Jordan, naturally, perked right up—or rather perked up even more—at a new set of people to meet. “Yeah! It’s Tanner’s birthday, so we came up here to celebrate. Are you guys celebrating?”
One of the unknown weres laughed and clapped Jordan’s shoulder. “We are, but not a birthday. The Beavs won the game today!”
The group hooted once, then broke into the OSU fight song.
Wonderful. Tanner wasn’t the kind of guy who was comfortable around strangers, probably because his own pack was so small. Chase wondered briefly if he should ask Mal or Dr. MacLeod for help separating the interlopers from his charges. He glanced sidelong at the bar and thought he glimpsed a pale, slender man talking to Dr. MacLeod, but when he turned to look more carefully, the spot next to Dr. MacLeod was empty.
No. This is my responsibility. But maybe I should take the opportunity to order food and drinks. He glanced at the OSU weres, who had snagged chairs from around the room and joined their group, much to Jordan’s delight and Tanner’s noticeable dismay. Chase sighed. Apparently he’d be feeding the OSU were population as well as his own packlet.
Chase caught a flash of dark blond hair out of the corner of his eye, as if somebody had taken the empty spot at the bar, but when he turned, it was still empty. Chase shook his head. The noise and chaos of the bar was seriously messing with his sensory input.
The OSU weres had brought their beers with them to the table, including a pitcher. They’d also attracted the attention of a harassed server, who’d set clean, empty glasses in front of the Doghouse guys. The shaggy redhead who seemed to be their ringleader started to fill the glass in front of Gage, but Chase blocked the glass’s mouth with his hand.
The redhead had good reflexes—he barely slopped a splash onto Chase’s hand before he tipped the pitcher up. “Dude. What the hells?”
“The only two of us who are twenty-one are me and Tanner.”
The guy blinked, his amber eyes wide with alarm. “Shit. Thanks, man. The last thing we need tonight is to invoke the underage drinking spell. That’d get us banned from here for two full moons, which would be a tragedy.”
“Right.” Chase stood up. “I’ll go order some food and soda for everyone, shall I?”
The redhead grinned. “Awesome. We’ll take care of the beer for you and the birthday boy. Am I right?” His compatriots hollered in assent, and he filled Tanner’s glass to the brim. “I’m Magnus, by the way.”
Chase shot Tanner what he hoped was an encouraging smile as Magnus introduced the rest of his crew, then he made his way to the bar. He managed to order a pitcher of Coke and one of Dr Pepper (Gage’s soda of choice). When he ordered nachos and cheesy fries, the bartender glanced over Chase’s shoulder.
“A baker’s dozen weres? You’ll need at least five orders of each.”
Chase sighed for what felt like the seventeenth time that night. Why did I agree to this again? He’d wanted Tanner to have every possible experience a young were should expect once they came of age, but maybe he should have asked Tanner what he wanted to experience. After all, there were some “universal” were rites of passage that weren’t particularly pleasant. Chase suspected Tanner had been exposed to far too many of those. The Wallowa pack was not only small, it was also isolated and, rumor had it, so conservative as to be almost petrified.
The bartender set the pitchers of soda on the bar in front of Chase. “The food’ll be out soon. We’ll bring it to the table for you.”
“Thanks.”
Chase managed to carry the pitchers back to the table without spilling and set them down. “Coke and Dr Pepper.” Jordan and Hector reached for the Coke pitcher at the same time. Hector won.
“Hey!” Jordan scowled at Hector, who hummed as he filled the glass in front of him.
Hector brandished the pitcher. “Anyone else want Coke?” He pretended to ignore Jordan’s wildly waving hand, but then he shot a sheepish grin at Chase and slid the full glass across to Jordan.
After the pitchers were passed around—and Jordan’s glass was refilled because he’d guzzled the first one—Chase raised his own glass, a dark amber ale, courtesy of OSU’s finest. “A toast. To Tanner. Happy birthday, and welcome to the ranks of adult weres.”
Tanner smiled and ducked his chin. Chase’s thermal vision detected the heat rushing up Tanner’s neck, accompanied by pink warming his cheeks. “Th-thanks, everyone. Cheers.”
They all drank—Jordan and Hector both emptied their glasses this time—as the server arrived to deliver the food.
“Nachos!” Jordan crowed, but Dakota snatched the basket out of his reach.
“Tanner first.”
Tanner looked like he wanted to disappear under his chair. “No, really. It’s okay. Everyone dig in.” He raised his glass and took a minuscule sip. “I’m fine with this for now.”
Chase frowned—he’d noticed before that Tanner didn’t eat in front of strangers. Why didn’t I remember that before I ordered a truckload of bar snacks? “Tanner, if you’d rather—”
Tanner caught Chase’s eye and gave his head a tiny shake. Okay, then. He doesn’t want to make a scene.
The food disappeared as if one of Faerie’s brownie cleanup crews had hit it with a SpellOVac. Chase was debating whether he should order more when Jordan’s jaw sagged, his eyes threatening to bug out of his skull. “Dudes,” he breathed, his voice nearly inaudible under the noise of raucous conversation. “Mal and Dr. MacLeod are kissing!”
Almost as one, all the heads at the table turned to face the bar. Sure enough, Mal and Dr. MacLeod were engaging in a little PDA, apparently unconcerned by the goggling crowds. Chase leaned forward. “Don’t stare, guys. You know they’re partners. They’ve been living together since the Faerie Convergence last year.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen them do that before.” While everyone else had returned their attention to their drinks—except Hector, who lifted the parchment lining the nacho baskets in case any chip had escaped the initial massacre—Jordan kept staring at the two men at the bar.
Chase focused his attention on Tanner, whose beer hadn’t appreciably diminished.
“Holy crap, guys!” Jordan half stood, his voice rising above the nearby chatter. “That’s a ring. Did they just— Holy crap, holy crap, hoooly crap! They’re engaged!”
Chase glanced over his shoulder in time to see Mal and Dr. MacLeod lock lips in a kiss guaranteed to send every unmated adult were up in flames. He felt himself responding, his cock rising in his pants, and tore his gaze away, only to meet Tanner’s eyes across the table.
Tanner’s eyes blazed with the gold of arousal, his stare full of unmistakable intent.
Trapped like a dragonfly in that amber regard, Chase’s mouth went dry, and his cock hit full extension. He shoved his chair back from the table in a screech of wood. “Excuse me. I’ve got to . . .”
He met Magnus’s knowing—and surprisingly sympathetic—gaze. “I’ve got this,” Magnus said, then slapped the table, drawing everyone’s attention—except Tanner’s. “Hey, guys. Let’s introduce the pups to our favorite drinking game in honor of the birthday boy!”
As Chase stumbled through the crowd toward the restroom, the OSU weres began howling to the theme from Gilligan’s Island. Gods. I don’t want to know.
But what Chase really didn’t want to face was how poorly buried his own desires were. He was an adult, damn it. He was months away from the end of his service commitment, less than a year away from his own matriculation in the pre-law program at Lewis & Clark, where he’d start the long, unwelcome slog toward becoming a litigation attorney—his pack’s version of an enforcer.
Yet judging by his cock, currently being strangled by the seam of his jeans, he had no more emotional control than Jordan in a room full of Frisbees.
He pushed open the heavy door of the restroom. A couple of men stood at the urinals, but the middle stall was open. He stumbled inside and fumbled the latch, leaning against the door as he freed his cock from its denim tourniquet.
But as he breathed a sigh of semirelief, he realized the restroom might not have been the best recovery zone, because the sounds rising from the stalls on either side of him—grunts, moans, the slap of flesh against flesh, flesh against tile—weren’t exactly conducive to, er, deflation.
Chase squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his palms against the cold metal door, and thought about torts. Intellectual property law. Civil litigation. The amorous sounds of both couples—or rather one couple and one thruple—fought the normal dick-shriveling response Chase always had to anything related to his destined career.
As he breathed in—through his mouth, because the scent of sex was nearly overwhelming to his were nose—gradually law won out over lust.
It was a near thing, though. And with Tanner still waiting at the table outside . . .
Gods, I’ve been so careful. The perfect RA. Or as perfect as he could manage. Because living in the house with young weres struggling to tame their natures, to fit into the Wider World, to embrace their individuality when so much of pack tradition urged conformity, had been a dream come true. If he had his own wish, he’d stay there forever, his calon—the extra organ every supe possessed—beating in time with his heart whenever one of his charges graduated from the program and returned to their pack, secure in their own identity.
But Tanner had been a challenge to him from the very first day. Chase, a very newly minted RA, had taken one look at Tanner—gods, those cheekbones—and known he needed to lock his instincts down tight.
Although Tanner’s understated beauty was remarkable, it wasn’t his looks that undid Chase in the end. No, that had been the pain lurking behind the hope in Tanner’s eyes as he’d stepped inside the Doghouse. He’d taken a breath, straightened his shoulders like he was shedding a weight, and smiled as if, against his worst fears, he’d awoken in Wonderland.
That smile, directed at Chase, had cut him off right below his heart. Over the last three years, Chase had fought against that smile, reminding himself that he had responsibilities, and they did not include taking an innocent were to bed, no matter how much he wanted to.
But maybe, just maybe, things are about to change.
“Drink! Drink! Drink!”
Magnus and the other OSU weres pounded the table as they chanted. Tanner barely heard them. His gaze was fixed on the restroom door, willing Chase to come out. He hadn’t imagined it, had he? Chase had looked back at him, really looked, with the same golden-eyed glow that Tanner saw in his mirror whenever he thought about kissing Chase.
Which he did. Think about it, that is. Far too often.
Beside him, Jordan tipped his glass up, gulping the last of his Coke—his seventh glass, by Tanner’s distracted count. He plunked the glass on the table. “Hit me again. Although I think it’s unfair to ask questions about Mrs. Howell. She was boring.”
“Them’s the rules, pup. Read ’em and weep.” Magnus slopped Coke into Jordan’s glass, then peered at Tanner. “You’re not keeping up, birthday boy.”
Tanner glanced down at his beer. Every time he managed to choke down another swallow, Magnus topped up his glass again, so he had no idea how much he’d actually drunk. Too much and not enough.
Too much because he didn’t really care for the taste, and it seemed to add to the snarl in his already knotted stomach. Not enough because he was still way too sober to contemplate what was currently on his mind.
Kissing Chase.
He glanced at the guys around the table. Between the ridiculous Gilligan’s Island drinking game—which involved far too much howling, judging by the glares of the supes at nearby tables—and the continual rounds of bar food and soda, they all seemed like they were having a good time. Magnus and his friends looked . . . indulgent?
Suddenly, that indulgence spiked Tanner’s anger. We’re not children. I’m a legal adult. I can drink beer. I can kiss—
Tanner sat up, blinking. I can kiss whoever I want. I can kiss Chase and it won’t be a violation of his ethics. It won’t jeopardize his reputation. The vows that RAs took when they accepted the responsibility for a Howling Residence were pretty intense and restrictive. The punishments for violations were, in Tanner’s opinion, extreme. All of them assumed that any, er, intimate activity between an RA and a resident was de facto evidence of the older were taking advantage of the younger one. Chase had never overstepped, always so careful, so imperturbable, almost aloof at times. Occasionally, Tanner wondered if Chase even liked him. But then his smile would dawn like a promise and Tanner would hope again.
With the paperwork that Chase filed today on Tanner’s behalf, though, the paperwork that he’d returned to Tanner with the Assimilation Board stamp, Chase was no longer bound by those vows where Tanner was concerned.
Tanner glanced at the bar. Mal and Dr. MacLeod had stopped kissing and were murmuring to each other, heads together, fingers entwined. Suddenly the ache in Tanner’s chest bloomed so large, so fierce, so hot that he gulped a quarter of his beer just to cool off.
I want that. That closeness, that connection, that sanction to touch and be touched. After tonight, after the delivery of that benighted signet—currently resting in Tanner’s jacket pocket because when he’d tried to leave it in his room, Jordan had retrieved it and looked so proud of himself that Tanner couldn’t refuse, although he drew the line at wearing it—Tanner’s window of opportunity with Chase could vanish at any moment. What if his uncle decided to terminate his Howling before his three years were up, just because his stupid birthday was so early in the academic year? It wasn’t traditional, certainly, but given that their pack had been without an official pack alpha since his father’s death, Uncle Patrick could cite extenuating circumstances and insist that Tanner return to the compound soon. Maybe immediately.
This might be his last chance. I refuse to go back to my life, to my destiny, to my freaking pack prison, without tasting Chase at least once. He needed to scare up enough courage to just do it.
“Hey, guys.” Magnus was peering through the crowd. “Looks like Hamish is about to leave. We better catch him now.” He grinned at Tanner and his housemates as the other OSU weres scraped their chairs back from the table. “Happy birthday, young pup.” He snagged the last nacho before Hector could grab it. “Thanks for the snacks. It’s been great hanging with you.” He tapped the handle of the beer pitcher, which still held about a quarter of its contents. “We’ll leave this for you and your RA, birthday boy.”
They all surged across the bar, their beer glasses in hand.
But Tanner barely registered their departure because Chase emerged from the restroom. Tanner took another slug of his beer—for courage—and pushed away from the table. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He left the guys behind, Jordan and Hector squabbling over whether they needed more nachos or cheesy fries, and threaded his way through the tables to where Chase stood outside the restroom door. Vaguely, he was aware that Mal and Dr. MacLeod were leaving the bar to a huge round of cheering and applause—led, apparently, by the Hunter’s Moon drummer and his OSU acolytes.
But Tanner had eyes only for Chase. His gaze locked with Tanner’s, and Tanner bumped into the corner of a table. The zing of pain in his thigh was buried, forgotten, under Chase’s gray-eyed regard.
Why do people think gray eyes are cold? Nothing could be warmer, more welcoming, than his eyes.
Tanner stopped in front of Chase. “Hi.”
Chase swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding smoothly under his ivory skin. It’s pale and perfect, like his wolf’s pelt. “Hi.”
“So, Magnus and his gang have gone in pursuit of rock star autographs.”
A smile quivered on Chase’s mouth, and Tanner’s focus narrowed to those lips. “I see that.”
“I think Jordan has consumed approximately three gallons of soda. I’m surprised he hasn’t made seven trips to the restroom by now.”
Alarm flickered across Chase’s face. “Oh gods. He hasn’t been retreating to the corners to—”
“No!” Tanner held up his hands, palms out. All I have to do is move my hands six inches and I’d be touching his chest. “I think he’s got a cast-iron bladder the size of a Ross Island cement mixer.”
Chase chuckled. “You could be right.”
“So. I wanted to thank you.”
Chase tilted his head. Gods, a little more and he’ll be in the perfect kissing position. “For bringing you to a bar that you clearly didn’t want to visit?”
Tanner dropped his hands. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” Chase’s voice held nothing but mild amusement, but it jolted Tanner’s belly nevertheless.
“That’s not what I— I mean, I didn’t—don’t mind. The guys wanted to come and it’s not like I’ll have the chance again.”
“Why not? You’ve got the full rights and privileges of an adult under pack law. You could head over here every night if you wanted, from now until your Howling ends.”
Tanner dropped his gaze, studying the toes of his not-very-interesting sneakers. Can I say it? He peeked up at Chase from under his lashes, to find Chase frowning. Oh no. I’ve screwed up. He’s mad. He’s— But Chase wasn’t looking at Tanner. He was focused on something beyond Tanner’s shoulder.
“I mean for everything.”
Chase jerked his gaze back to Tanner. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I said for everything.”
“Everything?”
“Thank you. For everything.”
“Oh.” Chase’s gaze softened, and his smile . . . Was that tenderness? “You’re welcome.”
“I hope I didn’t . . . I mean, I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother.”
“A bother? You?” Chase chuckled. “Excuse me, but have you met Jordan?”
Tanner managed a wheezy chortle. “At least he’s fun.”
Chase’s expression turned serious. “There are different kinds of fun. Different things we all enjoy. And Tanner, watching the way you’ve grown over the last two and a half years—in confidence, in thoughtfulness, in knowledge. Well, I’m proud of you. Proud of what you’ve accomplished.” He grinned wryly. “I wish I could take the credit. That being such an awesome RA is why you’ve achieved so much, but—”
Howling on Hold Page 3