Howling on Hold

by E. J. Russell

  “Did you see that?” Jordan breathed.

  Chase was far more concerned with brushing enough mud off of Jordan to see if he’d sustained any injury. “Does it hurt anywhere? Do you think anything’s broken?”

  Jordan swatted at Chase’s fingers. “I’m fine. But it’s him. It’s Thor!”

  Chase glanced over at the big red-bearded guy who was whaling on the golems with his sledgehammer. “That’s not Thor. It’s Rusty Johnson. He’s an inactive beaver shifter who owns a construction company in Eugene.”

  But Jordan was apparently indulging in a bit of the selective hearing typical of juniors. He started to creep toward Rusty, so Chase caught his arm. “Jordan. Seriously. Stay out of his way if you don’t want to get Mjolnir-ed to death.”

  Jordan shot Chase a disgusted glance. “I’m not stupid, Chase. I know how superheroes work.” He shifted and darted back to the mud pile.

  “Rusty,” Mal shouted, “what the bleeding fuck are you doing out here? It’s your wedding day. Bryce won’t half kill me if you die before he can be your best man.”

  “He’ll have a few words for me if I let you drown in mud because you can’t remember how to destroy a golem.”

  “They’ll keep reassembling until we neutralize the spell or until Tanner gets far enough away.”

  “They need at least half their mass to regenerate limbs.” Rusty nodded at the ex-golem he’d obliterated, which was already crumbling into dust. “See? Now stand aside.”

  “Fuck that.” Mal grabbed a fallen tree branch and started whaling on one of the other golems.

  So Chase found a club of his own and waded in to the fray.

  The sounds of battle—shouts, growls, thuds—echoed through the trees now that Tanner was outside the silence sphere spell. Somewhere to the east, Chase was in danger. Not only Chase, but all the Doghouse guys, Mal, Quentin, Ted—everyone who was important to him. All because of me.

  A rabbit shot out of the underbrush and fled across the path in front of him, causing him to stumble.

  “Tanner!” Patrick called. “Come back here at once.”

  No, not because of me. Because of fucking Uncle Patrick.

  Patrick. Who’d just shot his own son. Who’d caused the death of his own sister and thought it acceptable collateral damage.

  Who never cared for me at all.

  Tanner’s ribs were an iron cage, squeezing his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. He raised his hand to dash the tears from his cheeks, but his hand wasn’t empty. He stumbled to a halt.

  Patrick’s gun. I forgot. Oh, gods, Patrick had been wearing gloves. Tanner’s and Finn’s fingerprints would be the only ones on the handle. It’s going to look like I shot Finn. He stared at the gun. Could I shoot Patrick?

  From the direction of the fight, a howl cut off with a tortured yip. Tanner set his jaw. If it keeps my friends safe, if it keeps Patrick from attacking Chase, I can do it. I will do it.

  He turned slowly and raised the gun as Patrick crashed out of the underbrush onto the path a dozen yards away.

  “Stay where you are or I’ll shoot.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Patrick brushed at the leaves clinging to his duster’s sleeves and shot an irritated glance at Tanner. “You could no more shoot anyone than you could fly to the moon.”

  The gun wobbled in Tanner’s grip. He’s right. I couldn’t even kill a rabbit when I was starving. There’s no way I can shoot a person. Even one as despicable as Patrick. He lowered the gun to his side. I’ll have to find another way.

  “Just as I thought.” Patrick held out his hand. “Now give it here so we can get this over with.”

  Tanner choked on a laugh. “Are you crazy? You think I’ll just give you the gun so you can shoot me? Shoot Finn again? Shoot my friends?”

  Patrick’s brows drew together. “Tanner.” His voice deepened, roughened, in the dominant tone of alpha authority. “Give me the gun.”

  But the order didn’t resonate in Tanner’s core at all. Tanner raised his chin. “No.”

  “You—” Patrick’s face twisted in fury. “You can’t defy me.”

  “Yes, I can. And I do.” Tanner stared him in the eyes. “You’re not my pack alpha. What’s more, you never were. You only had the authority that I granted you, and I don’t anymore.”

  “It hardly matters. Look at you. You’re holding the gun and you can’t bring yourself to pull the trigger. You’re weak, too weak to lead my pack, and I will end you. You. Finn. Your precious RA. All of you.” He took a step forward, his mouth stretching in a travesty of a smile. “But I’ll start with you.”

  “Maybe.” Tanner’s nerves sang as if he’d just downed one of Dr. MacLeod’s energy drinks. “But you’ll have to catch me first.” He turned and bounded into the trees, still clutching the gun, Jordan’s cell phone jabbing his butt with each stride.

  Patrick swore viciously and crashed after him.

  Tanner dodged among the boles, but not too fast—he wanted to lead Patrick away from his friends, and he couldn’t do that if he lost Patrick in the woods.

  Drawing him away isn’t enough. Finn’s injured, maybe dying, and I need to warn everyone that Patrick’s dangerous, that he’s a murderer. I need a plan.

  But with the pieces of his life crumbling around him, he wanted nothing so much as to crawl into the nearest cave and howl.

  Wait. A cave.

  Tanner pivoted sharply and doubled back to pass within a few feet of Patrick. “I won’t let you hurt anyone ever again.”

  Patrick lunged, but his Italian loafers slid on the pine mast and he missed his grab. “You can’t stop me.”

  We’ll see about that.

  Tanner loped away, maintaining the optimal distance—close enough to taunt and entice, but far enough to be safely out of reach. When the entrance to Ted’s cave came into view, Tanner’s courage failed. The cave wasn’t large and had no other exit. Patrick was bigger, a normal-sized were and could overpower Tanner easily in hand-to-hand combat, despite Mal’s lessons. If Patrick managed to grab the gun . . .

  Ten seconds. All I need is ten seconds.

  He gritted his teeth and dashed inside the cave.

  A shoosh of pine needles and a crackle of twigs announced Patrick’s arrival. “Really, Tanner? If this doesn’t prove how unsuited you are for leadership . . . Nobody could possibly blame me for unseating you.”

  “‘Unseating’?” Tanner tucked the gun under his belt at the small of his back and picked up the largest can of chili, hefting it in his hand. “Is that what you call murder?”

  “Murder is a human term. Traditional werewolf ascension rites are outside those laws.”

  “I’m pretty sure murder is murder no matter who you ask.” He grabbed the box of matches and shoved it into his pocket.

  “That’s a child’s belief. And you’re behaving exactly like a child. Come out of there at once.”

  “No.” Tanner flattened himself against the wall next to the cave mouth. “I’m not volunteering for my own murder. If you want me, you’ll have to come in and get me.”

  Patrick’s impatient huff was clearly audible. “You realize you’re only making this harder on yourself.” His footsteps drew nearer . . . nearer . . . right outside now.

  While Tanner was able to run into the cave with only his hair brushing the top of the cave mouth, Uncle Patrick was a normal-sized were.

  He had to duck.

  And as soon as the back of his head, red hair smooth and perfectly cut, appeared, Tanner nailed him with the can of chili.

  Patrick staggered into the cave and toppled forward onto his hands and knees, stunned but not unconscious. Ten seconds. All I need is ten seconds.

  Tanner dashed outside and pulled Jordan’s phone out of his pocket. Thank goodness we’ve never convinced him to secure it. He opened the FTA app and touched the gold rune in the center of the digital oak leaf, half his attention on Patrick, who was shaking his head, but hadn’t yet stood up.

  The tinny voic
e said, “Cludo” and almost immediately, the same enormous duergar driver who’d taken them from Forest Park stepped out of the trees. Thank goodness. If it had been a smaller fae, this plan would have exploded in my face.

  “Where to?” the driver rumbled.

  Tanner pointed to the cave mouth. “There.”

  The driver squinted at it. “It’s two bloody steps away.”

  “I know. But can you just sit there and block it? Keep the guy inside from getting out?”

  The driver rubbed his chin. “Meter’s still running.”

  “I don’t care. This is what I need to . . . to keep supes out of danger. That’s your job, right?”

  He shrugged. “It’s your gold.” But he sat down, his back to the hillside, completely covering the cave mouth.

  Tanner let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.” Inside the cave, Patrick yelled something, there was a thump, and the driver twitched. “He’s, uh, not very happy, so he’ll probably attack you.”

  “With what?”

  “I took the matches, so not fire. But, um, fists? Candles. Maybe a can opener. Although he is a werewolf, so shifting is a possibility.”

  “Can’t hurt me. But if he damages the uniform, you’ll get a bill.”

  “I’ll pay it. Gladly.” The app was connected to Jordan’s account, but Tanner would pony up any charges—in Frisbees, if necessary—and never count the cost. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” Tanner edged away until a tumble of rocks screened him from the driver. He tossed the gun on the ground, although he placed Jordan’s phone more carefully with a whispered thank you. Then he stripped faster than he’d ever done in his life, even when he was dodging disgruntled restaurant workers during his self-imposed exile.

  He shifted, but as he was poised to run, his gaze snagged on the gun. If Uncle Patrick gets out somehow . . .

  He dug a shallow hole and nudged the gun into it with his nose. Then he filled in the hole, kicked some pine needles over it, and darted into the woods, back toward the resort, back toward the battle.

  Back toward my heart.

  But while Chase was drawing him like a beacon, and Tanner wanted nothing so much as to be by his side, Chase had one of the most formidable fae warriors in history by his side. Finn had no one, and Tanner had no idea how long the FTA driver’s patience would endure with Patrick whaling on him with canned goods.

  I need help. Damn it, I should have called someone on Jordan’s phone before I shifted. Obviously he couldn’t get into the cabin, not with the battle raging in front of it. The resort. There had to be a phone there, right? It was a business. And it’s got a resident vampire at the moment. Surely he’d know how to contact the right people.

  The sounds of the fight were clearer now with his wolf’s hearing, and they pushed him to his top speed. He burst out of the woods on the other side of the resort from the cabin and raced toward the deck, where he’d seen Elmer and Cas vanish—Gods, was it only last night?—hoping the door wasn’t locked.

  But when he slunk down a set of shallow steps, Cas was standing outside—in daylight—frowning toward the battle.

  “If you die on our wedding day, Elmer,” he muttered, “I will kill you.” His face suddenly screwed up as if he’d smelled something revolting. That would be me. He whirled and glared at Tanner. “Wolf. What are you doing here?”

  The flagstone patio under the deck offered nowhere to hide, but Tanner didn’t have time for modesty. He shifted. “I need your help.”

  Cas pointed at the battle. “So do they. If you—”

  “I know who caused the golems. He shot my cousin. I’ve got him trapped in a cave, but there’s not much time—”

  “Why didn’t you say so? Come on. I know just who to call.”

  Chest heaving, Chase let his ad hoc truncheon drop from his numb fingers. All the golems had been dispatched, their remains crumbling away, leaving behind several weary weres, a couple of grimy warriors, and a very muddy bear being enfolded in an incubus’s leathery black wings.

  One by one, the Doghouse weres shifted back to human. Jordan bounded over to Chase. “Did you see, Chase? Digging holes in the backyard isn’t a nuisance. It’s training. We should all do more of it in case we meet mud monsters again. If Mal doesn’t know how, we could show him.”

  Chase chuckled and slapped Jordan’s shoulder. “Stranger things, buddy. You did great. But I think it might be time for you to get dressed again, don’t you?”

  Jordan glanced down at himself and blinked. “I’m naked. I forgot.”

  Chase studied the dirt streaking Jordan’s chest, arms, and legs. “You might want to clean up a bit first. Underwear full of grit isn’t the most comfortable.”

  Jordan wrinkled his nose. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Hey!” Gage loped over, panting and similarly covered with mud. “The lake’s right there. Let’s go rinse off.”

  Jordan backed away, holding his hands up in front of him. “In the water? Are you crazy?”

  “Nope.” Gage grinned. “Just filthy. So are you.” He whistled between his teeth, and Dakota trotted over, Hector at his heels. “What do you say, guys? Should we give Jordan a swimming lesson?”

  All three of them whooped and raised Jordan to their shoulders, then made tracks down the slope toward the lake shore. Chase watched until they heaved Jordan into the water. He tensed, ready to sprint for the lake, but Jordan emerged, spluttering, his hands flailing in the water.

  Ted ambled over, chuckling as he scraped mud out of his beard. “Don’t worry. It’s pretty shallow this close to shore. It doesn’t get deep until about twenty feet in.” Gage made a run at the water, leaping into a long, shallow dive that sent him about five feet beyond Jordan. The other guys splashed in a little more tentatively. “In fact, I should probably jump in myself.”

  Quentin joined them, wiping a clear space on his husband’s cheek to press a kiss there; smiling fondly, he brushed ineffectually at the dirt on Ted’s shoulders. “You know, darling, you do have a cabin right here with two perfectly functional showers.”

  “I know. But the dirt’ll clog the pipes.” He grinned. “Besides, it looks like they’re having fun.”

  Chase shaded his eyes against the glare of sunlight on water. Ted was right. Although Hector was paddling sedately in the shallows, Gage and Dakota appeared to be playing keep-away with Jordan, tossing a soggy ball of something between them. Wait . . . “Whose shirt is that?” He shook his head. “You know what? Never mind.”

  Ted chuckled, stroking the edge of Quentin’s wings. “Wings in public, Q-Bert.” He clucked his tongue. “You keep forgetting.”

  “Only when you’re about to be drowned in mud, darling.” He shooed Ted toward the lake. “Now go play with the pups.” He sighed as he watched Ted trot down to the shore. “Damn, that man has one fine ass.”

  Chase averted his gaze, feeling heat wash up his neck. Was I staring? “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right.” Quentin patted Chase’s arm. “It’s hard to miss up close and personal like this.” He glanced around. Rusty and Mal were talking quietly over a mound of dirt clods. “Wait a minute.” Quentin’s tone turned sharp. “Where’s Tanner?”

  “Mal told him to get off the battlefield, since he said the golems were mainly after Tanner.” All of a sudden, the adrenaline of the fight drained away and Chase’s knees buckled. He butt-planted on the ground. The golems were after Tanner. “This wasn’t accidental. There was a curse. Mal said there was a curse.” Chase pushed himself up, weaving on unsteady legs until Quentin steadied him with a hand on his elbow.

  “Easy.”

  “But Tanner left before Mal told us. He doesn’t know about the curse. If he—”

  “I don’t think the curse is the main worry right now. Or rather, I suspect it’s part of a larger issue. I wish Mal wasn’t so literal-minded.” He glanced down at himself. Part of his own bare chest was visible amid the tatters of his suit. “There goes another suit. I should know better than to wea
r anything other than off-the-rack when I’m around Ted.” He smiled, a bit grimly. “He seems to attract trouble, and I, er, react badly to any threat to him.”

  Chase pushed down the urge to run, to seek, to claim. “I know what you mean.”

  “Do you have any idea where Tanner might have gone if he was looking for someplace safe?”

  Chase snapped his fingers. “Ted’s cave.”

  Quentin raised his eyebrows. “He showed you that?”

  “Yes. We went into Dewton yesterday to get some clothes, and—”

  Quentin winced. “I wish you hadn’t. The point of a safe house is to remain hidden, you know.”

  “I, uh . . .” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Probably wasn’t the smartest. But Ted said no supes ever go through Dewton, so I figured we weren’t likely to run into anybody we knew.”

  Quentin shook his head. “Honestly. He goes to Dewton. So do I. But no sense belaboring the point. What’s done is done. As long as that was your only exposure . . . What?”

  Chase screwed up his face. “That’s not entirely the only thing. Tanner was afraid his uncle would worry. He was sending a couple of Tanner’s pack mates to the Doghouse to help him move back home.” Chase’s hackles rose. That’s not his home. His home is with me.

  Quentin’s jaw sagged. “Please tell me he didn’t—”

  “He did. He called his uncle. Well, actually I called his uncle from my cell phone.” He pointed to the cabin. “From your kitchen. Although the reception wasn’t great.”

  “No. And there’s a reason for that. Devil take it, if I’d known you’d been in contact, I’d have defied the council’s gag order and warned you when I arrived. But you were here. Safe. I assumed there was no risk.” Quentin ran his hands through his hair and blew out a breath. “Fucking Patrick Lassiter is the absolute last person Tanner should have called.”

  Chase’s breath congealed in his lungs. “Why? Because his cousin could find out?”