SevenMarkPackAttackMobi Read online

  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.”

  I didn’t waste any time. Stupidly, didn’t think twice. I slipped the stretchy mesh around her wrists. Flashed her my delight in a big grin and a “How’s that?”

  I didn’t tug, just held it. That was good enough for me. Didn’t even tie it. Flattened my hand over hers and enjoyed the small power. The infinitely small moment. My view--of what I possessed--what lay beneath me--had me practically crowing...thinking about the possibilities.

  Amber arched beneath me, grunting softly, and it only took me a minute to realize she wanted me to look her in the eye. Daring me, she said smoothly, “Okay. So, you’re in charge now, Mark. Think about it.”

  I chuckled. “Oh, I’m thinking about it, all right.”

  Before I could decide what to do next, she warned, “Just remember, I will eventually get loose.”

  Not that I’d been planning on keeping her hostage for any real length of time, or that she was actually, genuinely tied up even, but her words had me thinking twice.

  There’s a key concept to a subtle change in my life that occurred the day I met Amber.

  Think before acting? I wanted to slam Frank into the wall.

  Both situations had me feeling stoved up, angry with myself. How had I backed myself into a corner like that?

  I’ve never been such a hot-head that I don’t weigh my options--take a few seconds to think things through. Grim-lipped, I pulled it together, consciously open and shut my fists a few times, then smoothed my hands over my clothing, down my thighs, tugged on my shirt cuffs. Put things in perspective.

  Stay with me. I’m back in the journal.

  I’ll be damned if I was gonna tell my cousin Frank he was right, even if he was.

  Frank’s a runt, but he’s Gaia
-damned brilliant with numbers. I needed him desperately to fix a few major discrepancies he’d already found for me--to point us out of what looked like financial and personal ruin looming on the immediate horizon. And this new issue...was not going to help the company stocks. We’d go under without him; I knew it sure as shit.

  Still, I wasn’t about to relinquish an inch of control to him there. Firmly, I said, “I hired you for your book skills, Frank.” I straightened my tie, resisting the temptation to loosen the noose. I willed myself to relax, to let go the wolf that wanted to break out. “I don’t need you for a conscience, nor as my personal psychoanalyst, so you can put your secondary degree away.” I reiterated, “I don’t need a shrink.”

  He insisted, “You need something. Some help. You gotta find a way to relax...besides killing things.” Without a hint of humor, he suggested, “Maybe some medication.” His adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed heavily.

  I reminded myself; he’s older, wiser and has lived off his wits, not his prowess. You could learn a few things from him, Mark.

  He was right on one thing; I probably could use some medication.

  But first, I really needed to kill something, someone--my brother if he wasn’t already dead, and I had to find him to do that. I didn’t want to waste time chatting. I had a feeling he had not been torn asunder at that scene.

  Bark’s pretty fierce in a fight. I’d bet money on him any day. People tend to underestimate him, because he comes across as so even-tempered and easygoing. I’ve seen him take out five or six without trouble. When he goes crinos, which isn’t often, he’s fucked up hell to deal with--unless you get him in the first few minutes while the man’s still in control.

  Frank had other ideas, though. He stuttered, “Wol...Wolf Enterprises has been cheated by one of its own, and it--it looks like it’s--it’s our CEO, for Gaia’s sake.” Something in his gaze and his tone told me that he didn’t quite believe that Bark stole from the company, either.

  He went on. “Abandoned at the worst possible time, stock wise. And now--” I think his brain froze over while replaying the news report we’d just witnessed in the board room. “I know it’s inconceivable. But those people back there--” He thumbed over his shoulder. “They need to feel confident that you’ve got things under control. That you’ll protect them. That all they’ve worked for isn’t going down the drain. Not--not fear for their own lives, too.”

  “They have every right to be afraid.” The words came from deep within my chest, at the most guttural level. “We’ve never faced a threat like this before.” There, I said it. They could all shake in their boots, cry in the dark, wet themselves.

  Not only had my brother’s disappearance left us on the verge of financial ruin, the morning news had been flat out shitty, interrupting our morning organizational meeting with the fast breaking news report. On top of everything, some piss-ant backwater news team had reported authoritatively what appeared to be Mad Wolf Disease. A pack of wolves gone mad, terrorizing a small town in the Midwest.

  Mad Wolf Disease. If there was any truth to that, we were all fucked.

  A mass murder crime scene had been the background for the report. Humans would see a murderous wolf pack had entered the edges of a city, gone on a killing spree. We, at Wolf, saw telltale signs that my brother had been at the site. The reporter said, “Families of the victims have not been notified as of yet.”

  Hell no. Judging from what we could see, it was gonna take some doing to identify the victims, let alone call their relatives.

  Probably not possible. I’m talking parts. Shredded jaws. Probably no finger or foot prints discernable from the ravaged remains. My guess was...eaten.

  Looked like the aftermath of a shapeshifted bloodbath. Professional work. Leave no proof...except what you plant. I should know. It was my specialty.

  That was really the point. They didn’t need to call me. I’d gotten the message, loud and clear. Bark’s wallet, with its unique tooled leather design, for one, lay in plain sight, and his jean jacket, too. His favorite jean jacket, the name BARK in fine embroidery on the leather collar--a gift from his last girlfriend.

  Where the hell had that bitch got off to? Maybe he’d taken off with her? I made a mental note to hunt down Giselle. What the fuck was her last name?

  Turning my back on Frank, I said, “I’ve got to get on the phone to Lobos and find out what the hell is going on. If there’s such a thing as mad wolf disease, they’ll know about it.” I wasn’t convinced on that. Hogwash bullshit, probably bastet propaganda. It was off their damn satellite.

  Calling for that info had nothing to do with asking for reinforcements. I wasn’t there yet.

  Frank tried to slow me down with another stutter, but I cut him off. “You’re wasting my time.”

  He insisted, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, M--Mark. I’m trying to make a point here.”

  “So make it.” I stopped and turned on him. I was mad enough to howl. Angry enough to kill. Definitely on the warpath. One more glance over his head, and I saw the quivering mess I’d left behind. Big eyes, nervous fingers, tongue-flicking. They were cowering. All of them now, and I smelled total fear.

  But I think they were more afraid of my unleashed fury than the outside world, or some fucked up news report--surely it couldn’t be true? No. They were more afraid I’d come back, finish what I’d virtually promised: slaughter them all and be done with the whole internal trust problem, bring in a new team. One way or another, I was going to get to the bottom of things.

  On second thought, maybe they were afraid that there was truth in the mad wolf scare. Afraid that the madness ran in my family--had maybe got a hold of Bark? The evidence had been too bold to ignore.

  Was that why he’d gone AWOL? Or had someone set him up?

  Was someone setting us all up? Call me crazy, but when it’s too obvious, it is too obvious. I needed to do some digging on my own. Deeper. Inside and outside of my own house; I didn’t know who to trust in that sea of faces.

  By the time I’d heard about Bark disappearing, there’d been a small scale war between our people and the damn bastets. I still haven’t gotten the clear story on that, but I did see some news footage. All I know is a few cats showed up at my brother’s getaway lodge and the next thing, our guns were outside their gates, taking revenge. That’s where the cameras picked up the action.

  One dead body at the lodge. Gaia knows how many lost in the retaliation...on both sides. And all I knew was, I needed to find my brother. I knew it without a doubt. But where to start? A dead body would cough up clues. I was going to have to fly in to backwater USA and sniff around.

  Before that moment in the hall with Frank, I hadn’t really faced the possibility that Bark could be dead. A hostage, maybe. I’d honestly been thinking that the cat bastards had caught him. Is that how they’d planted his belongings at the scene?

  Or had he shed his things, made it look like he was dead, and gone off...living it up on an island with the missing funds? I couldn’t quite get that picture to square up in my head. Bark had never been about cash flow. But part of me definitely hoped that was true. I could hunt him down then, and kill him myself.

  No. Bark wouldn’t have stolen the money. He was a trustworthy dog.

  In fact, Bark had never been about the business at all. Oh, he’d handled the helm--because Dad had passed it to him, being the first son and all, but he never believed in purity of any kind, and Wolf and Lobos both were companies based in world takeover, domination and supremacy via infiltration and annihilation of the masses, definitely ruled by lineage hierarchy. In short, eliminate the non-lupine, get the rest in a new world order.

  What I’m saying is...Wolf and Lobos are garou-based, werewolf-owned and operated with a skinhead, Hitlerish agenda. Oh, you’d never see it coming. We fully believe in the happy ads, stealth, amassing wealth and boiling frogs in the pot.

  You do know that you can put a frog in cold water, set that on a stove, and heat it
up slowly--and the frog will never jump out, never know to save itself? Picture the people of the world, politics heating up all around them. They think it’s all about religion. They think they’re safe in their own neighborhoods, that nothing in the ‘big world’ really will affect them where they sit on their couches with their picket fences and domesticated pets.

  Yeah, well, we ain’t domesticated, and we’ve got our own religion. Pagans ruled the earth once, and they will again.

  Shapeshifters do live, they breed, and what’s more...they think. And we’re working out our own little pecking order, but it won’t be long before we go public.

  Someone in the boardroom whispered, “Could this Mad Wolf Disease be bastet bio-warfare, do you think?”

  “Shh.”

  Frank rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. “Mark.”

  I responded, “There’s probably more fucking truth to that possibility than anything else.”

  He said, “Don’t go off half-cocked. Get the facts before you start another war.”

  You see, this was Frank’s problem. Or my problem with Frank. He couldn’t see that the war was already in motion, that we couldn’t trust anyone, not even our own. At least, that’s what I thought at the time.

  “If I go off--” I didn’t finish the thought aloud, and I blocked my thoughts so no one else could read them.

  Some wolves have E.S.P. You never know which ones, either. Not until they’re in your head, or you’re in theirs. And obviously someone in that boardroom had been picking my thoughts--and was brave enough to whisper it. Or maybe it was mind talking?

  I had been thinking that if I went off, I’d be gone, not mass-murdering. It occurred to me that it was really quite funny. Of me and Bark, I would have bet on my slinking off into the shadows long before him. I’d always been a lone wolf. The thought of me in the role of expected hero seemed laughable.

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