SevenMarkPackAttackMobi (3 page)

So that’s why I’m writing this. Trying not to dwell on her fine form in stretched sheer--what kind of fabric is that? I never had a reason to go into a fabric store before, but I’m thinking if I’ve got to write down things, I should do a little research. Elasticized lace?

Forget the fabric store. I bet I can get the answer at the adult specialty shop. Probably where she picked that number up, anyway.

From around the corner she said, “I don’t hear that pen scratching.”

Her ears are better than...well, just about anybody’s.

So, okay, but I think her ploy is backfiring. I muttered, “I feel a lot more like Vesuvious now than I did before.” I unzipped my pants, to see the state of the volcano.

Oh. Don’t
even
judge me. You can’t begin to understand the pricktease I’m living with. And clothes? Who made that shit up in the first place? Some prude bitch, no doubt. I was born naked, and made to be naked. You can’t tell me different.

Inhale, Mark. Don’t get worked up.
I keep telling myself that, but--my cock is steel rod hard, achingly so. That’s what she does to me.

Definitely holding back an eruption. Man, I had to ease the pain. Wrapping my hand around myself, I leaned back, closed my eyes, pictured Amber in that damn cat suit.

One stroke. Two.

“Oh, I don’t
think
so.” She startled me out of my reverie. “Zip that up and get busy.”

“I
was
getting busy,” I growled like a peevish child. I’m not always immature--just when she does shit like that. I like the tease, the holding back, but at some point you gotta get cranky. I should’ve beat off before she got home. I should’ve just tossed her down.

I think she read my mind. Her eyelids narrowed. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the wall--on the far side of the room, pursing her lips. She asked, “Ya think?”

I got the message. She wasn’t leaving, and I wasn’t relieving.

Not liking that, I pissed again, “I don’t know what to write.”

Now, I should probably get this straight, up front. I’m not a whiner. But...
fuck
...she has me so frustrated, I can’t stand it. To tell you the truth, it pisses me off when I hear it in my voice.

I think she likes pushing me, which is why I try real hard to keep a grip on things.

“I know what will cool your ardor.” She suggested with a straight face, “Write about Frank. Or better yet, write about your brother.”

That did it. I could feel my manhood shrink instantly.

“Better yet, write about that day we met. That would pretty much have to include all three of us, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, if I start with choking that guy.” Yes. Choking was on my mind. One good grip, that’s all I needed. Damn, I wish she’d come closer. I had a feeling that was a crotchless setup. She couldn’t be so cruel as to lock her ‘precious’ up in an entry-proof teaser, could she?

“Works for me.”

Next thing I knew, she was gone again. I had to blink and retrace. What worked for her?

I heard the icemaker. It didn’t take me a second to picture what was going on in the kitchen--I could see her--throat arched backward, face tipped to the ceiling, the early evening light coming through the window over the sink--all in that cat suit--icing her nipples through the lace, trying to stay cool.

She thinks the A/C’s on the fritz. The truth is I turned it on low, hoping she’d be hot enough to get undressed and sweaty, that maybe my pheromones would get to her. Natural wolf cologne, some say, is hard to resist.

So far she seems to be ignoring both me and the heat, pretty well, too. In fact, Amber’s got me by the balls that way. The more she turns her back, the faster I follow--and try to head her off. I don’t really know what she wants out of me, besides writing in the damn diary.

Sighing loudly from the other room, she said, “Mark.”

I picked up the pen, clicked the tip hard and opened the bastard.

Really surprising me, she intoned, “Don’t do it if you don’t want to. I won’t force you.” Then she groaned to herself, muttering, “Gaia knows I can’t force you to express your feelings. Maybe this isn’t gonna work out.”

That bothered me. I wanted to throw the pissin’ pen and book and show her how well things could work out. We don’t need to talk. I don’t need to work through any emotions, or issues. I want to be with her. That should be enough.

A million ways, I’ve shown her how much I’m in love with her, but she’s right on one thing. I don’t put things into words. If you say it, you know, or put it into words in any way--like writing--that makes you vulnerable. It’s the first rule of garou. There’s always someone looking to climb over you, and your weaknesses are how they do it.

I
did
throw the pen and let the book fall shut, and ran a hand through my hair. It needs cut. Down to my shoulders now. I peeled a reddish-blond strand from between my fingers. Fuck. I’m losing hair over it all. Maybe I should hack it off or shave my head? Yeah, I’m deflecting what I’m really thinking.

I’m gonna lose her.

Gaia.

Looking up at the ceiling, I asked myself, “Why can’t you...?”

I cut the thought off, instead. I know I’m a bastard, a tongue-wagging son of a bitch. Pinching my cock and balls, I squeezed the pain of my existence. If I could just stop thinking with it, I could figure out what I’m not doing right.

Amber walked through the room again, straight to the front closet. It took me a second to realize what she was doing. Walking out--dressed like that. I did a doubletake when it sank in.

My brain jumped before my legs moved, and I thought...Oh. No
fucking
way. I got up, crossed the room with lightning speed, and slammed a fist to the front door above her head as she pulled her coat on. She didn’t even flinch. She reached up and fluffed her hair in the back, over her collar. For a second, I thought I almost saw a smile. Must’ve been my imagination.

I swallowed, reaching deep for the right words. You know, something that wouldn’t tick her off, that would sound reasonable--that would say ‘take your coat off and
don’t even
think about going out on me’. But she mesmerized my brain waves.

Big brown eyes, pouty lips. I leaned in, nose to nose with her. I wanted to kiss the hell out of her, literally.

She was putting off some vibes, though. Daring me.

I refocused, letting my attention travel up to her eyes. That set me back on my heels. Her gaze could’ve killed me--the pupils enlarged, blazed red, and nearly burned me through. A hint of crinos barely under control. The werewolf within reach. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to know she was pissed and, seriously, headed out.

I had no idea, really, what I had done. I just knew I didn’t want her going out like that, in that outfit, with that mood.

“Move, Mark.”

I shook my head. “You
are not
going out like that.”

Defiantly, she lifted her chin. “You gonna stop me?”

Gaia, she’s beautiful like that.

Did I mention that she’s taller than me? Barefoot, we’re pretty close. In those heels--

I’m not some scrawny ass, either. Think bulldog, fucking linebacker.

But you can probably see by this, I’ve got a problem with her. I’m almost afraid to put my hands on her. I keep circling, waiting for her to say it’s okay.

I’ve never been like that before. I’m afraid I’ll drive her away. But, Gaia, I think I’m driving her away as it is.

Putting a hand to my chest, gripping my shirt in a full fist, she made me move. Oh, I could have held my ground, I could have fucking shoved her to the floor and ripped that damn suit off of her, but she would have flipped out, gone crinos, slashed me and left me bleeding.

Yeah. I’m a garou. I could crinos, too. And I could damn well fucking rape her and leave
her
bleeding. But that ain’t cool. It ain’t ever cool to even consider rape, in my opinion. A man ain’t nothing if he’s gotta use his sheer strength to work a woman.

But I was itching to put my hands on her, to hold her and to show her who was boss.

But you gotta see what’s going on here.

I’m treading water as it is. And when I talk about bleeding...I’m not worried about a few pissy-ass wounds. I’m talking about my heart, and her leaving me altogether. The thought is strangling me, tying my tongue and my hands.

I let her walk out on me. I backed up, took my hand off the door--and grudgingly let her go--without saying another word.

Before going, she growled, “Don’t ever try and stop me again.”

The sound of her retreating steps fading, and the car starting, had me punching the wall. I put a hole beside the door, and my forehead to the raised wood panel, wondering which adage was really true...if it’s yours, let it go and it’ll come back to you...or hang on to what’s yours with all your might.

Was I hanging too tight? Or not tight enough?

The Diary Of Mark Wolf

Chapter One

Picture my cousin, Frank, following me like a chicken-puppy--the kind that nips at your heels and runs, squealing, if you turn on him. Normally, he has the sense to keep his distance from me when I’m in a mood.

Frank’s usually the lurker type that slinks around the shadows, just out of reach, watching everything. He’s also one of those puny little round men, the typical receding-hairline accountant, with black-rimmed plastic glasses, a bow tie and an ugly, high dollar suit. Some stretchy fabric, like polyester or nylon. I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like that. And he probably isn’t more than five foot eight with his best shoes on.

I, on the other hand, tower. Not that I’m remarkably tall. Like I said, I’m just over five foot ten, but my shoulders are bigger than most football players. Did a little of that--back in the day. Certainly know how to give and take hits. I’m like a tree: big trunk, log-like limbs. And I am, by far, in the prime of my life.

Hell if I’m not.

Dogging my heels from the boardroom, Frank muttered, “I thought we agreed to conduct the executive meetings of Wolf Enterprises in a civilized manner.”

Pausing mid-stride, and spinning to face him, I asked my cousin with a growl, “Do you have a death wish?”

At that moment, I wanted to kill him--and anyone else within reach. With one slash, I could’ve slit his throat. And I don’t really think he questioned whether or not I was contemplating it. I’m sure it was there, in my red-brown eyes. Eyes that can see right through a man, almost. I have what you’d call a penetrating stare. And my reddish colored hair is a definite tip-off to the killer temper I suffer to keep under wraps.

Not that anyone at Wolf Enterprises had any doubts as to that. They all knew what I did for the company. Bark’s brother, the bag man. That’s what they called me behind my back. But I heard them.

I liked to think of myself as the Enterprise’s equalizer. The Lobos playing-field leveler. I evened things out, ya know? And I did a good job of it, too.

Frank sniffed, looking at my hands.

Unlike your average man in a rage, I wasn’t balling my fists. There was no thought of punching Frank. On the contrary, I was staying loose, loose enough to shift into crinos on him. Shook it out, even. Rolled my shoulders. Spread my feet.

Quick kill, no time to react, that was what went through my mind. Make an example.

He licked his lips while I fought the urge--but he didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Give him credit for that. He didn’t provoke me more.

Frank was the last one I should have wanted to kill, but
he was
the messenger. The one that had told me just how bad things were. The one who was pushing his personal luck to the limits just by standing within reach.

Let me say this, too...I might be big and bulky, but I’m fucking quick for a Gaia-damned lumbering wolf. He never would’ve seen it coming. I reminded him, “That was before I saw a news report of a mass murder scene with my brother’s things in plain view.”

Victim or murderer? The jury was still out. Forensics would have to determine whose body parts were there. Had Bark gone ape-shit and killed innocents? Or defended himself against...?

Frank, of course, struggled with his manhood, and me. There we stood, in our expensive three-piece suits, every outer inch human, smack dab in the middle of the eight-foot-wide hallway, taking up most of it with our posturing stances, people pinned in the room behind us, afraid to breathe. Funny, but I got the impression that he was ready to defend them. That he would have actually taken me on if I’d decided to go back in there.

I’d already lost my temper, grabbed one guy by the throat, and--truth be known--was on my way out so I wouldn’t do bodily harm to any of the rest of my employees. I was
that
close.

To letting the real me out.

So was Frank, albeit his lupine is a much more pathetic excuse for one, if you ask me. In my experience, he tends to tuck tail and talk his way out of stuff more than stand up like the garou he was born to be. That grates, ya know?

And the truth was that I couldn’t believe he wasn’t sucking it in between his legs and running for cover. I gained a little respect for him there. Not much, but still...
some.
Maybe he wasn’t as gutless as I’d always thought him to be.

I told him, “I don’t like the fact that you’re crowding me.”

That he wasn’t backing down. It was one of those defining seconds in time, I think, where I can see that my whole world, and everything I ever knew, was truly evolving--into a friggin’ nightmare.

I mean, really, if the wimps weren’t lying down any more, and even they were in my face...you can see how bad things had gotten out of control, can’t you? And I’d been off the plane from my cut-short vacation less than twenty-four hours. Hardly enough time to assimilate all the information that had been thrown at me.

Not only had my brother disappeared, the company was going under. We were hanging on by a thread. Embezzled. My brother, Bark, was suspected. News had leaked. Stock was plunging.

I’d made a few calls, brought Frank in. In a couple of short hours, he’d assessed things, come up with a game plan for recovery. We’d already done one press conference--assuring the public that Wolf Enterprises was under my control, that I had stepped up to the helm, and there was no weakness in our governing structure.

We’d admitted to nothing. Merely deflected all the questions.

Frank had been amazing at fielding the deep audit questions and deferring to me on the issue of investigating my brother’s disappearance. But that had been before the newscast, when I’d flipped out.

But, honestly, it was one of those bad deals, ya know? Even the pissy-ass accountant
I had hired
was on my back suddenly. I wasn’t used to that sort of shit. Nobody had ever dogged me. Standing there, facing Frank, with him not giving me an inch of breathing space, surreality hit me.

It didn’t seem real at all. I mean, I was lost in disbelief between the early news report, Frank, and all that had been dumped in my lap, and to top that bad morning off, I
was
losing control in the worst way. And that, more than anything, scared me.

The strangling episode? Nothing. If I’d wanted the guy dead, he would’ve been. I was simply making a point to that whole room. But there, in the hall, the confrontation with Frank, went on forever.

Stay loose, I told myself. Plenty of time to figure things out.

But loose was dangerous. For everyone around me. And I had the sneaking suspicion that there really wasn’t that much time. That if I didn’t figure things out, and soon, we’d all be in the toilet. Or dead in the water.

Or dead in the woods. The picture from the broadcast filled my brain again. Something there, beside Bark’s possessions on the scene, was not right. What was it?

Beyond the obvious frustrations, something gnawed at the back of my psyche--something I couldn’t put a finger on--that would clear everything up. The mess I was in just felt too organized, too wrapped up and cut and dried. Too obvious.

And that rankled. Flat out pissed me off. Somebody was treating me like a monkey. A lab rat. Pull the strings and he’ll ring the bell for cheese.

Or call for help. Admit weakness.

But who would I call? Lobos International? The big dog? Calling family couldn’t be construed as weakness, could it?

Rubbing the back of my neck, I asked myself, could I handle this? Or did I need to get back-up? Would my own posse be enough to untangle the threads of deceit? I glanced over Frank’s head to the boardroom of cowering number crunchers. Somebody in there was a chickenshit. I could smell the coward.

I felt the hair on my neck rising. It prickled over the backs of my hands, too, and I knew, sure as shit, that Frank could smell my hormones raging. Hell, every garou in the building could probably smell it. His nostrils flared, and he backed up a step, dropped his eyes, and shrank visibly. Minimizing my target?

The thought helped me a little. I
did
intimidate him. But to his credit, he didn’t exactly cringe.

Very quietly, he said, “You need to get a grip, or I’m gone.”

Feeling my shoulders straining against fabric, and wanting to break out of the confines of the suit I was in, it was all I could do not to flip into crinos. I was so furiously, frustratedly angry.

I didn’t like Frank reminding me that he’d only come aboard with my assurance that his physical person would not be threatened, that I would keep my attitude in check. I’m a little famous for going wild, tearing things up a bit. I could see, already, that having Frank working for me would be a fight--strictly my inner turmoil. Especially under the circumstances.

He went on. “I know you like lashing out at things. It’s how you get things done, and it may have worked for you for a long time, but things have changed. You gotta do it Bark’s way--and mine--or we’re screwed.”

I couldn’t see changing. Not any time soon, anyway. I grunted, “Bark’s way didn’t work, obviously, and I’m in charge now.”

Frank looked me over, considering his words before he said, “Right. You’re in charge now, Mark. Think about it.”

Forgive me for regressing from the subject. While writing in my journal, my mind wandered off to something Amber said to me once. We were, of course, getting ready to have sex. I know, I know, my mind is wrapped up in that. So sue me.

Anyhow, I tied her up. No, wait. Rolled her fishnet thigh highs down and teasingly climbed up over her, lifting her arms above her head, kissing her, glad to have one less article of clothing off of her skin, out from between us.

While tasting her lips, I asked, “What would you do if I tied your wrists?”

She countered with, “What would you do?”

“Oh, I dunno,” I lazily drawled, kissing her again, nuzzling down to her ear, licking a little.

Surprising me, she said, almost warmly, “Go ahead.”