Werewolves of Manhattan Box Set

Chapter 5

Monday

The low grey clouds masked the half-moon giving the night an eerie diffused glow. Christopher Street’s sidewalks sparkled under the streetlights after the early evening rain. The water washed the city streets clean of soot and put the distinct smell of autumn in the air. Until this year, Sean had always loved October. The leaves of the trees planted between the sidewalk and the curb began to change color from green to yellow, then red to brown. Lights shown through the windows of the apartments created from the Federal era brownstone houses that lined the street. Sometimes he saw a fireplace lit from behind the French balconies. In contrast to the aura of peaceful urban oasis above the sidewalks, outside, groups of five or six young gay men strolled up the pavement, soon to be followed by posses of ten or more. They shouted and jostled each other passed the famous Stonewall Inn where the first stirring of the Gay Liberation movement began, continued from Christopher, down to West Street and onto the Christopher Street Pier built on the Hudson River.

A few of the more boisterous gangs led each of the two packs toward their destination—those who sold their bodies and those just hoping to get lucky. But tonight all he noticed was the churning in his gut. He hadn’t eaten in three days. Tonight he was going to do it, sell himself. He had no choice.

Since August he’d been spending his nights on the floors of his friends’ dorm rooms. He lost his apartment because he couldn’t pay his share of the rent and had no money for tuition for his last semester. The art gallery where he worked to make ends meet laid him off in September because art wasn’t a priority in the midst of the economic downturn.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to do this; but it was either sell himself or stay out on the street. Sean was frightened; but too hungry to care and enough of a pragmatist to know what had to be done. He had to talk himself into it. Prostitution, simple, he was going to make himself into a rent boy. Tears dropped from his eyelashes and down his high cheekbones. He never understood before why someone would sell themselves for money. Now he knew, rent himself out or starve; those were his choices. Leroy, one of the boys on Chelsea Pier he knew through a friend at NYU, told him that he could make good money at the trade.

“You’re small, blond with fair skin lacking freckles, dude. Your lips are full, your eyes a brilliant green. You look a lot younger than you are. You could make a fortune in this business, the perfect twink, but I think we need to find you a pimp to be safe.”

“This isn’t a life choice. All I want is money to eat and get a place to sleep until I have enough for a bus ticket to Boston. My friend Tony lives there with his wife. He’ll take me in and I’ll get a chance to make a few bucks at an honest job so I can finish school.”

“I’ll watch out for you until you land on your feet. You can crash with me on the sofa; but I can’t afford to feed you.”

“Thanks, I owe you.” They walked down to the pier together.

A huge man lurked at the edge of the pier looking over each boy as he arrived. He appeared dark and menacing.

“Oh s**t, we gotta go hide. Run behind that Dumpster in the alley and don’t come out until I come and get you. That Russian is into rough trade. The boys he likes disappear and he goes for twinks. If you want to stay healthy, run.”

“What about you?” Sean looked around in a panic.

“He doesn’t want me, so I’m safe. Now go—trust me.” Sean ran. Leroy didn’t have to tell him twice. He was about to prostitute himself, but he was no fool. He hid behind a large green Dumpster on the right side of the alley. He pulled garbage bags and garbage in front of him for cover.

“I saw him, the blond. Where’d he go?” Sean listened as the huge Russian interrogated Leroy. “You talked to him no more than five minutes ago so you must know him.” The Russian grabbed Leroy by the front of tight black T-shirt and shook him. “You told him to leave, you little rat bastard.”

“He asked me for a joint, then disappeared.” The big man slapped Leroy then held his fist out menacingly. “Okay, Okay. I know him from NYU. He’s green. Look, he isn’t in the trade. He has no experience, you wouldn’t want him.”

“I saw him and I want him, tell me where he went, or I’ll beat the s**t out of you.”

“He went over there, toward the pier,” Leroy said, turning way from where Sean hid behind the Dumpster.

The Russian went into a rage. “What? You think I’m a fool? He slid into that alley.”

“No, no, he went back home. He’s not into this. He’s uh…waiting for someone else, he made an appointment.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t for rent. You’re f*****g with me Leroy. I don’t allow anyone to f**k with me.”

Sean heard and watched in horror as the big man pulled a knife and shoved it into Leroy’s gut. Too frightened to call out, he saw Leroy fall to the ground. The man moved away from the alley, down toward the Dumpster; for a minute Sean thought he saw the guy’s eyes turned red.

“I know you’re out there,” the man shouted. Sean watched as he waved his knife around in the air. The Russian saw him behind the Dumpster and ran toward him catching the edge of his torso with the knife. Sean clutched his side. He ducked and tried to run. The Russian grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The knife grazed his temple. Sean screamed. He tried to pull Sean up but slipped on a half head of brown lettuce and lost his hold on Sean’s collar. Sean ran toward West Street. The man stopped and sniffed the air. He didn’t follow Sean but turned away from the alley to the loading platforms on the street.

Sean saw him sniff the air again. Sean covered himself in more garbage crouching down behind a second Dumpster. He peered out and got a good look at his face. The Russian began checking doors. One of them opened and he disappeared into the building. Sean, holding his side ran over to Leroy. Leroy was gutted. Having no cell phone; he raced down the alley toward West Street looking behind him, expecting the Russian to find him at any minute. He stopped the first car he saw.

* * * *

Armand La Marche sat in the back seat of his black limousine. He’d had a long day. Mondays were always difficult. As Chief Alpha of the Loup-garou Council of North America, he traveled to New York City frequently on pack business. On the second Monday of every quarter, they held a full council meeting and it was at this time that they arbitrated disagreements among the packs, settled border disputes and planned events to encourage wolves to find their true mates, but all the bickering made him tired and growly. He looked forward to getting back to his city residence.

His pack holdings were in southwestern United States, Mexico and California. He kept his residence in Northern New Mexico except when he flew to New York on pack business. Armand hoped to be able wrap up council affairs by the end of the week. He sighed, tired from seven days of dealing with the fractious Alphas who reported to the High Council in addition to the new trouble reported by the Russian Federation. Armand needed to stand strong to defend the rights of the North American Packs.

“Alpha, there is a bottle of Courvoisier in the bar.”

“Pierre, is it impossible for you to call me Armand?” he asked wearily, having had this conversation one hundred times before. “The French Revolution ended the monarchy. Our branch of the family, being what we are, would not be suited for any throne despite our bloodline. We now have economic power which in this age is all that matters, the title of Alpha is passé and unnecessary.”

He sighed, opened the hinged bar in the back of the limo and indulged himself in the excellent brandy, rolling the amber liquid around in his glass. They stopped for a light. He picked up a scent in the air strange for the city…vanilla, fresh linen? He lifted his head to sniff the air again and started to open the window. As the light began to change, a young man ran out of an alley onto West Street and plastered himself to the passenger side door of his limousine knocking frantically on the window. He held on to his side while his head bled profusely down the side of his sweatshirt. The blood transferred to the pane of glass.

“Stop the car,” he shouted to his driver as he fully opened the rear window.

“Please…please call 911, my friend was knifed in the alley.” The boy slumped along the edge of the door grabbing the open window for purchase, then he dropped to his knees. A clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning roiled in the distance the sky opened up with heavy rain.

“Pierre,” Armand shouted to his driver, “Call 911. Check the alley for a body and come back and report to me.”

He opened the door as the boy fell over into the mud. Armand seized him by his shoulders and hoisted him up. The boy swayed on his feet. Armand took hold of the open car door using it to steady himself while he put his arm under the boy’s shoulder so he didn’t fall back down to the sidewalk and the mud. Armand swung the boy to face him and grabbed both arms sitting him in the backseat of the limo.

He knelt down next to the now sitting boy. “You’re bleeding. Let me look.” The boy was covered in dirt and refuse, shivering with shock and cold. Suddenly Armand’s senses fully awoke, assaulted with the smells of vanilla, clean linen, cinnamon, and nutmeg under the stench of the garbage. Armand’s legs grew weak. He slid the young man over on toward the opposite door of the limousine and followed him inside. The part of his brain that was lupine, screamed, “Mate. Mine!”

Armand, amazed, pulled the boy onto his lap laying him flat with the kid’s head on his thighs. He stroked his back in calming circles while examining the boy for damage. He pulled out his cell.

His driver ran back to the car.

“Pierre, how bad?”

“I’m afraid he bled out, sir. Shall I call the authorities?”

Armand nodded. “Here, use my phone and make sure they send Murphy.”

The boy looked like he was in shock. He began to whimper. “He killed Leroy?”

Armand pulled off his jacket and put it around the boy’s shoulders; even wet it retained some of his body heat. He took off his dress shirt, which wasn’t wet and folded it, holding it against the wound in the boy’s side to staunch the blood. His eyes were glazed with fear. Armand took his handkerchief out of the jacket pocket and wiped at the wound on his head.

“Be careful, he went into a door off the dock,” the boy shouted as he shivered.

“I’ll call the detective immediately, sir.”

Sean made a move to sit up poised to leave the limousine.

“No baby, stay here with me, you shouldn’t see that and you’re hurt.” Sean weakly protested. “I have to stay for the police.” Armand paid no attention.

“Pierre, I’m taking the young man back to the house. Call Meg and Dr. Artis while you wait for the squad car and Murphy. I’ll speak with Detective Murphy as soon as we get…what is your name, baby?” Armand took the keys from Pierre.

“Sean, Sean Quinn.”

“…back to the house.”

“Who are you?” asked Sean.

“I’m Armand La Marche.” The boy murmured something unintelligible that sounded like a protest.

Pierre spoke into the phone.

Armand said, “I believe he said the victim’s name was Leroy. As soon as we get Mr. Quinn medical attention he’ll be able to give a statement.”

“Alpha, are you sure this is wise?”

“Mate!” Armand conveyed silently over his alpha link to the chauffer.

“I’ll wait here. Get him to the house.”

* * * *

Sean opened his eyes wide, not quite understanding the undercurrent running through the conversation. “Leroy is dead?” Tears ran down his cheeks. “I barely knew him and he died trying to protect me.” He shook uncontrollably.

Armand moved away from Sean. “Lay back down on the seat. Keep pressure on your side with the shirt. I’ll have you to a doctor in five minutes.” Armand opened the back door and jumped into the driver’s seat of the limo. Since St. Vincent’s closed, it was easier to call Dr. Artis to the house than to drive to the nearest hospital some fifteen minutes away, longer if there was traffic. Besides, Dr. Artis was pack.

He drove down West Street taking the side streets to Washington Square pulling into an alley behind a four-story stone building double-wide townhouse five minutes later. Armand stopped the limousine, opened the back door, picked Sean up despite his protests, and carried him into the building.

Meg and Dr. Artis met him at the door. Armand carried Sean up three flights of stairs to the master suite that occupied most of the third floor and laid him gently on the bed. Blood and mud covered Armand and the dress shirt in his hand, his suit jacket, and the T-shirt he wore underneath. His dark hair was plastered to his head, drops sliding from the long ringlets.

The boy next to him was babbling in shock. “Leroy was only trying to help me…I can’t believe…the guy was so strong.”

Armand growled as the doctor neared his mate. “Alpha, I need to examine the wounds.” Armand backed off the bed and brought a chair closer to the side.

“It would be better if you left the room,” Meg told him. Armand’s growled low in his throat and his blue eyes were tinged red around the rims. “Mate,” he shot back. Meg said no more.

Meg, who in addition to being Armand’s housekeeper; was the pack’s nurse, took the boy’s pulse. “It’s thready.” The boy’s breathing was rapid and shallow. His lips were blue, his hands, clammy.

“Mr. La Marche, I’m going to vomit,” Sean whispered. Meg produced a small basin and Armand held it under his chin as Sean spit up some bile.

Dr. Artis examined his patient. “He’s in shock. Alpha. Meg, set up an IV with saline solution and take four vials of blood. I’m going to do some tests. Take off his dirty clothing and wash him down with warm water and antiseptic. Alpha, you should change your clothes.” The doctor worked on Sean as he spoke. Armand quickly changed into a robe and ran some water over his face. Meg went to fetch a basin of water, a cloth, and antibacterial soap.

Armand pushed Meg aside and undressed Sean. He took the basin of water from Meg and washed his mate.

“Will he be all right?” Armand asked. Fate couldn’t be so cruel to let me find my mate and lose him the same night.

“He’ll be fine, Alpha. Get him a pair of sleep pants if you have them. He’s in bad shape but not from the head wound, it was only a graze. The wound in his torso is more worrisome. It can be stitched, there is no damage to major organs.”

Armand snapped, not used to being sidelined when decisions were made. “He hid in a Dumpster, what about infection?”

“I’ll shoot him up with antibiotics to ward off infection. As soon as I patch him up, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m holding you to that, Artis.” Armand growled menacingly.

“I’m more worried about shock, hypothermia, and dehydration. He also looks like he’s skipped more than a few meals.”

Artis cleaned the wounds. The doctor pulled two butterfly bandages from his black bag. He dressed the wound on his torso after examining it and finding it only nicked muscle. “You’re a lucky young man. The knife just grazed your head and the wound on your side, though deep, missed all of your vital organs. You’ll be sore; but up and about tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Sean whispered.

While the doctor worked, Armand never left his mate’s side speaking soothing words. Once the IV began to drip giving him the necessary hydration, Armand calmed and stroked Sean’s arm.

Artis motioned for Armand and Meg to follow him out of the room. “In addition to the wounds, the boy is malnourished. He needs red meat and carbohydrates as soon as he can keep something down. In the meantime give him some chicken broth to sip. Try to keep him warm.”

“Don’t worry. I have some stock on the stove to give him. He’ll warm up.”

“I’ll be back in the morning,” the doctor told Armand as left. “Meg, keep him on the saline drip until he finishes the bag, I’ve given him a sedative to help him sleep. I also left a sleeping pill—Because of the circumstances, he may have night terrors. There are no signs of concussion, so there shouldn’t be a problem as long as he rests and eats something.”

“Are you sure you should leave?” snapped the Alpha.

“He will be fine, Alpha,” Artis said for the third time. “Let Meg do her job.”

Armand hurried back into the bedroom. Meg followed grabbing an armful of fresh linens from the linen cupboard in the hall. Sean was a bit groggy but could still speak. “Leroy saved my life. I have to talk to the police.” Armand detected the hitch in Sean’s breath. “He called him the Russian. Leroy knew him and said he was dangerous.” Armand saw Sean take in a shaky breath. “I saw his face. I can identify him.” Tears were running down Sean’s cheeks.

“That can wait until the morning, baby. In the meantime, why don’t you sleep? I’ll hold you up while Meg changes the bed.”

“I can’t take advantage of you like this,” Sean said trying to get out of bed fighting the sedative.

“You’re good here, baby. Calm down.” Armand gently moved the bedspread. “Let me get you into sleep pants. Meg, get out the down comforter to put over the bed and raise the heat.”

Armand lifted Sean’s legs and hips slipping on the flannel pants. He could not help but notice the fine contours of his little mate’s body. The creamy white skin was unblemished and soft. He was built to be lean and muscular but recently lost quite a quite bit of weight. His stomach was hollow. Armand took his muddied clothes and put them in the hamper for Meg to deal with later. His body was clean under his filthy clothing. For a street kid, he tried to take care of himself. With great tenderness, Armand brushed some leaves out of Sean’s hair.

“I can get him settled in bed,” Meg said.

Armand looked at his mate’s face. “No, I’d prefer to do it myself.”

“I’ll get the broth. I’ll be right back.” Meg left the room.

Armand adjusted the pillows underneath Sean’s head and stroked his brow. He still fought the sedative.

“You may not want me to stay here. I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

“No worries, baby. We can take care of ourselves. Is there anyone we should notify?” Armand could not help the note of jealousy that crept into his voice.

In a low halting voice, Sean said, “No one. The man I thought was my father threw me out because I’m gay.” Sean breath hitched on a sob. “I went to art school, but couldn’t pay my tuition or my rent so I was thrown out.”

He clutched at the bed sheets, babbling, trying to tell Armand his story. “I was going to sell myself. I had nothing else of value to trade. I was hungry and so cold. But Leroy came…” Sean broke into a paroxysm of sobs. He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, the sedative seeming to have little calming effect. “Maybe I should go to a shelter or something.”

“No, baby, you will stay right here rest and eat.”

Gazing up at Armand’s eyes he asked, “Doesn’t it bother you that I’m gay and was going to sell my body to strangers?”

“No, baby, not at all since I’m gay myself. As far as your rent boy status, if you were a rent boy, it wouldn’t matter, but you aren’t. You never even made it to the pier.”

Sean was babbling again. “Oh, my backpack I left it behind the Dumpster. Everything I own is in there, my notes, my sketchpad and pencils…and my clean clothes. I already hocked my computer and cell phone.” Realizing what he said, he stuttered, “I’m s-s-s-sorry, that’s not your problem.”

“Everything that concerns you is my problem. No worries, this can be your home for as long as you need. I’ll also see that your backpack is returned to you.” Armand wondered if he should call Artis back for a higher dose of sedative.

Sean nodded his head not knowing what else to do and too much in shock to object to anything. “Are you sure I’m not going to be a bother?” he mumbled trying to stay awake.

Armand stretched himself out on the huge bed pulling Sean down beside him.

“No worries, it’s all good.”

“I don’t know why I feel safe. I should be scared shitless.”

Armand smiled. Sean’s head dropped to his shoulder. Armand cupped his hand under his mate’s chin and gave him a gentle kiss on his lips. He looked down at his mate. He liked that Sean had nuzzled into the crook of his neck. In fact, so far, he liked everything about the mate the Fates chose for him. He placed another light kiss on the top of his head. He’s so beautiful. Armand couldn’t help running his fingers through Sean’s hair and down the curve of his face. Now I have to figure out how to keep him.

Meg brought up the broth and whispered. “Alpha, Pierre called. He’s dealing with the police at the scene. Detective Murphy is downstairs. Should we wake your young man so he can eat?”

“Yes, I’ll wake him. Artis said he needed nourishment.”

Armand gently tapped his shoulder. “Sean, you have to eat.”

Sean opened his eyes. “You need to eat something, baby.” Sean nodded sleepily.

“Meg, would you make sure that our guest takes some of that broth, while I deal with the detective?”

“Yes Alpha.”

Armand strode down the stairs to find Detective Murphy. He stood by the fireplace in the great room. Murphy exposed his neck as a sign of respect.

The detective asked, “What can I help you with, Alpha La Marche?”

“The young man upstairs witnessed a murder and was knifed in the process. The knife grazed the left side of his head, and he has another s***h on his left torso. The wound is deep, but Dr. Artis and Meg can handle it here. The boy said the victim’s name is Leroy and that Leroy called the man chasing them the Russian.”

“Do you think this Russian is our Russian, Alpha?” Murphy asked with deference.

“Could be…This Leroy tried to protect Sean from him and was gutted for his kindness. We both know that Petrovich favors small blonds and no one misses street kids.”

“Pierre told me as much when I arrived on the scene. The guy had a wolf’s strength. He gutted the kid from his stomach up to his neck. Did the kid see anything?” Murphy asked taking notes on a small pad.

“Sean can identify the killer. The boy is my mate, so I am naturally concerned for his welfare. He’s had a sedative and needs to eat something, so he can’t speak to you now. If you come around in the morning, I’ll see if he is up to giving a statement.”

“Your mate, Alpha? Congratulations, at least something good came of this night.” The detective looked up at the staircase in curiosity. “There’s going to be paperwork.”

“I’m sure you can take care of any difficulties that come up before morning. By the way, Sean had a backpack. It fell behind the Dumpster. If it was recovered from the scene, please make sure it’s back here in the morning.”

“Yes Alpha La Marche. Would ten be too early?”

“No Detective Murphy, ten will be fine.”

Armand closed the door behind the detective and bounded up the stairs to his mate. He found Meg spooning the broth into his mouth. “I’ll take over here.”

“He’s finished taking the saline and now that he’s eating, he won’t need more. He should get some sleep as soon as he finishes this broth.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you.” Sean said to Meg. He looked up at Armand. “Thank you for all this, I’m in your debt.”

“No worries, little one. You finish your broth. Would you like some more?”

“No thank you. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold it down.”

“By the time morning comes, you’ll be fit enough to eat. I want you to sleep. I have a sleeping pill for you if you need it. I’ll sleep beside you to check on you during the night.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” Sean shivered.

“It’s not necessary, baby. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“I’m frightened; but I have to do what is right for Leroy. He tried to protect me.”

Meg stood by the door. Armand beckoned her to the bed. “Could you give him that sleeping pill now? He’s fighting the sedative.”

“Yes, Alpha, right away.” Meg went into the bath, filled a glass with water, and handed it and the pill to Sean. He took it without a fuss.

Armand nodded. “Good boy.” He moved over from the chair to the bed. “Sean, I’ll help you slide over so I can hold you while you go to sleep.” Armand gently set Sean on his chest and placed his arms around him. Sean didn’t protest. His eyes closed as he nestled into Armand’s embrace. Baby, if I have my way you’ll never spend another night away from my arms.