by Bru Baker
Tate’s jaw clenched, and Adrian reveled in the flash of anger he felt through the bond. Good. Let Tate get riled up. He wanted to see some sort of emotion from him to reassure himself that Tate was in this just as much as he was.
“The thought of you walking away from me makes me want to throw something,” Tate said, and Adrian was shocked into silence by his unexpected honesty. “Is that what you want me to say? That I want you? I do. That I feel this sense of wrongness when we’re not together? That’s true too. But we’re not wolves, we’re people. We aren’t slaves to our instincts.”
Heat flared over Adrian’s skin at Tate’s words. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room.
“Take a moment,” Kenya said, her words measured and calm.
Adrian wanted more than a moment. His palms itched and his skin felt too small. He couldn’t seem to draw enough air in no matter how hard he tried. He was losing control.
“Adrian, this is perfectly normal.” Kenya’s voice sounded like it was under water. Hazy and indistinct, more like the memory of someone talking than someone sitting a foot away from him. “You’ve been through a lot, physically and emotionally. Your control will come with time. Just let it happen.”
Shivers of heat speared up his spine, like knives sliding through flesh and ripping it apart. His tensed muscles cramped and spasmed, and he heard the arm of the chair he was sitting in snap as he gripped it.
“Don’t fight your shift. You’ll only make it more painful,” Kenya said.
That sounded like great advice, but it wasn’t helpful in the least. Adrian had no idea what to do. He wasn’t fighting anything—it was like the shift was attacking him. Agony washed over him in waves, building and receding with increasing frequency. If he knew how to stop this he would.
Sweat stung his eyes and he blinked furiously, trying to clear it away so he could see. His back bent under the next roll of the shift, and he slid off the couch and onto the floor. The cool tile pressed against his cheek helped ground him, and he focused on that instead of the pain.
He focused on drawing in slow, steady breaths. It held the worst of the pain at bay, but he couldn’t push the shift all the way back. He hadn’t fully shifted, but his fingers were tipped with claws and coarse hair had sprouted up his arms. He was caught in some sort of torturous limbo.
Adrian turned his head and watched as Tate lay down next to him.
“Are you going for a record?” Tate’s expression was strained, and Adrian could feel the concern coming off him, but his tone was teasing. “Most shifts in twenty-four hours, maybe?”
Adrian tried to smile at the lame joke, but it came out as a grimace. Having Tate close had taken the edge off his anxiety and pain, but he was still suspended midshift. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
“Practice makes perfect,” Adrian managed to force out through his clenched teeth.
Tate offered him a forced smile. “You did strike me as the perfectionist type,” he said. “Okay, as you’ve found, there’s a point of no return with a shift. Early on you can back it up, but once you’re reached the tipping point, the only way through is forward. It’s like that famous quote. The only way through hell is to keep going.”
Adrian’s pelvis felt like it was cracking. “Churchill,” he gasped out.
“Sure,” Tate said easily. “So I need you to stop fighting the shift. Let it happen.”
Adrian wanted to protest that he wasn’t fighting, but he couldn’t open his mouth. His jaw felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. The pressure in his skull was unbearable.
“Remember how you guided your shift back to human? You envisioned how things feel different in your human body, and that triggered your shift. You can do the same thing to help this along. How did the air taste as a wolf? It was amazing, wasn’t it? Think of everything your human nose isn’t picking up here.”
Tate took a deep breath, and Adrian watched him through hooded eyes, his attention locked on Tate’s face.
“Woodsmoke. With your wolf nose, you’ll be able to pinpoint exactly which cabin it’s at,” he continued. “Some of the leaves out in the forest are already starting to drop, and you’ll be able to tell what kind and where they are. Leaves that have fallen have a different scent—a layer of decay. Right now the entire forest smells like the change of seasons. And in the spring? In the spring you’ll be able to smell all that new life as buds start to sprout leaves. There’s nothing like it. It smells vibrant.”
Adrian closed his eyes and listened to Tate’s voice. He’d mostly smelled the stink of his own fear when he’d Turned, but there had been a lot of nuances to the air that it hadn’t blocked out entirely, like the piney-sharp scent of whatever they’d cleaned the room with contrasting with the real pine scent carried in with the air from outside.
He licked his lips, seeking out the tastes carried on the air. Tate was right—with a wolf’s nose, scent was more than just a smell. It was an experience. It didn’t register on his tongue, but rather at the back of his throat. He could pick up the mildewed scent of decay Tate had mentioned, mild but definitely there. Kenya’s scent was layered into the room, probably from years of using it. The chair in the corner by the window was her favorite—he could tell because it was where her scent was concentrated. A bit stale, but heavier there than anywhere else. She hadn’t been in the chair today.
He blinked open his eyes and looked around. Kenya wasn’t in the room at all anymore. Adrian flexed his legs, surprised when he couldn’t straighten them. He looked down and jolted when he realized he’d shifted completely. His borrowed sweatpants were shredded, and the shirt had probably met the same fate.
“Feeling better?” Tate sounded a bit winded himself, as if he’d been the one to have his body shattered and reformed into something new.
Adrian couldn’t speak, but he nudged his muzzle up and caught Tate under the chin. Tate laughed.
“Why don’t we head back to the cabin? You can hang out in this form or shift back if you want when we get there.” He stood and smirked down at Adrian, who was still sprawled out on the floor. “Or you could shift here and walk back naked. Your choice.”
Being self-conscious about nudity was a human construct, not a werewolf one, but Adrian still didn’t relish the thought of giving the entire camp an eyeful of his junk. He got to his feet slowly, testing out his paws. He hadn’t moved around much as a wolf the night of his Turn, and he was chagrined to realize he had to change the way he thought about walking. His legs slid out from under him when he tried to take a step on the slick floor, and he was sure he’d be blushing if it was possible. As it was, his high-pitched yelp had him wanting to burrow under the couch in embarrassment.
“It takes some getting used to,” Tate said. “Here, I’ll help.”
Adrian watched with growing curiosity as Tate slipped his T-shirt over his head and unfastened his jeans. He looked away to give him some privacy when he realized Tate was undressing completely. By the time he looked back, a gorgeous tawny wolf was standing over a pile of neatly folded clothes. Adrian couldn’t stop staring, but Tate didn’t seem to mind. He stood still, letting Adrian circle him. Tate was thinner than Adrian would have expected, but he looked strong. His fur had the same sun-drenched highlights that Tate’s hair had, which absolutely delighted Adrian. Tate gave a sharp yip to get Adrian’s attention after a few more moments, long before Adrian had managed to drink in his fill of the sight of Tate fully shifted.
They couldn’t communicate with words, but it didn’t hinder Tate’s ability to teach Adrian how to move in this body. After one more false start, his confidence grew, and Adrian was able to cross the room almost as gracefully as Tate.
The closed door didn’t slow Tate down at all. It had a lever for a handle, something Adrian hadn’t noticed before, but that struck him as a clever necessity now. Tate was able to open it with his muzzle, and the two of them stepped onto the gravel trail outside Kenya’s office. The small, sharp rocks would have stung
his human feet, but the pads of Adrian’s paws were toughened, and walking on the rocks didn’t cause the slightest twinge of discomfort.
Tate took the same kind of long-legged strides in his wolf form as he did as a human, and Adrian had to hurry to keep pace with him. He’d walked this route not half an hour ago as a human, but it was completely different as a wolf. Adrian kept getting distracted by scents and sounds, sometimes coming to a full stop to identify something that caught his attention.
Tate was waiting on the cabin’s porch when Adrian finally caught up, his eyes alight with amusement and head tilted slightly as he watched Adrian. Adrian found it completely endearing.
Whether or not moonmates were an actual thing, there was no denying Adrian had a connection with Tate. One that was growing deeper every hour they spent together—and one he couldn’t help but want to nurture, even though there was no way it could end well, not with Tate as vehemently opposed to the idea as he was.
He watched Tate nose open the cabin door and then trotted inside behind him. Besotted, Adrian thought. That was the word. Against his better judgment, he was absolutely besotted with this man.
Chapter Twelve
ADRIAN seemed happy in his wolf form, so Tate didn’t pressure him into shifting back once they’d gotten back to the cabin. He, however, wanted a beer, and since he needed thumbs to make that work, he’d have to shift back.
Watching was good practice for Adrian, so he barked sharply to grab his attention before he melted into his shift. Adrian followed hot on his heels when Tate padded down the hall, but he stopped short of following Tate into his room. As a human, a person’s room was a boundary that most wouldn’t invade without permission. As a wolf, it was a den, and the impulse to preserve its privacy was much stronger.
Tate could feel Adrian’s growing anxiety through their bond, so he hurried through getting dressed so he could rejoin him. Adrian was standing at full alert outside the door when Tate emerged, and he ran a hand over the soft fur on top of Adrian’s head as he walked by, marking Adrian with his scent to comfort him. The tension bled out of Adrian’s stance as he trotted down the hall after Tate, which only intensified Tate’s desire for a beer.
Adrian didn’t seem that sold on the concept of moonmates, which was good. He also didn’t seem against the idea of them furthering their bond, which was bad. It had disaster written all over it, but the more time Tate spent with Adrian the less that argument deterred him. Even if it was going to end with him getting his heart broken, it was too hard to fight. Tate had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Adrian, and his resolve was wearing down.
Tate popped the top off a beer, laughing when Adrian buried his head in his paws when offered one. Tate didn’t blame him. They didn’t lose themselves when they shifted, not after their first time, but things were simpler as a wolf. If Adrian needed time to think, staying shifted would help. Tate, on the other hand, needed time not to think, hence the beer.
“You can stay shifted as long as you like,” he told Adrian. “If you need me to talk you through shifting back, let me know.”
He picked up a book he’d left on the coffee table and curled up on the couch. He’d barely gotten through a chapter before Adrian’s hackles rose and a sharp knock sounded at the door. Tate ran a calming hand over his neck on his way to the door. From the smell of it, someone had sent over dinner.
“Kenya said you’d probably be holed up over here,” Diann said as soon as he opened the door. She held a picnic basket in both hands. “Didn’t want you two to go hungry.”
Tate had gotten takeout from the mess hall dozens of times, and it had never come in a wicker basket before. He raised an eyebrow at her as he took it. It was heavier than he’d expected, and glassware clinked inside it.
“I thought it was taco bar night.”
“I didn’t want to bother the kitchen in the middle of the dinner rush,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement when he shook his head.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Enjoy.” She gave him a finger wave before retreating from his porch, probably to meet up with Kenya to gossip about her meddling.
He sighed and closed the door. Adrian was on the rug, his ears perked toward the entryway, and his gaze locked on Tate.
“Diann brought us dinner,” he said as he put the basket on the coffee table. “If you’re hungry you can shift back now, or if not I can make a plate of stuff for you to have later.”
He started unpacking the basket, his stomach rumbling as the scent of fresh bread filled the room. She’d been to the farmer’s market recently. There were an assortment of cheeses and a jar of the blueberry rhubarb preserves made by a farm in Bloomington that he loved. As he’d suspected, there was also a bottle of wine and some glasses.
Tate caught the scent of Adrian’s pain and turned just in time to see him shift. His brow was sweaty and his smile was more of a grimace, but he looked proud.
Adrian gave himself a once-over and pumped his fist. “Nailed it.”
He tried to take a step, wobbled, and caught himself on the arm of the couch.
“Seven out of ten. Too bad you didn’t stick the landing.”
Adrian barked out a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Go get dressed and I’ll get dinner situated,” Tate said. “We can eat in here and watch Netflix or something if you want.”
Adrian cringed. “Would you mind if we didn’t?”
Tate kept forgetting Adrian was a new Turn. He handled himself so well it was easy to treat him like one of the other counselors instead of a wolfing who was still adjusting to amped-up senses.
“Of course.”
Adrian shivered as he made his way down the hall, so Tate lit a fire in the grate. Late summer was usually still sweltering during the day, but it got surprisingly cool in the evenings, tucked in the middle of the forest. By the time Adrian returned, looking cozy in a pair of Tate’s pajama pants and a worn T-shirt, the fire was crackling and Tate had laid the picnic out on the rug.
Adrian hesitated before entering the room. “This is—”
“More mixed messages,” Tate said. He shrugged. “I know. I keep telling you, it really isn’t you. I’m the problem. I’m attracted to you, Adrian. I was before the bond, and I am now. I feel an overwhelming urge to take care of you, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you. But I don’t like the idea that our biology is calling the shots here. I don’t like having my choice taken away from me.”
Adrian sank onto the rug and took the glass of wine Tate held out for him. “I get that, but you just said you were attracted to me before too. What if the bond isn’t purely biological? What if it just amplifies what you’re already feeling?”
Logically, it made sense. But logic didn’t play a big role in the part of Tate’s brain where all his insecurities lived. But Kenya and Diann were right about one thing—Tate had to stop letting his past define his future. He’d been hiding himself away for too long.
“That’s probably true,” he admitted. He took a sip of the wine Diann had given them and made a face. “This is sweet.”
Adrian picked up the bottle. “It’s a mead. They make it with honey. I think it tastes good.”
Tate put his glass down and picked his beer up. Even warm, it was better than the mead. “So you like sweet wines. What else do you like?”
Despite their dramatic meeting and the bond they shared, Tate didn’t know a lot about Adrian aside from what a quick Google search was able to turn up on the drive back from Indianapolis while Adrian had slept in the van.
It bothered Tate that he didn’t know Adrian’s favorite color or how—not if; he’d seen the guy naked—he liked to work out . If he liked cream in his coffee, or if he even liked coffee at all.
“I like all wines, not just the sweet ones,” Adrian said. He picked up the plate Tate had made for him and popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. “And beer, but just the darker stuff. I don’t like hops.”
Tate’s fridge was full of hoppy beers. He had an insane urge to run out to the store to stock up on things Adrian would like. That had to be the bond, didn’t it? This overwhelming need to take care of Adrian and make him happy?
“I’m not a big drinker anyway,” Adrian said with a shrug. “Not a picky eater, either.”
“I usually just eat what’s in the mess hall, but I can grab some groceries if you’d like to cook here.” He’d probably used the kitchen in the cabin a total of five times since he’d moved in, but he liked the cozy intimacy of sharing a meal alone with Adrian.
Adrian laughed. “Part of the reason I’m not a picky eater is because I don’t cook. We have a big Pack—someone’s always willing to have me over for dinner so I don’t get scurvy from subsisting solely on cereal eaten over the sink.”
From his research, Tate knew Adrian was one of four kids of one of the most prominent Alphas in the country, who in addition to running her Pack and having a seat on the Werewolf Council, also ran a business Adrian was very active in.
On the surface, Adrian was Tate’s polar opposite. He’d had a wonderful childhood, at least from what Tate had read online about Adrian’s family. Tate knew better than most that not everything online was true, but he really wanted it to be in this case. He had feelings for Adrian—ridiculous, maybe-bond-induced, mushy feelings—and he wanted to believe Adrian’s life up until this point had been good. Not like his.
“I never learned how to cook,” he said, and then gulped the rest of his beer. He never talked about his childhood, but this was different. Adrian was different. “My father believed that cooking was women’s work.”
Adrian shook his head. “A statement like that would cause a riot in my Pack.”
That was part of Tate’s hesitancy to get involved with Adrian. He and Adrian came from very different backgrounds, and as the son of the Alpha, Adrian held an important place in his Pack.