hey, that’s what you do when you’ve damn near won everything there is to win in your fields of expertise. Ya can’t knock it. There’s good money in it. Travel. Fringe benefits. It’s all good. It’s part of what you shoot for. The only downside is…you have to put your name on products, some that you know very little about. But I’m not one of those brain-deads that sign any contract put in front of them. I do my research. I’m not putting my name to anything that I don’t believe in. Too many kids out there willing to try anything I point at. The greeter picked up a phone on his podium, said, “Mr. Barton has arrived.” He listened for a minute and said, “Yes. He’s alone.” He smiled at me again as he was hanging up. “Someone will be right down.” “Fine.” I looked around. Live birds fluttered around the rafters—tree branches, some maybe fake, gave them perch. Every color. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and I’d been to plenty of zoos, bird sanctuaries, that sort of thing. “World class atrium,” the concierge volunteered happily. He gestured toward a wall of interactive video screens. Many people were in front of it, finger touching, headphones on. “Would you like your own headphones, sir?” I shook my head. I didn’t have time for it, but it looked interesting. “You can identify the birds, do a virtual wildlife

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Carys Weldon tour, or read up on the business workings of Lobos International and its subsidiaries.” My smile, I’m sure, looked pained. “Thanks.” I know it was his job but I’d already indicated that I wasn’t that interested. If I had been, I’d have taken the damn headphones on the first offer. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes early. I wondered if the product they wanted me to endorse was any good. I’d read the contract, gone through it with my lawyer. It looked straightforward. Lobos had a reputation in the business community: tough competitors, cut above pay, thorough advertising and promotions. In short, you couldn’t go wrong with an international company that had a high return on their stocks that seemed to be skyrocketing in all markets. It looked like they could do nothing wrong. Call me cautious. Too good to be true is too good to be true. When the elevators opened up on a heavy woosh, I turned to see one fine representation of feminine charm. Great legs. Stacked shack. Tight mini-skirt, business suit. Phenomenal smile. Super teeth. Giselle Racini was a woman who worked out. I could tell that from a mile away. Her lithe grace, as she approached me, had me hard-put to keep my eyes on her face. One hip at a time, she slinked my way, eyes alight with pleasure. “Mr. Barton,” she extended her hand, “Welcome to Lobos.” “Call me Jack,” I said with confidence. “Nice to meet you.” I leaned over, as much to look down her

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Jack in the Pack top as to read her name tag. Plenty of exposed cleavage. Just enough to really intrigue me. Her breasts were pushed up, but not overly large. “Ms. Racini.” It came across like a bow of sorts, I’m sure. That seemed to please her. She pumped my hand with a firm, two-squeeze-and-release motion that left me sadly itching to touch her again. The girl had something going on. A perfume I’d never smelled before, that had me inhaling her up front. I think it came straight from the friction between her boobs. “Let me show you to our executive suite.” Spinning on her stiletto heels, she led the way to the elevator she’d just come out of. A placard above the single UP button read ‘Executive Express Elevator’. It went straight to the top. No stops on other floors. And it was damn quick. Didn’t give me near enough time to chat up my escort. Since I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be back, I knew I needed to ask her out before we hit the last floor. Talk about pressure. Luckily, I work well under it. I said, “Look, I’m a stranger in town, just here for this appointment. Would you like to have dinner with me?” She thought that was funny, I guess, because she chuckled, “Ooh. You don’t waste any time, do you?” I liked her response. It gave me the perfect in for a quick comeback. “I run for a living, honey, jump hurdles, climb unscalable mountains, swim the deepest oceans. Life is short. Gotta grab the highlights where you see ‘em. How about it?” She laughed outright, then. “How can I refuse?”

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Carys Weldon The lights above the door were whizzing through their sequence. Before I could ask where to pick her up, or meet her, she glanced up. We were almost at the top. She said, “I’m a little intrigued by the whole Olympian thing.” I tend to smirk when I feel like the world is at my fingertips. I replied, “Stamina is a virtue built by hours of physical exertion. I can show you how I work out.” I hoped she was picturing us, naked in the sheets, like I was. Because I was definitely having a quick fantasy about exposing that cleavage, and sliding that little skirt up to her hips. Yep, I couldn’t wait to get a glimpse of the curls between her legs, and the folds beneath that. Glancing down, I noted that she had on no pantyhose. Finely tanned, firm legs. Ah. I bet money to myself that she could squeeze with those muscles, hang on tight. I had visions of hitting the stop button without warning, locking the elevator between floors, and turning to her, in one fast move, lifting her up, unleashing my manhood, and impaling her with my Olympian stamina right there. She wrinkled her nose and glanced upward at the camera. I got the impression that she was irritated, maybe had thoughts along the same lines. I, too, glanced up at the obvious piece of security. What the hell? We could give someone a good show. I grinned to myself. It would never happen, but thinking about it was fun. Had me happy when I stepped off on the thirtieth

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Jack in the Pack floor. The foyer there was anything but businesslike. I wondered who the hell did their decorating. Some outdoor enthusiast, that was for damn sure. The walls were oil-painted murals in vibrant colors—depicting a forest. The hall was wide, and full sized trees were potted, giving the ‘room’ a 3-D effect. It even smelled like the outdoors. I noted the timed air freshener behind a plant, painted to blend in. The carpet was thick, rich green. I’d never seen such a carpet before. It must’ve cost the earth. Not that I cared what they’d spent. But that represented to me a truth about Lobos. Money was no object. It was a good thing to notice if you were about to negotiate a contract, but then, I already knew the company was filthy rich. There were several doors opening off the octagonal foyer, all blocked out with embossed leather bonding. Like I said, very opulent. I’m not really into art, but I was impressed by the attention to detail I saw there. I cracked, “What? No birds up here?” Ms. Racini laughed. That was easy to coax from her. “You’d be surprised what we have up here.” “Pick a door, any door,” I quipped. “What’s behind door number three?” She didn’t miss a beat, she said, “Let’s make a deal. You get the wolf behind door number one, or the shaft behind door number two.” She was leading me toward door number one. Suite number one, that is. “Ah. I said I wanted door number three.” Reaching out for the button beside door number one, she said, “Sorry. That one’s empty at the moment.” She winked. “But I’m sure, if you work

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Carys Weldon your cards right, you could get that one set up for you.” “They want me that much?” It pleased me to hear it. “Oh, I’m pretty sure that they’re dying to get you on the team.” Her eyes gleamed. Her teeth sparkled. I thought, honey, they picked right when they sent you downstairs. They’d done their homework, of course. Investigated me to the hilt. And I mean, down to the length of my manhood. Locker room jockeys, reporters, P.I.s. They have a payroll full of spies. The door, like the elevator, wooshed open. And I learned what true wealth really was. I am not kidding when I say the place was gilded in gold, laced with silver. “Hm,” my guide frowned. “Hood was supposed to be here.” She gestured for me to step in. “Make yourself at home. I’ll see where he is.” She disappeared. I had time to glance around, peer closer at the artwork. Jungle fantasy. New Age stuff with voluptuous women draped over tree limbs in Xena outfits, wolves sitting beneath the tree, noses up, howling, maybe. Definitely sniffing the air. And fascinating variations on wolf scenes filled every other frame, too. Werewolves under moonlit, clouded-over skies. Wolf packs on the tundra. The collection was exquisitely matted, wrapped and framed, set with enhanced lighting. You couldn’t help but admire the work, right down to the presentation

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Jack in the Pack artist who’d selected the shadow boxes, carved mahogany binding, and all the rest that went around the various pieces. “Ah. I’m sorry.” Ms. Racini returned, catching me by surprise as I was leaning toward one particularly explicit scene, where a half wolf, half woman was in the arms of a werewolf. In the clutches, you could say. It stirred me. He had one hand on her breast—claw, that is—and another between her legs. She arched backward, mouth open, and he had his tongue almost ready to go down her throat. Definitely an arousing work of art, even if you weren’t into wolves. So, when Giselle spoke as she entered the room, I jumped a little guiltily. But she smiled. “You like?” She waved a hand in the air. “Hood selected every piece of art in this room. He has interesting taste, don’t you think?” Tongue in cheek, I said, “That one’s got some eye appeal.” I thumbed over my shoulder. She seemed to agree—with a nod and a smile— before saying, “Hood had something come up. He apologizes for keeping you waiting.” She added, “He rarely keeps people waiting.” “Who is this Hood?” “Actually, he’s one of the top bio-geneticists here.” “I came to discuss a contract for—” “Yes. He designed the product.” “Oh.” “We understood that you wanted to know more about it before you signed an agreement.” I shrugged. Okay. My lawyer, apparently, had been very good at expressing my feelings on the

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Carys Weldon matter. Smoothed the way for me. “Can I offer you a drink?” I shook my head. “I’m an athlete. I don’t drink much.” “How about a protein shake? Try the product we want you to endorse?” “Sure.” Scooting back my jacket, I put my hands in my pockets. A second later, she spoke into an intercom, presumably to a kitchen somewhere on the floor. “Mr. Barton would like to sample the product.” To me, she asked, “What flavor would you like? Vanilla, chocolate, berry?” “Vanilla’s fine.” I figured, if it had any odd, hidden flavor, I’d be more apt to detect it with the vanilla. “Vanilla, please.” Ms. Racini let go of the button, reached up and fluffed through her hair: dark, layered sex appeal. That’s what I’d call that mass. I wanted to run my hands through it, too. “Jack, please sit. Make yourself comfortable.” She skirted the furniture, sat down on the deeply cushioned sofa—that I know was made for sex— kicked off her shoes, and said, “I hope you don’t mind. My feet are killing me.” Red toenails. Perfectly formed feet. “Hey, doesn’t bother me.” She gestured to the other end of the sofa when I moved nearer to the sitting area. Laughing, she teased, “I couldn’t talk you into a foot rub, could I?” I balked a little. I mean, I was there for business. She said, “We don’t stand on formality in the executive suite. We get comfortable.” Waving a hand,

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Jack in the Pack she said, “The whole place is designed to block out the harsh realities of the modern world.” “It does appear to be a fantasy place.” “Hood won’t mind if you relax. He may be awhile.” She pouted prettily, “He’d be very upset with me if I didn’t manage to make your wait…pleasant.” I sunk onto the other end of the sofa. My mind was on anything but business, trying to hang onto the purpose for being there. “I wouldn’t want anyone mad at you.” Sounded lame, even to my ears. I offered, “I could probably manage a foot rub, if your feet really are bothering you. I know how that can be.” Boy, did I know what sore feet felt like. I’d run marathons that had me blistered and sore for weeks. Her feet were in my lap within seconds, nudging mischievously at my crotch. Her pretty brown eyes darkened and she grinned at me, eyebrows up, willing me to take the hint. “Shame you don’t have any lotion.” I picked up one foot, started kneading the bottom of it with both my thumbs. Her head fell back and she moaned, “Ah. That’s heavenly.” Her other foot pushed against my crotch. And I thought that was heavenly. “You sure no one is coming?” I had to ask. She frowned, pursed her lips toward the ceiling, squinted as she thought about the answer. “No. Someone is definitely coming.” It sounded good and bad to me. My brain was in the gutter. Coming definitely sounded good. The

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Carys Weldon more her foot pressed against my pants, the more I wanted to jump her. But I liked the tease. “Your shake should be here any minute.” I worked on her other foot. Figured, I needed to do both, quick, before the shake appeared. Couldn’t leave her with one foot undone. Ya know? It was a quick massage. A tiny bell rang. Almost inaudible. She pulled her feet from my lap, slipped her shoes on in one deft moment and got up, went to the door, took the tray, said thank you to the orderly that had delivered it, and brought it to me. “Thanks.” I took a sip. It surprised me that it was really good. I’d had a hundred protein drinks. Many of them gritty, or too frothy, or too icy. Now, I had no idea at that point if the product did what they claimed, but at least the flavor wouldn’t make you sick after three days on it. “Not bad,” I said. She dropped back onto the sofa. “Why don’t you let me return the favor?” “What favor?” I slurped some more. The shake was really good, almost addictive. It didn’t take long to suck it all down. By then, she had me convinced that slipping my shoes off, letting her massage my feet, was a good idea. So, okay, I realize now that Ms. Racini was probably a full-fledged masseuse, among her other talents. She charmed the socks off of me, literally. Squeezing my toes, one by one, she examined my feet, discussed pressure points. Since that was something athletes usually educate themselves on, and certainly world-class athletes, she

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Jack in the Pack had me drawn in, relaxing, appreciating her talents. Before long, I had my head back, got lost in the euphoria of a skilled artisan working magic on my feet. The effects of the shake, drugged, I think, added, maybe controlled, my reaction to her. When Ms. Racini said in a purr, “Call me Giselle,” I went out of my mind. Delirious. Hallucinating. I thought, that may be the prettiest name on the planet. It isn’t, of course, but it’s right up there. Somewhere in the middle of my revelry over names, women, and the wonders of good protein shakes, she stopped with my feet, climbed toward me on the sofa, between my legs, opened my pants, and gave me oral favors. All other muscles in my body were limp. I had died and gone to heaven. I thought, fuck, if this is how Lobos treat their people, sign me up. Of course, I was under the influence. Definitely drugged. It was a new experience for me. And I’d never had such an easy come-on to sex before. Don’t get me wrong, Olympians have plenty of groupies. But I’ve always been careful. Don’t want AIDS, or any other communicable diseases. Very body conscious. Fuck me if I didn’t squirm beneath Giselle’s ministrations. She had suction down to an art, and blow…holy shit…did she know how and when to blow, to pull with her lips, and her teeth—fine, fabulous teeth—scraping gently down my shaft— while she took me all in.

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Carys Weldon There was no time in that room. Surreal moments. I lived a fantasy there. I came in her mouth. She swallowed it all, every drop, with gulping greediness while I held her head, my fingers embedded in that luscious mane. But she didn’t fight for air. And when I laid my head back again, thanking God for the experience, glad that it was over—she kept sucking, licking, lapping. I let her. I couldn’t have told her to quit to save my life. My brain wasn’t totally functioning. I didn’t think that someone might come in. In fact, if my mind wandered that way at all, I think I dismissed the thought with…it’s probably part of the plan to get me in a good mood. They’re taking advantage of me. Raping me under the influence of drugs…never came to mind then. I remember her straddling me next, guiding my cock into her, riding me while I held her hips. At some point, she’d taken off her jacket. I opened my eyes as she crossed her arms, grabbing the hem of her shirt, and pulled it over her head. She was fucking beautiful. Firm, round breasts. Hard nipples. Big, dark aureolas. Looking up, I watched as she slid her hands under her hair and lifted it off her neck. I pumped into her, thinking: this can’t be real, this can’t be real. Fuck, I came again. Her thighs squeezed. Her inner muscles squeezed. It was better than I’d imagined in the elevator. I rammed up inside of her, held her down on my shaft while I exploded inside of her. All the time, I looked

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Jack in the Pack up at the globular breasts, the underside of her chin…and wondered what she got paid for that. Not enough, I can tell you for sure. I wanted to pass out. I might have, in fact. But not for long. I swear to God, she got up, slithered back down between my legs, and, on all fours, like a dog— er, wolf—she licked me clean. Fucking had me hard again. So, by now, I’m coming around. Whatever the hell was in that shake was damn good for the libido and inducing euphoria. Some type of freaking narcotic that got the juices flowing. I swear, the girl looked half wild, half wolf, but I was blinking, my vision was blurry. I groaned, “You’re gonna kill me,” but it was a happy death I was seeing ahead of me. “Mm.” When I opened my eyes the next time, she was all woman again, and sucking me down one more time. Amazing more than anything, I got my rocks off again. Normally, I’m into pleasuring a woman, so this was probably one of those hidden fantasies of mine. How they guessed on it, I don’t know—unless it’s every man’s fantasy, which it very well could be. But maybe it’s every woman’s, too. I mean, to become insatiable, so alluring and sexy that I couldn’t turn her down. She had her way with me. There’s no doubt about that. I was a willing victim to that type of crime. I’m not usually a guy that has a hard time turning away from temptation, but that shake, whatever was

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Carys Weldon in it had stolen my reasoning and enhanced my natural instincts. She came up off of me, swiping her mouth, her swollen, full lips with the back of her hand, her hair wildly spread all over her shoulders, trailing forward over her breasts—not covering the peaks. Her eyes flashed, and she asked, “How’d you like the shake?” What could I say? “It was good.” I think I was in a full-blown stupor. Literally. Giselle smiled. “How do you like the way we treat our guests at Lobos?” I let out a little laugh, “Can’t complain.” Backing off of me, she reached for her shirt, pulled it on. I managed to sit up, work my pants’ closure. I thought, my cock will never be the same. Never. She drew on her jacket, fluffed her silky hair over the collar, and slid her feet back into her shoes. Licking her lips, she got up and said, “I better go see what’s keeping Hood.” Again, she disappeared. I had time to sniff the shake glass, clear my head a little, and glance at my watch. Very little time had passed. Maybe thirty minutes. Definitely a surreal time frame. I wondered, what did they plan to top that off with?

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Jack in the Pack

Chapter One

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learned later that Giselle went straight from me to a lab on the next floor, to have my semen extracted and tested. Hood arrived within a few moments of Giselle’s departure. I liked him immediately. I’m thinking the shake didn’t hurt my first impression. Everything was still a little rosy, if you know what I mean. Hood didn’t fit any image of a bio-geneticist that I’d ever seen. Certainly not the profile of research scientist. He owned the place the minute he walked in. Arrogantly assured, dominating in his body language, he came through the doors with purpose. I stood at the sound of the woosh, and turned to meet him. Wolverine from X-Men came to mind. Long sideburns, dark hair. Leashed tension, discerning eyes. It was the intensity of his gaze that had me, I think. He stared me down, looked into my soul, saw the champion in me—and smiled. “You must be Jack.” He said it as he extended his hand.

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Carys Weldon I wanted to laugh. “You must be Hood.” I took his grip, and gave him a hard one. No challenge between us, just a solid beginning. It felt honest. His other hand came up, sort of wrapped around my back and he led me toward the furniture. I sat in a chair this time. He sat in the other chair. We both glanced toward the sofa, and he wrinkled his nose, but didn’t say anything. Spying the empty shake glass, he seemed pleased. “So, did you like the shake?” I watched him. Totally at ease with what they’d offered me. Waiting for me to bring it up. “I’ve never had a protein shake like that before.” He laughed. “I didn’t think you had. What would you like to know about it?” “You developed it? Is that right?” “Yes.” “And it’s supposed to do what?” There was a certain sense of underlying humor in his expression when he replied, “Ah, we’re in trouble, if you couldn’t tell.” “Build muscle?” I suggested that a little tongue in cheek. He laughed, “And enhance libido. The two things that any good protein shake should do.” “What else?” Hood pursed his lips. I got the definite impression that he was assessing me. He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs, rubbed his hands together. “You know, this world is a little rough. We’re all under pressure. Governments control pretty much

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Jack in the Pack everything we do. Why, you can’t get a decent muscle relaxant in America these days, not without prescription. And that’s bullshit.” I knew about that. Tri-athletes really put their bodies to the test. And sometimes, after the race is over, we tighten up. And, depending on where you are, you could be in deep shit, with no tension release available except alcohol. Like I said before, I’m not into abusing my body with drugs or liquor, but I believe that there is a time and place, and medicinal use for mind and body relaxing substances. I try meditation a lot, but sometimes something more is worth trying. So, I’m not averse to relaxants, just wary of the shit they had in that damn shake—though a part of me thought, a fucking shit load of that could be delivered to my apartment and I’d be all right with that—but to endorse it for the public? I wasn’t so sure about that. “That’s why travel is recommended these days.” I quipped it with a grin. “It’s a good thing you like to travel. We have a great promotional tour lined up, if you sign. All expenses paid, of course.” I leaned forward, too. “What are we talking here?” “We have a few plans available. I’m sure one will suit your preference.” “Lay ‘em on me.” “Well, we have the full-scale world tour where you do the commercial spots.” I narrowed my gaze on him. That would be endorsing the product to kids, doing television, print ads. I chewed on the inside of my cheeks. I could feel

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Carys Weldon a slight problem with that coming on. And visions of kids, barely over puberty, fucking their brains out. I didn’t like that. My head started to shake before I’d really worked through why. I believe sex is for grown-ups, plain and simple. If you’re not old enough to handle the consequences, be responsible, pay the price of error, then practice abstention. Funny, how you don’t work through morals until confronted with something that rubs you. No pun intended. Already, I was thinking that I couldn’t endorse the product like that. Hood skipped right to the next option. “We could really use you on our sales team—” “I’m not really a salesman.” “Come on, you have charisma. The public loves you. It would flatter our clients to no end if you showed up and set the folder introducing our product on their counter. I don’t think you’d have to say much. We can send others with you, so you can work as a team.” Before I could protest, he held out a hand. “Giselle loves sales. She’s already agreed to travel with you, introduce you to our client list.” That had me grinning. Talk about your hardhitting sales pitches. How could I turn down that? I leaned back. I had to give that some thought. He rattled off some figures, other fringe benefits to the job. By then, my brain had cleared. I could see that the effects of the Lobos shake were short-lived. I could see that the offer was too good to refuse. Basically, he

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Jack in the Pack told me that they could suit the final package to my preferences, what I was willing to do. I asked, “Why me? I mean, there are other athletes vying for products.” Hood half-laughed, leaning back, too. “Come on. There’s no other tri-athlete out there that has the image you do.” “But you’re saying you’d take me behind the scenes. What good would that do?” “You underestimate the underlying tapestry of business. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.” “So, you would put out a press release that I’m selling the product.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t have to say anything officially.” “But it would, probably, come out.” “Oh, I’m sure. But, Jack, this product is gonna sell. Like hotdogs. Or peanuts at the circus. You can be on the top of the world, wallowing in the glories of free enterprise, or sitting on a tattered sofa somewhere, wondering why you didn’t lead the bandwagon. We’re asking you to be grand marshal in our parade.” I’d been in too many parades, didn’t particularly like that analogy. And, when push comes to shove, I’m my own man. You don’t get to the pinnacle of your sport if you aren’t. It’s what makes champions. Unease crept into my psyche. The sales pitch was a little too straight-forward, a little too intense. I felt like he didn’t plan on taking no for an answer. And I didn’t like that. “I’ll tell you what. Let me mull it over.” I stood up. “What is there to think about?”

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Carys Weldon I reached around my back, tucked my shirt in. He was doing the same thing. In some way, it sparked my funny bone. Two men, on opposite sides of the bargaining table, both posturing, both knowing that time was running out. I said, “I’m going to look through your client list, see who I’d be dealing with.” He nodded, appeared to be thinking that over, didn’t seem to think that was a problem. We turned toward the door in unison. I felt like we’d come to a silent agreement, that I was likely not interested, that something wasn’t quite sitting right with me. What? I couldn’t put a finger on. “You could do that,” he clapped me on the back. We headed toward the door. “Jack, I’d like to be friends with you. Lobos has some far-reaching plans and I really think you’re perfect for us. You just don’t know it yet.” Our exit was interrupted by an intercom request for Hood to take a call. He asked me to wait for him. He picked up the extension in the room, said a few words, mostly, “That’s good. Uh-huh. Positive. Great. Thanks.” Click. “Sounds like good news.” Making small talk, I waited for him to come with me to the door. “Oh. Better than you can guess.” He moved toward me. “Do you know much about our business here?” “Enough, I guess. I did a little homework.” Again, he clapped me on the back and we headed out. Remember, I said the room was big. Lots of footage between the furniture and the door. Thick carpeting. We weren’t in any hurry. He was still working on the sell, and I was letting him give his

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Jack in the Pack final pitch. He kind’ve held me up, the way his arm put pressure on and he stopped walking. He asked, “What did you learn?” I shrugged. “Oh, I dunno.” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Did he want me to mention the stats on his company? Or what I’d learned about the way they do business once I’d arrived? Now, there was some homework. Hood dropped his arm. I watched his jaw tighten and he asked, “We’d like you to join our team because you want to do business with us.” Honestly, I said, “I know that you pride yourselves in good public policy, that you’re environmentally friendly—” That was important to me. I climb mountains. I run outdoors. I swim straits. I need the world to be a cleaner, safer place. “We want our children’s children to have a good world.” He was dead serious about that. So, I nodded. “That’s good. I think we all want that.” I noticed, then, that Hood’s eyes were gold. I thought, he’s too handsome to be a doctor of research. Visions of nerd scientists and all that. He looked like he had a fitness routine, too, and he was tall, like I was. Lean, as well. He hit the button by the door. Giselle was there, smiling. “Ah. Good timing, eh?” “Mr. Barton was just leaving.” Hood and Giselle exchanged a look. His gravity must’ve transferred itself directly to her. Her smile faltered. She looked worried, bit her

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Carys Weldon bottom lip, and asked, “Mind if I walk you out?” “That would be nice,” Hood said. And I wondered, what was the rest of his name? But I didn’t ask, because Giselle said, “I could show you what’s behind door number three, if you like.” I turned to shake Hood’s hand. “You don’t mind if I take a look around, do you, before I head out?” “By all means, let Giselle give you the full tour.” His teeth flashed. “Have another shake.” That made me chuckle. “Thanks, but one is plenty.” “Ah,” Giselle said, “I thought you might like to try the other flavors.” “Right,” I said. Not on your life. My brain was working with all its oars again. And I knew I had to get out of that place. She led me from Suite One, and the doors behind us closed swiftly. I told her, “I thought you’d abandoned me.” Giggling, she shook her head, “Not on your life.” She pressed the button for door number three. “Now I’m curious to what’s in two.” She rolled her eyes. “You are hard to please.” “Not really. Just curious.” “Curiosity killed the cat.” “I’ve heard that.” Number three was nothing like the first suite. No greens. No jungles, trees, or half naked women on the walls. No wolves, either. There was an alcove with several pieces of gym equipment, the higher end body-building machines, and a minibar. Giselle pointed to that first. “I can mix you another

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Jack in the Pack shake there, if you’d like. Or something else. Juice smoothie, snack bar. We have a whole line of health and fitness products.” “I know.” I had tried a few before I came, just to test the quality. None of the things on the market already had the punch of the new shake. She walked me through a small foyer, pointed down a hall, and said, there’s an office, of sorts, behind that door. A bathroom in there. I pointed to another door. “And that?” Ms. Racini fluttered her lashes at me. “Oh, that’s a bedroom. Want to see?” I laughed. “Are we still on for dinner?” “If you like. Your call.” The living room of three was sunken, had leather furniture, and impressionist art on the walls. “Who decorated this room?” Giselle laughed. “It’s not really decorated. Just made livable as a guest suite until we take on a new team member. It could be done to your tastes.” “That’s nice.” She ran her hands along the back of a chair, watching me as I looked around. “What did you think of Hood?” “Not what I expected in a scientist.” “He’s very good at what he does.” “So you tell me.” I glanced around. “I’ll take your word for it.” “The shake he made speaks for itself.” “What’s a bio-geneticist doing dabbling in protein shake formulas?” Giselle turned her back, went to the window,

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Carys Weldon pulled the blinds, and looked down on the city. “He’s an amazing creature.” I closed the gap between us, touched her elbow, so she’d turn and look me in the eye. I hadn’t noticed it before, but she didn’t do that much. Tended to pin her gaze on my lips. “That doesn’t actually answer my question, does it?” “He’s brilliant, gets bored, dabbles in other fingers of research.” Slipping my hands to her hips, I tugged her close. After all, she’d been pretty friendly with me. “He’s got full rein in Lobos.” “What can you tell me about him?” That made her a little uncomfortable. Her gaze dropped to my chest. She sucked in her lower lip and bit down. And I wanted to kiss her. I bent down to do it. Fuck Hood. Maybe that shake hadn’t fully worn off. Her arms slipped around my neck the moment my lips touched hers. A second later, in what seemed a little desperate, she pressed herself against me and slid her tongue into my mouth. I could taste myself. Not that I’d ever tried my semen before, but I knew that the flavor, it had the scent of me. It reminded me of what she’d done for me earlier. Not all that long before. But eons, it seemed like, at that moment. Too long. I let one hand wander to her ass, squeeze, draw her on top of my leg, which I’d insinuated between hers. And my other hand slid up, under her jacket, to cup her breast. It, too, applied a little pressure.

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Jack in the Pack She gasped and groaned a little behind the kiss, and the possessive grips, and that encouraged me to be a little bolder. Before long, she was grinding against my leg, and my cock had swollen again. Her skirt had ridden up. I realized then, that she had no panties on. My arm is long enough to reach around her ass and finger her clit—to feel how wet she was for me. The hand on her breast slid down between us, undid my pants, and I turned her toward the glass, lifted her. Giselle wrapped her legs around my waist, cupped my jaw with both her hands and looked down at me. Her thumbs brushed my lower lip. I watched her swallow hard before she said, “You have bedroom eyes, Jack.” “You think so?” My hips thrust upward. I entered her with a deft move that had her wincing, closing her eyes, and pressing her lips to mine. I held myself rigid inside of her, letting her come to terms with it. When she opened her eyes again, I asked, “Okay?” She nodded, licked her lips, and gave me a little smile, whispering wispily, “I wish you’d join the team.” Okay, call me an egotist, but that spelled it all out for me. The chick wasn’t hot for my bod. She was doing her job. It pissed me off. I fucked her hard. Anyone with binoculars aimed at that window could have watched. Fucking Hood, with his video cameras everywhere—surely did. When I got real close to coming, I asked Giselle, “Is

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Carys Weldon this what’s required of a team player?” She looked a little confused, told me to, “Stop.” Ah, I was close. Fucking way too close. But I did. Call me master of all men. Master of myself. I was used to driving myself to the edge. I let her go, watched her take a few steps while my cock hung out, dripping. I had to squeeze it, placate it for what it had lost. Lost because of my mouth. Giselle ran her hands through her hair. Smoothed her skirt. Tried to think, I think. And I wondered what was going on in her pretty little head. I know now…one thing…how to get me to come around. She slipped off her jacket, folded it, and laid it atop the closest flat surface, a glass-topped table on a cast iron frame. Very mod piece of furniture, went well with the rest. “You know,” she said, “my job here is hanging by a thread.” I couldn’t believe my ears. She was phenomenal in her prostitution skills. “I find that hard to believe.” Giselle rewarded me with a sweet half-smile, but then she turned her back, wandered the room. Funny, but I was too keyed in on her to remember to tuck my dick back in my pants. I was still hot and ready to fuck, despite the bad taste that was now in my mouth. I needed to finish what I’d started. “Why?” “You’re good at—” “Persuasion?” She tipped her head my way, watched me out of the corner of her eye.

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Jack in the Pack I held my breath as she rubbed her nipples through her shirt. It looked like she did it without thought. I’m guessing, now, that it was a conscious maneuver. My cock throbbed in response. My balls ached. I realized that I still had a hand on my shaft. A firm grip that kept the blood in the head and the other juice blocked from release. It wouldn’t have taken much, though, to let it go. She scrunched up her nose and reached for her crotch, as if she itched. Propping a foot on the table, she hiked her skirt up, and rubbed. I could just see the curls between her legs, and the way her fingers actually slid in a few times. I asked, “Are you finger fucking yourself right in front of me?” Honestly, I couldn’t believe it. She kept doing it, watching me—correction, looking at my cock—the whole time. “Honey, you don’t have to do it that way. Not while I’m in the room.” I advanced toward her with the sudden urge to drop to my knees and return a little of her earlier favor. But before I could get to her, she started moaning, and I knew she’d found what she’d been reaching for. “Fuck,” I reached for her. Like putty in my hands, she melted to me, let me reach down between her legs to feel the wetness. “You are one hot—” Her eyes flashed, and she finished it for me, “Bitch. Go ahead, say it.” Her dare had me staring her down, fighting my self-control. I turned inward for some humor, anything to help me through the tumbling emotions going through me. What was directing this afternoon? That shake? Some

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Carys Weldon damned drug? I’d never had gratuitous sex before, and certainly never gone several times without a woman finding pleasure beneath me. I drew myself up, felt my fingers slide free of her feminine folds, through her curls, to lay wetly across her abdomen. I told her, “I would have liked to pleasure you, ya know.” Pressing my forehead to hers, I said, “You do shit for a man’s ego when you fuck yourself when his cock’s dying to do it for you.” “I thought men liked to watch women do that.” She breathed the words so softly that it did something to my chest. I groaned and closed my eyes. I felt myself, my bare cock nudging at her thigh, pointed straight into her skin, rubbing, leaking, seeking to lubricate its way toward the fount where her juices flowed. She promised me, “I could come again.” That made me chuckle. She must’ve had a shake, too. That’s all I could think. Sense of humor. Sorry. I didn’t think I was that fucking sexy. “Tell me how to do it for you.” I planted a little kiss at the corner of her lips. Giselle turned her back to me, and wiggled her ass and hips, rubbing her self against my front. Bending over the furniture, she said, “Please, slide it in.” “Like this?” I put my hands on her waist, just above the curve of her hips, and probed her crack. The wetness of my cock went unerringly to her asshole, pressed there for a minute, and I leaned over her back, catching my breath. She would have let me enter her there, I think,

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Jack in the Pack because she waited for my next move. Tucking my lips to her ear, I asked, “Like that?” Giselle moaned, butted up against me. I pulled her hair, in a gentle tug, so she’d feel a little thrill in the dominating pose I had on her. I forced her to turn her head, so I could press my lips to hers. I contemplated butt-fucking her. I mean, I was sure she would go for it. The teasing torture of the time I considered it, I think, heightened the desire in both of us. “Look at me.” My command accompanied a twist of her hair. Nothing painful. She blinked. Her eyes flashed and she asked, “Ever want to hold a bitch down and fuck her from behind?” Call her a she-devil. Temptation in stilettos. I know I was still under the effects of the shake at that moment, because I took her prod and gave it back to her. “Hell yeah.” I didn’t even think. I put pressure to the back of her neck, forcing her over the back of the chair. Now, she could have told me to stop at any point. I wasn’t that far gone. But I was deep in the fantasy that she was allowing me. I bent my knees, came up underneath her, sliding my dick in, and fucked her like that, with both hands ending up near her shoulders, helping me get a better thrust, pushing moans from her with every stroke. Moans that heightened my sexual pleasure. I asked, “How do you like this?” Deeper, I went. Harder, I made my strokes. And when I neared my own edge, I held the position,

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Carys Weldon leaned over her, put my lips to her ear again, and said, “I’m not coming ‘til you do.” Yeah, it was sweet torture. Through gritted teeth, she asked, “How many times do you want me to come?” That forced a little laugh from me. “What do you mean?” She rolled her eyes, informing me, “It’s running down my legs, I’ve come so many times.” I reached down between us, felt the evidence, and asked, “What the fuck?” “Those damn shakes.” “How long before they wear off?” “I don’t know, but please…fuck me some more. I’m not done yet.” Well, holy shit. I wasn’t either. Repeated orgasms followed. She begged for more…for hours. And, at one point, I had her on her knees on the rug, asking, “You sure about this?” “Oh. My. Gaia,” she exclaimed. I didn’t know what that meant, exactly. Something like, oh my God? But she followed it up with, “Just put it in.” So, I fucked her in the ass. I never asked for it. And, in truth, had never done that before. But we’d gotten to a point where we were just looking for any new position we could think of. She was working her way through the whole Kama Sutra manual, I think. But what did I know? I was just fucking my brains out. After that, I collapsed on her back, still in her,

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Jack in the Pack saying, “God help me. I’ll be raw if we keep this up.” I don’t know when Hood had come in. Honestly, he could have been there for ages, we’d been so…into each other. But there I was, naked, on top of Giselle who was also naked by then, and still inside her—God knows when we’d lost our clothes. And suddenly, I feel someone on top of me. Hood’s lips were at my ear, asking, “Tell me you don’t appreciate my shake now.”

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Carys Weldon

Chapter Two

I

couldn’t move. I was sandwiched between my fantasy bitch whore and Dr. Jekyll. I didn’t want to consider whether he was dressed or not. I tried not to realize that. I also didn’t want to consider if I was about to get butt fucked myself. But it did run through my mind. He could have done it. He had me down. I was naked, weak. My dick was inside Giselle. It wasn’t like I could just roll and fight. Through gritted teeth, I said slowly, “The shake has its merits.” Hood laughed in my ear, and said, “I thought you’d see it that way, once you had time to think it over.” “I can’t sell it to the public.” Morals to the fore, God knows how. I mean, I hadn’t been thinking of any morals all afternoon. “Why not?” He shifted, ever so slightly. I closed my eyes, pressed my mouth into Giselle’s shoulder. She wasn’t moving. Asleep? Afraid to move? Finally satiated? I couldn’t believe that. Not when I was still jonesing. I could feel my cock stirring

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Jack in the Pack again, and I thought, fucking holy shit, is this ever gonna wear off? Her butt squeezed. The cheeks tightened right up. I felt her inner muscles flexing. I wanted to laugh. If she was trying to warn me, I wasn’t getting it. All I was getting was the urge to pump again. Hood repeated his question. “Did you hear me? Why not?” Apparently, he knew that his formula caused a little trouble with thinking clearly, focusing. “Because the world would fuck its brains out. When is this shit gonna wear off?” I tried to turn my head, but he was holding me down. This may sound unbelievable, but I swear he was smelling me. He had a hand to my head, his fingers splayed, so I couldn’t turn my neck. One finger was over my eye, so I kept that closed, but I fought the pressure a little. He said, “Please don’t fight it.” “I’m not fighting anything.” I couldn’t have, if I’d wanted to. Giselle was using her amazing inner muscles to stroke me to another, quick-coming climax. Surely he could feel my own ass as it tightened up, working my dick into her. I mean, I was trying not to move, but you can’t help that when you’re getting drawn to the cliff. Ya know? “Yes, you are.” I knew he was getting aroused. Irritated over it. I don’t think, even the most heterosexual guy could be in that position and not think of the possibilities, be intrigued by the urge, the wholly natural urge to put your cock into a tight hole. But you don’t get any tighter than my ass was at

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Carys Weldon that moment. Thank God Hood wasn’t a homosexual. He could have raped me then, and I wouldn’t have had a thing to say about it. It was obvious that he was stronger than me, because I couldn’t move with the way he had me pinned. Poor Giselle. I didn’t even think about how she felt, under the two of us. Obviously not too bad, though, because she was still working the orgasm cycle. She started bucking beneath me, and I knew she’d come again. And that made me come, with the convulsions I felt going off inside her. And, I think, that must’ve had put Hood over the edge, too. Not that I have any doubts about what he had in mind when he entered the room. He sank his teeth into me just as I started to squirt my jism into Giselle. I yelled at the pain, but—fuck if it didn’t make me pump harder. Now, there’s two things you have to understand here. Hood didn’t just bite me with ordinary teeth. He put his fangs into me. Yes. It’s insane. But he’s a werewolf. You don’t believe in that shit? Well, neither did I. The second thing you should know is that when a werewolf bites you, there’s intense pain, muscles spasms because they sink right through to nerves. They secrete something, venom, genetic material, saliva as potent as any other fluid on earth probably, into your body. And to a werewolf, that act is as intense as an

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Jack in the Pack orgasm. Another form of orgasm, actually. And they fucking hang onto it, knowing that you’ll fight it, which builds up their predator on prey psyche, which makes it all the better for them. Now, when they get on you like that, you’re pretty much dead. They’ll bite and hold you down until they finally have to rip their locking jaws loose, which, of course, is usually a horrific muscle tear for a person to take. It usually induces such traumatic shock that the victim dies. In fact, they usually have a short binging feast after the orgasm. A little bloodlust thrown in. Because, you know that wolves are meat eaters. Blood-lapping dogs. And the scent of fresh blood makes them wild. All I can say is…it’s probably a good thing I had no clue what was happening to me. The pain from his teeth shot through me. I arched, allowing the last of my juice flow into Giselle, and couldn’t move. Paralyzed. That doesn’t always happen. Hood just happened to snap into me in the meat of my back, right near my spine. It was Giselle who said, “Don’t move.” Like I could have if I’d wanted to. The thought made me almost want to laugh, but it hurt too damn much. She cautioned, “He’ll shred you if you so much as—” I cut her off. “I can’t.” I gritted it out. Apparently, the only thing I could move was my jaw. Now, here’s a surprise. Giselle crooned a little to Hood. I don’t really know what those noises were, but

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Carys Weldon they came from down inside her torso, made no sense. I felt him trying to relax. I thought, fuck, I’m paralyzed. What the hell did he do? The pain had dissipated. That venom has some pain killing properties, I think. But that’s not proven. From what I hear, most people don’t live long enough to get to that part. So, I go limp. Effects of the venom working its way. I don’t know what they call it. DNA substance, something like that. They try to make it sound clinical. It’s their freaking monster serum, if you ask me. Turns normal people into werewolves. I know, bullshit. I thought so too. I still think it’s bullshit. Hood, somehow, pried his teeth loose without ripping me wide open. There’s a testament to the willpower of the man. Giselle said he ate before I came, was eating when I arrived, for just that purpose. I felt him lick the wound. I knew he was looking it over. There was no way in hell I was moving. Not that I could. His hand on my head eased up. I saw…claws, hairy appendages with long, viciously sharp looking nails. I may have wet up inside of Giselle. That fucking scared the shit out of me. In fact, it sounds awful, but I’m damn sure I did. Warmth trickled between us. Could’ve been the overflowing juices I’d let out inside

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Jack in the Pack her. She sighed and buried her head in the carpet, and we all held the position for God knows how long, before Hood finally climbed off me altogether. I felt him over me, watching, waiting. He told me later that he had an urge to urinate on me. His property. I thanked God that I hadn’t been raped. Giselle said, “Relax.” I thought I was relaxed. I mean, shit, I couldn’t move for shit. That had to be relaxed, right? “Want me to get him off of you?” She chuckled, “No. Now that you’re off, I’m fine.” He grunted, though, and I felt his hands—not claws—reach under me, grabbing by the chest. Before he lifted he said, “Better suck up that dick, buddy boy. I’m gonna pluck ya free.” And he did, by God. Real slow and easy. There was no feeling of embarrassment for being naked, caught as we were, or for being limp in his arms. I remember that clearly. I think the bite venom negated the shake. He put me in a chair, and tossed me my clothes a minute later. He also tossed Giselle hers. Climbing up from the floor, snatching the items as he threw them at her, she blew the hair out of her eyes, and looked up at him. “Did you watch the whole damn thing?” He grinned. “What do you think?” “You’re a son of a bitch.” She seemed pleased. “Why didn’t you join us sooner?”

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Carys Weldon He glanced my way, considered my stupor. I hadn’t made one move to get dressed. “Your boy’s a little tuckered out. I think that was about all he could handle.” “He does have stamina.” She let go of her things and crawled over to me. Putting a hand over mine, which lay limply in my lap, she said, “You all right, Jack?” I managed a nod. But hell no, I wasn’t all right. I had rubbed myself raw, literally. And I’d been bitten by something that I couldn’t begin to understand, and in my veins, I could feel something coursing. Even my eyes were beginning to ache. My whole skin felt…sensitive, energized. “You just rest.” She sounded like a mother or something. Not my mother. My mom had always been a pusher. “There’s time to rest later, Jack. When you’ve won your medal.” Her voice echoed in my head. “You can reap rewards and sit on your laurels all you want, then.” My gaze traveled over Giselle’s face, and mussed, fucking sexy hair—which I really wanted to run my hands through again—but couldn’t find the energy to lift my hand to. Bleakly, I managed to lift my chin enough so I could see Hood. Now, I don’t know if he’d been undressed and was now redressed, or not. Like I said before, time stopped spinning while I was in that room. He was looking around, like he hadn’t been in that room before. Said, “We need to fix this place up. It’s a dump.”

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Jack in the Pack By anyone else’s standards, it was a penthouse apartment, with fine furnishings. But not the cut that Hood liked, obviously. Giselle found that amusing. “You,” she got up. Like a cat uncoiling from a cozy slumber, she stretched. Correction, like a dog who’d lain too long, she got up, padded over to him, and fawned up at him, cuddling right up under his armpit—like she hadn’t just fucked for hours with me. Funny, but it didn’t bother me. I felt no emotional attachment to her. Not that I ever felt that ‘kismet’ or belonging to or with someone else. I was a loner. Always had been. That’s what it takes to win the medals in a solo sport. Hood wrapped his arm around her, like it was second thought, and looked down at her, waiting patiently for her to finish her thought. She finished, “…are a serious control freak.” Planting a kiss on his chest—which was shirt covered—she pulled away and started getting dressed. “You like it.” Giselle shrugged on her clothes, not arguing the point. Occasionally, they looked over at me. But, for the most part, Hood watched her dress, and so did I. Finally, about the time she pulled on her jacket, I said, “I can’t move.” “That’ll wear off.” Hood was not concerned. “Just chill for a few.” “No.” It was all I could manage. “Come again?” Hood snickered a little. Hoarsesounding dog laugh.

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Carys Weldon “No,” I repeated. “No, what, sweetheart?” Giselle put her shoes back on. “No deal.” I felt sick. Like I was dying. The venom had reached the tips of my toes, the ends of my fingers. It roiled in my belly, and fucked up my brain. Like I needed any more of that shit. I felt like my eyes had gone red. And, truth be told, they had. They sure felt like it. I was getting angry. Werewolf DNA integrating with my own natural aggressiveness, competitive spirit. “Ah, I don’t think you understand what we offered you, Jack.” Hood rocked forward on the balls of his feet, stretched his back. After all, it was a done deal, I just didn’t know it. Supremely confident, he told me, “We gave you terms you couldn’t refuse.” “Bullshit.” It came out a little more like b-shit. Giselle came over to me, dropped down onto her knees again, and started putting my socks on. It was funny. I thought, what the fuck are you doing? But I couldn’t fight her. She surprised me by dropping a kiss on each instep before working the socks on. I thought, you deserve better. But I couldn’t say it. I just looked sadly at her. I didn’t want to think about Hood or his damn deal, or what he’d done to me—which, at that moment, I still wasn’t sure what he’d done. She said, “It’s a good team to be on, Jack, honestly.” I grunted.

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Jack in the Pack Licking her lips, biting her lower lip for a minute, she reached for my underwear, turned it right side out. I should have been embarrassed, but I felt like an invalid. Grateful for her ministrations, unable to utter due appreciation, or help her in her efforts. I was really numb. “What she means is, welcome to Lobos, Jack. You’ll be our guest here for a while. Make the most of it. Relax. Enjoy yourself. Anything you want is yours for the asking.” “Leave.” I meant, I want to leave. “You’ll come to terms.” To Giselle, Hood said, “Make sure his needs are met. Explain things to him, so he understands the whole picture.” “Have you matched him yet?” “We’re running the numbers. We’ll know pretty soon.” He smiled, “It’s a big database.” Wistfully, she said, “I wish I’d been lupus born.” Hood had moved toward us while she was speaking. He bent over, touched her chin thoughtfully, and said, “Too bad, huh?” I knew they were intimate, then. Not that there was any emotional ties connected. But they’d used each other for satisfaction purposes. Maybe there was some affection. I remember getting that impression. I haven’t changed my opinion on that. They’ve got history, a connection I don’t quite understand. He left us after dropping a kiss on her lips. She didn’t seem to mind. She took her time dressing me. I felt like I was a hundred years old. But she encouraged me to stand up, let her help me get my pants up, lean on her.

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Carys Weldon “The lethargy should wear off pretty soon.” My tongue was too thick to speak much. My brain was mushy, and I had a hard time connecting thoughts. You could say, there were no paragraphs in my brain then. Only mono-thoughts. Getting out of there. How to escape. How to get someone to believe what had happened. I knew no one would. It was too insane. Lobos International drugging the famed Olympian. The headline thought twisted my lips. Giselle noticed the small smirk, rubbed a thumb across the corner of my mouth and said, “There’s a lopsided grin. You’re pretty cute, ya know.” “Yeah.” It was funny. “All say it.” She giggled. “I bet they do. But how many of them get you to fuck them like I did?” “Not fair.” She climbed up between my knees, let her hands rest at my waist, and looked up at me, sort of searched my face before saying, “All’s fair in love and war, don’t you think?” “That’s bullshit.” I rolled my tongue around my mouth and added, “Not love.” Giselle’s pout was cute, but the shake had worn off. I was under another spell, and anger kind of rolled through me. “War.” I agreed with that. They had declared war, snuck up on me for their first attack. It wouldn’t happen a second time, if I had anything to say about it. If I could get my damn tongue to work again.

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Jack in the Pack “I know it’s hard to believe, as well as we fit together, but you weren’t made for me.” She smoothed the skin of my cheek, rather wistfully. “Or I wasn’t made for you, I guess you could say.” I managed, “What do you mean?”

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Carys Weldon

Chapter Three

M

y tutelage in garou lore began then, when I was too stunned by Hood’s venom to move. By garou, I mean…werewolf, a shape-shifting creature straight out of a Boris Karloff or Lon Chaney film. She gave me a skimmed version of the history, genetic lines going awry, the breed trying to get control again, mass extermination of what they called unnaturals—the bitten. Even told me of instances when the bitten had committed massacres of herds, neighborhoods, even zoos. The whole thing was crazy, but in the back of my mind, certain news bits came to mind. The unexplained crimes that had been happened around the globe. Cattle mutilations—attributed to aliens. Mass murders—credit given uncatchable madmen. Somewhere, in all that she said, I found an element of truth. I started to believe what she was telling me. Maybe it was the DNA now coursing through my system, proving itself by imbedding in my brain, altering my understanding. You know, some people say that there is a genetic memory inset in our DNA. Maybe I’d received something there. All I can say is,

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Jack in the Pack after the day I’d had, it all started to sound reasonable, wholly believable. After all, I was still half paralyzed after a lunatic day of copulative antics. Who was I to say she was lying? I mean, if you’d asked me that morning if there was a protein shake, or a drug anywhere in the world that could Spanish fly your libido until you were raw, I would have laughed in your face. So, the bottom line here is, it doesn’t take much to convince you when you’re living that bullshit. It’s amazing how fast your open your eyes when that’s all you got that’ll move. Giselle seemed intent on discussing the purpose and importance within their society—of the bitten wolves. How their presence split the general politics of the race, leaving those who would murder all unnaturals to those who saw something more, a way to improve the family tree—through careful selection, for specific breeding purposes. Several times, I told her, “Bullshit.” I found it all too hard to believe, despite what I’d gone through. I didn’t want to believe they had politics, or reasoning behind their plots and plans. At one juncture, I noted that my speaking abilities had returned to normal. I said, “Wait. If you exterminate these…unnaturals…why did Hood bite me? Especially if you often exterminate, or at least reprimand the biting garou?” The terminology seemed natural to me. In fact, I preferred garou to the truth that werewolf stuck in your face. That brought back horror films, and mass hysteria—and I was definitely trying not to fall into

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Carys Weldon hysteria. “We’re conducting private, but sanctioned research within a controlled facility, under parameters that have been pre-set.” “I’m an experiment, then.” She looked away. In fact, she got up and paced the room. I had everything but my jacket and tie on. Those were lying neatly on a table now. “Giselle, sit.” Like a good dog, she did. “Tell me, how many more—before me?” She winced, glanced toward the camera. I’m guessing that we were edging around confidential stuff now. Real stats. “Let’s just say, you’re not the first.” That news was discomfiting. I mean, I should have been happy that I wasn’t the first guinea pig, but on the other hand, that meant that they were confidently repeating a process. It struck me, then, that Lobos was an international organization. “How successful would you say the program is?” Giselle tipped her head, and I realized how doglike many of her mannerisms were. Like one of those intelligent dogs. A border collie or, no, a shepherd or husky, more like. Yes, definitely more like that. But I could tell that she wanted to please me and Hood both. She said, “I think it is going as they’d hoped. Only Hood would know for sure. And others.” “What others?”

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Jack in the Pack Fidgeting a little, she looked at her nails. Long, manicured, strong-looking nails. If she were to be believed, my little hallucination back in the other room—that she’d been half wolf and half woman while riding me—wasn’t so farfetched. That she, herself, was a werewolf. Looking at her, I had a hard time believing it. She was a very sensuous woman. Curvy. All sex appeal. A true courtesan. Half dog? Excuse me, half wolf? I wasn’t really all that convinced. “There’s Mark Wolf, of course.” I wracked my brain. Mark Wolf. Where had I heard that name before? “He’s president of Wolf Enterprises, our U.S. affiliate.” “It’s all business with you, then?” She shook her head, smiled, “Family.” “So, you’re related to everyone here?” “One way or another, I guess.” “And how do you relate to Hood?” She laughed, and joked, “Pretty well, most days.” “I meant…are you kissing cousins, littermates?” I thought I was being a little funny. “Oh, Gaia, not half that close.” “Hm.” I was bored with the whole conversation. I wanted out. My legs were tingling. My fingers had that whole ‘fallen asleep’ thing going on, sharp needles prickled in my nerve endings. I glanced at my watch. Hours to wear off. Fuck. “Did you have an appointment or something? I can call and cancel for you.” “Hm?”

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Carys Weldon “You keep looking at your watch.” “My lawyer was expecting me to call and tell him what I thought, if I was going to sign.” “You are. He knows that.” “What do you mean, he knows?” She shrugged, “Your attorney’s with us.” I could have laughed, but I knew, instinctively, that she was telling the truth. Giselle mentioned others, prominent world leaders or CEO’s of major companies, that were involved in their organization. She ticked off several subsidiaries, mostly names I’d heard of, seen advertise on television. I couldn’t absorb it all, but I tried. My mind started whirring. And I thought, I’m gonna learn all I can, and expose the whole mess. Just as soon as I can walk. We had a meal, room service, a big steak with some trimmings. She offered me a drink. I took it. I figured, what the hell—if she was to be believed, I’d been a second from death when Hood’s teeth had dug into my back. God knows I thought I’d been a second from an ass-rape. That alone was enough reason to tie one on, let alone the bullshit of being paralyzed and told that, when the next full moon rose, I’d see what my new DNA had done for me. “So,” I said over a half-chewed piece of steak. I noticed that I was swallowing the near rare meat without hardly masticating it at all. “You’re telling me that I’m lucky, Hood selected today’s calendar date so I would get maximum adjustment to this…” It still seemed totally implausible. “This metamorphosis I’m

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Jack in the Pack undergoing…?” “Yes. Your increased appetite and desire for red meat is only a preliminary symptom. We’ll keep you here while you work through your adjustments.” I laughed. “You mean, before the month is out, I’ll be running with the big dogs?” Giselle didn’t find that all too funny. “Actually, if you don’t get up to speed, and quick, they’ll put you down.” So, I choked on that half-chewed chunk of beef. Nearly expired on the spot. She had to get up and chop me on the back a few times. When I got it down the right tube and had taken a few drinks to help ease my burning throat, I said, “You’re telling me that they want me to…what?” That question confused her, probably because she thought she’d already answered it. “To…what?” She repeated back to me. Then she got the question. “Oh. Yeah. They are looking for the cream of the crop. There is no way they’re going to turn you loose if you can’t think rationally in crinos, or—” “Wait. In crinos?” “You know, fully shifted—werewolf.” “Oh. Okay. Just trying to get all the terms straight.” “This would be so much easier if you’d ever read White Wolf, played M.U.S.H. or Furry Muck.” She seemed frustrated, but not half as much as I was. “Wait. White Wolf, you mean the gaming system?” “Yes. We marketed that to help smooth the way.” “I’ve only heard of it. Never looked into it. Sort of a roleplaying game or something, right?” “Yes.” She smiled, a big, toothy grin. The light

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Carys Weldon glinted off her eyeteeth, and wiped the smile off my face. Not that I realized I’d been smiling. But she does have an engaging way about her. She’s perfect for her position within the company. “Are you feeling all right?” “As well as can be expected.” I dug back into my steak, thought about asking her to order another. Chalked the appetite increase up to the wild sex. Too much protein juice let go. Needed to refill the tanks, ya know? “So, what’s this mush you mentioned?” “Internet role playing. You pick a world, create a character, and interact online.” “Hm. Never heard of it.” “Well, you’re in a minority, then. Next time you get near a computer, just do a search on World of Darkness. You’ll be fascinated.” I didn’t want to burst her little bubble, but I had no plans to delve further into their little games, not beyond that conversation, anyway. “And this furry muck. What the hell is that?” “Again, just do a search. It’s another tool, in game form, to get the concept of shape-shifting across, to acclimatize people to the possibility.” “And then what? When you think enough people are cool with it, you’re going to come out of your closet?” She set her napkin aside, smoothed it out, and said, “Jack, if you’re going to be snide, I can stop explaining things and let you find out for yourself, but I can tell you from past experience, education is

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Jack in the Pack your best friend. You need to open your eyes.” Easier said than done. They still felt red, heavy. It was an effort to keep my eye on her. “Are you getting sleepy yet?” “Yes. No.” I breathed heavily, set my fork and knife down and rested my elbows on the table. “You drugged me again.” There was a little apology in her expression. She said, “You don’t understand what your body is going through. The night is going to be wretched if you aren’t sedated. Even if you are, you’ll probably have nightmares for a long time.” “You know what? Why don’t you shoot me and get it over with?” She looked stricken. She blinked and drew back in shock. I said, “Go ahead. What’s it take? A silver bullet?” Giselle put a hand to her bosom, “Don’t…don’t even say that.” “God,” I laughed. “Don’t tell me that old movie crap is true.” She worried her lower lip. “Fuck.” I slapped the table, made her jump. “And, so, the whole full moon thing…?” “Those things only apply to unnaturals.” “The movie werewolves.” “Yes.” “So, a silver bullet won’t kill you?” She flinched. “Ah. It hurts you just as bad as it does me. Good.” She hated that. She got up, stomped toward the door. “You’re a bastard.”

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Carys Weldon Reflexes enhanced. Movement returned. I beat her to that door. Surprised the shit out of her. Slapped a hand to the wall in front of her and asked, “And you’re a bitch.” That had her swinging her head, tossing her pretty hair around, lifting her chin. “Don’t make me angry.” “What? You gonna show me what a bitch you really can be?” Her throat worked. I know she bit back a retort. Over the intercom, Hood said, “Giselle…” She rolled her shoulders, visibly worked to relax. I saw her fingers flex—and noted that her nails had become more claw-like, that there was a change to her face. The bone structure around her nose and jaw had stretched. I’m sure my eyes widened upon the realization. I joked, “So, isn’t that a line from the Hulk?” When she didn’t respond, I said probingly, “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry…? I’m sure he said that.” It took some effort, but she finally worked through her irritations. Her jaw sucked back to normal. She smiled. And I thought, they surely had their team in on the special effects squad at Universal studios. I’d seen graphics just like her mini-change—in the movies. I gave her a minute to compose herself before I asked, “I was that close, wasn’t I?” I held up my thumb and forefinger, very close together, to illustrate my point. She nodded. Hood said, “Everything all right in there?” We both looked up, found the camera at the same

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Jack in the Pack time. I said, “Turn off your camera.” He chuckled. “I don’t think that would be…in your best interest.” “What? Leaving me alone with Giselle isn’t safe?” I glanced at her. She seemed fine now. Except her ears had gotten a little pointy. Maybe I was feeling a little suicidal. Too much info. Too many stretches to my imagination. I reached up, tucked her hair behind her ear, and took a look. She ducked away from me, saying, “Don’t.” “What? You’re sensitive about your ears?” I didn’t really see why. They were kind of cute—like an elf’s, except smaller. I heard Hood cluck, “Careful. Touchy business there.” Giselle reached up, covered both her ears, closed her eyes, and, I think, willed herself to shift back to full human. I actually heard a squeak or two, as if the skin sucking back into the tighter formation of a human had gone quickly. “I don’t believe any of this.” I went to the sofa, dropped onto it, kicked my feet up on the far end and closed my eyes. “Okay. I’m going to wake up and this will all be over.” Believe it or not, I woke up in a fucking zoo. Oh, I’d slept for some time. Probably a couple of days, kept under sedation until my body had writhed through the worst of the initial shift process. My nightmares are horrific. My body aches all over. At least, it did once the painkillers wore off. I guess I should be thankful that I was taken to Lobos, or brought to Lobos. I understand that the first subjects

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Carys Weldon suffered through the change without benefit of medication. I can’t even imagine how that went. So, like I said, I woke up in a God damned zoo. Honest to God, it was an arboretum or something. The first sounds I heard were a waterfall, and birds chirping overhead. I wanted to laugh. I, of course, asked myself, “Where the hell am I?” And then I told myself, “You sure as hell aren’t Jack Barton anymore.” I knew that was true because my strength was all gone. Although, I didn’t feel any muscular atrophy, I did feel incredibly weak, terribly hungry, and unbelievably thirsty. I had to drag myself toward the sound of the water. And when I got to it, I didn’t look around, I just bellied up to it and scooped handfuls of it into my mouth. Then I sluiced it over my head, splashing my eyes repeatedly with it. “So, you finally joined the living again?” My head came up fast. I looked around. I couldn’t see anyone. But that voice…sounded familiar. I realized then that I was in some Oz wonderland where the colors were brighter, the noises more clear, and the scents more sharp than anywhere else I’d ever been. Birds trilled, insects buzzed, and my ears actually hurt. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. My head jerked. I spotted a wolf slinking through the trees on the other side of the water. After a quick look-see, and the pleasure of noting no alligators or crocodiles or other water serpents, I slid into the lake,

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Jack in the Pack pond, whatever it was. I was naked. The water was warm. But all I could think was, I’ve got to get out of this place. They’re messing with my mind. I wondered if it was some sort of government program, to test the strength of mind in an Olympian psyche. Surely it was all made up? You see, I still didn’t believe it. Putting the wolf out of mind, and the nagging thought that I knew that voice, I told myself, “This isn’t real. It’s a virtual reality. You’ve seen it a dozen times in the sci-fi movies.” My friend chuckled. I know he was behind the bushes, but his voice, the sound of his amusement seemed way too loud, like he was on speakers attached directly to my ears. It was my lawyer. My old friend. The turncoat wolf that had lined me up for the experiment, if Giselle was to be believed. I asked, “Where’s Giselle?” “I think she’s flown the coop.” “Come out in the open, where I can see you.” “Sure you’re ready for that?” “Just fucking show yourself.” I had no patience. If it was real, I wanted to get over the shock. “Would you like bubbles?” “What?” A second later, the pond started to boil. At least, it looked like it. “Ah,” I said, realizing I was in a manmade Jacuzzi. “All part of the illusion, huh?” I was game. “Okay. What’s your next trick?” I was looking up at the ceiling, over at the waterfall, around the planted foliage. It sure looked real.

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Carys Weldon My friend appeared, only he didn’t look like my friend. As a wolf, he was a mangy sort. And I had to wrinkle my nose. He smelled. I’d never noticed that odor on him before. Well, maybe underlying his usual cologne. I’d always thought he had shitty taste in after-shave. Now, I understood, instinctively, that this was his male scent. He’d probably been urinating all over his own legs, on the trees. “Jack,” the wolf dropped to his belly. “How’s it hanging?” Amused, he said, “Get over the rawness yet?” Under the surface of the water, I felt my dick. It seemed fine. Maybe a little sensitive. “I’ll live.” That hoarse dog laugh came out of his mouth, a sound I’m beginning to recognize more and more, to hear from mouths of strangers on the street. Yes, eventually I got free of that place. Once I’d been educated and integrated. “You’re lucky, you know.” I ran some water over my arms, sunk down and let the bath soothe my muscles…found a spot to sit, and stretch out. Not too close to my ex-friend. He was on my shit list. And soon as I could figure out how to tear him a new asshole, I was gonna do it. “Oh? Why’s that?” “I’d give my eye teeth for a few hours with Giselle. She won’t give me the time of day.” He was licking himself, drawing attention to his teeny weenie, and so, I figured it was fair game for conversation. I mean, shit, why didn’t he jack off in front of me, too? I said, “Small wonder.”

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Jack in the Pack That made him stop. His head came around quick. “You’re a son of a bitch, ya know that?” “Nah. But I’m pretty sure you are.” I smiled. I stayed put. But I had a sudden urge to leap out of that water and rip his throat open. He stood up, wrinkled his nose, showed me his fangs, and said, “You need to get a little respect, Jack.” I laughed that off. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? Shit for brains?” I got up out of the water, then, started walking toward him. Remember, I did have a half ‘go ahead and kill me’ thing going on. If it was true, I wanted to test it all, find out. If I was meant to die, I figured I would. And good riddance. I mean, shit. “What…what are you doing, Jack?” He backed up a step. “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” Going after you, you little dumb-fuck. I didn’t jump, run, or falter. I just kept moving through the water toward him. And he kept backing up, looking up. I slapped a bush out of my way and yelled, “What? You thought I’d roll over and wag my new tail?” Fear made its way over his back. His hackles started to rise. He said, “Don’t back me into a corner.” “Don’t back you into a corner?” I couldn’t believe he’d said that, Mr. Set Up Your Best Friend. Bullshit. I did exactly that. What I hadn’t realized is that I’d undergone a total shift change under the new moon—while asleep and restrained. That they’d set me in their little ‘habitat

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Carys Weldon room’ for an experiment. Now, I was walking upright, gaining energy with every step—not realizing I was in crinos. A towering, menacing specimen of the garou unnatural. The bitten werewolf monster that you see in the movies. Except, I wasn’t out of control. Call that hormone therapy. Call it good genetics. Call it my buddy’s freaking good luck. Well, actually, I don’t think he would have gone in there, if they hadn’t had the injection collar on me. Never noticed it at the time. But I rose up over him, my hulking hairy arms bulging. My thighs, the size of small tree trunks— bent a little where they met my knees, gave my shadow the appearance of a looming monster. I went to swipe at him, grab him by the scruff—about the time I saw my image on the fake boulder behind him. And about the same time someone hit the inject button on my collar. I dropped like I’d been coldcocked. My intended victim stuck his nose in my face and asked, “How’s that feel, Jack?” Actually, it didn’t feel too bad. Some type of muscle relaxant. I think they dosed me with an elephant’s portion. I wanted to laugh. Instead, I managed a smile, and a “Fuck you,” before passing out. So, enough of the arboretum? Not hardly. I woke up a short time later, still in crinos. But this time, my hunger was gnawing at my belly. I rolled over, onto my knees, and lifted my heavy head.

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Jack in the Pack My unbelievably heavy head. Again, I looked to the boulder, saw my shadow. Got a new understanding of bigheaded jock, that’s for damn sure. No wonder it pounded from the inside. A stretch like that—had to hurt something. I could feel my blood drumming through the nerve endings. I think it was a side effect of the medication. Again, my friend was there. “Let me show you how to hunt, Jack.” “I know how to get a meal,” I growled. “Where’s room service?”

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Carys Weldon

Chapter Four

“W

e want you to exercise your instincts, Jack. Nothing’s taboo here. It’s a safe environment. You could really enjoy it.” “I’d really enjoy room service.” “Come on. Go with it.” “I want to go home.” “You live in hotels.” He was right. I hadn’t gone home in years. “Yeah. And I get room service there.” I know what they were trying to do. Get me to hunt. Make me into a murderer. I could feel it. And I was fighting it. “They aren’t going to feed you. You’ve got to take what you want.” “Get away from me, you mangy dog.” Of course, that made him laugh. Truth be told, I’d called him that more than once. Told him I thought all lawyers were mangy mutts. “I mean it.” I shook my head, tried to clear it. It didn’t help the pounding, but fixed my vision—which had been a little out of skew. I narrowed my gaze on him and said, “Tell them to stop with the drugs.”

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Jack in the Pack Reaching up, I pulled at the collar. “Uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “Yeah, well you aren’t me, are you?” I pulled again, and got a good zap. Yeah, they electrocuted me. It dropped me. Fucking taser bullshit. I convulsed a bit. “Told you.” I wrapped my arms around my chest, held myself, looking up at him, swearing through chattering teeth, “I swear to God, if they don’t kill me, I’ll rip your throat out.” Hood’s voice came over the intercom. “Now, that’s what we wanted to hear.” My friend looked up, “Funny, Hood.” To me, he said, “He’s the one you should really go after.” “Why?” “It was all his little brainchild.” At the moment, I didn’t really care. My muscles were spasming all over my body. Intense pain. I knew that the collar zap was worse than a regular taser, probably calibrated for the crinos changes in musculature. I just tried to get my shit together. Tried to tune out butthead. He was patient, though, which, I’m guessing is a trait you learn when you’re spending hours in law school, going over boring legal cases from the archives, trying to commit all that shit to memory. One of his best traits when I’d looked into hiring a lawyer, his dog-with-a-bone attitude, now seemed to be the most annoying thing I could see in him. No finer traits at that moment. Not to be outdone on the bone issue, I said, “Nah.

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Carys Weldon It’s you I’m coming after. Him, I can respect.” I saw the fear in his eyes. He knew I was serious. If I ever got to killing, he’d be at the top of my list. So, at this point, I was beyond the disbelief phase. I was beginning to accept this new life. And calculate what it would take to get these people to release me. I figured that making friends with Hood was a first step. And the comment about respect had given me a good reminder to dog behavior, pack behavior to be more specific. I knew it was all a pecking order, and that respect figured into it all real heavily. I rolled to my hands and knees again, and asked, “Where the fuck are the females?” That made both men laugh. “It’s good that your libido’s kicking in.” It was Hood’s voice. “We wouldn’t want anything to rot off from misuse. Thought I was going to have to dose you with another shake.” Shrugging and stretching through my muscles, relaxing each portion that I could, I eased my neck— and all the way back to my tail. When I realized I had one of those, I did a double-take. I was not pleased with that at all. Reaching back, I grabbed a hold of it, let it slip through my hands, muttering, “I hate this already.” Hood laughed. “You won’t. You’ll come to appreciate your heightened senses.” Ah, I thought, so that explains the deafening noises, the smells, my aching eyes. I looked around, over my head, wondered where the camera was. I guessed there was more than one.

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Jack in the Pack “You know what I’d appreciate?” “What’s that?” “Room service.” Again, Hood laughed. “I’ll be sending that right in.” My lawyer made an unbecoming sound. Hood told him to come to his office. I haven’t seen him since. Guess he’d done his part. A few minutes later, I got a big surprise. Several females entered the habitat. Where the door was, I had no idea. The lawyer had gone behind foliage to one side of the waterfall, and the females came from another direction altogether. Before they got close, I went with the urge to mark my territory. Yeah, I know. Too much information. But, I think you’ll find that this whole ordeal will feel like that to you. Complacency will be shot to hell. Those noises in the dark, that feeling of being watched, maybe stalked, won’t seem so crazy. I’m telling you…WAKE UP. I did. They circled me more than once. Then they broke up, disappeared, and came back in from different directions. Enter the surreal world again. I couldn’t keep my eyes on the whole…pack. But I could smell them all. Individual scents. It was a game in olfactory and auditory recognition. Just made me hungry…for sex. I think they were all in heat. They panted. I drooled. And my eyes rolled toward the birds, wondering if, by chance, the substance that had been added to that shake had been vialed into my collar. I was pretty

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Carys Weldon sure I was going to need it. Did I explain that these females were not in wolf form? They may have come in lupus, but in and out of their maneuvers, they went through various changes. I heard several moans—and a few pops and painful snaps—I saw crinos females, though, when they finally slipped into the clearing around the lake. But they weren’t all alike, that’s for damn sure. Some were hairier, bigger. Others prettier, more graceful. I noticed, perhaps because my brain was working on more than one level, that their ears were much bigger than Giselle’s had been. Ah, I smiled, words from Little Red Riding Hood came to mind. The better to hear you with, my dear. Now I got it. And when they all smiled in return, and I saw their glinting fangs, I remembered the other part. The better to eat you with, my dear. Of course, that made me remember Giselle, and the eating she’d taught me, shared with me. My cock rose up and I spread my arms, joking, “Who’s first?” You could say they pounced me. Before I knew it, they were all over me. I was taken down, and they were sniffing, licking me—all over. From my wrists to my ankles. Sucking all my appendages. Each finger, each clawed toe. And one leaned over my head, upside down, and slid her tongue in my mouth. Then she mimicked, with a ‘Hoover maneuver’ on my tongue, what the bitch at my crotch was doing to my, um, manhood. Holy fucking schmoly! From the chest worship, tongues in my ears, down

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Jack in the Pack to the face between my legs, licking my balls, I was absolutely lain out. Like ants, they crawled over me, readjusted, traded positions. And I had to wonder, had I died and gone to heaven? Or were these the succubus of the devil’s own? Nah, I concluded: they were angels of mercy. Liberators of the sexual tension that had strung my nerves and tightened every muscle in my body. Freedom fighters who worked nonstop to set the insatiable lust within me free of its bondage. More than one of them sucked me dry, dehydrated me to the point where I passed out, then revived me. I don’t know if my ability to perform was because of the enhanced DNA flushing through me, or an injected Viagra and testosterone stimulant. At the time, I didn’t really care. I was dragged into the world of darkness that garou live in all the time. The minute was all I lived for. From one minute to the next. One woman to the other. I don’t know when they began shifting. Perhaps it was upon my shift back to human? Because of the medication, it was remarkably painless. I didn’t know the night had passed, that the moon had disappeared in the outside world. In the arboretum, the moon was still up, illuminating my lovers with fascinating slivers of light that undulated over them, through breeze-wafting limbs of real trees that groaned, like us, as the simulated winds picked up, carried scents back and forth—drove me wild. I can say that, for me, there is truth to the consideration that the bitten change with the phases of the moon. But our heightened urges, they stay with

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Carys Weldon us, drive us through our days, make it hard to contain ourselves. And during the initial meta-changes, libido and hormones, hungers and lusts—they don’t phase out with the moon. At least, for me they didn’t. But I can’t be sure what was drug induced and what was not. I’m thinking that ‘they’ may have pushed me with their narcotics. It doesn’t really matter. I went with it. I don’t know when I decided to give in completely. But I did. I had my hand on every ass, squeezed every breast, had my tongue down every throat—and up every cunt. My cock was in every hole, too. Some more than once. I couldn’t keep track, so I made sure they were all satisfied. Doubly satisfied. It didn’t end there, the orgy. Yes, I recognize the love-fest, lust-fest for what it was. It was the night of my total degradation, my integration into the pack. Just when I thought I couldn’t think any more, their heads snapped up. We heard rustling in the bushes. Some of them took off. I tried to sit up, asked, “What? Where did they go?” I was pinned down by the others. They whispered, “Shh.” Yes, all of them. But they were still, deadly still, wary, listening. Wait. We were in crinos then. You see what they did to me? Warped the whole night. Only bits and pieces…holy shit. I remember why they ran off. I heard them make a kill. A cat. It squealed more than once while they took it down. A mountain lion, I think. My memory’s fuzzy. And then they howled. And the ones on top of me, leaped off, urged me to follow. At that point, I wasn’t

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Jack in the Pack thinking. And if I was, I was only thinking…what the hell? Or…why the hell not? Leaping, bounding after them, sniffing ass all the way, I think, making sure my booty didn’t leave me in the dark, I chased them. The place was big, that’s all I can say. I forgot that I was inside, in a habitat, it seemed so real. And when we came upon the rest of them, there was nothing unnatural about taking that meal. Some of them were already eating. The scent of fresh blood was in the air. The deed was done. I was starving. I know that they chose that particular prey because it’s a natural, if you know what I mean. I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t find fault. I can’t look a house cat in the eye now. I want to make it up to all of them. But sometimes, I think about going to China. Of course, that’s just my sense of humor. I still prefer room service, cooked food. I’m just trying to give you a full understanding of where they took me, what I had to overcome. They led me into a world where there were no holds barred. But that’s where they made their mistake. They admitted me to their inner circle, thinking that they’d made me one of them—in the same breath that they’d warned me how unstable my position was. And, if anything, I’d gained one sure knowledge. The only place to be in a pack…is at the top. The meal was quick, and it was only taken, really, to give us stamina to keep going with the initial party we’d started. At least, that was the way I saw it—the way I insist on remembering back to it. And besides,

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Carys Weldon I’d been told they wouldn’t feed me regular food until I participated. Call it the mark of the devil. Call it revelations. I’m telling you…WAKE UP. The beast is among us. And if you’re not careful, the beast will be us. So, I found myself in the longest kiss ass event of the year, I think. But what do I know? They could hold those all the time at Lobos. I should remember to ask Hood. Nah. I’m afraid I’d find myself back in there. I have a reason for telling you about this. Those women wore me out. They made me, yeah, afraid is the word I’m looking for. Afraid to participate in group sex ever again. I mean, that was hard on me. I was good for shit…for what? Days. Anytime sex puts you out of commission for that long, you need to rethink what you did. And believe me, I rethought those hours plenty of times. But I keep coming to the same conclusion; all I need is one good woman. This process I went through, call it purification by fire, baptism by immersion. I was so far under that I couldn’t breathe. I sure as hell couldn’t think. And, if nothing else, I’m a man who likes to think through consequences, weigh my choices. They took that away from me in there, and put everything on a base level. But I got out. Oh, not in my time. In theirs. But I bit my tongue, bode my time, played the game, pretended to agree— without capitulating too fast. There were too many watchers, cunning people looking for telltale signs of

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Jack in the Pack trickery. I was put through many tests, a ton of exercises to measure my responses, my skills, how much wolf nature had taken me over. But, I think I said this before, I’m a fast learner. I can adapt. Now, that may be the nature of the wolf. Whatever. I set my eye on a goal, and figured out what path I needed to take to get to it. I’m halfway there. So, suffice it to say…I survived it all. And I found myself sitting with Hood, in civilized clothes, in human form, chatting about the weather. I had worked hard over the space of, I think, months— to convince him that I was ‘with the program’. I guess I finally passed the test. Or, at least, was up to a new level. Here’s a disconcerting thing…I could go to sleep in one place, and wake up somewhere else—with days passed. They didn’t hide that time loss from me. All I can guess is that they’d done a test on me that they didn’t want me to remember. Multiple tests. The more they did, the more time I lost, the more I plotted revenge—committed names to memory, listened to conversations around me. I could not believe the depth of their operations. The scope of their reach. Hood said, “You know why we did this. Right?” “What?” I played stupid for just a second, then smiled. “You mean…made my life a living hell?” He didn’t even blink. He shrugged as if it didn’t matter at all. C’est la vie. That’s life as he knew it. It was all hell to him.

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Carys Weldon But then, Hood’s a lone wolf. Oh, he plays at ‘pack’, but the man needs to settle down, find a match that works for him. Maybe that’s the problem. With all the genetic info in front of him, he can’t bring himself to settle for anything less than perfection. I feel sorry for him. I knew, at that moment, that I could never settle for what he had. Oh, he had all the money in the world. Or, at least, enough to burn. And plenty of females within reach. And with his arsenal of medications, and the facility he had at hand, he could fuck his brains out. Except, from what I heard out of the mouths of bitches, he was stingy with his personal favors. Had had them all once, then discarded them. Only Giselle had held his interest for very long. And she’d disappeared. They got downright bitchy when I asked about it. I don’t really care about her. Just natural curiosity. And, I think she’s a key to something, a lock I haven’t found yet. Hell, I’m not even sure what they’re locking up. Well, I know some of what they’re locking up. So, Hood says to me, “Hell would have been letting you out to work through this on your own.” “So you say.” “You don’t seem to care if you ever leave here. I can’t help but wonder if it’s an act.” I shrugged. Leaning back, nonchalantly—I hope, I said, “I figure my family thinks I’m dead by now. I’m sure my lawyer saw to those details, good man that he is.”

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Jack in the Pack Hood tipped his head. I knew I wasn’t off on that mark. “So, here I have food, females, a roof over my head.” I have to admit, the feel of the outdoors that they’d simulated had more and more appeal to me. I’d always been an outdoors type of guy. And I think that’s part of why I was selected for the program. Funny, huh? I was a natural choice…to be unnatural. I asked, “What more can a man want? I don’t have to worry about death or taxes any more.” I grinned. “Death would be a favor—something I don’t fear any more. And taxes? I’m off the hook on that.” He chuckled. “I freed you from both worries.” I offered him a mock bow. “And you sent me room service…numerous times.” “Gestures of friendship, that’s all.” “How can I ever replay the overtures you’ve made to make my life better?” I was joking, of course. But Hood’s eyes grew serious. I felt, more than saw, a change in him. An alertness. He asked, “You think you would like to try?” I leaned forward, instantly wary. “What did you have in mind?” Oh, I knew it had to do with the genetics research. I knew he had found some matches for me. The bitches continuously talked about the extraction of semen that they had to submit themselves to—after I’d been with them. They didn’t like that. But, I didn’t realize this until later, they were all human-born garou, chosen for variety’s sake, to appeal to my natural man. Actually getting pregnant

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Carys Weldon by me wouldn’t have been a positive in the werewolf book of generations. I explained that, didn’t I? I think that was the first time I ever saw indecision in Hood. Oh, I think it killed him to do what he did. I think it went against all his own morals. But it proved, more than anything, how much he believed in what he was doing. In short, he sacrificed the one thing precious to him. I have no doubt that he felt like he’d put his most beloved on the chopping block, and held her head down for the axe to fall. Not Giselle. He didn’t have half the affection for her. I’ve already said that. And I told you that Hood has never fallen in love, as far as I know. Right? But that doesn’t mean Hood doesn’t love anything. He beat around the bush. Wringing his hands a little, he said, “You’re one good-looking son of a bitch, you know that?” I laughed. “Trying to butter me up?” I held my hands up. “Sorry, you had your chance. You’re not gonna find me butt up, with you on my back—ever again. At least, not without a fight.” That made him laugh. We both looked away, blushing. It was funny as shit. He said, “Yeah, well…we do what we have to do.” I could tell that was why he was talking to me like he was. He felt that it was time to move on. He was doing what he had to do. And, by God, I was ready, too. “Just lay it out there. All I can do is say, sure, or kill me now. Right?”

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Jack in the Pack Hood smiled at me. I felt genuine affection. Perhaps it was the fact that his DNA, in some degree, ran through my veins. He rubbed his face a few times, then finally said, “You were selected for breeding purposes. You know that.” I chuckled. “Well, I would have had to be dumb fucking blind not to see that.” After all, I’d been fucking from the moment I walked into Lobos. Except for those blank days. And I’d just come off some of those. Woke up rested, hungry—for more than food. “I’ve run the database and found a list of matches.” “Something about the list bothers you?” Did I mention that he’d already told me that he wanted me to mate up, and get a female pregnant? He’d mentioned that more than once. The bitches had told me that was the plan. Hood skewered me with his gaze, then, and said quietly, “I want you to take my sister.” He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He just waited for my reaction. I wanted to laugh it off with, “You really want me to be part of the family?” But I sensed that an attempt at levity, or anything flip, could make him strike me down—he was that edgy. I weighed my options. Okay. I could turn him down. He would either kill me on the spot, or offer me another bitch. Either way, I wouldn’t be on the top of his pal list. I could take his sister, see how it went. But I knew, if it didn’t go well, I’d be the one put down. There wouldn’t be any walking away.

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Carys Weldon That would buy me time, if nothing else. I said, “Why don’t you tell me about her?”

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Jack in the Pack

Chapter Five

“A

s you know,” Hood said, “we want to see what happens when you breed with a lupus-born female.” I didn’t say, that seems unnatural to me. I knew it set unnaturally with him, too. We were of one accord with that. But Hood’s work, all he wanted to prove and disprove, hinged on that one experiment. The fact that he put his sister on the line absolutely astounded me. “Why your sister instead of one of the others?” That was the crux of the discomfort between us, I knew. He picked his words carefully, chopping up his answer between working his jaw. “Well, first of all, she’s about to come into her first change.” That surprised me. “She’s young?” His eyes flashed. He said, “You’re not old.” Early twenties. Almost over my Olympian prime. Kind’ve funny that I was almost a has-been and I wasn’t much over twenty. Stupid. Hood was a good-looking man. Not that I was looking, but I suddenly had an interest in his genetics.

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Carys Weldon Maybe I should have before, after I found out what his bite had done. And before you go and get all weird on me, and say that this smacks of incest all of a sudden, let me explain what I learned about the DNA dump that bite caused. There is a basic lupine DNA that all wolves have. A bite drops that plus a hormone enhancing combination of other secretions. Male stuff, since I was bit by a male. Thank God I wasn’t bit by a female. I might have found myself exhibiting more feminine traits. That would have been a much harder adjustment. So, there was nothing in his bite, or the change in my system, that would connect genetically like a brother to sister breeding. That part of the DNA was not transferred. Yeah, I was catching up on Genetics 101. You should, too. I’ve wondered, since then, if he selected several specimens, put them through the paces, and I graduated top of the class…which seems more likely than me being the only one. Maybe the others had been assigned to other females. I’m not privy to that info. He explained, “I think you’ll like her.” Quickly, he added, “She’s nothing like the women here.” “What makes her different?” He had a hard time putting her into words. That, more than what he said, conveyed how hard it was for him to offer her to me. “What’s her name?” “She lives in a place called Pack City.” I’d heard about the place already. Wolf preserve.

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Jack in the Pack Acres and acres, miles of natural habitat, protected by the government. I let him tell me about it. “I go there sometimes, to think, clear my head.” He got more comfortable, offered me a drink, took one for himself. “Nice scenery, eh?” He smiled. “No smog.” Now, I knew there were plenty of places where there was no smog. I also knew that there was a ‘no holds barred’ thing going on at Pack City, too. Just like Lobos. Taking a sip of his drink, he said, “Miles to run. You’d like it there.” “Probably would.” “Look. When she goes crinos for the first time, she’s gonna go nuts. I don’t want any shit for brains taking advantage of her.” “No brother would.” “You don’t understand. She’s not…not just any bitch.” “Of course not, she’s your sister.” I tried to understand what he was trying to convey to me. He shook his head. “No. She really is the top.” I tried to work through what I knew about pack behavior. I asked, “So, if she’s the top female in her pack…or capable of getting there once she gets older—if she lives that long—” Hood stretched his neck at the honesty I was laying out, but he didn’t interrupt me. “Then why isn’t the alpha male at Pack City sniffing her up?” God knew I’d sniffed everything I could get near. I knew an alpha male running a pack would. Yeah, I

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Carys Weldon was already thinking toward that whole deal. Breaking up the packs I’d heard of—in my mind. There were plenty of cities like this Pack City, dotted all over the global map. “Leer and I go way back.” “Leer?” He nodded, downed better than half of his drink, swished some around his mouth before letting it ride down his throat. “Yeah. He just took a mate, not too long ago. She’s a breeder. Anybody explained that to you?” “Kin? Related genetically, but not a manifesting werewolf until…after late puberty. Right?” “Something like that.” “I heard that was something to catch.” We shared wolfish grins and nodded into our cups, both thinking about chasing that kind of tail. You know, the almost impossible. He said, “It’s hard to come by. The bitches usually track them down before we get a whiff. Very few ever reach puberty.” “I don’t quite get the difference between them and the ones that are born human in the pack.” “Most kin don’t shift. They just put out damn fine offspring.” “Some do? Morph, that is?” He shrugged. “Very few. Kayty does. Genetic throwback.” “Kayty?” “Leer’s wife.” “Oh.” “You’d like her. Took to the pack without a look

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Jack in the Pack back. You may find some common ground there.” I chuckled. “You trying to get me killed—before I ever meet your sister?” I knew damn well that sniffing up an alpha’s mate would bring on a fight. I wasn’t quite ready for something like that. I liked to pick my battles, remember? And now that the shake was out of my system, and the collar off my neck, I was thinking a little straighter. “She and Kayty are friends.” “Your sister smoothed her way?” “Not on purpose, I don’t think, but yeah. Kayty realizes it. But—my sister—doesn’t.” I noticed he wasn’t telling me her name. I wondered why that was? Protecting her from me, in case I got loose, if I didn’t answer his questions right? Probably. “They sort of back each other up.” That, apparently, rubbed Hood wrong, or something. He said, “I want you to break them up.” I ignored that. At the time, anyway. “So, what does she look like?” “Who? Kayty?” I meant his sister, but I let him describe Kayty. He was dancing all around his sister. The more he twostepped, the more I realized the import of what I was going to do for him. It didn’t matter to me that he admired Kayty’s looks, and waxed on about her better features. He did say that she’d written out the story of how she managed to survive her change, and her introduction to pack life—called it Leader of the Pack. From what I got out of it, it was a tribute to Leer. I didn’t think I

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Carys Weldon had any reason to read up on what an apparent sex god he was. Legendary, from what Hood said. Did I mention that I’d had plenty of time and opportunity to read through the interactive screens and database there at Lobos? Committed as much as possible to memory. That transcript had been in there, but I’d skirted it when I read the short synopsis. But Hood seemed to think it would give me insights that might help me understand…things. So, I’m going to read that first chance I get. I sort of itched to leave him, to go surf through the pedigree charts, and birth records of Pack City, find out just how old his sister was. I wasn’t into pedophilia. I’d already figured out how to access those type of records. I was curious about his sister’s name, where she was born, too. You could say, looking back on it, that a higher hand had me interested already. Without even knowing her name, I was drawn to her. But a part of me didn’t want to commit. Ya know? That would not be the part of me that was really ruling the roost, so to speak. My cock was ready for something new. And I had a feeling that turning Hood down could just be…inviting a thrashing attack, if you know what I mean. I didn’t want to waste any more time. “Tell me how to find her.” “We can fly in together. You can get your bearings. I’ll set you up in an apartment.” He had it all worked out. “We’ll set you up with some traveling papers that won’t set off any alarms.” Or make anyone suspicious. I knew that’s what he meant. He didn’t

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Jack in the Pack want to resurrect a well-mourned, long dead Olympian. I insisted, “But I want to keep my real name.” He shook his head. “That’s the bitch of this. At the very least, you have to take on a new last name.” At that moment, I hated him. I hated everything about his company, his relatives, and all they had become. They stole my identity! I know this sounds calculating, but I decided that I might just turn the tables. I could go with the flow, meet up with his sister, and hold her hostage. Yeah, he’d already let on that she meant way too much to him. Oh, I knew if I screwed up I’d be swimming with the fishes, or eaten by the bitches. But the possibility of revenge, taking something in return for what he’d stolen from me—seemed too good to pass off. If that was the new game, I was a player. I was lining up for first roll of the die. “Fine.” I killed my drink, set the glass aside. “My life’s over anyway. Point me to my new…bitch.” He didn’t flinch at that, but I did. Inwardly. Even though I’d learned to talk their talk, the real man in me—wanted to find true love. Yeah, the stuff fairytales are made of, that young girls dream of. Well, I’m here to tell ya, Olympians dream of that, too. It’s like…the one thing left. Very few people ever really find it. I know that. I felt like I was dying inside. I was giving up on that one last hope that Jack Barton really had. The happily ever after part. So, when I was given my new driver’s license, passport, and birth certificate the next day, I didn’t

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Carys Weldon even read the name they’d given me. Just tucked them in my wallet. I’m going to fast-forward a little bit. Hood escorted me across the world. We’d been in Europe. He took me to the States. An apartment had already been set up for me. Under constant surveillance, I know, I was allowed to find my way back into society. Months passed, nearly a year. We had several talks about what he wanted to happen. Hood kept saying that he couldn’t introduce me until his sister was ready. He likened it to a bitch dog that wasn’t quite in heat, how she snaps at the males that come sniffing, said he was saving me from the torture, the hard shaft ache that most of the males at Pack City were dealing with. What he didn’t know was that I was starting to suffer like that anyway. After all that activity at Lobos, I felt like I’d gone on the longest dry spell in history. It was funny, really, because, as an Olympian, I’d always gone months between taking release. Chalk it up to building stamina, working on selfcontrol, pacing one’s self. Well, I’d caught up on missed opportunities. And I’d damn near sworn off women in any form. But that didn’t stop my crotch from begging me to take pity. I guess Hood really began to trust me. Maybe because I wasn’t alley-catting around, sniffing up all the females that are available on the streets of America. Maybe he thought I was psyching myself up for fidelity. Who knows? Maybe I was. And, truth be told, thoughts of taking his sister

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Jack in the Pack hostage had slipped my mind. Hood flew in and out, left me to live in the big city. I don’t want to tell you the name of it, because I think you’d really panic, if you realized how close you were to the garou stronghold. Just look on a map. Make a few calls. Climb out of your complacency, and find out where the wolf preserves are. They aren’t all labeled as that. Some are just nature centers where all wild creatures are protected. Oh, I should mention this…I had an ordeal, once, when Hood was out of town. I’d taken myself for a run. Didn’t even realize how close to Pack City I’d managed to get. Back then, it hadn’t occurred to me to look in the phone book for a wild animal sanctuary. So, I’m out, on the edge of town, running like a deaf, dumb, and blind oaf. No one was in sight. I was oblivious to everything but maxing out my lung and leg capacity. The moon was on its way. I’d managed to get through several changes without killing anything on the street. Hood flew me back to Lobos for those odd hours, let me loose in the habitat there. It worked for me, because I didn’t want to be responsible for killing anybody, or anyone’s pet. You understand. I declined the collar. And he allowed me that choice. Let me suffer through the change without medication. It was excruciating, but I felt like a survivor when it was all over. And each time, I got progressively more immune to the pain, learned to deal with it without becoming totally incapacitated. In fact, because I was on hormone therapy, I found that

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Carys Weldon my shifts became easier with practice, the more my bones, muscles, and ligaments made the stretches. Staying loose is half the trick. You know, relaxing, letting it happen. Anyhow, out of nowhere came these…losers. A pack of scraggly…skanks. They pounced me before I even realized they were near me. I don’t make that mistake—of tuning out the world like I used to while in training…any more. No. I have my radar up at all times, now. Now, I didn’t realize it at the time, but Hood is a master planner. Everybody’s his puppet. At least, to his one main goal. So, they pounce me—I’m going to gloss over this part—and threatened to gang rape me. These are all males, mind you. Too many to fight. At least, in human form—I didn’t have a prayer. I think Hood set them loose on me to teach me a little of the fear of God, maybe humble me. The bitches at Lobos had been building me up pretty well, ya know? I was getting a little full of myself. Anyhow, I’ll just say that I saw more than I wanted to see that day. The wolves shifted to crinos—and I know now that their poor genetic version is very sad, definitely low-end breeders. Their cocks, even in enhanced form, were nothing to brag about, but they had them out, threatened to—Well, let’s just say, by the time they got around to letting me up—making a deal with me, I was thinking I was living a blessed life. It made no sense that they didn’t go ahead and use me as their boy toy.

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Jack in the Pack Except I was on Hood’s prized possession list, and they were on his shit list, trying to get up the chain. And as soon as I realized that the wolves were garou, affiliated with Pack City, I started rambling about Lobos until I hit on a name they understood. Hood. So, they let me up. That’s when they started shifting, like it was a game. God, it was awful. Grinding, breaking bone sounds. It took forever, too. Made me watch their acts of perversion. That’s what I’d call it. They went beyond homosexual behavior. That, I might have been able to deal with. But they were into sadism and masochism. I don’t mind admitting that watching them hurt themselves and each other had me flinching. That was one show I didn’t enjoy. I can’t go into the details of it. All I’m saying is, don’t go that route. It didn’t look fun. Always, play it safe. Skirt the edges if you need to, but don’t ever give someone the permission to hurt you. I thought it was almost over. They were shooting off their little twenty-twos all over the place. Doing it by the strap and slap method. I didn’t understand it at all. But that’s me. And suddenly, they pounced me again. You can imagine the fear I felt, after seeing their little demonstration. Bile climbed up my throat. It was a worse moment than when Hood had bit me, because now I knew what was possible. And make no mistake. They told me that they’d just as soon rip me open as let me go. In fact, they explained, in no uncertain terms, that unnaturals were all supposed to be put down in that fashion.

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Carys Weldon Only Hood’s name had saved me. I didn’t tell them that he’d bitten me, or that I was one of his pet projects. I did say that I knew Hood and he wouldn’t be happy if I ended up dead. They convinced me that I needed to slip into Pack City and ‘steal the princess for them’. Okay. I never connected ‘the princess’ with Hood’s sister. Not until later. I never saw how their plan was his plan. Not until I got her out of there. So, they led me to Pack City, made sure I knew that the Pack would hunt me down, if they got wind of me. I had the smell of the unnatural, they said. I think it was bullshit. I sniff my pits, and everything else. I’m not smelling it. And my nose is garou’d up the fucking ying yang now. But what up? I didn’t want to push my luck. Who knew if the morons were telling the truth or not? It didn’t matter. I was getting a lesson on P.C. How to get in. How to get out. They talked about safe ways around the sanctuary. I listened closely. Though, ultimately, I wasn’t able to use any of the things they’d taught me when it really counted. Anyhow, I had opportunity to go to the outskirts of Pack City several times. Did a whole lot of scouting. Stayed downwind the whole time, kept my eye out for scouts, sentries, that sort of thing. They make roving searches of their perimeter all the time. The full moon came and went, and I had another encounter with ‘my friends.’ Let’s just say, in crinos, I had plenty to say to those jerk-offs. We came to an understanding. I wasn’t going to renege on my deal to ‘steal their

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Jack in the Pack princess’ once I figured out that she and Hood’s sister were one and the same. But, again, they didn’t tell me her name. Just called her princess. So, by the time I really started smelling her, I was fully intrigued. I mean, the losers had all taken their turns—jacking off to telling me about her, how she smelled, how she acted, how bad they wanted to take her down to the ground and fuck her until she screamed, or howled, or whatever. Some of their pictures were pretty ugly. I only listened because sometimes they let important information slip, little tidbits about Pack City and its other inhabitants. I didn’t get off on their little brain trips. I knew, at that point, why they preferred lupus to crinos or human. Less vulnerable. Less pathetic. They turned out to be invaluable to me. All I had to do was hold them down, threaten to slit their throats—catching them one on one over a period of time—to get them to swear an oath that they’d help me, if the time came. Basically, we were all watching each other’s backs, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust them or not. Only the pack was clueless. At least, that’s what I thought. I’m rethinking it, now. Maybe Leer was in on it. I’ve heard too much about him. And he and Hood are pretty tight. But Hood stacked some wood at the shed door, the night that I was supposed to come in and get his sister. So to speak. He made sure that Kayty was the vulnerable spot in the plan, the one who would have to struggle between instinct and orders. Guaranteed

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Carys Weldon Leer’s co-operation, I think, through the blame he laid at Kayty’s feet. Kayty was supposed to guard the cargo. Hood’s sister. Waiting in the bushes, I was rock hard—just from the smell of the ready to changeling. Had been for days. Had been sniffing around for so long I lost track. Yeah, the pheromones of a bitch in heat kind’ve does that to males. The fact that she came in with the moon phase didn’t escape me. I don’t know if that was natural, or if Hood had been working his hormone magic on her, too. I caught my first glimpse of her when she made her first attempt to take a run. Instinct, I think, to get out, be free before the change takes you over. Maybe a self-preservation mechanism, to find a safe spot where nobody can watch while you’re down and defenseless. Only, from what I understand, in Pack City, they tend to watch out for their young. Maybe gather around for the show, but, well, you get the picture. So, I learned something about Hood’s sister when she tried to slip out. She didn’t like audiences. I couldn’t believe the losers stopped her from leaving when she was heading straight toward me. And they were in the middle of one of their little circle jerks, so I didn’t really expect her to be distracted. There’s more to a female change than I understand, and maybe to the pecking order within a pack. Picture me…in crinos…crouching in the bushes (downwind.) She’s still in wolf form—something that

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Jack in the Pack doesn’t really turn me on, as I don’t shift to lupus. But, I can say…she was pretty. She had a fur coat that looked soft as silk. Its silver on black tips over white fur had me thinking about breeding. I mean, genetics. The difference between her and the mangy scraggly pack—there was no comparison. Her feet all tracked forward. Theirs tended to go east and west. Some of their hips slunk when they walked—and you knew they weren’t far from manifesting full dysplasia. Her ears were perfectly formed, tall, erect, straight forward. And her nose had a length to it that matched the shape of her wide head. Once, she turned her head toward where I was, tipped it, crooked her ears, and squinted her broadset eyes. Intelligence, that’s what I saw. She let out a little whine, and shifted a little in her posture. I wanted to call out to her. But one of the losers noticed. And he got loud, irritated her. At the time, I cussed him, swore to eat him alive. He probably saved my ass. I’d been about ready to bound out into the open. That would have been stupid. It would have been hormone driven. And I needed to have my wits about me. Even with the losers on my side, and Hood calling the shots—I still had to get around a pack of bitches I didn’t know. Real hunters. Not arboretumfed lab wolves. Hood showed up, with Leer. I finally got a look at him. He and Hood are opposites, I could see that straight up. In coloring, sizing—Hood’s got a few inches on him. But Leer’s wiry, must’ve been to his

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Carys Weldon benefit. Must be quick, is all I could figure. That was something to file away. Ah. Then Kayty showed up, dragged the princess off to the den. Hood had drawn me a map, told me that he and Leer had already discussed what to do when his sister went through the change. Yeah, I know, by drawing me a map, Hood full-out compromised the defenses of Pack City. So, you have to wonder, was he really hoping for me to make the steal, or for me to fail? I mean, to fail would prove that ‘unnatural’ werewolves weren’t that smart. And, honestly, I’ve rethought it since then. Running into Pack City to steal their precious princess was fucking insane. The odds were obviously against an unnatural getting in and out, because there would be so many in on the hunt against him. And, I’m not sure how, but someone set off an alarm that I was skirting the perimeter. I’m still mulling that over. I’ll get my own back, don’t you worry. Call it the thrill of the hunt or something, I didn’t want to turn tail and run when I heard them coming for me. Oh, the bitches were howling. Maybe you could call it instinct to switch back and around. Or my death wish. But I gave them a run for their money. Had them all over the place. Took a lot of joy in losing them—more than once. Definite adrenalin rush. Wait. Once, when it all first started, I actually stumbled into a clearing—right in front of the den. That was a holy shit kind of moment. Kayty was at the door. Bitches all around. I couldn’t quite make out

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Jack in the Pack the princess, but I knew she was behind Kayty, under protection. That was the plan, and they were following it to the T. I took off. The losers and Hood were supposed to draw the bitches and Kayty off. Hood was supposed to lock his sister in a cell somewhere. I’d been looking for that. With all the excitement, I got turned around. Thus, we got fouled up somewhere. And I was so hyped up on the smell of the princess that I had to have her once I’d started the chase, or die trying. So, I took off and the bitches came after me. Talk about the hounds of hell, and holy shit. I never ran so fast in my life. I knew I was setting speed records. I was hearing all sorts of things, too. Them yelling back and forth. And, in the dark, when I’d stopped to breathe, think and get my bearings, I heard her. I wouldn’t say she yelped, exactly, but she whined. I picked her voice out of the crowd. Let that set my compass. Zeroed in on her. I found myself outside her cell, panting hard, peering in. That was no lupus standing there. It was a full crinos specimen of perfect breeding. I could not have been more hot for a woman than I was at that moment, with the whole pack circling back, practically breathing down my neck. I went through the locks without any trouble. Hood had given me the combinations, which is another one of those things that made me wonder, did he, or did he not want me to succeed? All he had

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Carys Weldon to do was give me the wrong combo for the last lock. So, I yanked the door open and stood there, staring, sniffing, thinking about throwing her down and fucking her right there. Yeah, that was what it was all about at that moment. I didn’t though. I reached in, grabbed her hand, claw, paw, whatever and started running. But she helped me, led me out of there. The avenue I was supposed to take was blocked by the noisy, oncoming pack of bitches. Which, again, made me wonder who was on my side, and who was pointing them toward me. Apparently, some of them can communicate like psychics. Yeah, total bullshit, I know. The trip out was another one of those lessons in stamina. We ended up crawling through caves and shit. She was ahead of me, leading the way, dripping down her legs the whole way—driving me insane with want. I don’t think I could forget her scent—ever. At one point, I had to grab a hold and indulge myself. Licked up her leg, all the way to her core. I would have climbed all the way up on her, but the back of the cavern was too low. Fast forward some more. To when we’d reached a rendezvous point that I’d prearranged with the losers, and with Hood. Yeah, the hunt went on for hours. But there came a point when the princess and I managed to draw extra breath, breathe safe, and look each other in the eye. It was funny, but I had to ask, “What’s your name?”

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Chapter Six he pursed her lips, holding back a grin, and said, “Fera.” I said, “Pretty.” Yeah, I was going for obvious flattery. I wanted her to like me up front. She quipped back, “Beats being called bitch.” “Well, my little stolen bitch,” I growled—couldn’t help it, I was fucking ready to throw her down. Wait. I corrected myself, trying desperately to get that control, saying, “Fera, I have to tell you—I have this indescribable urge to lay you down and fuck your brains out.” I know, so much for sweet-talking her. I look back at that moment and kick myself in the ass every time. But—you know what she said? She taunted me with, “Why don’t you?” I remember trying to be clever, telling her that I was waiting for her to beg me. I have no idea why I said that. Trying to make conversation before I did exactly what I wanted to do? But I’m not shitting you when I say, I couldn’t think around her. I felt like I’d run the hardest race of my life—that’s saying something—and come inches

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Carys Weldon to the finish line, and—I didn’t know how to take the last step. Since she wasn’t asking my name, I volunteered that it was Jack. I spouted some sort of nonsense about not wanting to jump her bones without warning. She bounced back with, “Why not?” Can you see how this was going? I was trying to get some semblance of control over my emotions, my libido, and she was wrecking that all to hell. I lied through my teeth—but was completely honest, if that makes any sense—when I told her next that I didn’t want a fast hump. I wanted that, and more. You should have been there. The whole thing was quick back and forth, with my dumb silences between. Okay. This is the reason behind me putting all this on paper. I had to get this in writing, in case anything ever comes back around, in case I get myself killed. I hope someone will make sure Fera sees this. I wanted her more than I could have ever imagined. I knew I’d fallen hard and big time— probably back there at the cell. When I saw her in lupus, I wanted her bad—but that could have been her scent. And I struggled with that. I remember thinking…this is the princess? Hood’s sister? If she hadn’t been in heat, I would have walked away. But there was a distinctly human fragrance about her. It confused the hell out of me. I mean, back at Lobos, and then at my apartment, Hood had mentioned, several times that there were the lupus born. Duh. I did not get it.

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Jack in the Pack Call it narrow-minded blinders. Let me get this straight—I am not into humans having sex with animals. What do you call it, bestiality? So, I knew I’d been set up. In fact, I vacillate between ripping Hood’s head off, and slaughtering all the losers. They want to talk about what’s unnatural? Well, fucking a dog is unnatural. Does this make sense? I am a man. I sometimes shift into a werewolf—a monster that I have trouble controlling. But always, I am a man. Not that Fera’s a dog. She’s a well-bred wolf. But— son of a bitch if there isn’t a terrible screw here. She isn’t a wolf. I mean, she’s lupus born, but I swear…she’s a human that’s been trapped in a lupus form. I’d swear it was some sort of black magic. And maybe that’s it. Maybe, when the world is all done, we’ll find out that some hidden force cast a spell on certain genetic lines. I’m thinking that might not be so far-fetched, now that I’ve stepped into the nightmare that only Hollywood should have come up with. So, Fera and I were there, both in crinos—both caught up in that nightmare. And, I think, we both wanted to shift to human so bad it was killing us. But there was an attraction. Something undeniable between us. She’s told me that she saw me when I first stumbled in front of the den. Kind’ve bounced out of the trees there. Remember? I told you about it. There were too many shadows, and I was afraid to focus or hang around for long. She said she was sort of

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Carys Weldon stricken by my pose. That makes me laugh. I asked, “What? My impression of a scared rabbit?” She says it didn’t look like that. That I looked magnificent. Ha. I think she was looking for a hero. I also think that’s why Hood picked me. I’m hero material, at first glance, I guess—being an Olympian and all. But on second glance, when you look inside me, you’ll see I’m shaking to death. I know I was shaking—all the way through—when I opened that cell and got my first good look at Fera standing upright. I thought—is this what I’ve been running for—all my life? Yeah. I’m talking love at first real sight. And the reason I think that is—is because, I looked into her eyes and felt my heart skip a beat. Not only did my lower body jump to attention, (and it’s been rock hard ever since, I think) but I couldn’t breathe. And that wasn’t because I’d been giving the pack the runaround. So, we were out there, facing each other—and she was waiting for me to make my move, and I was trying to think of a good approach, but totally dumb fucked. I knew, somewhere in the back of my brain, that a crinos ‘bitch’ is unpredictable, and especially one that was in a first change. I knew she could go totally ape-shit on me at any moment and I’d be dead on the ground. So you could say I had some instant respect for her in that regard. But, like I’ve said more than once, it really wasn’t my life that I cared about. I felt like that had been stolen. I was living someone

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Jack in the Pack else’s reality at that point. I can say this…I absolutely desired Fera. I wanted to climb up inside her and cradle her against me, and never let her go. I still feel that way. And I know that that’s dangerous. Especially since I keep coming back to a total distrust of her brother, how we were set up, and Lobos International’s whole deal. And that’s something I’m really struggling with. What will Fera think, if she ever gets wind of the fact that Hood did his fancy little database search and lined up our genetics—that he flew me halfway around the world so I could meet her. Now, that scares me. I’m afraid I could lose…everything. But, enough of my fears. We were out there, had caught our breath, and I recall standing there, the air thick between us, feeling a connection…and kissing Fera’s shoulder. Such a sweet, and sad, gesture. It felt a little desperate. I wanted to make contact but I was timid, afraid to make that move. It was more because I’m a man. I don’t like putting my inner self on the line. I mean, sure, I put my body on the line all the time. And I push myself mentally, too. But that’s because I’m an emotional handicap. I crack off jokes because things get a little tight on my space. Does that make sense? So, we had a connection. An untouchable, indescribable something that kind of hung between us, lacing little spider threads around us, drawing us closer and closer until I actually touched her. And yes, it felt reverent. I felt like a beggar…just hoping she’d let me close to her, let me explore the kismet.

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Carys Weldon I never believed in that sort of thing before, but now I do. I know that you can feel someone’s loneliness, it can speak to your own, and somewhere in the middle, you can both feel complete. I’m sure I sound like a sap. But I’m a scared sap. I’m hanging onto something that could come undone with one bad word from…how many people? Anyone at Lobos? The losers? Maybe Leer? And if he’s confided in Kayty— that’s the most likely way for Fera to hear about the plotting behind her back. And from that source, I don’t think she’d give me a chance to defend myself. One little truth will lead to another, and then everything that happened to me at Lobos could come unraveled. I would lose Fera. I know it. She would walk away from me and never look back. I have to protect her from all that. It could tear her apart. Us apart. And then I might have to show them a little ‘unnatural rampage’. I think Fera jumped to some conclusions about me, my first change. I didn’t correct her. Mostly because I don’t know what to tell her, how much to reveal. It all damns me, and her brother, and I know it. She has no idea what Hood does, not really, or the hand he played in bringing us together. It all just keeps looping back through my brain—while I try to figure out how to tell her. It doesn’t matter. At least, not as far as that first night goes. I had some trouble putting sentences together, tripped over my words a little. Maybe Freudian slips. Who knows?

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Jack in the Pack But there came a point when I had to really look into her eyes, and measure her response to me. I made her tell me that she wanted out of Pack City, that I’d done the right thing. As much as I felt that we should be together—despite what Hood or the losers wanted—I felt a need to do for her. I think it would have killed me, at that moment, to take her back. (I had been saving up for a good princess fucking, remember? A whole lot of emotional build-up, as well as the physical issues.) And then, after all that wait, there was—that something. I didn’t really understand the emotions running through me. I’d never been in love before. And I’d never had such a gamut of hormones. It was all making me haywire, tying my tongue. I tried to sort it all out, take my time. So, I explored her body a little, let the crinos monster out a bit. That part of me wanted to sniff her, feel and taste her body fluids, the juices that made her uniquely her. I remember thinking…the grass is thick, but I wanted a bed, something really soft to lay her down on—to make the first time for her, for us—special. Something more than a hard romp on harder ground. I calculated how far it was to my apartment, but I realized that Hood could storm in on us, even though he’d promised to give me some time with her, if I managed to extricate her from Pack City. Everything was an ‘if’. If I got her free. If she would have me. If we didn’t get caught after the fact. If the losers or Hood didn’t betray me. Even if he didn’t, he couldn’t protect me from the natural pack behavior. The bitches, mostly, were

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Carys Weldon vicious in their pursuit of unnaturals and breeder kin. When I finally went ahead and laid Fera on the ground, I shivered a little at the excitement of taking her, and the unnerving possibility that someone could come upon us while we were in the middle of something—when our defenses were down. Yes, it heightened my excitement. I prolonged my own tease, maybe too long, by feeling myself, my whole body along the length of her, enjoying the rub of our skin. My cock seemed to glide and glance off her hip, leaving a slickness that felt good to bump against. And Fera, when I reached down to the folds of her labia, she bucked into my hand. Liquid wet my fingers. The slippery slide of friction when I reached deeper…it was just too much wait for her, I think. She finally reached down and grabbed a hold of my manhood, said something glib, and guided me into her. Still, I wanted it to last, had a sure knowledge that it wasn’t gonna go more than a few hard strokes. I tried to tell her that I hadn’t done it like that—in crinos, in the open, without a med collar, or an audience. I didn’t go into detail, though. I wanted to savor everything about the freedom I felt. And the way she made me feel. I just can’t seem to express that right. Men are lousy, as a whole, at saying how they feel. I couldn’t swallow. I was afraid to move. I wanted more than anything to make it sweet for her. But she wasn’t having it. Probably her hormones talking as much as her personal preferences. So, even though she’d insisted on me entering her, I tried

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Jack in the Pack kissing. Man, was that a fight of the inner beast. I wanted to unleash as much as I wanted to hold on to my humanity. She reached down, grabbed my ass, spread her legs, and pulled me up inside of her farther. I couldn’t fight it then. She kind of clawed her way to a new hold, hanging onto my upper arms. Her fingers dug in when I got her close. I felt her whole body gathering beneath me. Her vaginal muscles clamped down, and I knew she was where she wanted to be. I wanted to inhale all her moans, I can tell you that. Let them breathe life into me. I thought I was dying. I’m not going to go into all the details of that night. Let’s just say, I don’t think crinos is my preferred form for lovemaking. If you want the details on how it went, which is a little laughable, if you ask me, you’ll have to ask her. All I can say is, who wants a fucking head that swells after you’re done?

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Chapter Seven inding that spot where Fera and I first made love wasn’t exactly a surprise. It was the pre-agreed rendezvous point that Hood had set up with me, and I, in turn, had set up with the losers. Getting her out of there wasn’t so hard, either, since she went into shifting down about the time we heard the pack coming. With her a little out of it, it was nothing to transport her back to my apartment. I sat there for hours, drinking—which I almost never do—but am doing more these days—and watching her sleep. She was in lupus. Talk about your inner struggles. I thought very seriously about leaving without a forwarding address. Just going out, slipping into the crowd, never turning back. The reason I didn’t do it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m pretty sure Hood’s got a tracking chip in me, somewhere. Lobos is too high tech not to do that. They’ve been doing it to dogs and racehorses for years. Some say that they’ll be ‘chipping’ humans before long. They have those sort of tracking chips in

F

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Jack in the Pack cars already. It’s just a matter of time. Then, I ask you, where would you hide? But the chip thing wasn’t why I didn’t leave. While Fera slept, I touched her pelt. I got down on my knees beside where I’d laid her, and smelled her. I was in human form then. And sad. Terribly, achingly, sad. I kept thinking back to what we’d shared, and knowing that it was a human connection, but what I was looking at—it belied that. Oh, she had shifted to human out there. Oh, my God, had she shifted to human. But I don’t think she realized it. She still acted a little like she was in crinos. Insatiable sexual appetite. Sensitized skin. Toe-curling screams of pleasure. And moans and sighs to make any man crazy. What I really did, after I got over my self-pity there, was stare at her, wish her into human form. I want to lock her in. (To human form, that is.) I want to take her off somewhere, buy a little house with a picket fence, plant flowers out front and a garden in the back—and have children with her. I don’t see us having cats or dogs, but we could get a bird. She woke up a little bitchy. Threw my little fantasy right out the window. She said she was thirsty. I told her to help herself. I knew she’d have to shift to do that. Maybe it was too much to ask, since she’d only shifted a few times altogether. But I, honestly, had to know up front what we were looking at. So I could decide if I was up for it. We talked a little bit about the hunt, kind of

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Carys Weldon avoided the important stuff. I get the feeling that she’s not sure if she trusts me. But she’s with me, so…maybe I’m paranoid? I mean, I’ve got all those nasty little secrets, I could see her getting a feel for the fact that I’m hiding something. She works more on instinct that the average female, and all the females I know go pretty much on instinct. Yeah, I’m paranoid. Oh, hey. We took a shower together. This is another reason why I love her. She’s fun. She let me soap her down, and she returned the favor. And we slipped around each other, enjoying the silky feel of suds and skin. We had so many bubbles going that you couldn’t see the bottom of the tub. Yeah. We were in there awhile. Fera dropped the soap with an obvious, “Oops. Look what I did.” Her big eyes blinked at me while she held back a grin. Call me a guy. Too many locker rooms where soap went flying. You do without. Because sure as shit, the minute you bend over, someone will run up behind you. I told her, “Better get it.” Biting her lower lip, she shook her head no. But it was mischievous, that look on her face, the gleam in her eyes. “You.” This was one of those ‘battle of wills’ moments. Her brown eyes, so beautiful and young, took on the predatory pecking order bitch glint. It surprised me. I stood there, staring at her face—high cheekbones, fair skin…Fera has no blemishes, no light freckles, even. Framed by the white hair, she looks almost angelic

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Jack in the Pack and pure most of the time. You know, innocent. But not then. That was a moment of reckoning, I think. Who was alpha in our relationship? “I’m soapy enough, thanks.” It kind of soured the fun for me. I didn’t like her tone, or her look, and she knew it. She didn’t even blink, but her eyes changed their gleam, softened, and her lips, very minutely, curved at the tips. She asked, “If I go down, will you climb on?” I teased, “I like a bitch on her knees. If you go down, will you go down?” Her eyes flashed. And she dropped down to look for the soap, saying, “Will you beg?” Okay, so…no guy really likes to beg. But she was down on her knees, feeling around my feet, bumping her head against my manly parts. At one point, she reaches up, like my cock is in her way. It was kind of bouncing near her face. Heehee. She grabbed on and squeezed, then pushed, backing me up. “Hey! Whoa!” I wrapped my hands around hers and held it there. Yeah, it’s big enough to take two of my hands. I’m tall, what can I say? That’s part of what qualified me for Hood’s program. So, I say, “Just slide a little. I think that’s all it will take.” Squinting up at me because the shower is raining down on her, she says, “You aren’t begging, and you aren’t climbing on doggy style. What makes you think I’m gonna do a little sliding? You didn’t even

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Carys Weldon ask right.” I laughed. She tried to tug her hand free. I said, “Tell me how to ask right.” You know, give me lessons in what you like. Fera put a serious crunch on my cock and said, “I like a little, please.” I thought it was funny. She’s pretty quick witted. And strong. She cranked a little more on my manhood and I was dropping to my knees, and I can guarantee you, I was begging. She wasn’t hurting me, but I wasn’t going to put it past her. “All right. I’ll beg.” Her hold immediately loosened, and I let go. The position was a little awkward, and definitely slippery. I put a hand to her cheek, made her look at me, and kissed her. I had intended to do a nice little peck, with a smile attached, but it turned into much more. She rose up, wrapped her hands around my face, and slid her tongue in my mouth, deepening the kiss with a desperation. I had to answer it. The whole thing was very…needy. And, by God, we somehow managed to fall out of the tub. I remember a whacking sound, a slap of my shoulder hitting the linoleum, and a woosh as she landed on top of me. Oh, hell. Maybe she threw me out of the tub. Who knows? We rolled around a little bit, played with a little groping. And finally she said, “I know what we need to do.” I had no idea where her brain was going. I was afraid it was out of there. I was having way too much fun with the slap and tickle, grab ass and cock game

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Jack in the Pack we had going on. She slid around a bit. How the hell we had suds all over that floor, I have no idea. Okay, I do. That bar of soap had come out with us, and with all the water, and it under us, it just kept greasing up the playing field. Fera scrambled a bit, and ended up on all fours, and said, “Climb on.” Now, I know that she wasn’t connecting my little phobia with my hesitation. And I also had a bad experience lurking in the back of mind—with those damn losers, and, of course, that fucking incident when I was sandwiched between Giselle and Hood. So, you could say, doggy style is not my favorite position at the moment. I stared at her, a little sick. Reached out and touched the curve of her behind. She has a nice, smooth buttock. “Come on, Jack. I’m waiting.” I got up on my knees. I was having a really hard time with it. I wanted to roll her over to her back. She groaned, “Are you going to do it or not?” That made me move. After all, I really didn’t want to make her mad. I got in position behind her, ran my hands over her ass, spread her cheeks, slid a finger down the inside of her crack, probed a little at her butthole—just to see if she was paying attention. She was. She said, “Hey.” I leaned over her, asked in her ear, “That isn’t what you had in mind?” “No.” I teased, “But…it’s such a prominent feature from

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Carys Weldon where I’m sitting.” A little disappointed, she sat up and looked over her shoulder at me. “Do you not know how to do it in this position, or do you have a problem with it?” That’s one thing about Fera. She’s right to the point. She doesn’t like head games. “Bend over.” I mean, she was human, I was human, what was the problem? “You sure?” Because she sensed I had a problem. “What do I need to say, bend over, bitch?” I grinned. She laughed. And she got back on all fours. I guided myself into her cunt. Well, I put the head at the hole, and then I complained, “This is hard on my knees.” “Yeah. Mine too. Could you speed it up?” “I don’t know how this is gonna work for you.” I bounced off of her a few times, right there, where it was supposed to go. “Oh. My. Gaia. Would you just fuck me already?” I did. With my hands on her hips, I made a few jabbing strokes. It didn’t take much. She’d been teasing me for awhile. We didn’t move for several seconds. I just held her hips—hard against me. It was still new enough, doing it with her, that I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to feel every last drop pump into her. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that feeling. Fera waited until my hands relaxed before she asked, “So, I guess the begging comes later?” “Promises, promises,” I told her. Then I gave her ass a little playful slap and pulled out of her. Sitting

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Jack in the Pack back on my ankles, I examined myself. I was still hard. She turned around, and looked too. “Mind if I climb on?” I wanted to spread my legs out, sit more comfortably, but she didn’t give me a chance. She straddled me. And looking me in the eye, she rode me. I helped a little, holding her by the waist—but really—she fucked us both. At first, I was just amused by her serious expression, and the little kisses she kept leaning forward to place on my jaw. “You gonna work at this, or are you just playing, because you know this is hard on my knees?” By then, I was starting to hurt a little. I thought about laying her down on her back. She kept her up and down rhythm, but didn’t seem to be concentrating much on that. She said, “You know, the water is getting cold.” “I know, it’s spraying my back.” Fera has a very nice set of teeth, a pretty smile. She giggled, asking me this riddle, “How hot can you be when one side of you is freezing cold?” “I dunno. Let’s see.” My helping hands got a little more aggressive. And, apparently, that position worked much better for her than the other one did. Who would have thought that my lupus lover couldn’t get off in the doggy position? Making her reach orgasm, listening to her little moans of pleasure as she’s going for it, and feeling the spasms inside her body, clamping around my shaft…makes me hotter than hell. I don’t care that I’d already gotten off. I put her on the floor and finished

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Carys Weldon my business again. Then I collapsed on top of her. God knows how long we lay like that. But there finally came a point when she jabbed me in the ribs, and reminded me, “You said something about catching a plane.” Did I mention that? Hood had arranged for some travel, and promised me a job within Lobos. At the moment, my job was to companion his sister, to educate her a little on how the world outside of Pack City worked. I kept going back to that. If he trusted me with his sister, then…I should trust him, right? But I knew Hood had some incongruities between his personal agenda and Lobos International’s agenda—because he’d allowed me all that computer access. That kept bothering me. Was he trusting me, or setting me up for a bigger fall? Maybe…to make himself look like the real hero of the day. After all, he’d staged things, my stealing Fera from Pack City, to look like he was spearheading the hunt. He’d arranged for a several city tour of the world. But he’d already warned me that they’d be a jump behind us. And that he might manage to slip the pack and meet up with us, see how things are going, that sort of thing. “Yeah.” I told Fera, “We need to rinse off and get moving.” “What’s a plane like?” She’d seen them flying overhead. And, I guess Kayty had taken her to the airport, but Fera had never been on one. “Is it scary?” “Not really.” I got up, held out a hand to her, and then we both stepped into that damn icy spray. We

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Jack in the Pack made quick work of the rinse-off, let me tell ya. And then I rubbed her down with a towel, gave her a quick pat down, kissed her feminine curls. Fera wrapped her fingers around my head and held me to her. So, I put my arms around her, and held on, too. It’s moments like those, between the sex, and the talking, that make me feel like…well, like I’m home. Like that’s where I’m supposed to be. But I can’t have my face near her crotch for long without a reaction. I swear it’s the new DNA. Or flashbacks to the shake. I dunno which, but fuck. I had to plant another kiss, there, on her pubic bone. She let out a little moan. Just a little, “Mm.” So, I put another one beside it. And that was it. My tongue snaked out, tasting her clean skin, seeking something more—that fluid that my nose smelled—her inner juices. Before long, I had her backed up against a wall, legs spread, and I was delving deeper. Suckling with nose pushes against her pubis, grinding my teeth a little as I reached farther in with my tongue. She came while I did that, but I kept licking and sucking. I wanted all her juice. That’s one of the things about Fera. I can’t get enough of her. And she lets me do what I need to do. She doesn’t push me away. In fact, she draws me inside of her, welcomes me, spreads her legs, and holds on. How can I not love her? When I finally quit, she laughed down at me. “You need to wash your face. I’m not kissing you until you do.” But then she planted a peck on my forehead and helped me up. I washed my face in the sink. I had dripped dry by

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Carys Weldon then, but the licking I’d done for her, knowing I’d made her come, that had gotten me ready again. I swear, I feel like a fucking rutting pig. I decided to not mention it. We needed to get dressed. Fera had never worn clothes. So, going into the bedroom, looking through the closet, I was a little frustrated. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that little problem. My stuff would fall off of her. She padded around the bedroom while I said, “I can go get something for you. I won’t be long.” I pulled clothes on pretty quick. It was a little tough to get my pants done up, with a stiff. “You’ll come back?” I looked over at her. “Of course I’ll come back.” But I thought about the time I’d spent contemplating just that. She could see I was having trouble buttoning up my pants. “Let me help.” Okay, this is funny. Remember, Fera had never had hands before. She’d been doing pretty well with basics. But buttons are a little tougher. Before long, she was on the floor, making hard work of it. I knew I could have done it ten times faster. But she was so intent, I just moved my hands out of the way. Well, she slapped them away. The thing was, her breath, right there, wasn’t helping. The more she sighed over her task, and her fiddling fingers brushed against my skin, the more I thought, she’s going to unman me. Finally, she undid the one or two buttons she had managed to get done and said, “These are too tight. You need something looser.” Matter of fact, just like

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Jack in the Pack that. “What I need, is to relieve the damn pressure again. I swear, Fera. I wasn’t made for this.” “For what?” “My libido being in overdrive. It’s…unnatural.” I said it without thinking. The reproach in her eyes didn’t leave me guessing much. She was hurt over my choice of words. Or maybe the truth behind it. She said, “Well, maybe you won’t be like this for long.” “I’ve been a fucking werewolf for a year now. It never quits. I swear, all the DNA pooled right there.” I slid the pants down. I mean, I couldn’t get them buttoned as is. Maybe I could find some sweats? Before I could get them off my ankles, Fera said, “There are worse places.” I laughed. “Yeah? Like where?’ She blinked. Then she said, “I don’t know. Maybe your feet?” I looked at her. “And then what do you think the side effect would be? I’d take off running, never stop running?” “Maybe it didn’t pool there because you were already a runner. You didn’t need help there.” That implied that I had, at some point, needed help in the crotch and snatch department. I shook my head. “Where’d you come up with that?” I squeezed myself, and asked, “Does this look like it ever needed help?” “I never saw it…before. How do I know?” She was annoyed. She got up off the floor and walked out of

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Carys Weldon the room. I yelled after her, “So…you’re not going to help me with this this time?” “You don’t need any help with that, remember?” Swearing, I kicked the pants off and followed her. “You know what…Princess?” She’d climbed up onto the sofa, pulled a blanket around her, and was sniffing it, checking it out, rubbing the satin trim between her fingers. She wouldn’t look at me. “You know what?” I repeated. “What?” I think I’d been about ready to brag about my groupies. But she was a little caught up in the wonder of a blanket on her skin. She rubbed her cheek against the material on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, forgetting our conversation, I think, and asked, “Can I take this with us?” “Sure. Have it.” Frustrated, I put my hands on my hips and told her, “We’re not going anywhere if we don’t get dressed.” She blinked up at me. “They don’t let nudists on the plane, Fera.” “Let’s just stay here, then.” I grunted, or growled. Made a noise, anyway, and turned my back. “We can’t.” A box and a duffle bag sat on the table by the door. I had locked the door. Hood was the only one with a key besides me. Yeah. I muttered, “Dirty son of a bitch.” That meant the bitches were a lot closer than they

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Jack in the Pack were supposed to be. Or, at least, that was how I took it. Hood was supposed to be leading them in the other direction, so they wouldn’t hinder our getaway. I had to wonder, had he left the items, whatever they were, or given someone else information about Fera and me? Very slowly, I moved toward them, a sense of dread filled me up. “Fera. We need to get out of here.” She picked up on my intensity, because she got up, with the blanket still around her—guess she was warming up from the cold shower—and came toward me. “Why? What are you worried about?” The box was gift wrapped, had her name on it in a bold scrawl. I thought, if Hood signed it, she’s going to start asking questions. Surely she would recognize her own brother’s handwriting? I asked, “Do you read?” “Some.” It’s crazy, in this day and age, to think of someone not being able to read or write, but it suddenly occurred to me…there are so many adult reading classes across the globe. Is this part of the Lobos plan? I mean, I could see lupus born creatures not feeling a need to read. Not until they shifted. And some of them never shift, I think. Back to the bad breeding. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. She recognized her name, at least. “Is that for me?” She jumped up, planted a kiss on my cheek and exclaimed, “That is so sweet of you!” I liked her enthusiasm, and I hated to damper the joy, but I said, “Fera…think.”

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Carys Weldon She had already picked up the box and was padding back toward the sofa with it. “About what?” She landed on the furniture, more than sat. Leaped up onto it (like a wolf would) and plopped down onto her belly, running her fingers over the shiny paper. “It’s sooo pretty.” I picked up the duffle and took it back into the living area, sat down, and reached for the zipper. “Go ahead, open it.” “How?” “Just rip the paper.” I was a little preoccupied. The duffle was filled with basic feminine clothes items. Fera picked the tape loose. She took her time, so I had plenty of time to go through the duffle. There were a pair of jeans, sneakers, some socks, what looked like hip hugger panties, and a bra. And a sweatshirt. I wrapped the bra around my hand, thought twice about it, and then tossed it behind the chair. She would never know what she was missing. But her peripheral vision is good. Her head came up, and she asked, “What was that?” “Nothing.” I gestured toward her gift. “Would you open that thing?” She finally managed to get to the present itself. It was a long leather coat, Matrix style. She sniffed it, of course, and rubbed it on her cheek, said, “It smells vaguely familiar. Hm.” “It’s a coat. Goes over the other things.” “But it’s special,” she sighed. “It was a present.” She informed me, “It had my name on it.” It suddenly hit her. “But you…you didn’t know my name. We’ve been together the whole time. You

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Jack in the Pack couldn’t have...who are these from?” She panicked, got up, grabbed the bag I was going through and rummaged to the bottom of it. “Who do you think they’re from? I couldn’t guess.” Well, I could. It had to be Hood. She probably smelled his scent on the things. Even if he’d only handled them briefly. But, a nagging voice inside of me asked, would she have said it was vaguely familiar? My libido had drained. I’d gone soft. Maybe too soft. My brain was zipping back and forth. If not Hood, who? Surely she would have recognized the scent of any one of the losers. I sure as hell would. “Get dressed. Do you know how?” “I watched Kayty a few times. And others.” “Watching and doing are two different things, Fera. You get started, I’ll be right back.” I went to the bedroom, got my clothes on, shoved some other basics in a bag, and came back out. She’d done pretty well. The shoes were too hard for her to do up. I bent down and did that for her. Maybe it was too forward, but when I stood up, I reached out and tweaked Fera’s breast through her shirt. Just checking to see if she’d retrieved the bra. She hadn’t. She batted my hand off her. “We don’t have time for that now. Silly.” Grabbing the coat, intending to help her into it, I had a terrible moment of realization. I knew the scent on that coat. Without thinking, I said, “Giselle.” Fera turned to me, and there was no mistaking the look of fear in her eyes. She eeked out, “Who?” When I didn’t answer, she asked, “What did you say, Jack?”

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Carys Weldon

Chapter Eight

I

didn’t stand around talking about it. Call it instinct or whatever, I felt a definite urge to move. “I said…we need to get the hell out of here.” I got that leather coat on her, bundled her right up, yanked on my own, and gathered the bags. Rushing her out the door, I said, “I have a bad feeling that we’re caught in the middle of something a whole lot bigger than us.” We took a cab to the airport. We didn’t talk much. I was too busy trying to think. Should I use the travel arrangements Hood had set for us? Or find another way? I didn’t have much choice. Money-wise, we were pretty screwed. My finances, what little I’d had, and all my personal effects had been liquidated, absorbed by Lobos, or sent to my family. That, or my slimy-ass lawyer had stolen them. I spared a minute or two on him. Had they killed him? Somehow, I didn’t think so. If nothing else, he was a good legal beagle. Our all expense paid honeymoon world tour didn’t look so much like a gift now. We were going to be held to an itinerary that I hadn’t chosen—that I

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Jack in the Pack couldn’t even guess at because only the first two sets of tickets had been in the bag—until I could figure out how to come up with some cash, so we could jump track. And it wasn’t helping my concentration to have Fera watching me with a wariness that was much more intense than anything I had ever felt before. I finally had to ask, “What’s bothering you?” Her eyes did a little dart. Looking for an escape? But she squared her shoulders and said, “The fact that you know Giselle.” It was an accusation. I have to say, I have constantly been amazed at her forthrightness. I think that is good. I mean, I always thought I was an honest, straight shooting guy, but after meeting up with these…people…well, I’m afraid to put too much out there. I guard every word, watch every gesture—mine and theirs. So, it took me a minute or two to come up with a response. Finally, I just blurted, “I’ve met more garou than I ever wanted to in the last year.” I tried to play it off, but it didn’t go well. “Some are better than others. I didn’t get to pick who I was introduced to.” Suggesting that Giselle hadn’t been good, but you and I both know she was…maybe a little too good. I sure as hell hadn’t forgotten her. She wasn’t under my skin or anything, but, damn, she’d been hot, willing and able. Men don’t find women like that every day. And they don’t usually get the Viagra/Spanish Fly combo shake to go with it. But thinking about that kind’ve made a sick feeling explode somewhere inside of me. I looked away from Fera and asked myself, if I had it to do over again,

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Carys Weldon would I have done it? Knowing that Fera would hate it in retrospect? I mean, if I could have seen into the future, and seen that I’d fall for a…? What did I think of her as? A princess? A wolf? Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back. An image of her, walking in human form, naked, from the kitchen, appeared in my head. No. Fera was a woman. The most perfect woman I’d ever seen, or been with. Yes, better than Giselle, believe it or not. And better than the orgy of bitches at Lobos. Her body was firm, but soft. Everything she did was ‘cut to the chase.’ And I knew, without a doubt, that she needed me. All things I liked immensely. I wanted to groan when a voice in my head taunted, you need her more. I didn’t want to explore that. But the voice probed, do you know why you need her? To stay alive. I answered it myself. But the voice came back again with, no…because she makes you alive. Sometimes I argue with myself. I didn’t want to believe what I already knew. So, I said, No. Being firm to myself, ya know? And the ornery, pushy little bugger growled at me, YES…what else do you have to live for…now? Yeah. I’m thinking that my garou-enhanced testosterone was talking back to me, telling me that I had a female to protect. Not that Fera didn’t have a few survival skills within her own capability, but it was the whole, I am man, you’re my woman thing coming out. She needed me. So, as much as I did my

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Jack in the Pack best to put aside the thought that I needed that, I knew it was still there. In fact, I had a sudden desperate clawing feeling…like I’d strangle for air if it weren’t for her. That I couldn’t live without her. That I couldn’t let her out of my sight. “Did you fuck her?” By her tone—she was growling, too—I could surmise that she’d already guessed the answer to that. I wanted to ask if it made her jealous. I could see the very thought of it made her angry, but I didn’t know if it was because it was Giselle in particular, or what. I knew I needed to learn their history. Find out what was between the two of them. But I dismissed that, really, on the spot, when I realized, suddenly, that I would have to kill any man that came near Fera. My possessiveness was that strong. I didn’t like what that said about the changes I’d made. It made me internally explosive, warring through me—demanding that I re-examine myself and realize—what she had done to me, by being so good, so vulnerable, so open—was open up the monster in me. I didn’t like it. In the end, I didn’t answer. I didn’t deny it, but my eyes gave the truth of all I was working through away. She knew that I, in some ways, held her responsible for all that was happening. If she had been different, I’d have left her with the losers that morning. While I sat there, staring at her, I thought about that. And, yeah, a part of me wished I had done just

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Carys Weldon that. Or left her at the apartment. I had thought so hard on doing it. I was still thinking, I should walk away. Fera struggled with the that, I think, or maybe she thought I would walk away, because she turned her head to the window and never said another word. Not even through customs. In fact, I had to tell the guards, “She doesn’t speak English.” When they pressed, asking about Spanish, French and German, I said, “Look. No Englais. Capiche? Now leave her alone. She’s from a freaking European hole in the wall. Read her papers.” Did I say, they had been included in the bag? Even I had never heard of the place. What’s that tell ya? Someone had been thinking way in advance. Her picture, in human form, was on those, too. I’m talking…unbelievably…fucking… well-organized. Wouldn’t you agree? So, recapping what I was thinking again, I knew that Giselle and Hood were working together— outside of Lobos? I mean, Hood had promised to deliver Fera’s traveling papers before we needed to take off. So the bag and papers were definitely from him. The coat from Giselle. Had Giselle delivered both for Hood? Or what? Had there been a certain threat in that gift? Fera seemed to think so. Okay. So, I’m sitting on the plane, Fera’s got her back to me, staring out the window, and I’m thinking…how the hell did they get Fera’s picture on that passport? Funny, how little details seem out of place, and give you clues to a bigger picture once they snag into your brain.

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Jack in the Pack We had a plane switch over. Did I mention that? Traded out of O’Hare in Chicago, skipping through Stapleton, at Denver. The pain in the ass security was at O’Hare. Honestly, I kept looking around, thinking…what? Lobos doesn’t extend to hell on earth? I’ve always thought O’Hare airport fit right up there in the ranks of places I never wanted to visit, but seemed most frequently at. Top ten miserable. Ya know? But there was no wolf-smooth-through, if you get my drift. The whole process infuriated me. And I thought, if the whole deal didn’t kill me, I’d suggest they work on infiltration there. Maybe the Lobos slick oil could fine tune that little corner of the world. Anyhow, I got the passport out, looked at it again. Held it up to Fera. “When was this taken?” For a minute, I wondered, had I totally been put on? Had she been shifting for some time, and I’d just been snookered? How else could they get her human picture on her paperwork? She shrugged, not getting it…at first. Suddenly, she frowned and turned to me, took the visa out of my hand and examined it. She smoothed a finger over her hair, which looked a little mussed when you peered close. “When I was standing at the window this morning? When I got a drink? In your sink?” Her free hand clutched my wrist, and she asked, “Who has been following us, watching us…that would not attack us?” Her voice was low, a quick and terrified whisper. “I have been wondering how you got that. I assumed it was Giselle.” Her eyes, so communicative, accused again. “Are you taking me to

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Carys Weldon her?” That would have been a good time to explain a few things about Hood, and my relationship with him, not to mention what I knew about Lobos, and Giselle’s job there, how I had met her. But I was still trying to work it all out in my own mind. And you know…something wasn’t adding up. I ruled out the losers. They would have attacked, period, if they’d had the huevos to do it. I didn’t believe any of them could handle a camera. So, I was back to Hood—who, remember, was supposed to be the only other person who knew where I lived, and leading the bitches on a merry chase away from us. They hadn’t shown up, so I could assume he’d done that much, at the very least. So, if not Hood. Who? Who did he trust enough with our plans? With his sister’s life? Leer? Kayty? Or Giselle? Or, maybe my shitty-ass lawyer? I was sure he was lurking somewhere out there. Couldn’t shake that feeling. More and more, murder was becoming an acceptable thought. I know this because every time I thought of my old friend, and solicitor, I thought…I’m gonna kill the bastard when I get my hands on him. So, you can see, I was putting blame on him. I knew, down deep, that he was the one who actually put the original finger on me for Lobos. Mention of Giselle had put Fera into shock. Surely Hood knew the reaction she would have on his sister? Even now, the very thought that I might be taking her to Giselle, had her shaking. The fear in her eyes—it did something to me. Made me want to be her hero. I wrapped my hand around

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Jack in the Pack hers, peeling the passport from her, sticking that in my inside jacket pocket. I held her hand, tightly, trying to reassure her. I even said, “I wouldn’t know where to find her. So, you don’t have to worry about that.” Lobos, maybe. But, truth be told, I was pretty sure that Giselle could find us. I half expected her to be waiting when we got off the plane in Vancouver. Honestly, when I’d first started rummaging through the clothes, and saw the gift, I’d thought Hood. Then, I panicked a little that I might have to explain how he knew she was there with me, and all that. But I don’t think he left the stuff. He had to have been busy leading the hunt. Maybe sent a messenger. But who? Kayty? As you can see, I kept turning over the same evidence. I’d thought, a going away present? But when the smell of Giselle was on the coat…I didn’t think she’d be so sloppy as to leave her scent on something, unless she wanted us to know. The bag had definitely been from Hood. Who was Hood confiding in? Or who was sneaking behind his back? I considered the possibility that the bag had been left by Hood, earlier, and I just hadn’t noticed it, and the coat by Giselle. Oh, it was crazy. I couldn’t think. And that was probably because Fera was so close to me. All I wanted was to get her safe. I knew, now that we’d been together, she could suffer consequences for her affiliation with an unnatural. I had put her life at

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Carys Weldon risk. I wondered, very briefly, if Hood could have been setting his sister up for some reason. I dismissed that. Shame on her would be shame on him. Wouldn’t it? The wolf pack seemed to be about honor and respect. Or so I’d gathered at Lobos. Fera was searching my face, still waiting for an answer to her question. Like I would know who could be watching us. Was that…because I knew Giselle? I said, “Why don’t you tell me what you think, Fera?” Her mind was working, swift and sure, I could see that by the way her eyes glazed over. She was replaying conversations she’d overheard, things she’d seen. More and more, I was thinking that Giselle had to be a key component to this fear factor we were experiencing. “What do you know about Giselle?” I leaned even closer and asked, “Why would she leave you a coat?” And, “Why does her name scare you to death?” Fera had secrets. I could see that. Buried bits of info, that she’d put out of mind. Tiny keys to hidden locks. Our first flight was a double change over to Vancouver, British Columbia. Yeah. Kind of an odd place to send us for the first leg of a honeymoon. That’s what I preferred to call it. Why the hell there? “We are going some place cold, aren’t we?” We’d stowed the coats in the overhead compartment, but she looked up, so I’d be sure and get her drift. “This time of year? Yeah. I’d say it’s cold there.” Fera’s voice stuttered. She swallowed hard.

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Jack in the Pack “Giselle once told me that she’d send me to hell one day.” I fought a grin, since that had echoed my previous sentiments. I wanted to tell her, honey, we’ve already been to hell. God, I hate O’Hare. She shivered. I put an arm around her and drew her close. She let me. I said, “Well, I think it’s as cold as hell where we’re going.” O’Hare hadn’t been all too warm. I was definitely settling on Giselle as a primary suspect. What she was playing at, I wasn’t quite sure, but I knew I had to get Fera to tell me what she knew about the lady. You know what I know about her. Damn frolicking fucker. No inhibitions that I could see. But what was that she’d said, about the shake? Which made me wonder…is she a pawn of Hood’s or a victim? Ah, I was so frustrated that I couldn’t stand it. And, believe it or not, I hated rethinking my time with her. Hood had left her to educate me on garou, Lobos, etc. Had she been under the influence of something, like I had? Wait. She hadn’t had any trouble turning off the furnace when I’d been bitten, had she? So, maybe her comment about the shake had just been to make me think she was a victim? I looked around the plane. It was double-decker. We were upstairs in an airy cabin. I just hoped Fera didn’t have to go to the bathroom before the flight was over. I didn’t think she’d manage that tight little compartment without help. Maybe not at all. She could get mad. Go crinos and rip the door off,

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Carys Weldon punch a hole in the wall. Not that she’d shown those tendencies, but I’d seen too many bitches in crinos at Lobos not to be nervous. We’d been offered drinks, but I refused them for both of us. No more drinks and eats that I didn’t hunt down myself. I wasn’t trusting anybody. I sure as hell didn’t want to end up with another stint at Lobos. Drugged, waking up different places. That was bullshit. We weren’t on a private jet, either. No. We were flying Lobos International. It stands to reason that a world organization would run its own travel subsidiaries. And, they had their own cruise line—go figure. I’d seen some ads for it at Lobos, but had spaced it. Now, the irony of wolves running a water based business…I had to wonder if that wasn’t so they could dispose of their unwanted problems with the old cement shoe gig. I was seeing mob moves and espionage in every corner. I kept looking around, and down the aisle—to see if anyone seemed to be staring. The answer is…not obviously. I reconsidered where we were going. We had tickets to board an Alaskan cruise once we reached Vancouver. I’d thought that was odd, when I’d first seen them. I mean, until I’d remembered that Lobos owned the cruise company—but—putting Fera on a boat, when she’d barely gotten her legs, it seemed very…tight. Claustrophobic. At least we had first class cabin tickets on the airplane, but she wasn’t doing too well with the tight space, and the sure knowledge that she was backed into a corner, so to speak. No. Fera was definitely feeling vulnerable up there. And I was glancing at my watch every five

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Jack in the Pack seconds. I hadn’t argued about the travel plans because, at the time that Hood had mentioned them, and only briefly then, he said it was all up in the air, but he’d see that the tickets were delivered. Well, they had been, the morning that he wanted me to go get Fera. That had been my tip. They’d been slipped under my door. I hadn’t really taken time to consider the ramifications. I mean, I thought it was odd, but didn’t dig deeper into why we were taking a boat. Ya know? My mind was rambling, and Fera was watching my face the whole time. I kind’ve shook the thoughts and said, “You better tell me about your history with her—Giselle.” Then I cautioned, “We need to get up to speed, Fera, and share a little information, or we’re going to end up dead.” I kept my voice low. I didn’t want anyone overhearing us. And I’m sure Fera picked up on my covert glances. She groaned. “Ah. I wish you could mind-talk.” “What do you mean?” “You know, communicate in our heads. Without speaking.” If I had known about this capability, which I may have mentioned earlier, I had forgotten it. Too much going on. Ya know? “Who does that…mind talk?” I can tell you right now, I didn’t want to know. Psychic freaking werewolves? Did it ever fucking end? Maybe she sensed that. She said, “Doesn’t matter. You can’t do it.” “But you can?”

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Carys Weldon “Yes.” “After I took you from Pack City, did you mind talk with anyone else?” “No. Yes.” “Who?” She frowned up at me. “My brother, why?” “Did you tell him you were with me?” “No. But he kept asking me to answer him. I finally told him that I could hear him, and I didn’t like him invading my head, that I thought he had better things to do. I asked him if he’d found you.” “What did he say?” “He just growled, told me to stay put, and not to trust anyone because it was a bad night.” “How far away from each other can you get, and still do this?” “I have no idea. A few miles, maybe.” “He can’t communicate with you like that from anywhere else in the world? Like when he goes to work?” “I don’t think so. He never has.” It was like pulling teeth. A very slow process. “Can you tune into other mind-talkers?” “Who would I talk to up here? I don’t know anyone.” “I’m just trying to figure out if you have, maybe unwittingly. You need to try and block your thoughts, Fera. I’m afraid there are—spies.” She wrinkled her nose. “What are you not telling me?” “Look.” I whispered in her ear, “We’re flying Lobos International. What’s that tell you?”

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Jack in the Pack Fera slapped her lips together and refused to say another word again until we stepped off the plane, cleared the airport, and I’d hailed a cab to take us to the port. Not trusting the cabbie, I had him drop us at a restaurant. I knew I was starving, and was damn sure she had to be. Fera’s like a child in some respects. Everything delights her, or scares her. I chose an upscale restaurant that had private alcove style seating. A place I’d been to before. Thought I’d test the credit card at my disposal, although, I knew that it would allow Hood to track us. I ordered for her. A big, rare steak. There were trimmings, but she wasn’t really into the other stuff. Oh. She liked the French onion soup, and the gravy on her potatoes. I had to cut her meat for her. Her eyes were as big as saucers while she waited. “Kayty bought me a sandwich, and it was good, but it is very different to eat with…hands.” She didn’t know even the basics. How to spread her napkin, so I did that for her. Or to wipe her lips. So, I did that for her, too. But more than what we ate, we had an opportunity, away from prying eyes, to talk openly. I decided to dive right in, and tell her about my experience at Lobos, how I’d been bitten, and all that had transpired. I even told her that I had not killed an animal, or anything else. Fera listened intently, picking through her food, asking a few questions. And then came the hard part, she asked me about the time I’d spent with Giselle. Of course, in my original telling, I just glossed over the

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Carys Weldon first portion of that and explained that Giselle had been my tutor. “Tell me what Giselle taught you about.” “I told you. Lobos, history of garou and their breeding practices. That sort of thing. She let me at their database.” “It is odd that they would give a newcomer, an unnatural, such access to so much information.” “That’s what I thought. You know I’ve been set up for something.” She didn’t respond to that, but she did set down her fork and look me in the eye to say, “I was under protection.” “From…what?” “Pack City is a safe place.” “A neutral zone?” “Yes.” “I should not have left there.” It was time to truly come clean about her brother. “Hood wanted you out.” “I have no doubt about that. He has told me many times, that the time would come, that he would send someone for me.” “So…you were actually expecting me?” She shrugged. “Hoping.” She looked away. “Actually, I had given up hope. He’d been promising for a long time.” My hand found hers, lying on her thigh, and I squeezed a hold of it. “Why were you in Pack City?”

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Jack in the Pack

Chapter Nine part of me didn’t want to know. One thing I knew, up front, without her telling me was this…she was just a pawn in somebody else’s game. With every word she uttered, every sigh, I knew that she needed me for her champion. As much as I suspected Hood of foul play, and my lawyer, too, I was beginning to question if they hadn’t chosen me for the purpose of saving Fera. And I’m not just talking about getting her out of Pack City. She smiled down at our hands entwined and put her other one over them. Sniffing, she shrugged. She’d already told me it was a neutral zone, but I had a feeling there was something more. “At Pack City, you are rarely alone. There are too many people there. Ya know?” When she looked up at me, her eyes were bleak, and almost apologetic. “My mother killed herself.” I blinked. Wasn’t expecting that. And I had no idea what that meant to the rest of it. Fera’s hands started shaking and within a few seconds, it looked like her

A

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Carys Weldon whole body was going into a seizure. As fast as I could, I scooted in the booth to put my arm around her, pull her into my arms, let her bury her head against my chest. I knew I couldn’t do anything about her mother dying, and that just made me feel helpless. I crooned to her, “It’s okay,” a few times. I didn’t know what else to say. It only took me about two seconds of holding her before my mind started to go down the ‘gutter path’. I can’t help it. Fera turns me on. Her hair was so silky, smelled so…fresh. And that brought back memories of our washing session that morning. It seemed like so long ago. I asked her, “Would you like to go lie down?” We needed to get a motel room. Our cruise wasn’t supposed to leave until morning. “Yes, maybe.” A little awkwardly, not letting go of each other, we slid out of the booth. I used Hood’s credit card (with my new name) to pay the bill and we went to the closest motel. Well, hotel. I figured, since it was ‘on Lobos’ we were good for four star. The room was typical upscale. Real cherry furniture. Textured wallpaper and berber carpet. Marble threshold in the bathroom. Great view…of the back alley to the port, I think. But, with the lights out there coming up, it looked pretty. I waited until we were in the room to broach the subject of her mother dying again. I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about it, but she, just as surely, did. Well, maybe she didn’t want to, but she needed to. “You want to talk about your mother?” Yeah. You

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Jack in the Pack can bet I was hoping she’d say no. No guy likes to talk about that awkward shit…because it makes us feel useless. I sure wasn’t thinking that I could comfort her right into sex. I want to make that clear up front. My head really was, well, never mind. Maybe it was up my butt—pushing her to talk like that. “I don’t know.” Fera arched and stretched, like she was going to go out running. “Are you sore?” I was just worried about her. “I could give you a massage while you talk.” “A massage?” “Here.” I turned her around, and standing there, I started on her shoulders, telling her, “I can do this all over, if you like.” The idea made me happy, because that was something I was not useless at. “All the way to your toes.” “Mm.” That sounded promising. She closed her eyes, tipped her head, and seemed to be appreciating my ministrations. But any gathering of blood in my groin was quickly cut off when I noticed her features slipping…her chin and nose stretched. Now, I wanted to let go, scream, “Holy shit!” And I’m sure my grip tightened, because she growled, “Ouch! That hurts,” at me. I put my lips to her cheek, the part that was still human flesh, pale and…her. And pressed a little kiss—still massaging, just not so deep into the tissue. I asked, “Are you shifting on purpose?” She jumped out of my arms, backed against the

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Carys Weldon wall and held her arms out. Sure enough, hair was growing. Her claws were extending. She started pulling at her clothes. That was something to see in the light, while I was fully awake and coherent. It didn’t take long, and she sure as hell didn’t take as much pain, popping, grinding, or stretching as I did to do the morph. I didn’t even think to be afraid. I mean, her in crinos, me in human—I could not have defended myself from her. Not to mention that I couldn’t imagine hurting her in the first place. Warily, I asked, “Honey?” She snarled. Her gaze darted to and fro. I thought she might run and dive through the window. It looked clean and open. Fera knew about windows, but she might not be thinking clearly. Might not have heard of Plexiglas. I postured, arms up a little, in front of it. “Talk to me.” That may have been a little self-preservation begging. I knew, as long as she kept control of her head, we could work through whatever was making her shift. It absolutely had to be emotion induced. Her mother’s death? See? I’m not that slow. Wish I’d never brought ‘the bitch’ up. “You want to talk about it?” Again, I could feel my inner self kicking me in the butt repeatedly for that. Like, why you gonna go and ask her that again, fool? She was hulking up, getting taller, looming over me. Her shadow climbed up and curved onto the ceiling. I remember looking up at that and thinking…holy shit, I wouldn’t want to run into her,

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Jack in the Pack like this, in the dark. “I’m so angry,” she growled. “Uh. Okay.” Now I was looking for a way to get to the door. You know, suddenly thinking I should probably not be the only thing in front of her that she could rip apart. There was no way I could get past her to the door. So, I had to try and talk her through it. Yeah. You know how I feel about talking. “Why are you angry?” She swiped at the lamp on the table beside the bed. It went crashing into the wall. I said, “Fera, calm down.” “I don’t want to calm down!” Yeah. That was at pretty loud volume. And here I am thinking, shit, someone’s gonna call hotel security, or worse, the fucking police on us. Domestic disturbance or something. I tried another tack. I straightened my back, pointed toward the door. Yeah, I know this was a stupid move—now—but I was working off the top of my head. I said, “Go kill something, Fera. Maybe you’ll feel better.” I’d have been up shit creek without a paddle if she’d taken me up on it. But no, instead, she bounded onto the bed, stretched her neck toward me, put her beady little eyes on me, flashed them and said, “Why go out?” Okay, Fera’s eyes had never seemed beady to me before—or since. But, at that moment, I thought she wanted to eat me. I’m sure she could smell the sudden, shocked fear I was feeling. It took me a minute to work my jaw, but, finally I

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Carys Weldon managed to say, “Right. Kill me now, Fera. Maybe that’s what your brother had in mind.” She didn’t back down. I pretty much figured I was dead. I’d hoped mention of Hood would bring some measure of sanity into her head. There was a certain feeling of staring the devil down, there. But I held her gaze. Actually, I was afraid to turn away, afraid she’d slash me in the back. Wait. Actually, I was afraid she’d revel in the kill, you know, hurt me a little, watch me bleed and cry for a bit. A quick death, I could face. And if it took a stare down to bring it on, I was gonna give it to her. But she surprised me; she got control. She looked away first. Now, that’s basic pack and pecking order shit. He who can hold the stare longest wins. Dog knowledge. But honestly, I couldn’t remember that at the moment. But I’m taking notes now. I also know that staring a vicious dog in the eye can provoke an attack…they have a need to put you in your place. Ya know? So, bottom line—not a good idea. Don’t try that at home. She pulled her nose out of my face, and sat, like a dog, on her haunches on the bed. Within seconds, she shifted to full lupus and lay down, putting her nose between her toes. “I’m sorry.” I was afraid to move. If she could shift that fast, without warning, I knew she was a cut, a breed above, anything I’d met at Lobos. I’d watched a few of those bitches shift. And the losers at Pack City, too. I’m talking painful, muscle rending shit. But Fera, her

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Jack in the Pack move was grace, like something out of the movies, except…prettier. I tried for humor. “Please tell me your bark is worse than your bite.” She smiled. You know how a dog smiles, mouth open, tongue lolling, eyes alight, head up. She joked back, “I’m not saying a thing.” My legs finally got some feeling back in them. Did I mention that at one point they’d gone numb? I couldn’t have moved from that spot to save my life. Not when she was in my face like that. I was scared shitless. I didn’t realize it until later. I staggered backward into the chair in the corner of the room, just watching her. After several minutes, I said, “Are you holding something in that I should know about?” Sure as the freaking sun was gonna rise, her face started changing again, going crinos. I leaned my head back, hooded my eyes, and pretended like it didn’t bother me. I shrugged it off and turned my head to the window. I could see her reflection, and it wasn’t so scary. Half into crinos, she said, “They killed my father without reason. My mother, Hood and I were made to watch.” The image in the window glass was pretty horrific. She stood up on the bed, crouching over, flexing her…talons. I don’t know what else to call those claws she has at full crinos. And her teeth, holy shit has she got some fangs. I couldn’t bear to turn and look her in the eye. Not

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Carys Weldon again. I shrugged, pretended to be watching the lights in the distance. “It happened a long time ago, Fera.” She roared. “Not to me!” Calmly, I said, “Keep your voice down.” Fera leaped off the bed, got up in my face again, but I didn’t turn to look. I could see her expression just fine in the mirror image. She growled, “I relive it every day.” You know what? I was tired. Too dumb fucking tired to give another shit for my own life. I turned my head, looked her in the eye, and said, “So, what? Now you can shift, you’re gonna go get revenge? Is that what you’re thinking?” I was mad. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about my life any more. I was thinking about hers, and how it looked like she was going to waste it in chasing bad guys she couldn’t possibly win against. I was yelling, too, now, making her back up as I pulled myself up, while saying, “Go ahead, Fera. You’re a big girl now. You can fight any fight you want—once.” People in the next room beat on the wall. We didn’t care. I asked, “Do you honestly think that one, lone wolf, a bitch fresh out of the nursery, is gonna be able to go against the people who killed your father?” Picture us, eye to eye, both angry and frustrated. What I saw there was a little girl—because I was just looking in her eyes at that point. Not at the beast. I saw my girl. And that changed my tone, softened it. Sadly, I said, “Fera, if you do that, where will that leave me?” I wanted to cry, just at the thought. Mostly in

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Jack in the Pack frustration. I mean, I spent my whole life running, climbing mountains, doing a lot of death defying stunts—because I had no one to live for. And here I’d found someone and she was gonna go and do something crazy like…go after murderers. Yes. At that moment, I hated Hood all over again. And that piece of shit lawyer, and her—for thinking about leaving me—without thinking about me at all. I know we’d only been together for twenty-four hours or so, but you can’t tell me what I was feeling wasn’t right. I was in love with her, consumed with her. And I couldn’t imagine life without her. That’s when we heard the knock on the door. “Hotel security. Everything all right in there?” Putting a hand to the back of my neck, I rubbed. Fuck if that wasn’t irritating. Just what we needed. Buttheads at the door. “Yeah. We’re fine.” Okay, so we weren’t fine. “Open up, please. I’d like to see for myself.” Now, that was funny. I looked at Fera and said, “Better make yourself presentable, sweetheart.” “Don’t let him in,” she growled, but I could see a little fear there. I told her, “Shift, honey, he’s got a key.” “What?” she squealed and bounded into the bathroom, shutting the door. I heard the lock click a second later. “I’m gonna have to open up.” I jumped to the door and started undoing the interior locks, pulling it open for him. I smiled as inanely as I could. “What’s the problem?” Maybe a little too innocent and chipper,

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Carys Weldon considering the yelling about killing we’d done. I wondered if the actual words had carried, or just the tone. “We got more than one call about a fight here.” I shook my head, still playing stupid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fera made a few groaning noises in the bathroom. The security guard looked interested in that, asked loudly, “You okay in there?” Posturing in front of the door, I said, “My girlfriend’s dinner isn’t sitting well.” “Just the same, I think I’ll wait and ask her, myself, if she’s okay.” I wanted to punch him in the head. Instead, I popped a fist against the bathroom door and said, “Hear that, Fera?” He jumped. Fera had such great ears, and I knew she had at least one pinned to the inside of that door. Probably made her jump, too. “You need to pull yourself together. This asshole’s not leaving until you show your pretty face.” I showed him my teeth. “Fucking rent-a-cop. I’m gonna complain to management about you.” “Just doing my job.” He backed up a little, because, truth be told, I’m a big guy. He was a pot-bellied pig with a gloss top. That’s when he recognized me. “Hey. Aren’t you that Olympic guy—weren’t you killed in—” “Do I look dead?” “You’re a ringer for that sucker.” That was funny to me. I laughed. “Yeah, I know. A

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Jack in the Pack dead ringer.” “I need to do a walk-through.” Now, remember, she’d shredded her clothes. Luckily, they were in a pile, and the guy didn’t pick them up when he checked out the room. I let him. I figured, what the hell. Hood could pay for the damn lamp. Lots of people broke lamps. “What happened here?” “We got a little…jiggy.” I smiled. Fera opened the door and peeked out. She squeaked, “He’s still here?” I laughed. “Of course he is. He’s earning is ten bucks an hour.” She batted her big eyes at him through the crack in the door. He said, “Can you come out, let me see that you’re okay?” “Can’t I just tell you?” Peering at her, he said, “I gotta see for myself.” She crooked her finger toward me. I went over to her, and she whispered, “Naked?” I kissed her quick. She was so cute. Then I shook my head and said, “Not on your life. Can you wrap a towel?” “I tried. It’s not working.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. Said, “Gimme a second. She can’t get the towel to stay.” I slipped in, wrapped a towel and tucked it in. It barely went around her, and her thigh stuck out. I said, “Don’t move too much or you’ll lose it.” We opened the door and she stepped out so he could see. Both her hands were clutching the towel

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Carys Weldon like it was armor that could disappear any minute. “You okay, ma’am?” She looked up at me. “Do I look…not okay?” I smiled. “You look beautiful.” I didn’t care that rent-a-jerk was standing there, I reached out, put a hand through her hair, pulled her close and kissed her. Not any cheap shit, either. Full blown, mother fucking, tongue down her throat possession. And she melted into me, forgot her towel, started clinging. The idiot left, pulled the door behind him. The towel slipped to the floor, and I walked her backward to the bed. She was pushing and pulling at my clothes, stripping me as we moved. We are best together when we don’t talk. We can block out the rest of the world, and just enjoy what’s between us. At that moment, it was my hard cock and her wet pussy. She fell back onto the bed and I climbed right on up, slid right on in. We rocked with the rhythm of our hearts, fast, but steady. The closer we got to climax, the more she moaned, the hotter I got, the faster I pumped. And the neighbors beat on the wall again. That made me smile down at her, and say, “Go ahead, honey, moan all you want. Let it out.” She did, too. Nice and loud. And so I got into it with a few grunts of my own, asking, “Ya like that?” Fera moaned some more. The thumping got louder. And when I hit the exact spot for her, she yelled,

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Jack in the Pack “Yes! Right there!” So, our neighbor kept hitting the same spot on the wall, beating out a tacky tattoo for me to finish up with. It didn’t take long. Airily, Fera said on a sigh, “I thought about this on the airplane.” “You did?” I could hardly move. She forced me to, though. Roll off of her so she could prop herself up on my chest and look at my face. “Yes. Most of the trip.” “When you get thinking like that, you should tell me about it.” I felt her fingers twirling circles in my chest hair. It tickled. “You’d like that?” “Yeah.” “You were thinking too hard.” “There’s a lot of things to worry about, I guess.” I leaned up and kissed her, thinking more than I ever could have dreamed of. She bit her lip, and I could tell she wanted to tell me something. “What?” I asked. Figured, that might make it easier. “I do want to avenge the death of my parents.” What could I say to that? “Wanting and doing are two different things. Thinking before we do…murder…is what separates the people from the animals, Fera.” “I know.” “But that’s not what’s bothering you?” I just took a guess at that. “Hood was afraid that I would do what my mother

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Carys Weldon did. She couldn’t take living without my father. She was just too lonely, ya know?” I put my arms around her, pulled her into the crook at my chest, and ran my fingers through her hair. “I know. Promise me you won’t.” She snuggled. “I was so lonely.” “Promise me, Fera.” The silence stretched between us and I realized that was because she’d fallen asleep. I lay like that, just holding her, for hours. Staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the lack of loneliness I felt when I had her in my arms. I worked out something. I’d take a cash draw on that credit card. A big one. Maybe at a few banks. And we’d try and sell our cruise tickets. Then, I’d take Fera away, to a place where Lobos couldn’t find us. I’d find a way to keep her safe. To keep her. I knew I couldn’t solve the world’s problems, but I could do the one most important thing. I could love Fera, and not abandon her. Somehow, I knew that’s what she feared most. She sighed in her sleep, and cuddled closer, and I kissed the top of her head, whispering, “I love you, Fera.” After my experience in the pack, all I wanted was to get Fera, and me, as far away from Pack City, and Lobos International, as I could. But I knew, we’d have to keep moving, to stay one leap ahead of…her family’s enemies, whoever they were. Near the dawn hours of morning, I finally fell asleep. My dreams weren’t pleasant. I kept hearing

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Jack in the Pack Fera calling for me, then crying for Hood, and seeing shadows everywhere. But the oddest thing of all was the appearance, out of nowhere, of Kayty and Leer. And the feeling of relief I felt when they appeared. I wonder…was the dream an omen, or just a spiritual confirmation that the pack is coming after us?

THE END

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About the Author Weldon writes about werewolves from a Carys haunted hollow in the Missouri Ozarks, where

sometimes the howling of the wolves keeps her awake at night.

A lover of canines from a small age, and a fan of White Wolf Gaming as an adult, she couldn’t resist weaving her own fascinations into a romantic series.