Howling on Hold

by E. J. Russell

  “Where to?” the driver rumbled as if the information were the absolute last thing he wanted to hear.

  “Secure transport,” Hugh said tersely. “I’ll tell you once we’re in Faerie.”

  The driver grunted. “This everybody?”

  Hugh glanced back the way they’d come, but there was no sign of Mal, even though the sounds of battle had faded. “Yes. Us three.”

  “You sure?” The driver sniffed the air, nostrils the size of Tanner’s fist flaring as he scented the breeze. “Because I smell—”

  “Yes, yes. But we need to go now.”

  “It’s your ride,” the driver said, and beckoned them forward. Tanner noticed a shimmer in the air next to the oak tree an instant before it swallowed Hugh up. He hesitated, but Chase murmured in his ear. “It’s okay. Go ahead. That’s what the spontaneous threshold looks like. But hurry. It doesn’t last long.”

  Tanner swallowed, but trusted Chase more than he trusted himself. Yeah, that’s because I make stupid choices like deciding to live packless all winter. He stepped forward, something sliding against him as if he were stepping through a bead curtain, assuming the beads were electrically charged silk.

  He found himself at the foot of a steep hillside crowned with enormous trees. A wide stream ran along the base of the hill, circling it as if it were a moat and the hill were a castle. Above him, the sky glowed cobalt blue. “Holy crap,” he murmured.

  Hugh chuckled. “Another first-timer, huh?” At Tanner’s stunned nod, he shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I still have that same reaction, because holy shit, man.” He spread his arms. “It’s fricking Faerie. An alternate dimension.”

  Chase appeared next to Tanner, and Tanner couldn’t help it—he edged closer, craving Chase’s warmth, his scent.

  Then he remembered. My scent must be totally repulsive. He sidled away again as the driver stomped over to join them. The ground trembled under his steps. At least I hope it’s from his steps. Tanner couldn’t help glancing around nervously. Did that clump of daffodils move? Or that rock? Or that grassy mound? But the tremors ceased when the driver stopped next to them and glared at Hugh. Maybe that’s not an angry glare. Maybe all duergar have resting psychopath face.

  “Now where?”

  Hugh rolled his lips in against his teeth. Tanner recognized the expression—it was the same one Jordan wore when he was trying to keep from blurting out something. “It had better be Wildwood, I guess.”

  “Wildwood?” Chase’s voice held anger. “Didn’t we just leave there? How can Forest Park be a safe house?”

  “Not the Wildwood Trail. Wildwood, the resort. It’s not precisely open yet.” He screwed his mouth up. “In fact, some people still call it by its old name.”

  “Which is . . .” Chase prompted when Hugh didn’t seem inclined to go on.

  “The Weasel Pit.” Tanner’s expression must have been as blank as Chase’s, because Hugh hurried to say, “It’s owned by a couple of good friends. We use it as a safe house.” Hugh shrugged. “Although to be honest, this is the first time we’ve used it.”

  “The Weasel Pit. Wonderful,” Tanner said faintly. “I feel safe already.”

  The driver turned and lumbered straight up the hill, Hugh on his heels. Tanner started to follow, although he’d have much preferred to curl up amid the moss and heather and pretend they all hadn’t been attacked by animate mud.

  Chase halted him with a gentle hand on his elbow. “Here. You probably need this too.” He handed Tanner a brown glass bottle stoppered with rubber. “Mal says it’s a restorative potion Bryce—that is, Dr. MacLeod—cooked up. Kind of a druid energy drink.”

  Tanner took the little bottle hesitantly. “Druid potions? Aren’t they always nasty?”

  “Traditionally, yes.” Chase grinned. “But you know Dr. MacLeod. He likes to challenge preconceived notions. Mal says it’s not any worse than Gatorade.”

  “Not exactly a ringing endorsement. That stuff is foul.”

  “I’ve got more water in the pack to wash the taste out, and there are more protein bars too, but . . .” Chase bit his lip. “You look kind of rough. I think it would be a good idea. You trust Dr. MacLeod, right?”

  “Of course.” And Tanner would do anything to wipe the self-reproach off Chase’s face. Besides, as Hugh and the driver increased their lead, and as Tanner’s confidence that he could make it to the top of this hill dwindled, he figured he needed all the help he could get. He tossed the potion back. It tasted vaguely of bergamot and maybe mint.

  Chase held out a bottle of water. “Need this?”

  Tanner shook his head. “No. It’s actually not bad. Tingles a little. I— Whoa.” Because once the potion hit his belly, heat and warmth and energy burst like a tiny nova, shooting down his legs and arms and up his chest all the way to the top of his head. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

  He scrambled up the hillside with Chase on his heels. “Tanner! Hold on a minute.”

  “You don’t have to coddle me, Chase. I’m not a kid. I can keep up.”

  Chase surged ahead of him and blocked Tanner’s way. “I know that. Trust me, I’m well aware. But the potion comes with a warning label. It’s a supplement, not a replacement for actual nourishment. And the more energy you expend, the faster it’ll get used up. So let’s slow down to a reasonable pace, and you can snack on some more protein bars as we walk. Okay?”

  Tanner’s feet itched with the urge to run, but even now, he could feel the effects receding. Don’t be an idiot. Prove you’re not a kid by acting like an adult. Be responsible for yourself at least. “Yeah. Okay.” Tanner accepted another protein bar from Chase and munched on it as they followed Hugh and the driver up the hill.

  They maintained an awkward radio silence, punctuated only by the crunch of nuts and the occasional gurgle when Chase passed Tanner a water bottle. Then, when the crown of trees was finally closer than the stream, and Tanner had consumed three more protein bars and two bottles of water, Chase finally spoke.

  “How could you stand it?”

  Tanner glanced at him, but Chase’s gaze was fixed on Hugh’s back, a half-dozen yards ahead. “Living packless, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  Tanner shrugged. “It seemed like the best option at the time.”

  “Because you thought I rejected you?” Chase’s voice was laced with pain. “Because if that was the reason—”

  “No!” It was Tanner’s turn to block Chase’s path. “When I left the Bullpen, the only thing I planned to do was walk home. Take a little time to get my head around how much I’d screwed up.”

  “You didn’t. I was the one who—”

  “Hey, guys?” Hugh called. “The meter’s running here.”

  Tanner shared a last tense look with Chase. “We’re coming.” When he turned around, they were suddenly standing at the edge of the forested plateau. “What the— I thought we were still only halfway up.”

  Hugh shrugged. “Faerie. The geography isn’t what you’d call inflexible.”

  They followed Hugh under the trees, the path only wide enough to go single file. Well, single file if one of the people on the path was a duergar, whose shoulders had to be a yard wide. But although there was a comfortable distance on Tanner’s either side, there wasn’t enough room for Chase to walk next to him. Probably a good thing. He’d rather avoid having an embarrassing, mea culpa conversation where Hugh and the driver could overhear.

  Suddenly Hugh stopped, and Tanner nearly plowed into his back. “What the—”

  The driver said, “Cross-traffic has the right of way.”

  Tanner peered around Hugh’s shoulder. Another path intersected theirs, and after a moment, a green-skinned fae about as high as Tanner’s waist trotted by, followed by a man so pale he had to be a vampire. Hugh grinned at them. “Fae Transportation Association. It’s catching on.”

  Their driver led them across an oval glade carpeted in moss, a circle of white stones glimmering amid the green. H
ugh pointed to a dais at one end. “This is the ceilidh glade. Mal and Bryce are holding their wedding here at the equinox.”

  “More traffic,” the driver growled.

  Tanner peered up at him. “Do you object? I mean, this obviously isn’t your traditional occupation.”

  The driver shrugged his massive shoulders. “Tips are good.” He glared balefully at Chase. “As long as the fare doesn’t puke all over the moss.” He stalked into the trees on the other side of the glade. The other three trotted to keep up.

  “How much farther do you think—” Tanner halted, mouth agape. Because they weren’t in Faerie anymore. He whirled, but instead of the glade, a lake stretched away to distant hills. Overlooking the lake, about half a mile along the shore, stood a huge wooden building, its many windows alight, its wide decks overlooking the lake. Although the place had to be massive, it somehow fit into its setting as if it had grown there, inevitable in the cup of its little valley.

  “Wow,” Tanner breathed.

  Hugh grinned, his chest puffed out a bit as if he’d arranged the view himself. “Gentlemen, welcome to Wildwood.”

  While Hugh was conducting some kind of low-voiced negotiation with the driver, Chase stood at Tanner’s shoulder, gazing out at the lake.

  “It’s beautiful,” Tanner breathed.

  “It is,” Chase replied, although in his mind, the view was made about a thousand times better because Tanner was in it.

  Hugh joined them as the driver vanished into the trees. “Here’s a token for a return trip, in case you need it before Mal gets back.” He held out one of the FTA oak leaves. “Don’t worry about paying the driver—it’s linked to the Quest account. You remember the activation word?”

  Chase took the leaf and tucked it into his pocket. “Cludo. Right?”

  “That’s it. Now come on. I’ll introduce you to my friend Ted.” Hugh pulled at the collar of his Henley, swallowing nervously. Chase could scent the beginning of panic in the sweat that gathered at Hugh’s hairline. “You’ll like him. Everybody does.”

  If everybody likes him, why are you terrified to meet him? Chase stayed close to Tanner as they followed Hugh along the path next to the lake. Maybe too close, considering the confused glances Tanner kept sending him. But damn it, he’d just found Tanner again, and those had been golems in the park. They hadn’t followed when Hugh, Tanner, and Chase had run, thank the gods. But why were they there? Were they after Mal?

  “Hugh?”

  He glanced back at Chase. “Yeah?”

  “Back at the park. Those golems. Do you know what was going on?”

  “Other than we nearly had our asses kicked? Nope.” Hugh’s gaze kept darting to the Wildwood building. “Although from what Niall has said, there’s some unrest in the supe community following the reorg of the Host. Some of the more conservative factions are a little miffed.”

  “‘Miffed’?” Anger pooled in Chase’s belly. “As you pointed out, we nearly got our asses kicked. Those were golems. You can’t reason with them. They’re obedient to the spell that rose them, and they won’t stop until they’ve achieved their objective.”

  “Then their objective can’t have been any of us, I guess. Don’t worry. Mal will figure it out. Between him and Niall, they always do.”

  “So, if we weren’t the objective,” Tanner said slowly, “why did Mal want us at a safe house?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Precaution, I guess? Until we hear from him, it’ll be best if you guys fly under the radar.”

  “For how long?” Chase couldn’t help imagining the havoc Jordan might wreak without alpha supervision. When he’d thought it would only be a few hours, asking Dakota to take charge didn’t seem like too much of a risk—to Dakota, to Jordan, or to Chase’s precarious position with the Assimilation Board. But indefinitely?

  “Not sure. But for now, you can hang out here.”

  Chase slid a glance at Tanner—who was looking back at him, although he jerked his head away, swallowing convulsively, when he caught Chase’s gaze. Right. Hang out. Be awkward. Although if they were going to be hanging out together . . . alone . . . Maybe Chase would finally have a chance to explain himself properly. Beg Tanner’s forgiveness. And then see where we go from there.

  Although it couldn’t be far. Chase kicked at an unoffending stone in the path. We’ve still got responsibilities waiting for us at home. Responsibilities that have no room for a relationship between the two of us.

  The path widened in front of a rustic but neat house, sort of a cross between a log cabin and a craftsman bungalow, with smoke curling out of its chimney pipe. Hugh was leading them past it on the way to the main lodge when the cabin door opened and an enormous bearded man stepped out onto the porch, buttoning a padded flannel jacket across his wide chest.

  Hugh’s nervous scent spiked. This is who he’s afraid to meet. Chase immediately tensed, because the scent around the cabin and coming from the man himself, although to a lesser degree, said bear. But even as Chase readied himself to spring in Tanner’s defense, Hugh raised a hand in greeting.

  “Hey, Ted.”

  A grin split the bear shifter’s—Ted’s—face. “Matt!” He surged down the porch steps and enveloped Hugh in a . . . well . . . bear hug. “It’s great to see you!”

  “‘Matt’?” Tanner glanced from Chase to Hugh, whose face was half-smooshed into Ted’s chest, his feet dangling inches off the ground. “I thought your name was Hugh?”

  Ted guffawed and set Hugh—or maybe Matt—on his feet again. “Really? That’s still going on? Why not correct them?”

  Matt—or maybe Hugh—tugged his jacket straight. “When I started working for Quest, well, the supe clients had kind of an attitude about allowing a human in on their secrets. Some of ’em wanted to eliminate the threat in a rather more, er, permanent way.” He drew his finger across his throat.

  Ted scowled, although even frowning didn’t eliminate the good humor in his face. “I’d never have let that happen. Neither would Quentin.”

  “Are you kidding? Quentin would have been first in line.” Hugh—or Matt—glanced at Chase and winced. “I kind of hit on Ted once. His husband took exception.”

  “Oh, come on. Q-Bert didn’t mean anything by it. Besides,” Ted reassured Tanner and Chase, “we weren’t married then. Barely even boyfriends.”

  “So why does everyone at Quest call you Hugh?”

  Matt—or Hugh—sighed. “Our first clients refused to call me anything except ‘the human.’ So Mal”—he rolled his eyes—“who can never resist a joke, not that Niall’s much better, shortened it to Hugh. In fact, that’s my official name on the Quest employee roster: Hugh Mann.”

  “Would you rather be called Matt?” Tanner asked.

  He shrugged. “Nah. I’m used to it now. Actually, I kind of like it. It reminds me that I’ve finally gotten something I always wanted.”

  Ted scratched his beard. “Do you want me to start calling you Hugh too?”

  Hugh blushed, not meeting Ted’s gaze. “No. You can still call me Matt.”

  “Good!” Ted pummeled Hugh’s shoulder. “Because I’d probably forget anyway.” He glanced at Chase and Tanner. “Oh, hey. I’m sorry.” He chuckled and held out one massive hand. “My husband’s the one with the manners, but you’d think I’d have picked up some by now. Ted Farnsworth.” He enthusiastically pumped Tanner’s hand and then Chase’s.

  “Ted, this is Tanner Araya and Chase Denney. Mal’s invoking the safe house option for them. There was an incident with some golems.”

  Ted’s dark eyes widened. “No kidding? Golems? Sure, no problem. They can stay—” Ted slapped his palm against his forehead. “I’m an idiot. There’s no room at the inn. Or there won’t be starting tomorrow anyway.” He beamed. “We’re hosting our very first event! As of tomorrow, the Weasel P— I mean, Wildwood Resort and Event Venue is open for business.”

  “Really?” Hugh held up his fist for Ted to bump. “That’s great! What’s the event?”

/>   “You remember my first husband? I mean, the guy who was supposed to be my first husband?”

  “Rusty? How could I forget? You talked about him nonstop until Quentin showed up.” Hugh grinned. “Now you talk nonstop about Quentin.”

  Ted’s cheeks above his beard turned ruddy. “I can’t help it. Love. It’s a thing. Anyway, it worked out for Rusty too. We’re hosting his wedding.” He turned to Chase and Tanner. “He’s marrying Quentin’s first husband. Well, almost-husband.”

  Tanner shot a panicked glance at Chase. “I’m so confused.”

  “Don’t worry,” Hugh said. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

  “The thing is . . .” Ted grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “The other groom is a vampire.”

  “And Rusty isn’t?” Chase asked.

  “Nope. Beaver shifter. Inactive.”

  This time, the look Tanner shared with Chase was mystified bordering on gobsmacked. “A shifter and a vampire? Isn’t that—”

  “Weird? You’d think so. But apparently inactives don’t stink to vampires like other shifters do.”

  “Wait . . .” Something tugged at Chase’s memory, something he’d heard his uncles talking about when he was moping around the compound during his suspension. “I’ve heard about this. Rusty Johnson, who owns Johnson Construction, right?”

  Ted beamed. “That’s the guy.”

  “Our pack economy is based on real estate and property management. We’ve used his company to do all our reconstruction and maintenance for years.”

  “Great, aren’t they? Even though Rusty was hip-deep in the Sheol renovations, he had his company help finish up the lodge so we could open on time.” Ted chuckled. “Of course, he had an incentive. Cas, his fiancé, was bound and determined to hold the ceremony here, although”—he winked—“he really wanted us to keep the name as the Weasel Pit until afterwards.”

  “My uncles mentioned that they got an invitation but declined because they didn’t want Rusty’s fiancé to have to fight shifter stink during his wedding. They sent a gift though.”