Camp H.O.W.L.

by Bru Baker

  “There were a lot of things I had to unlearn when I left,” Tate said. “Some of it I knew was wrong, but things like that seemed natural until I got out.”

  “I bet those were some tough lessons to learn,” Adrian said, and Tate was floored to hear sympathy in his voice instead of judgment.

  “Kenya had to teach me how to do my laundry,” he admitted. “Among other things. I was pretty pathetic.”

  Adrian leaned over and caught his eye. “You’re not pathetic. You’re amazing. You had to be so brave to leave. I can’t imagine.”

  Adrian wasn’t the first person to tell him that, but he was the first person Tate believed. How could he not, when he could feel Adrian’s pride and admiration bursting through their bond? He closed the distance between them and kissed him. Adrian tasted like the sweet honeyed mead he’d been drinking, and Tate deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue into Adrian’s mouth, seeking more. He didn’t mind it at all when it was tempered with Adrian’s own intoxicating taste.

  He gave himself over to the simple pleasure of the kiss for several long moments before reluctantly pulling back. There were things Adrian needed to know about him before they took this much further. Things he wasn’t ready to tell him right now.

  Adrian rested his head against Tate’s neck as they caught their breath. “Not that I’m complaining, but you were pretty adamant that we not consummate the bond. I need to know if you’ve changed your mind.”

  Tate tucked his cheek against the top of Adrian’s head. “I want to take things slow, but yeah. There’s just something irresistible about you.”

  TATE took a breath and balanced the tray he’d brought over from the mess hall so he could rap his knuckles against Adrian’s bedroom door. Breakfast had ended twenty minutes ago, and Tate didn’t want Adrian to miss out because he’d slept through it. They’d stayed up late talking after their impromptu picnic, and Tate hadn’t had the heart to wake Adrian when he’d left this morning. Adrian had said he wasn’t picky about food, so Tate brought a bit of everything. He had tea, coffee, eggs, bacon, a cinnamon roll, fruit, and a yogurt—surely something on the tray would make Adrian happy.

  He heard the bed creak, and a moment later Adrian opened the door, his face flushed and creased from sleep and his dark hair sticking up in all directions. He looked adorable, and Tate bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from saying it out loud.

  Adrian blinked owlishly at him. “Tate?”

  Tate realized he’d been standing there staring dumbly. He thrust the tray toward Adrian, whose gaze traveled down to it in confusion.

  “Breakfast,” Tate explained. Adrian backed up from the door to give him space, and Tate stepped inside and put the tray on the dresser. “You can’t skip meals right now—your metabolism is all over the place because of the Turn, and every time you shift you burn an insane amount of calories.”

  Adrian yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Just after ten.” Tate started to step back out of the room to give him some privacy, but Adrian stopped him.

  “Is this normal? Being so tired?”

  That must mean Adrian didn’t usually sleep this much. Tate tucked that nugget of information away in his growing mental file. “Can be. It’s a lot for your body to adjust to.”

  Most of the campers slept late as a rule, so Tate didn’t know if this was unusual or not. Breakfast was sparsely attended on days classes didn’t start early, and even on days the wolflings had to be up anyway, they usually swept through to grab coffee and something they could eat on the go.

  Not coincidentally, breakfast was Tate’s favorite meal of the day. He’d always been an early riser, but a meal without noise and crowds was all the incentive he needed to rise at dawn most days. He’d already eaten, gotten in a run, and attended Blake’s morning yoga class before grabbing Adrian’s food.

  Adrian rubbed a hand over his face and studied the tray. His moan when he saw the coffee was almost pornographic. “Magic elixir of life,” he muttered, taking the mug in both hands and breathing in the steam.

  “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got a variety.”

  Adrian’s grateful smile made Tate weak in the knees. Literally. He had to lean against the doorframe to stay upright. He’d never had a reaction to someone like that before. Hell, he’d never even known a reaction like that was physically possible.

  “I appreciate it.” Adrian dipped a spoon in the yogurt. “I’m not usually a big breakfast person, but I’m starving.”

  “That’s normal too,” Tate offered. He looked past Adrian and out the window, not wanting the image of him licking the spoon in his mental catalog. He was already thrumming with arousal at the sight of Adrian all rumpled—after last night’s kiss he didn’t need any more fodder for his overactive libido. Adrian seemed to be well ahead of the other wolflings in terms of interpreting chemosignals, so Tate doubted his interest had gone unnoticed. Luckily Adrian was kind enough not to mention it—just like Tate was adult enough not to focus on the fact that he could smell how he was affecting Adrian too. “It’ll take a few months, but your appetite will return to normal. You’ll only need to eat more when you’re shifting a lot.”

  Adrian swallowed his bite, and Tate chanced a glance at him. He was eating some bacon now, which seemed a lot safer than the spoon for Tate’s peace of mind.

  “Everyone keeps telling me how much things are going to settle in the next few months,” Adrian said, his lip curled slightly. “But how? Is it just a biological thing? Is it a control thing? What can I do to hurry it along?”

  “Control will help, but some of it is just timing. We think of the Turn happening over a day or so, but really it takes a good month for all those hormones to settle down. You’re able to shift now, and your body has gone through most of the changes from the Turn, but there are still small things happening. Body chemistry, building more muscle, your bones strengthening. Things like that take a lot of energy, which is why you’re tired. They also take a lot of calories, which is why you’re hungry. Mood swings are common, trouble sleeping, aches and pains—it’s like a hellacious growth spurt.”

  Adrian leaned a hip against the dresser, cradling his coffee like a precious gift. “But there are things I can do to get control faster, right?”

  “Absolutely. It’s why you’re here. We have classes six days a week aimed at helping wolflings understand the physiological changes the Turn brings and how to maintain control. How to blend in the human world. How to shift without so much trauma. How to take care of your body now that you’re stronger.”

  Adrian brightened. “When do I start classes?”

  “As soon as you’re feeling up to it,” Tate said.

  Adrian put his mug on the tray and opened the dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of Tate’s sweats. They were still waiting for Adrian’s things, and Tate wasn’t sure if he wanted them to arrive quickly or not. Having Adrian blanketed in his scent was a special kind of torture, but it was also comforting knowing part of him was with Adrian throughout the day.

  “I can be ready in five.”

  Tate glanced at his watch. “The morning session has already started, but you can join in the afternoon sessions today if you like. Go ahead and finish your breakfast. You have plenty of time.”

  Adrian looked almost comically conflicted, like he wanted to eat but didn’t want to miss anything.

  “You can’t afford to skip meals right now,” Tate reminded him. A spike of satisfaction went through him when Adrian picked his fork back up and shoveled in a mouthful of eggs.

  “I have a session starting in twenty minutes, so I have to go. Are you okay here? I can come by and take you over to the mess hall for lunch at twelve-thirty. You can come to my two o’clock class on social media if you want.”

  Adrian choked on the piece of croissant he’d just broken off and popped into his mouth. “Social media?” he asked incredulously.

  Tate shrugged. “It’s a huge exposure risk,” he said. “Remember, t
hese wolflings are teenagers. Their first instinct is to put everything on Instagram. Their little brains aren’t fully formed yet—they don’t think things through. We have to hammer in the importance of secrecy and what that means for their day-to-day lives while we have them here as a captive audience.”

  Adrian chuckled. “I don’t have an Instagram.”

  “Twitter, then,” Tate teased. “It’s where all the old fogies are these days.”

  He didn’t have a Twitter himself. He didn’t have any social media, which at a glance made him an odd choice for teaching sessions on staying safe in the cyber world. But the reason he didn’t have any of those accounts was because he knew exactly how hazardous they could be—especially for someone who was running from a dangerous, messy past like his. That never made it into his lessons, but it was the driving force behind every lecture he gave in the class. Adrian was watching him with thinly veiled amusement. “I just can’t picture you teaching teenagers about social media.”

  “I’m not teaching them about social media. I’m teaching them how to manage their social media presence to prevent the downfall of werewolf civilization.”

  Adrian took a drink of coffee and quirked an eyebrow. “The downfall of civilization?”

  It sounded stupid, but it was absolutely imperative that they made sure the wolflings understood how one simple Snap could start an avalanche that would be next to impossible to dig out of. Once the genie—or werewolf in this case—was out of the bottle, there was no going back. So they had to prevent the secret from getting out in the first place.

  “I swear, it’s going to be caused by social media,” Tate insisted. “Either by a werewolf posting something stupid or a passerby seeing something that doesn’t add up and taking a photo or a video that ends up going viral.”

  There had already been a few catastrophes, but the Werewolf Tribunal had a werewolf-run PR firm dedicated to debunking things people posted on the internet.

  “I’m definitely coming to your afternoon class,” Adrian said.

  “I thought you didn’t use social media?”

  Adrian’s eyes sparkled as he smiled, and Tate’s heart fluttered. Honest to God fluttered. “I’m intrigued by the idea of seeing you up in front of a class, being all authoritative while you say things like tweet and hashtag.”

  Tate shook his head. “I changed my mind. Don’t come to my class.”

  This felt like flirting—not that Tate had a lot of experience with it. It felt playful and fun, natural in a way that chatting up attractive men never had before. He was having a good time standing in the extra bedroom of his cabin shooting the shit with a newly Turned werewolf who looked like sex on a stick and had a laugh like sunshine shot through with whiskey. He was so screwed.

  “You won’t be able to keep me away,” Adrian teased. “I’ll be there in the front row. Teacher’s pet.”

  Heat shot through Tate at the joke, and he ducked his head to hide his warming cheeks. “I’ll come by to pick you up for lunch, unless you want to get out and explore on your own.”

  He looked up and saw Adrian’s slow, pleased smile. Adrian seemed to know exactly how much Tate was enjoying their conversation. Tate could feel the happiness coming off Adrian, which led into some sort of bizarre feedback loop—he was happy because Adrian was happy, and Adrian’s happiness amplified his own. Now that he’d stopped resisting it, there was no denying their connection was more than a Turn bond—even if he was uncomfortable calling it the M word.

  “I’m going to see if I can get Anne Marie to let me use a computer in her office to check my email,” Adrian said. “I didn’t prepare to be out for an extended period of time, so there are some things I need to take care of.”

  Now on top of being attractive and funny, Adrian was responsible and conscientious? Be still Tate’s traitorous heart.

  “Help yourself to my laptop. The cabins all have pretty good Wi-Fi, so you shouldn’t have a problem. It’s on the desk in my bedroom, but you’re welcome to bring it in here or work at the table in the living room. Wherever you’re most comfortable.”

  Tate had a sudden image of Adrian sprawled out over the bed in his room, tanned skin standing out against the white duvet cover, dark eyes reflecting the light from Tate’s laptop screen. It wasn’t a sexy image—if it was, he’d probably feel less guilty. No, it was a domestic image. Homey and comfortable. Something Tate had no right to envision. Bond or no bond, he had no claim over Adrian. They were having fun right now, but Adrian was only here for a few more weeks.

  The thought was more sobering than a cold shower. He was wasting time, playing at a fairy tale when he needed to be in his office meeting with a camper.

  “I have to head out, but I’ll be back in time for lunch. I hope you manage to get some work done today, but keep in mind that even though you have a fair amount of downtime here, you should probably take a leave of absence for the month. Work stress isn’t something you should be worrying about right now.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  LUNCH in the mess hall was an adventure. Tate had made good on his promise to meet Adrian at the cabin and escort him to lunch, but he’d had an emergency with one of his campers and hadn’t been able to stay.

  He’d left Adrian adrift in a room full of foreign scents, both pleasant and unpleasant, and a million distractions. It was like eating at a crowded mall food court, though with decidedly better food.

  What camp had a world-class chef? Tate had told him about that before, but Adrian assumed he’d been kidding. It was true. The camp had an honest-to-God classically trained chef who was well-known enough that even Adrian recognized him. That was saying something, considering he wasn’t much of a foodie.

  As if his age wasn’t bad enough, he also had nothing remotely appropriate to wear. Adrian was grateful Tate had come to the rescue yet again. His clothes hadn’t arrived yet, but even when they did he wouldn’t have anything to wear. He’d packed for a week of corporate meetings, not yoga classes and casual days in the woods.

  Tate was more muscular than him, and his T-shirt was snug through Adrian’s broad shoulders but baggy everywhere else, which was definitely a look paired with the borrowed sweatpants he had on. Adrian didn’t consider himself a clotheshorse, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out in public in sweatpants. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he even owned any sweatpants. He ran in shorts and lived in slacks and chinos the rest of the time.

  Even if he’d had the benefit of his own wardrobe, he was miles away from the fashion-forward teens around him. They were all wearing designer jeans and trendy shirts, which seemed like a bad idea for kids who didn’t have full control over their shift. He’d lost count of how many items of clothing—Tate’s clothing, mostly, which he felt guilty about—he’d ruined since the Turn, seams bursting to shreds when the shift triggered unexpectedly.

  Adrian couldn’t have stuck out more if he tried. That much was becoming clear the more he ventured out into the camp at large.

  It was a lot like high school, or at least what he remembered of it. Adrian could easily pick out the cliques while the campers flowed around him in the mess hall, segregating themselves into small groups and laying claim to parts of the cafeteria. There were probably only thirty kids at the camp this session, but they were a perfect microcosm of werewolf society. It wasn’t hard to identify the kids on the Alpha track—they moved with a confidence and self-assurance that was impossible to fake. The more aggressive kids—the ones who were the loudest, the roughest, the first to laugh at a mistake or jeer at someone a little different—all congregated together, rallying around a kid who had the posturing of an Alpha but not the natural comportment. The rest of the campers gave that table a wide berth. Then there were the campers who were quiet and frequently looked toward the table of would-be Alphas for their social cues. These would be the kids who would grow up to be the omegas, or the worker bees as Adrian jokingly called them. He used the term often at home, usually eliciting a smack upside
the head from his mother but not a contradiction. Obeisance to the Alpha was part of their DNA, but these werewolves took it to the next level. While all werewolves instinctively ceded to the head of the Pack, the worker bees were almost fanatical in their Alpha worship. Frankly, it was creepy.

  Adrian wasn’t sure where he’d fit in with his Pack when he went home. He wasn’t going to be a worker bee, that much was certain. The Turn hadn’t awakened a drive to lead in him, but it hadn’t sparked a drive to follow, either. He didn’t feel any more connected to his Alpha or his Pack than he had as a human, and that was worrying.

  Werewolves settled together in groups because there was safety in numbers, and biology hardwired them with a pack mentality to support that. Adrian’s Pack was also his family, but that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes all that held a Pack together was the pull of the Alpha’s magnetism—something Adrian hadn’t felt as a human and didn’t feel now. He loved his Pack, but he didn’t feel a magical connection to them like all the books said he should. Being away from his Alpha should feel like a physical weight, but all he felt was the normal amount of homesickness he experienced whenever he traveled.

  He had class with Tate in a few minutes, but Adrian caught Kenya as she was on her way out of the mess hall.

  “Kenya? Can I ask you a quick question?”

  She stopped and gave him a kind smile. “Of course, Adrian. But if it’s too involved, I reserve the right to table it until our session later. Fair?”

  “Fair,” he agreed. “I just—I’m supposed to feel a bond to my Pack, right? Everything I’ve read says being away from my Alpha should feel like a physical ache, and I overheard a couple of kids talking about it at lunch, and it sounded like they felt it. I don’t, not at all.” He fidgeted with a frayed thread on hem of his shirt. “Is that normal? Does it take a while to kick in or something?”