5: Hood - Pack Trust Read online

  Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC

  Price, Utah

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  5: Hood

  Pack Trust

  ISBN: 1-60180-051-7

  Copyright ã 2008 Carys Weldon

  Cover Art Copyright @ 2008 Scott Carpenter

  All rights reserved.

  Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, 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.

  Copying, scanning, uploading, selling and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission from the publisher is illegal, punishable by law and will be prosecuted.

  Available online at:

  http://www.mojocastle.com/

  Also By Carys Weldon

  Caresses Well Done

  Angel B.E.T.

  The Pack Series

  2: Leer - Pack Takeover

  3: Fera - Pack City

  4: Jack - In the Pack

  5: Hood - Pack Trust

  6: Bark - Pack Taboo

  7: Mark - Pack Attack

  Dedication:

  To those who find trust to be the hardest part of loving.

  5: Hood

  Pack Trust

  Introduction

  By Hood

  Family is everything. We all know that, but taking care of business? That’s more important than anything, because, you do that wrong, everybody that depends on you dies. Yeah, I’m under a little pressure.

  I fully believe in that line from The Godfather: ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’.

  Nothing’s simple any more. The older I get, the more power I gain, the harder it is to see black and white. Everything’s a shadow. Everybody’s a suspect. I’m just trying to find out who’s on my team, and who isn’t.

  Worse, I can’t say I’m getting more control with age. I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose it. I mean, a man can’t do it all alone. Eventually he’s gonna have to trust somebody, right? And that’s when he gets it. Everybody knows that.

  Prologue

  Just inside the door of his campus home, to the tune of jazz music coming from the bedroom down the hall, young Professor Burkett rested his hands easily on Giselle Racini’s waist as he kissed her. Swaying with the rhythm, rubbing himself against her, hoping to coax her into staying, he had to nudge his cat from between their legs.

  They hadn’t been out of bed long, and Giselle already had her coat on. Pulling her long, dark hair out from under the collar, she pushed him away with a smile. “It’s late. I need to go. I swear, you’d keep me all night.”

  He’d already tried every manner of persuasion he could think of, given her every sexual favor in his arsenal of talents, but he still wanted her company.

  The clock rang one.

  “Stay with me.” Ardently in love with his brightest student, he insisted for the umpteenth time, “Marry me, Giselle.”

  She reached up, cupped his cheek and said, “I couldn’t stand to be a professor’s wife and live in this town forever.”

  Sick at heart, he said, “I know I’m not exciting enough for you, but--”

  Giselle cut him off with a peck. “Just enjoy it while it lasts, Brett. What we have is good. Don’t try and put more between us than we can stand.”

  He admitted, “I have never made love with a woman like you before.”

  That made her chuckle.

  “You could make money at it.”

  “Oh. There’s a compliment.” She tugged on the door.

  Impeding her departure by insinuating himself between her and the door, he said with fervor, “I love you. Don’t leave me.”

  “If you loved me, you’d let me go.”

  “Let me walk you home.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice.

  “I’m not a schoolgirl, Brett. I can manage a walk through the University Park in the dark. It’s not that far.”

  “Still.”

  Going up on tiptoe, she kissed his lips quickly, one more time. “Still. You stay. I’ll be fine.”

  But she wasn’t fine. The minute she stepped out the door, she felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t the first time, but Giselle chalked that up to a growing paranoia--brought on by her illicit affair with the good professor, a man she truly loved, but wasn’t in love with.

  Every step away from him, she questioned their relationship. Brett Burkett was handsome, intelligent, steady. Why wasn’t he enough for her?

  She wanted him to be enough. She had tried a million times to convince herself that he was, but every time he pressed the marriage issue, she’d run away. Being honest with herself, and him, too, she’d admitted that he wasn’t enough of a challenge.

  Memory of his tenderness in bed, the sweet respect he always gave her had her smiling, forgetting her unease. That part was just too sweet. She liked reliving the sensation of his hands sliding over her skin and the way he laid his head on her bosom while he told her about the life he pictured for them. It was cozy, felt good, but too perfect, impossible.

  Near the middle of University Park, a sound jerked her out of her reverie. Without thinking, she spun around and looked into the trees off the side of the path. “Who’s there?”

  Silence.

  After a minute, she started walking again, but it wasn’t another minute later before she heard a second noise. “All right. Come out. I hate being stalked.” She couldn’t see who was following, but she suspected it was Burkett.

  “Brett?” She hoped he’d followed her, just to keep an eye on her. He did that sometimes. Not that he ever admitted it. That was better than the alternative...a fraternity group on the prowl, looking for a little fun.

  A noise on the other side of the path had her jumpy now. More than one--and on either side of her? Obviously not Brett Burkett. She warned, “Don’t piss me off, guys.”

  False bravado. She started walking again, doing her best to not look uncomfortable, but a voice inside her head was saying run.

  Just as loud, another voice was saying, Don’t run, they’ll know you’re scared.

  She glanced down. Stilettos. Definitely not running shoes. Pulling her coat close around her, she watched the path in front of her. One foot at a time, she’d get home. That’s what she told herself.

  But far behind her she heard a howl, and then another. Then Burkett yelled, “Run!” It sounded like a pack of dogs attacking him, and was followed by an agonized scream of, “Oh, my God!” and then a desperate, “Run, Giselle, run!”

  Giselle didn’t have to think twice. She panicked. She ran.

  She didn’t get very far before they were after her. Pounced from behind within seconds, they knocked her to the ground and held her there. Dogs snarling, the weight of one really big one on her back, sniffing her, growling like it would chew into her if she moved. And in the background, Brett’s screaming stopped.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God,” she said to herself repeatedly, in tears.

  Why weren’t they biting?

  Over her shoulder, she heard, “It’s her.” A female voice.

  That made her jerk and try to look around. But what she saw was straight out of the movies. They weren’t dogs. Wolf men. Wolf women.

  Giselle blinked. They were all over the place, slinking around, eyeing her with hunkered down shoulders, peering at her with great interest. She was frozen with fear, afraid to say anything, not believing her eyes.

  Another voice, just coming upon them, said, “I had to kill him.”

  “Oh, God.” She knew th
ey were talking about Burkett.

  “Feast,” someone else said. A ton of them ran off in the direction of Brett’s house.

  All she could do was lay there facedown and cry.

  The voice of the one holding her down said, “She’s not taking this well.” It was followed by a snicker and joined by the hoarse cackle of other females.

  The murderer said, “Fuck. You knocked her down? I hope you didn’t mess her up. Hood will kill you.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He should be along any minute.”

  “Where the fuck is he?” The voice on top of her was angry. “I’ll bite her myself.” The nose was all over her again.

  “He’s sniffing around the house. He won’t be long.”

  She felt teeth tugging at her coat’s collar, so she screamed and tried to cover the back of her head with her hands. Too late, the coat ripped and she felt teeth sink into the back of her neck, in the fleshy part of the muscle. Sheer pain. It wasn’t an instant later that she felt the bite rip as her assailant was knocked from her back.

  With a furious snarl, and no mercy, Hood shredded the bitch--to death. Blood went everywhere.

  Giselle didn’t watch. She rolled up into a protective ball and prayed, then went numb. But she registered the face of the man who picked her up off the ground and carried her to safety. Handsome, strong. His crooning, “It’ll be okay, Giselle, just relax, I’ll take care of you,” brought her great peace.

  Chapter One

  As Told By Giselle Racini

  Most of the lights are off. The doors are locked. There’s no one in the building but me, security, a few graveyard doctors and the experiments. I’m burning my brain out in an executive office at Lobos International’s largest lab facility: a bio-genetic miracle factory, the place where DNA testing was honed to perfection, where hormone therapy truly evolved.

  Don’t worry. I’m not gonna get all technical on you. They’d kill me for that.

  The work we do here sounds pretty mundane, doesn’t it? Not scary at all. Ha. If the world knew what we really did, they’d blow us off the face of the planet. Our specialty is wolf/human integration. We call it Project G.S. (Garou-Sapien.)

  Are you familiar with the term garou?

  How about werewolf?

  I can talk about that all I want. No one would believe me, except maybe those who already suspect the truth, and they’re the ones you think are nuts anyway. People assume you’re joking or off your rocker when you say you believe in werewolves.

  Seeing is believing, though.

  Here’s the thing...movies, media, books, role-playing games...those are just out there to integrate the idea, to entertain you with the possibility, to warm you up to the lurking truth. Maybe the makers think they’re giving you fair warning; don’t walk alone at night; lock your doors; be afraid of what lurks in the dark.

  I’m trying not to think about that, how I found out--damn, I’m tired, or my mind wouldn’t be going there. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Lobos International--

  Think Frankenstein meets the Werewolf. Jekyll and Hyde. Reality goes sci-fi.

  Nothing you ever thought you knew is true.

  At least, that’s the premise we work on here. Stop looking at the boundaries that you already see. Look past those fences. See what hasn’t been envisioned yet--then make it happen.

  Yeah. We’re working on world peace, too. No. Really.

  I’m not seeing all that clearly at the moment. I’m going on hour forty-four. The clock on the computer screen says it’s after two a.m., which is about the time I usually get a second wind, only I got that last night, had a third wind about noon, and I’m running on empty now. It would be fine with me if another one would kick in any minute, but I think I’m going to have to go to bed soon. I hate that idea. I’m an insomniac and a workaholic for a very good reason. Nightmares rule my sleep.

  There I go again, letting my mind drift to--

  Man, I hate to sleep alone. He knows that. Where the hell is he?

  The hall is empty. I can see through the glass. Everything has an open feel here. They’re all freaking claustrophobic.

  I have to keep telling myself to pay attention to what I’m doing. My gaze keeps straying--to the clock, the hall--wondering where he is.

  I’ve been checking international flights for hours, days?--Weeks, actually, only two days on this stretch since I slept--looking for anything that will give me a clue to where the hell Hood’s sister’s run off to. He’s probably waiting for me to come through--before he rewards me.

  Hood’s my boss.

  I take that back. He’s not just my boss. He’s an icon, the face of Lobos International--a world renowned bio-geneticist. But more than that, he’s my nemesis and my heart. He’s every breath I breathe, the love of my life.

  And every mistake I make.

  Even more than that, he’s the sexiest man walking. I’m not kidding. Coming or going, there isn’t a man alive that has more natural grace. He totally belies the nerd-scientist stereotype. He single-handedly boosted the female interest in the fields of biology, science, and medicine as a whole--across the world.

  He does his own commercials. No. Really.

  Tall, dark and handsome never had half a chance beside the stalker of my dreams.

  He’s brilliant, too. You probably got that already. Sorry.

  It’s just that I can’t outthink him. I can’t get past his defenses. And my mind is always working on that. But, I swear, I’m gonna get around him one of these days, or die trying. You can take that to the bank. Or you can see me at my grave. One way or the other.

  He knows I’m working on something--on my own time. And I think that’s why he’s so edgy. But I don’t know how to reassure him, and let him know what it is. I sure as hell can’t tell him that I’m trying to figure out how to make him fall in love with me.

  Yeah. Like that’s gonna happen.

  That would be like, what? Bringing down a mountain? Stopping a raging river?

  I don’t want to do that, exactly. Just...make him love me. Which would be totally impossible.

  He doesn’t trust anybody. I call that the alpha complex. No. It’s not a vitamin we’re working on. It’s more like ‘pack mentality’.

  Although, I think Amway sells a vitamin by that name. Hm. I should check their scientific database and see who, from Lobos, is working under their umbrella. Talk about your sense of humor. Alpha complex keeps you going, and going, and going, like the Energizer bunny. There’s a double-straight-forward analogy. You’ll understand that more when I explain about alphas in the habitat room.

  Anyway, they sell just about everything. It’s no surprise they’ve got a hand in the wolfy market, too, is it?

  There’s a ton of name brands in on the conspiracy. Cross-market products. Just think about it. Shampoo and conditioner you can use on your horse, yourself or your dog. Breath mints for humans that you can feed to your dogs. I’m telling you, all you gotta do is open your eyes. You’ll see what I’m talking about.

  But, hey, I got off track. You can tell I wasn’t born Lupey. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Alpha complex. Hood. I’m never far off that track. There’s a man who knows his sex, and how to use it.

  So, any guy at the top of a pack is gonna be looking over his shoulder, because there’s always somebody on his tail, somebody wanting his tail--for one reason or another. It’s all instinct: kill, eat, screw. Gotta kill to eat. Gotta eat to get your strength up so you can screw and kill some more. Totally a dog eat dog world.

  Luckily, they’ve worked on getting civilized. They have a cafeteria at Lobos now.

  But--the same thing’s true with the bitches around here. Everybody wants to be top bitch. There’s a whole lot of backbiting. Not that that’s all that different from any other kind of woman. Anyhow, I steer clear. I mean, I wasn’t born a wolf. Or a shifter. Sure as hell wasn’t born a garou. So, thank God, I don’t think like they do.

  I might sound crazy, but I have some
sanity left. The rest went the night I was attacked. The night I was made into a werewolf.

  That was pressed on me. Bitten into me.

  Okay, thinking about that gives me the shivers. The nightmares. Damn, I’m tired.

  What I’m beating around the bush is...I’m not at Lobos by accident. And the whole werewolf-biting thing you see in the movies? That’s bull. Garou are a helluva lot smarter than the Hollywood version. They don’t snag a victim without a little forethought.

  First of all, they call the bitten the unnaturals. Most of them go nuts and end up being hunted down and put down. And that’s no good for anybody. Could end up exposing the whole can of worms. They can’t have that.

  No. I was handpicked, plucked from the international genetic database as a good match for breeding, for the DNA acceptance program. That’s what they call those of us that don’t go insane from the bite. Yep. You get what I’m telling you, right? Selective breeding and integration. Better brush up on your genetic basics. Maybe get your DNA run. Learn a little more about pedigrees. But don’t call the A.K.C. They don’t care about breeding--not like I’m talking about.

  You know about the A.K.C., American Kennel Club, don’t you? They think they’re keeping track of all the good dogs, registering the bloodlines. Ha. They don’t even have a clue.

  Before long, there will be DNA scanners everywhere instead of metal detectors. Crazy, huh?

  So, yeah...tested at birth, put on a list, watched. Mentors put in my path. Damn my mama for going to a hospital.

  I know. That’s a little scary. They’re ‘chipping’ babies now. That way they can track them by radar, and satellite, not just by paperwork and scent. That’s another reason why it’s not smart to sleep. It only takes a few seconds to put one of those little puppies in.