Howling on Hold

by E. J. Russell

  “Do you still have your clothes, boyo?”

  Tanner had to try three times before he could croak, “In the cave.” I guess when you don’t speak for three months, you’re out of practice.

  Mal ducked, peering into the shadowed hideout, and retrieved Tanner’s sorry clothing bundle. He picked at the knots in the damp cloth until he could unfold it. “These’ll be bloody cold and clammy, but better that than naked, eh? Sorry we didn’t have any spare clothes in our closet. I’ll tell Zeke to add that to his monster check list.” He shook out Tanner’s shirt and spread it on the bank. “Let’s let the sun warm things up a little before you put them on again.”

  “In the meantime . . .” Chase held out the protein bar.

  Clutching the blanket around himself with one hand—which gave him a kind of porno-superhero vibe, assuming the superhero defied Edna Mode’s rules and wore a cape (and nothing else) and had spent the last umpteen years on water rations in the Phantom Zone. He snatched the bar, his overlong fingernails grazing Chase’s skin. Chase winced, and Tanner dropped the bar, hunched over, and pulled the blanket around himself with shaking hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Chase’s voice was calm, soothing, warm. Tanner tried not to read too much into it—Chase used the same tone when he was reassuring Jordan after his latest Frisbee bender, or Hector when he fell off the pizza wagon. But Chase tore open the wrapper and offered the protein bar to Tanner with his other hand.

  This time, Tanner made himself grasp the bar with two shaking fingers. He couldn’t prevent himself from almost inhaling the thing in two bites. But as soon as he’d swallowed, Chase had another one ready. And another. And another. Tanner reached for the next, but Chase held out a water bottle instead. “Drink a little bit first? Those things are as dry as zombie dust.”

  Tanner nodded, because Chase was right—his mouth was so dry his tongue felt like a bar of sandpaper. He guzzled the water, emptying the bottle. When he’d shaken out the last drop, he glanced down at himself and realized he was covered in crumbs and that a lot of the water hadn’t made it into his mouth—it had run down his chin onto his exposed chest and the silvery blanket, which apparently was waterproof like a raincoat.

  Oh gods. I’ve gone feral. I’ve forgotten how to be human.

  He dropped onto his ass, pulling his knees up to his chest, and huddled under the blanket. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  For a moment, the only sounds were the burble of the creek and the soughing of the wind in the fir branches. Then came the muted thump of two pairs of footsteps and the crunch of gravel. Someone sat down at Tanner’s side. Someone whose scent he’d know in a crowd of thousands.

  Chase.

  Tanner’s trembling increased. What can I say to him? He must be so disgusted by me, by my lack of control, my lack of courage, my lack of humanity.

  But Chase didn’t say anything. He simply sat next to Tanner, his warmth bleeding through the space-age blanket. Then, with a rustle and rip of paper, he handed Tanner another protein bar.

  Chase had to call on every bit of the restraint he’d learned from RAing to keep from grabbing Tanner and holding on to him, to assure himself that Tanner was really okay. How can he be okay? He’s starving! Then he was overcome with the urge to shake Tanner till his teeth rattled for worrying Chase so. When he fought that down, he got hit with the possessive need to mark Tanner as his, to keep other males away.

  I am such an idiot. The only other males around were Mal—a very engaged fae—and Hugh, who, as a human, couldn’t challenge Chase in any way.

  But apparently his instincts couldn’t be managed with logic, because the urges came anyway, one after the other, until Chase felt as shaken and ragged as one of Jordan’s mauled Frisbees.

  He kept himself in check, his hand steady with the unwrapped protein bar, until he heard a muffled sob from inside Tanner’s silvery blanket fort.

  Screw restraint.

  Chase scuttled behind Tanner and sat down, cradling Tanner between his legs so Chase could wrap as much of himself around Tanner as possible. “I’m sorry, Tanner. I’m so sorry.”

  They rocked together for a while, Mal and Hugh keeping a discreet distance, Mal watching the surrounding woods with a warrior’s vigilance, and Hugh pretending he wasn’t casting furtive glances their way every few minutes.

  Then Tanner eased one hand out of the blanket. Chase held the protein bar within easy reach, but instead of grabbing it—as he had to be dying to do—he gripped Chase’s wrist and heaved a shuddering sigh.

  Chase nearly threw back his head and howled, although he wasn’t sure if it was from despair or triumph. Tanner was reaching for him—yes!—but was he the one who had driven Tanner to this extreme?

  Chase carefully laid his other hand over Tanner’s, something settling in his center, his calon, for the first time since that fateful night in November. Be honest. Since the first moment Tanner stepped through the Doghouse’s front door.

  Unwilling to call too much attention to that touch, Chase sat very still. Lowering his head, he rested his forehead against the back of Tanner’s neck.

  Tanner jerked, scooting forward out of Chase’s embrace. “Don’t do that.”

  Chase’s heart dropped. I screwed it up. He doesn’t want me anymore. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “I must stink. And my hair must be disgusting. I mean, how can you smell anything else?”

  A laugh fought its way out of Chase’s constricted chest. He couldn’t help it. And Tanner shot a glance over his shoulder that was completely and totally outraged. Chase wanted to howl his relief to the sky.

  “It’s not funny, Chase. I’ve gone feral.” Tanner scrambled to his feet, the blanket billowing open until he clutched it from inside at his waist. “If you were revolted by me before, you must be completely nauseated now.”

  The laughter died in Chase’s throat. He stood up. “You’ve never revolted me, Tanner. Far from it.”

  Tanner’s beautiful dark eyes were sunken, his cheekbones even more prominent. And the look on his face—devastation. “But the kiss. You pushed me away. I thought—”

  Chase wanted to lunge forward and wrap his arms around Tanner where they belonged. But with Tanner practically cowering in front of him, Chase forced himself to stop, hands clenched at his sides. “That wasn’t because I was revolted. Gods, Tanner, please tell me you haven’t been living in a freaking mud hole for three months because of that?”

  “You weren’t? But the look on your face that night. It was so . . . I don’t know. Resigned? Apologetic? Dismayed?”

  “So even you admit that ‘revolted’ wasn’t one of those things.”

  “But—”

  “Tanner, that was all on me.” Chase smiled wryly. “Well, some of it was you, but that was my fault too. With all the other guys, I’d had ‘the talk.’ The consent lecture.”

  “Consent?”

  “Yes. I didn’t object to the kiss itself—”

  “You didn’t?” Tanner’s chin came up, a glimmer of his old sparkle in his eyes.

  “But you should have asked if it would be okay first.”

  Tanner grimaced. “So you thought I was an asshole who takes what he wants without regard for the other person’s feelings. You thought I was a traditional alpha.”

  “No, of course not. I—” Chase ran both hands through his hair. “Shit. Look, there are rules RAs have to follow, okay? Boxes we have to check off to satisfy the Howling requirements. One of them is the consent lecture. I had it with the other guys.”

  Tanner’s eyebrows rose. “Even Jordan?”

  “Especially Jordan. But it requires alpha authority. To impress them with the seriousness of the situation. And when you got there, I was such a new RA. I’d only given the talk to one other person. Do you remember Martell?”

  “That big guy from the Clackamas pack? The one who got his Howling delayed for six years because he’d mauled that marten shifter?” Chase nodded. “Wow, that must have been
awkward.”

  “‘Awkward’ doesn’t begin to cover it. The guy was older than me, bigger than me, and didn’t take kindly to having a wet-behind-the-ears RA tell him he needed to ask before he pounced.”

  Tanner bit his lip. “Were you afraid I’d do the same thing?”

  “No!” Chase sucked in a breath. Am I going to admit this now? “I didn’t want to screw it up. Not with you. You were . . . special.”

  Tanner snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Just call me a freak. Everybody else does.”

  Chase ground his teeth together and counted to three, very slowly. “Then everybody is an idiot and deserves an official reprimand. If any of the guys at the house—”

  “No!” Tanner’s eyes widened in alarm. “None of them. They’re all great. You’ve been great.”

  “I haven’t been that great. Not with you.”

  “How can you say that? You’ve been wonderful.”

  “I haven’t. I held myself aloof from you. I didn’t engage as fully as with the other guys.”

  Tanner shrugged, his gaze dropping to his feet. “That’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  “But you shouldn’t be. You deserve so much more.”

  Tanner bit his lip, and his shoulders rose but didn’t fall again, as if he were holding his breath. “I’ve gotten more than I deserve. More than I ever hoped.” His voice was scratchy and his crooked smile nearly broke Chase’s heart. “Living in the house has been— Well, I’ve never been happier.”

  “So happy you ran away?”

  Tanner’s face shuttered. “That was different. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “No?”

  “Well, mostly.” Tanner’s gaze slid away, landing on the clothing Mal had spread on the bank. “I think I’d like to get dressed now, even if everything is still damp.” He wrinkled his nose. “Gods, after today, I never want to see those clothes again.” He edged past Chase, carefully not brushing against him. On purpose? “But I don’t want to have any deep and meaningful conversations wearing nothing but a space blanket.” He glanced over his shoulder at Mal and Hugh, who were still keeping their distance, then at Chase. “If you don’t mind, could you hold this up while I get dressed? I know shifters aren’t supposed to get freaked about nudity, but that’s Mal. I don’t want him to see what I . . .” He bit his lip again, staring down at his feet while his toes curled in the sparse grass.

  “He won’t judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about. None of us will. We just want you to be safe.” I just want you to come home.

  Tanner shrugged, the blanket sliding off one bare shoulder, his collarbone prominent under his skin. “Even so. I guess modesty is another way I’m a freak.”

  “Don’t say that,” Chase growled. But he approached Tanner carefully and held his hands at shoulder height so Tanner could pass him the blanket to form an impromptu one-sided changing room.

  Tanner chuckled as he picked up his battered jeans. “I guess it’s a good thing this spot is so far off most people’s radar at this time of year. Otherwise it could get tough for you to block sight lines from more than one direction at a time.”

  Chase would do almost anything to hear that chuckle again. “I’d give it my best shot. I could do an impression of Jordan when he’s had too much soda but doesn’t want to leave the room in case he misses something.”

  Tanner laughed, a rusty sound. “The time-honored pee-pee dance. Jordan is a master.” Tanner shot a glance at Chase from under his brows as he struggled into his wrinkled shirt. “Are they okay? Is everyone okay?”

  “They seem to be.” Gods, Tanner’s shirt hung on him like a gunny sack. “I haven’t had much chance to talk with them since I got back.”

  Tanner stilled with his hands on his top button. “Back? Back from where?”

  It was Chase’s turn to look away. “I was, um, suspended for three months.”

  “What?” Tanner’s shout brought Mal running toward them. “You were suspended? Why? When?” Tanner clutched the front of his shirt. “Oh, gods. It wasn’t because of me, was it?”

  Chase smiled as he draped the blanket over Tanner’s shoulders again. “Oddly enough, no. Things got a bit lively that evening, what with Jordan sneaking down to the fight pens—”

  “He went where?”

  “—and Gage trying to fool the Bullpen’s underage drinking spell—”

  “He did what?”

  “Apparently you didn’t drink all your beer before you left.”

  Tanner covered his face with his hands, his fingernails cracked and dirty. I should have found him. Somebody should have found him. He shouldn’t have been abandoned like this.

  “Oh, gods. It is my fault.”

  “Hey.” Chase brushed the back of Tanner’s hand. “You didn’t give Jordan the impulse control of a flea or convince Gage that the spell was to prevent purchasing alcohol as opposed to drinking it.”

  Tanner peeked between his fingers. “Was my running away the last straw?”

  “No. Because I didn’t know you’d run. Not until this morning.”

  Tanner dropped his hands, gaze flicking to points beyond Chase’s shoulder, probably Mal and Hugh, who’d stopped a few yards away. “You mean you came looking for me—”

  “First thing. When I found out nobody had seen you for three months—including your pack, by the way, who doesn’t seem alarmed that they hadn’t heard from you over the break.”

  Tanner hung his head. “Sorry. I never let them know that we’re allowed to come home for breaks. I’ve always stayed at the house.”

  “So I understand,” Chase said dryly. “And someday, I hope you’ll share why you never told me you were there alone. But putting that aside for now, once it was clear you’d been missing since your birthday, I hired Quest Investigations to locate you.”

  “So how did you?” Tanner’s clutch on the blanket wasn’t quite as white-knuckled anymore. “I mean, the trail must have been stone-cold, especially since I took an Uber out of downtown.”

  Mal stepped forward, grinning. “Hey, we’re professionals. We can’t reveal all our secrets. But Bryce’s dryad maintenance crew discovered some unusual things near the Wildwood trailhead the night you disappeared.” Mal pulled a folded cloth from his pocket and held it out to Tanner. “Including this rather distinctive signet ring.”

  Tanner took the bundle from Mal gingerly, unfolding the linen to reveal the ring. Under the Wider World sun, the ring still seemed to have a slight greenish cast, but maybe that was normal for it. Tanner sighed as he gazed at it. “When you told my uncle I was missing, what did he say?”

  “I, um, didn’t exactly mention it.” At Chase’s sheepish tone, Tanner’s chin jerked up.

  “You didn’t?” Tanner, Mal, and Hugh said at the same time.

  Mal frowned. “I assumed you contacted us with his pack’s knowledge and approval.”

  It was Chase’s turn to lift his chin. “Tanner’s an adult now. His uncle’s guardianship is over.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  “Please,” Tanner said, closing his fist around the ring so it winked out from between his fingers, “don’t argue. I—” His brows drew together. “What’s that noise? Are we having an earthquake?”

  Because a rolling rumble was approaching, sending the muddy grass undulating like the swells of the ocean.

  “That’s no earthquake.” With a zhing, Mal unsheathed his sword.

  Then the ground erupted around them.

  Tanner stumbled into Chase, losing his grip on the blanket and the stupid ring, which disappeared into a clump of thistles. Chase’s arm steadied him as a lumpen, mud-colored thing, stinking of sulfur and rot, grew out of the earth right where he’d been standing, the blanket draped over its head—was that a head? There weren’t any discernable features.

  Three other similar lumps were growing beyond Mal and Hugh. As they grew—and grew and grew—part of them . . . detached on each side. Arms? Then they pulled themselves free of
the ground, one trunk-like leg at a time, with a sound like a boulder getting sucked from a mire.

  “Fuck me sideways,” Mal muttered. “Golems.” He pointed at Hugh. “Get them to a safe house. I’ll check in after I’ve dealt with this lot.”

  Hugh didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Tanner and Chase both by the wrist and yanked them into a run along the creek bank.

  “But—” Chase stumbled as he looked over his shoulder. “Mal. We can’t leave him.”

  “One thing I’ve learned working with Mal,” Hugh panted, “if he gives an order, you don’t wait around to argue with him. You just do it.” Hugh glanced around, as if orienting himself, then nodded decisively. “This way.”

  They plunged down the bank and splashed into the stream, Mal’s war cries echoing behind them, although the bank hid the battle scene. Hugh towed them up the other bank and among the trees. “Oak. Oak. Where’s a fucking oak tree when you need one?”

  Chase pointed to the left. “There.”

  “Excellent.” Hugh dropped their wrists and pulled something out of his inner jacket pocket. It looked like a leaf. An oak leaf, although there was some kind of rune drawn on it. Hugh pressed his thumb against the rune and muttered something under his breath.

  Tanner gasped, poised to run, because a duergar stepped out from behind the oak tree.

  “Take it easy,” Hugh said. “I know he’s as big as those golem assholes, but he’s our FTA driver.”

  “Thank the gods,” Chase murmured.

  Tanner glanced between them and the fae, who wore a scowl as if he’d as soon toss them over the nearest cliff as look at them. “Driver?”

  “Fae Transportation Association. They were only getting started about the time you disappeared. He’ll take us through Faerie to a safe house.”

  The duergar held up one platter-sized hand. “Hold up.” He pointed at Tanner, who shrank back, Chase’s solid chest suddenly there to support him. “He’s not gonna puke all the way across the ceilidh glade like that last bloke, is he?”

  “No, he’s good,” Chase shrugged when Tanner looked at him in confusion. “It’s the same driver who took Gage and me through Faerie in November. It, um, wasn’t pretty.”