Camp H.O.W.L.

by Bru Baker

  He flexed his toes, the too-tight feeling returning to his skin as his arousal cooled. He didn’t want to go back to bed. He wanted to inch closer and find out exactly what Tate was doing, and not just because he was attracted to him. Tonight’s eavesdropping session was the first time in days Adrian had gotten any relief from his heightened senses, and he wasn’t eager to let go of the distraction.

  It was a poor excuse, but it was better than nothing. Adrian eased the bathroom door open, and inched into the dark room. Tate’s bedroom door appeared to be closed, so there was nothing to prevent Adrian from crossing the small space. He caught a glimpse of himself in the moonlit mirror, surprised to see his eyes were almost glowing. Another by-product of the Turn.

  He crept closer, stopping short of actually touching the door. With his luck it would be slightly ajar, and he’d careen into Tate’s room. Adrian could think of worse things than being sprawled out in front of Tate, but doing it unexpectedly while eavesdropping wasn’t the way he wanted that particular fantasy to go down.

  Adrian leaned in carefully and let his ear hover just above the surface of the door. Tate’s erratic breathing was audible, but the rest of the room was quiet, much to Adrian’s frustration. He was just about to press his luck and inch closer when things changed.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Tate yelled. A second later there was a loud clatter.

  Adrian scrambled away from the door, his heart in his throat, shuffling backward until his hip hit the marble sink. He had to resist the urge to crouch under it like a frightened dog. His hands came up involuntarily to cover his sensitive ears, which were ringing with the sudden loud noise that had cut through the quiet.

  When Adrian shifted slightly, the movement knocked a can of shaving cream off the sink, and he grimaced as it fell to the floor with a loud thunk. Or, it would have hit the floor if Adrian hadn’t instinctively moved to try to slow its fall. Instead, the thunk was the sound of the can hitting the top of his foot, accompanied by his yelp of pain and surprise.

  White-hot fire radiated out from the top of his foot, followed by a disturbing numbness that was almost as bad. That was hardly the worst part, though. Tate’s concerned voice broke the silence a second later.

  “Adrian? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  Adrian bit back a curse and groped madly for an excuse for why he’d been loitering in the dark bathroom. Nothing came. His mind was blank.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Hey, I can hear you breathing in there, so I know you’re not dead, but you’re freaking me out. Are you hurt?”

  Adrian flexed his sore foot, the pain subsiding almost as quickly as it had come. “Just hurt my foot,” he called back, wincing when his voice cracked.

  “I’m coming in,” Tate said, his tone taking on the brisk authority he used with the campers.

  Adrian flailed, aware he was practically sitting on the edge of the sink but unable to move before the door opened. His foot had healed almost instantly, but the real damage was done. Tate knew he’d been hanging out in the dark bathroom like a creep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  TATE stared at Adrian, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He’d had his lights on in his room since the bright light of his laptop hurt his eyes in the dark, so opening the door into the darkened bathroom was disorienting.

  He’d been braced to see Adrian in some sort of trouble, but he just seemed to be sitting in the bathroom in the dark. Maybe he was feeling nauseated? The flurry of hormonal changes that came with the Turn left a lot of people with upset stomachs and headaches. He’d felt a niggling of anxiety and panic coming from Adrian before he’d opened the door, but Tate couldn’t see an immediate reason for it as he inspected Adrian and the room.

  “I’m sorry to barge in, but I need to make sure you’re doing okay,” Tate said, taking care to telegraph his movements as he slowly walked into the room. The last thing he wanted to do was startle Adrian and make things worse.

  He’d noticed Adrian had been on edge all day, but he hadn’t said anything because he’d been so caught up in himself and his own problems. That had clearly been a mistake, and Tate was cursing himself for that now.

  He would never have let one of his nineteen-year-old campers leave his sight while they were so tweaked, but he’d gone against his own instincts and let Adrian go off on his own because Tate had wanted space. It had been stupid and selfish, and now Adrian was paying the price, left to navigate all of the changes the Turn brings without anyone there to help.

  It was Tate’s fault for thinking of him as an adult, not as the baby werewolf he was. Tate couldn’t bring himself to use casual, teasing terms like wolfling or pup with Adrian, not even in his thoughts. There was nothing young or half-formed about the beautiful man standing in front of him in nothing more than his boxers. Even in his confused state, Adrian was smoking hot and tempting as hell.

  Tate frowned when Adrian shivered. “Are you cold?”

  Wolflings usually ran hot, but he was learning there was nothing by the book about Adrian’s Turn. They were in new territory here, and none of the rules seemed to apply.

  Adrian didn’t respond, but when his shoulders shook with another slight tremor, Tate realized his misstep. He shouldn’t be asking Adrian anything right now. He needed to take charge, like he would if this were a situation with a regular camper.

  “Right. I’m going to get you a blanket, and we’re going to figure out what’s going on with you, okay?”

  Instead of turning his back on Adrian, he backed away, maintaining eye contact with him. He wasn’t sure if Adrian was about to snap, but he didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. As soon as he made it through the doorway, he shot to his bed and pulled off the cashmere throw a grateful parent had given him years ago. Aside from his laptop, it was the most expensive thing he owned. It was soft as sin and felt incredible next to his skin, which made it the perfect choice to wrap a half-naked Adrian in right now. The camp laundry used unscented detergent so the linens wouldn’t irritate a wolfling’s sensitive nose, but right now Adrian needed comfort. The absence of scent could be as disorienting as too much scent, and Tate worried that using one of Adrian’s blankets could send him further into shock—if that’s what was going on.

  Plus his instincts were screaming for him to scent mark Adrian, and Tate had learned to trust his gut in these situations. It rarely led him wrong when he was dealing with a wolfling in distress.

  “Adrian? I’m coming back in with a blanket, and then we’re going to get you moved out of the bathroom.”

  Adrian looked up at that, and Tate could see embarrassment written all over his face. Adrian looked more like himself, which was a good sign, but he was still shivering in the cool bathroom. Tate resisted the urge to hurry, not wanting to spook Adrian, and crossed the short distance between them. When Adrian looked at him warily but didn’t move away, Tate reached around him and wrapped the cashmere throw over his shoulders. Adrian’s hands came up to take the ends, clutching them to his chest as soon as Tate let go.

  “I’m fine,” Adrian said, his voice coming out as a croak. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a dark place to hide and a jar of Nutella can’t fix. Really, I’m good.”

  Tate narrowed his eyes as he inspected Adrian. He had been pale when Tate had first come in, but now he looked flushed. A fever, maybe? Adrian’s scent was all over the place, and all Tate could feel through their bond was embarrassment.

  “So you’ve said,” Tate said, giving in to a small, relieved smile when Adrian’s lips curved slightly at the heavy sarcasm. “I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now. Why don’t you join me in my room for a moment while we figure out what’s going on?”

  Adrian looked like he wanted to decline, but Tate had no intention of letting that happen.

  “If you don’t want to talk, you can just sit with me for a bit while we watch the masters.”

  That sparked a little life in Adrian. He rais
ed his head, his expression questioning. “The masters?”

  “It’s the Baden Masters. The first big tournament of the international curling season,” Tate said as he led Adrian over to where he had his laptop sitting on a table near his bed. His concern grew when Adrian choked and flushed darker at his words. Maybe he should call Diann and have her take Adrian to the infirmary. He looked peaked, and really, there was so much they didn’t know about the stress the Turn would put on an adult body. Adrian had handled everything so well thus far that Tate had stopped worrying about his physical health. He cursed himself for not being more vigilant. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Adrian looked fascinated as Tate guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. He was staring at the screen with wide eyes, his attention rapt. “You were watching… curling?”

  He sounded unsure, so Tate jumped in to explain. It seemed to be a good distraction from whatever had caused Adrian’s bathroom freak-out.

  “They’re trying to get the stone into that house, see?” Tate pointed toward the screen. “It looks like a target. The center is called the button, and it’s the ultimate goal. Seems easy, right? But that granite weighs about forty pounds, and it’s much harder to aim and get just the right velocity than you’d think.”

  Adrian made a faint noise that sounded almost like a laugh. “Curling,” he repeated.

  Tate nodded, encouraged that Adrian was talking. “So the guy there at the far end, behind the button, that’s the skip. I guess you’d call him the team captain in other sports. He’s telling the lead, the guy who’s holding on to the stone, how much force to use and where to aim. And then the second and third, the other guys on the ice, will use their brooms to smooth the way for the stone and get it heading in the right direction.”

  Adrian started laughing in earnest then, and Tate’s relief morphed back into concern. “Adrian—”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Adrian gasped out between laughs. “Shit.” He released his death grip on the blanket and held one hand against his chest, his laughs turning into wheezes as he struggled to take in enough air.

  Tate moved toward the bedside table to grab his phone. “I’ll call the infirmary.”

  Adrian lunged toward him with more coordination and speed than Tate would have expected him to show if he was in shock, so he let Adrian wrest the phone away from him.

  He drew in a deep lungful that calmed the rest of his giggles and waved Tate off. “I don’t need medical help,” he managed. “Mental help, maybe. But medically I’m fine.”

  That was hardly reassuring. Tate pulled his authority around himself like a cloak, settling himself into Dr. Lewis mode. “I’m going to need you to unpack that statement for me. How exactly did you end up in the dark hunched against the bathroom sink?”

  Adrian straightened, responding to the tone of Tate’s voice just as Tate had hoped he would. “It’s not—I’m fine. I just meant my mind was in the gutter.”

  Tate let silence hang between them, hoping to draw more out of Adrian as the awkwardness grew. Adrian began to fidget.

  “I mean, I heard some noises from your room and I was, uh, investigating,” Adrian offered meekly.

  Tate raised an eyebrow. “You were investigating noises in my room? From the sink?”

  Adrian’s flush returned. “I wasn’t at the sink, not until just before you came in. I’d been close to your door, and then something startled me, and I ended up by the sink somehow. A loud noise.”

  This wasn’t sounding like a psychotic break or shock, which was good. But it wasn’t making any sense, either. He pressed for more details.

  “You heard a loud noise while you were investigating other noises, and it took you by surprise?”

  Adrian hung his head for a moment and took a deep, bolstering breath before meeting Tate’s eyes. “I was trying to get to sleep, but I was really restless. I have been, lately. Just kind of itchy and miserable, I guess.” He shook his head when Tate tried to get a word in. “It’s normal, I know. But it’s so different from how I’m used to feeling, and it’s got me totally on edge. And then I picked up some noises from in here, thanks to my new super hearing,” he said dryly, rolling his eyes. “And I convinced myself it was okay to be nosy and invade your privacy, so I came into the bathroom to get a better vantage point.”

  Tate couldn’t imagine what the Turn would feel like as an adult. It had been bad enough when he’d been a teenager, but teenagers are basically hormone soup anyway, so while it had been uncomfortable and awkward, so were most things at that time. At nineteen he’d still been battling random boners and growing pains, and those had blended in with the aches, pains, and heightened senses from the Turn. It must be incredibly disconcerting to feel those as a grown man. Adrian was doing amazingly well, considering.

  But what could Tate have been doing that would be so distracting? He’d been in here watching a curling match with the volume turned off.

  “Vantage point?” he prompted.

  “Yeah. Or whatever you’d call it for eavesdropping. I guess vantage point implies sight, and I swear I wasn’t going to take it that far. I respect your decision to take things slow. I’m not going to pressure you into anything,” Adrian said, chagrined. He rubbed the back of his neck, causing the blanket to fall open and expose more of his toned, gorgeous chest. He had a body that would make any werewolf proud, which was all the more impressive because he’d gotten those rangy muscles as a human. Tate wondered if Adrian would fill out a bit more now and take on the more muscled physique most adult male werewolves developed or if he’d stay lightly muscled and compact.

  “What could you hear?” Tate asked, curious.

  “Ah,” Adrian hedged. “Your breathing and heart rate were fast, and you were, uh, talking.”

  Tate was used to living by himself, but he’d been mindful of the fact that Adrian was just one room away tonight. And he didn’t think he talked to himself, did he?

  “About the game, I guess,” Adrian said, his tone embarrassed. “But, uh, I thought it could be something else. And I wanted to find out for sure, because apparently either the Turn or this weird bond we share has made me into a creep as well as a slavering wolf beast.”

  Tate laughed. “One, you’re not a slavering wolf beast. You’re a werewolf. A man who can turn into a wolf by his own will, which is pretty damn cool. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will gain control.”

  Adrian was still leaking pheromones all over the place, which had Tate on edge himself. As his fear and anxiety receded, it was impossible to ignore the arousal he was broadcasting. Tate couldn’t tamp down his own response, no matter how hard he tried. How mortifying to be lecturing Adrian on control when Tate could barely control himself. He’d never felt attraction like this to anyone else. He could barely think straight.

  “And two?” Adrian prompted, his head tilted quizzically.

  Tate tried to ignore the way the gesture made Adrian look even more kissable. “Two?”

  “You said one, so I assumed there was a second point.”

  It had been easier to keep a lid on his libido when Adrian had been pale and shocky. Now his cheeks had a rosy cast to them, and his eyes were sparkling with amusement, and Tate was so, so screwed.

  “Uh,” he murmured, glancing away from Adrian to try to compose himself. “Two, you’re not a creep. You’re getting used to your new senses. You can’t be blamed for letting your curiosity get the best of you.”

  Adrian shook his head ruefully. “Thanks for trying to give me a pass, but super senses or not, I didn’t have the right to invade your privacy.”

  “That’s just it, though. Your senses are on overdrive. Everything is hyped up right now after the Turn. Your brain is trying to figure out how to process all the extra input it’s getting, and that has some side effects, like distractibility, irritability—”

  “Curiosity?” Adrian interrupted, his tone dry. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to call bullshit on that one. I totally agree my brai
n is struggling to catch up, and it’s definitely giving me problems with my attention span and making me cranky. But it’s not increasing my curiosity or any other ity you’re planning to throw in there to make me feel better. The only one that matters is responsibility. As in, I’m a big boy. I can take responsibility for my actions, especially when I’ve done something that sucks, like listening outside your door because I thought you were jacking off and I wanted to hear more.”

  Tate swallowed hard. The thought of Adrian listening to him getting off was making him want to get off. The fact that Adrian was standing in front of him wearing next to nothing wasn’t helping, either.

  “Oh,” he said, the word coming out breathy and off.

  Adrian looked up, his eyes widening as he studied Tate. Tate could imagine what Adrian was seeing. Flushed cheeks, rapid breathing, dilating pupils—pretty much the mirror image of what Tate was watching happen to Adrian.

  Was this their natural attraction, or was this simply another symptom of the bond amplifying their emotions? Damned if Tate knew, and the longer Adrian stood there tempting him, the less he cared.

  “Tate,” Adrian said, hesitant. “If you want me to leave….”

  He should. But he didn’t. “I don’t.”

  Adrian licked his lower lip, and Tate tracked the motion with hungry eyes. His pulse jumped, and the semi he’d sprung when Adrian admitted he’d wanted to listen to Tate jacking off fattened.

  Adrian stepped forward, eyes still on Tate’s, until they were close enough for their breath to mingle. Tate took the lead then, tilting his head and leaning forward the few millimeters that separated them.