by A. J. Stone
Since he wasn’t sure about his standing with the aloof Marcel, Zeke brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. He parked and got out of the car. “We’re here. Let’s get you what you need. Did Koren tell you I’m looking for a backpack?”
“Yes. He said it’s probably identical to the one Zane stole from your omega.”
“He’s not my omega.” Zeke’s denial came automatically.
Chay made a raspberry noise. “It’s a matter of time. The moment I set eyes on Koren, I knew he was the one for me. Your guy got hit on the head, didn’t he? Once he’s feeling better, he’ll come around.”
He hadn’t called ahead to tell Zane to expect visitors. The alpha lawyer answered the door wearing only his briefs. Chay’s nose twitched.
“Hi, Zane. This is Chayton Sadler, Koren’s omega. He needs to smell you.”
Zane backed up a step. “He... What?”
“Zeke wants me to track where your backpack went. It’ll have your scent on it, so I’ll need to sniff you a bit.” Not at all wary of approaching an alpha uninvited, Chay closed the gap between him and Zane. He sniffed up and down the man’s body. When he was done, he stepped back and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do this.”
Zane began with his nose wrinkled in disdain, but as he’d held still for the invasion of his personal space, the wrinkle had morphed to curiosity. He regarded Chay speculatively. “You think you can find it?”
Chay shrugged. “I’m pretty good with cold-scent tracking, but I’m better with hot scents.”
“I don’t know what any of that means.” Zane folded his arms over his chest to show that he expected an explanation.
“Cold scents are ones that have been there a while, giving other scents a chance to layer on top of them. Hot scents are fresher, easier to follow. It’s more of a hunting thing than a tracking thing.” Chay tugged on Zeke’s arm. “The faster we get to it, the easier it’ll be for me to pick it up.”
Zeke took Chay to the park. In the car, Chay shed his clothes and shifted. Flouting the leash laws, Zeke led Chay to the bench where the mixup had taken place. He watched as Chay fluttered around, following and backtracking several times. After a while, Chay barked and took off. His entire demeanor had changed. This was a dog on a mission.
They walked for over a mile before Chay ducked into an alley. He stopped beside a large barrel of trash and lifted his nose into the air. Then he sat on his haunches and shifted to human form. “Backpack is in there, and the scent of the person who stole it goes cold. Maybe they got into a car or something.”
Zeke noticed a bus stop nearby. “Or a bus.” He pried open the lid on the large trash container and lifted out three bags of trash before he found the backpack in question. Whoever had stolen it had cleaned out the contents. All of Zane’s clothes and personal items were gone. To be safe, he checked every pocket.
Since he was naked, Chay shifted back into his canine form for the walk back to the car.
As he dressed, he said, “Sorry I couldn’t find your man. But if I come across him, I’ll recognize him immediately. We could have a code, like I’ll say that the raccoon is in the butterfly bush, or something. Raccoons steal stuff.”
Zeke doubted Chay would stumble upon the thief randomly, and he wasn’t a fan of speaking in code. However after the favor Chay had done for Zeke, he wasn’t about to crush his excitement. “Sure.”
He stopped at a bakery to reward Chay with donuts and hot chocolate, and then he took him home before returning to Zane’s room.
This time when Zane answered, he wore pajama bottoms. “The canine shifter got a little fresh last time. I thought I’d be better prepared this time.”
Zeke went into the suite, his gaze automatically sweeping for signs of danger. “He just needed your scent.”
“He’s cute.”
“He’s mated, married, and has two sons.”
“Still cute.” Zane motioned to the bar, but his gaze remained glued to the item in Zeke’s hand. “Can I get you anything?”
“Not tonight.” Zeke handed over the backpack. “Chay found it in a trash bin behind a barbershop.”
“Is the location significant?” Zane regarded the soiled bag warily. He held it at arm’s length as he studied it.
“It was next to a bus stop. I searched it already. It’s empty.”
Zane sighed. “I’m so glad I carry my most important possessions on my person. I wonder why they targeted me? Mr. Yardan was asleep. I was not.”
“You were on your phone. A distracted person is an easy target. Unless you can think of a different reason you were targeted?”
Zane shook his head. “My money was in my pocket, and my important papers are in my briefcase, which nobody took.”
“Were you paying attention to your briefcase while you talked?”
“Yes. I was looking for a particular file.”
Zeke spread his hands. “It seems like a crime of opportunity. Be vigilant, and you should be fine.”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done tonight.”
Chapter 4
Marcel
HOLDEN SHOWED UP FIRST thing in the morning. As Marcel poked at rubbery French toast and considered the lukewarm coffee, Holden sailed into the room, a bright smile on his face. “How are you feeling? Are you super sore?”
The day after an injury was often worse than the initial day, and Marcel was feeling every bump and bruise. Determined not to show it, he put his best food forward. He gulped milk from the small carton at the corner of his tray. “I’m okay. Sore, but nothing too bad.”
Delight flashed in Holden’s blue eyes as he clapped. “Have you tried to walk yet? Maybe your ankle isn’t as sprained as we thought.”
But it was. Marcel had used a crutch to get to the bathroom. “It’s sprained. I’m getting more x-rays today because sometimes breaks don’t show up right away, and then there’s the concussion.”
Letting go of that line of hope, Holden settled into a chair. “Everyone misses you. I talked to Scylla. He said they’ll hold your spot for a week.”
Break or sprain, Marcel’s injury wasn’t going to heal in a week. “Only a week?” He sighed. “I knew I didn’t have a chance. My luck has run out.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. What about the guy with the smoldering gaze who showed up here yesterday? He gave you his phone number.”
Marcel had no trouble recalling Zeke Lowry, the ultra-sexy alpha who had brokered a deal while his gaze stripped away Marcel’s clothes. “He was sent to handle me. I’ve been handled, so he’s done. Now it’ll be lackeys and low-rung lawyers who deal with me. I know how big corporations work.”
Holden snorted. “Given the way he was looking at you, he’ll be back for a taste. No—a meal.”
Now it was Marcel’s turn to snort. “I’d love to find a man who is willing to do more than taste. Most of them are all about themselves.”
“True.” Holden’s eyes glazed over as he lost himself in some kind of wistful thought. When he snapped out of it, he said, “I’d give anything to have a woman look at me the way Zeke looked at you yesterday. If you don’t want him, there are thousands of other guys who’ll take him.”
Marcel didn’t want Mr. Lowry to find anyone else. He’d liked the way the alpha had looked at him and spoken to him. He liked the way he’d taken charge. He’d liked watching the hospital staff scramble to do Mr. Lowry’s bidding.
He just didn’t want to be the one scrambling. His fathers had an equal partnership, and that’s what he wanted with his eventual mate, not that he was looking anyway. Right now, his career came first. Besides, Ezekiel Lowry was not the kind of man who offered equality. He was the kind who demanded subservience.
“You know what I want in a man? I want one who will get on his knees for me. No—I want one who insists on getting on his knees for me.” He’d still be alpha and powerful, but he’d be a generous and considerate lover as well. Little things would matter, like foot rubs and walks in the p
ark. And he’d understand that Marcel’s career was important.
The room had gone curiously silent as Marcel mused about his one-day mate. A tingling under his ribs roused him from his reverie, and he looked up to find the object of his never-gonna-happen fantasy standing at the foot of his bed. Marcel felt his eyes widen and his lips part.
Mr. Lowry studied him attentively, as if he’d heard at least a few of Marcel’s thoughts. “How are you feeling today?”
“You sound like a nurse.” Sarcasm came out when Marcel opened his mouth, a combination of his refusal to cede to Mr. Lowry’s stated wishes and a need to establish his independence.
Mr. Lowry frowned, and it was the kind of expression that struck fear into hearts—mainly Marcel’s. His heart beat too hard to look over to see if Holden was similarly paralyzed.
Immediately, Marcel regretted his tone and the flippant response. “I mean, I’m okay. I’m sore, but they brought me crutches so I can get around on my own.”
Mr. Lowry brought his frown closer. “They didn’t put a cast on your arm yet.”
“The doctor said I had to wait for the swelling to go down.”
The menacing frown melted, and those searing blue eyes focused on Marcel’s face. “Oh. Okay, then.”
Now Marcel’s heart thundered for a different reason. He recognized the heated promise being delivered, and he wanted it as much as he wanted to run away from it. Tearing his gaze from Mr. Lowry’s, Marcel forced it to seek new vistas. He noticed that Mr. Lowry was wearing a different suit. This one was charcoal gray shot through with lighter pinstripes. His shirt was crisp and white, and his blue tie guided Marcel’s gaze right back to those incredible blue eyes. Mr. Lowry looked positively scrumptious in a suit.
“Mr. Lowry, what brings you back so bright and early?” Holden’s loud voice broke the spell binding Marcel to Mr. Lowry.
Mr. Lowry spared Holden the barest of glances. “I came to check on Marcel.”
With a lithe grace that most dancers possessed, Holden got to his feet. He rested a hand on Mr. Lowry’s arm. “He’s fine. I was just leaving to head to rehearsal. I’ll walk you out.”
Dismissing the blond man in an instant, Mr. Lowry said, “I’m staying.”
Holden looked to Marcel, silently communicating that he was willing to stay if Marcel wasn’t comfortable being alone with the large, predatory, and utterly handsome alpha male.
Marcel knew Holden couldn’t afford to be late. He smiled tightly. “Have a good rehearsal. I’ll try to get back on my feet by next week.”
Once Holden was gone, Mr. Lowry closed the door. “Your injuries are too severe to heal by next week.”
“I know, but Holden said they were holding my position until next week. After that, I’ll be fired.”
“If you push yourself, you could cause permanent injury that will bar you from dancing for the rest of your life.” Mr. Lowry’s frown made an encore appearance. “You have an apartment and a stipend that should cover your living expenses. Take the time you need to recover.”
He made it sound so simple, as if the opportunity for which he’d worked so hard would still be there when he was ready to take it. But this was a door slamming shut in his face, and it made Marcel more than a little angry. Because he’d gone after a thief, he was going to lose his chance to realize his dreams.
“Easy for you to say. Your job has a little more security than mine.”
Mr. Lowry cracked a smile. “You made a pun. I think you’ll be fine.”
Marcel met the smile that set his heart to beating out of control with a scowl. “I wasn’t joking around.”
Mr. Lowry perched on the edge of Marcel’s bed. The pressure of his hip against Marcel’s thigh was shockingly intimate, and the hand he parked on Marcel’s thigh was even more so. “I spoke with Scylla, the producer. He’s an old friend of mine—a walrus shifter who doesn’t like to swim—and he assured me that you’ll have a job when you recover. It might not be the same position, but you’ll be on the stage.”
The riot in his bloodstream prevented Marcel from experiencing the deepest parts of shock. “I— He— How— How did you get him to agree to that?”
“He’s a friend. It’s a favor.”
Favors like that were hard to come by. More than likely, Mr. Lowry meant to protect DI against a lawsuit centered on more than lost wages. Marcel narrowed his eyes. “You paid him.”
Mr. Lowry pressed his lips together. “Marcel, you’re walking on very thin ice right now.”
“Mr. Lowry, are you threatening me?”
He winced at Marcel’s use of his honorific title, but he got over it quickly. “Warning you, omega. I did something nice for you. Most people would say thank you.” He brushed the pad of his thumb in a half-circle over Marcel’s cheek.
Electricity zinged through Marcel, setting his nerves on high alert. Unused to having such a violent chemical reaction to a simple, affectionate touch, Marcel jerked away. He tried not to look at Mr. Lowry directly, but from his peripheral vision, he caught the shades of hurt that manifested in the handsome alpha’s eyes and ended in the hard set of his jaw.
Wordlessly, Mr. Lowry left the room.
As the door closed softly behind him, Marcel closed his eyes. He’d never felt that kind of connection before. He’d never had that kind of reaction before. Add to that the trauma he’d endured and the fact that he didn’t want Mr. Lowry’s kind of alpha in his life, and Marcel’s mind was a confused jumble of thoughts, feelings, fear—and yearning.
He wanted Mr. Lowry to come back and touch his face again.
He craved the feel of Mr. Lowry’s lips brushing his, the taste of his tongue as he plundered deeper, and the erotic glide of skin against skin.
When he realized Mr. Lowry wasn’t coming back, Marcel slowly let out the breath of hope he’d been holding.
That evening, wearing a cast on his arm and an air cast on his leg, Marcel prepared to leave the hospital. Holden was supposed to be there to pick him up, but he’d texted that rehearsals were running late. As he gathered his things, shoving them into his black backpack, a knock sounded at the door.
“I’m decent,” he called.
The door opened. “Marcel Yardan?”
He’d been expecting a nurse and hoping for Mr. Lowry. The voice that had him turning around to face the doorway belonged to neither. The man who owned the voice was small in comparison to Mr. Lowry, but average height when compared to regular humans. He had warm brown eyes, and his brown hair had a blond patch over one eye that made him look friendly and playful.
This was a canine shifter.
Marcel hobbled around on his crutch to face his guest. “Yeah. Who are you?”
He man hopped forward, a spring of joy in his step, and stuck out his hand. “Edgar Vidal Granger. Zeke sent me to make sure you got to your new apartment in one piece. He would have come himself, but he’s off doing boring business stuff. I only have an hour or so, though. I left my babies with my sister, and they’re teething, so she’s not going to last long alone with three one-year-olds who are gnawing on everything.”
Marcel eyed the omega with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. “You work for Mr. Lowry?”
“Nah. Zeke is BFF’s with my husband.” Edgar released Marcel’s hand and scooped up the backpack. “I’ll carry the heavy stuff, and you get to ride in the wheelchair.”
Marcel didn’t want his backpack out of his sight. “It’s light. I can manage.”
Edgar tapped his finger on his lips, but he didn’t release his hold on the backpack he’d slung over his shoulder. “Zeke said you had an independent streak. Look, I know you’re new in town, and you’re wary because we’re friends with Zane, who did this to you. I get it. But I promise you that Zane didn’t mean it. He thought you were some crazy guy trying to steal his backpack, which, by the way, looks exactly like yours. It’s the same brand, style, and color. Anyway, Zeke and Chay tracked Zane’s backpack to a garbage can, like, a mile away. They found it, but
all the stuff inside was missing. Luckily there wasn’t much in it except for Zane’s clothes and toothbrush and stuff. Zeke thinks Zane was targeted because he was distracted and wasn’t paying attention. Because, otherwise, why would someone want Zane’s underwear? I mean, he’s cute, but come on. Buy him a coffee. It’ll go over a lot better than stealing his skivvies.”
Replies were unnecessary. Edgar talked a mile a minute, spilling all kinds of facts, opinions, and observations. When the orderly showed up with the wheelchair, Marcel got right in.
Edgar walked alongside them, chatting with the orderly. “Have you worked here long?”
“About seven years.”
“Do you like it?” Edgar turned his big eyes on the skinny guy pushing the wheelchair. “I mean, it’s a lot of hard work.”
“I like working with people, helping them feel better.” The orderly’s smile came through in his tone.
“That’s fantastic. Marcel is a dancer. I can’t imagine doing that either. I’m not very graceful. Amar, my husband, says I’m a walking hazard. He says if there’s trouble out there, I’ll find it.”
Marcel found himself unable to swallow a quiet chuckle. Edgar’s effusive love of everything and everyone was infectious. He could see where it made up for his talkative nature.
They loaded Marcel into an SUV. As he waited for Edgar to get in the driver’s seat, he glanced in the back. It was full of baby accessories, like car seats and toys, stray diapers and lone nuggets of dry cereal. The smell of babies was overpowering.
Edgar got inside and breathed deeply. A huge grin broke out on his face. “I’m sorry about the mess, but with three little ones, sometimes cleaning gets shoved to the back burner.”
“It’s fine,” Marcel said. The idea of having kids at this point in his life made Marcel feel like he was suffocating. It would mean giving up his dreams, and he was not prepared to do that. It was another reason to keep Mr. Lowry at arm’s length. “So, you’re a dog shifter?”
“Yes. Tibetan Terrier. I’m a small, yippy dog, and a petite, talkative man.” Edgar giggled. “My husband is a big, quiet man. Opposites attract. Kind of like with you and Zeke.”