SevenMarkPackAttackMobi (18 page)

Giselle’s eyes looked about as wide as saucers as she swiveled her upper body toward her husband’s, waiting to see what his reaction was. True to form, though, he turned it on her, and asked, “What’s the matter, darling, having a little trouble with that one?”

“I don’t see you drinking up. Do I?” Very quickly, she added, “This is your game, Hood. You make the rules. I just play by them. Remember?”

He smiled, then. And I felt it, insidious as carbon monoxide, slithering like a snake amongst us all. He emptied that glass in a long draw, to the last drop, and set it on the table.

She hesitated though. And he leaned into her. We watched him look down her cleavage, sniff around her jaw, kiss her temple...whisper, “I have my own definition of fidelity.” He kissed her temple again and pulled back.

The tension was taut as a bow string in the ready position. Would she drink to my toast, or his definition?

Giselle, with a tinkling laugh, said, “I see your definition and raise you.” She drank it down, too, in one big gulp.

I tried to lighten the mood. “Whew. This is a table I can’t afford to bet at.” Then I apologized to them. “Sorry about the toast. I’m not as good with words as Barklay is, I’m afraid.” No one said anything, so I added, “Stakes here are too high.” I scooted my chair out. I needed some air. Wanted to run.

Wanted to push the definition of fidelity from my brain. I don’t know why I’d suggested monogamy. But it was obvious that Hood separated physical acts from emotion. They all got up, too.

It was evident, immediately, that Giselle was tipsy. And giggly. And completely without any sense of propriety. She slipped a hand in the crook of Frank’s arm. I saw it for what it was. She’d have tipped completely over if he hadn’t been there. And he backed up for her, sensing her need.

Hood had been crowding her from behind, I think and she jumped as if he’d goosed her, then recovered quickly by hugging up to Frank. He patted her hand, then peeled her free and handed her directly to her husband.

Giselle’s back stiffened perceptibly and she fought to get a stern look on her face, to be serious. To match Hood’s expression. I looked between them and wondered, for the umpteenth time,
what’s up between you two? One minute I think you’re in love, and the next I think you can’t stand each other.

Hood’s gaze jerked over to mine. His fingers, I saw in my peripheral vision, dug into Giselle’s waist. Amber scooped up both the bouquets and passed Giselle hers.

She asked, “Where to now?”

“Look. Maybe I should take off. Go see a few friends.” I apologized in my own way. “Give you newlyweds some time alone, without my stupid thoughts intruding on everything.”

Frank said, “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” He looked at Hood, though. It was whatever the man wanted.

He surprised us, though, by turning to Giselle and asking her, “What shall it be, sweetheart?”

The bitch had a death wish. For all of us. That’s all I can say. Sweet as you please, melt in your mouth, she said, “It’s a wedding
party
. What fun is it if it’s just you and me?”

None of us breathed. At least, not until Hood moved. And that took a minute. He is a master of self-control. I could learn a lot from him. He took his time, then smiled slowly at her, and planted a kiss on her lips. “You’re absolutely right, of course.”

Frank said, “How about I arrange for a car, then. We can cruise the strip.”

“I’ll go with you.” Amber jumped at the chance to get the hell out of Dodge, and away from me, I guess.

“What do you want? Me to go or stay?” I looked Hood in the eye. My instinct was to chase after Amber. But I didn’t want to turn my back on Hood.

Giselle took the choice out of our hands. “Stay.”

And that, of course, pissed Hood off. He didn’t say anything, though. Just tightened his lips again. But she didn’t leave it at that. She turned to Hood, pouting up at him and said, “Why don’t you go make sure they get the right kind of wine. I don’t want to mix my drinks, or end up throwing up.”

Now, it would have been reasonable for either of them to ask me to see to that. Or to assume that Frank, as efficient as he is, or Amber, would think of that. Giselle’s taste in liquor seemed pretty set. Over dinner, she’d discussed preferences. Not that I’d really paid all that much attention. But she was pushing him. Forcing him to leave her and I alone for some reason.

And if he’d stayed, it would have shown an insecurity on his part. Some weakness or doubt. And Hood is nothing if not about appearances. Real smoothly, he said, “Sure.”

I watched him walk away. We waited in silence together. She turned to me, then, and teetered on her heels. I caught her and let her use me for a leaning post. Firmly, she said, “I do not want him to go near Amber ever again.”

I searched her eyes. There was desperation there. And I have to say, I had to love her for it. She was so in love with Hood that she felt pain to her core being over the thought of him cheating on her.

“Amber doesn’t really want to sleep with him. She told me so herself.”

“You have to stake a claim. Insist he keep his hands off.”

I held down a laugh. “Right. I’ll tell your husband to keep his hands off of a woman that gives him carte blanche.” I growled, “Why don’t you tell him to keep his dick in his pants. It’s not like you aren’t woman enough to entertain him.”

 
Her teeth ground together. Her eyes glittered. They watered. She started to shake. And she rolled into my arms. And I thought,
oh, shit.

I held her up. I circled her with my bulk. And I cuddled her head to my chest. All the while, I looked around like a desperate man, thinking,
I don’t want Hood--or Amber--to find us like this.

Giselle read my mind. She shuddered, sniffed, but couldn’t get control of herself. I heard myself crooning, “There, there,” to her, and stroking her hair.

She told me, her face still buried, “Barklay understood, you know. He...he helped me.”

“What? Helped you what?” I kind’ve pulled her head back, so I could look at her face.

Her whole body was pinned, and melted to mine. Not that I really noticed at the moment. But I’m sure it looked like we fell into each other’s arms the minute that Hood turned his back.

“I need protection, M--Mark.”

“From who?”

“Hood.”

“You just married him.”

With a thumb, I wiped a tear off her cheek. “Only because he made me.”

That had me frowning down at her. “You didn’t want to marry him?”

“No. I mean...”

Before she could explain, we felt his presence. Call it a prickling awareness. Our heads jerked in unison in his direction. We had no idea how much he’d heard. But, judging from the distance, he’d been close enough--if tuned in--to hear her say no to my question.

He had two magnum bottles in his hands. I remember looking down at the white-knuckled grip. It wasn’t that I was afraid of him. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Held his wife up while we waited. Comforted her for whatever she was crying about. But I sure felt guilty. Maybe it was guilty for knowing he’d made her marry him.

I read accusation, and disappointment, in his expression. Her body went rigid. I went to set her on her feet, away from me, but her fingers clung to my shirt, and she swayed back into me. Looking from him, to her, I asked, “What are you playing at, Giselle?” It was a whisper.

She lipped, “Help me. Please.”

I tried to read her mind, but it was blank. Amazingly, totally, blank.

Hood joined us. He didn’t say anything for a minute or two, and when he did, it was, “Thanks for holding her up.”

To Giselle, he said, “You’ve had too much, you know.”

It seemed incongruous, with him standing there, holding those two magnums. She pulled herself out of my arms, smoothed her hands down her sides, drawing attentions to her curves. We both watched as she got control of herself. Tugging on the upper part of her gloves, making sure she was straight and in order, she said, “It’s my wedding night. Who would blame me for getting drunk?”

For marrying you.

He flinched as if he’d been slapped. I thought I’d change the subject. I said, “You know, I really gotta say this...”

Hood turned on me, waiting, watching my body language, gauging my honesty.

I swallowed heavily. “Amber’s gotten under my skin. I don’t know why, either.”

“Is that so?” It came out as a drawl, no amusement attached. We endured some silence before he supposed, “Maybe it’s because she’s a good fuck.”

Giselle’s face was averted. She watched the direction that Amber and Frank had gone. She didn’t move a twitch when he said it. I felt sorry for her. I wondered how Bark had helped her deal with Hood. Or how anyone could help her, now that she was, for all intents and purposes, his property now. She rolled her shoulders and I guessed that she’d read my thoughts. Hood stood a little taller, too, as if the thought empowered him. Like he needed more empowerment.

I said, “She’s a total bitch.” I grinned. “I like that in a woman. Don’t know why.”

He asked, “You ever do straights?” Human women that didn’t shift.

That got a noncommittal shrug out of me.

“Bastets?”

I glanced over at him. Felt a little...microscoped. I didn’t answer him. And, in that, he had his answer.

He told me, “Your brother had a thing for cats.”

Was he trying to pick a fight? I didn’t say anything to that, either. I stared off, like Giselle, wondering what the hell was taking Frank so long.

Hood pushed me. “He started a fucking war.”

Now, I had an urge to roar at him. That wasn’t my fault. I had nothing to do with it. I was not my brother’s keeper. But that isn’t how garou shit works. I
was
my brother’s keeper. And I’d done a damn lousy job of it. And Hood wanted me to know that he thought so, I guess.