“And good thing we have a few of those paper-pushers on our side,” said Max with the profound confidence of a man who’d once been one of those paper-pushers. They had friends in bureaucracy and that had to count for something. Trickle and Gladdy both still worked at DURPS.
Colin said, “Unless they decide it’s a mark against us. Accuse us of bribery or something.”
“Trust you to look on the dark side.” His brother sighed.
Colin grimaced. “Just because they wear suits and flash badges doesn’t mean they can’t be bullies.”
Everyone was staring at him. Colin flinched, realizing how much he’d revealed, and then quickly added, “They aren’t after me, I swear.”
“Course not, pup,” growled Judd.
Kevin gave his brother a pat. He stopped quickly. Colin didn’t like to be touched too much. “What do you want us to do, then, Alpha?”
Trust Kev to bid for action.
Alec nodded at his enforcer. “Double up on patrols. Keep your noses open for loners in our territory. Each of us is to go about his normal life and business as if he were under surveillance, because we probably are. We’ve a hunt this Saturday.” He looked at Colin. “Mandatory attendance for everyone, no excuses.” He flicked his eyes to Max and Marvin. “That means you guys too. Just be home, stay safe, guard our backs. Nothing much more we can do, really. Just don’t give them any excuses.”
The pack all nodded. Even Max.
Alec turned to focus on the mage. “Don’t do anything drastic, Max. We play it safe for now. You taking any major action, even if it’s the right one, will only make us look defensive.”
Max grimaced, but nodded. “You want me to lay any traps? Bryan and I can fix small enchantments now. And we’ve nothing else on our plate.”
Alec considered. “Not yet. We’ll keep our guard up the wolf way. If they come looking for werewolves, we give them model werewolves and model citizens.”
The pack all nodded.
“Alright, boys, it’s Friday night. Let’s have some dinner and try to cheer up, then you can all fuck off and have fun.”
They did all try.
Tank wasn’t sure about the others, but his little gaming group had a pretty somber night of it. He lost his campaign to conquer the Empire and the bacon was overcooked.
CHAPTER FIVE
Packing Surprises
It was strange – the mountain demigod had been at Saucebox for only the one night and one yummy kiss, but Isaac ached with his absence.
Clara’s grin was huge when he grumbled about facing up to a Friday with only one bouncer. “Missing your new tasty treat already?”
He distracted her by grabbing her hand and admiring the new manicure. “Oooo, sparkles!”
“I’m getting my disco diva on.”
“Don’t know why you bother. They only get chipped and covered in alcohol.”
“Gels, sugar. They last forever. I’ll take you some time.”
Isaac wondered how nail polish would work on a werewolf. Not that he’d ever find out (even if he got gels, he never shifted). Sparkly nails on Tank? Ooo, why is the idea of that huge buff dude with nail polish so very hot? Wouldn’t it be cute to see a wolf with pink disco claws?
He and Clara argued companionably about the relative sexiness of different nail colors and shapes, agreeing on very little except that a French was déclassé.
Isaac was preparing for his next counseling session when something happened to throw his whole evening schedule off. Or more to the point, someone happened.
He heard her before he saw her.
“Isaac, darling! I neeeeeeed you.”
Lavish Wellington strode across the dance floor in heels so high any other person would have had to mince. Not Lavish, of course. Lavish never wore anything she couldn’t kick ass in.
“And I’m here for you, babydoll.” Isaac came around the end of the bar and opened his arms.
Lavish flew into them.
“Why does she so clearly love you more than me?” wondered Xavier, walking up.
Lavish looked coyly at her boyfriend. “Because it’s Isaac. Everyone loves Isaac more than you, darling. Isaac, hon, I had the worst week. I must tell you all about it.”
Isaac knew what to do. He extracted himself carefully and went to make her a kir royale with an orange twist and a maraschino cherry.
He placed it in front of her as she assumed a stool. “Tell me all about it, sweetheart. Xavier, give us twenty minutes.”
His boss rolled his eyes. “But we have reservations.”
“So you’ll be late. You probably own the place.”
Xavier shrugged. “No, but I’m thinking about buying it, so they’ll wait. You girls have fun. I’ll go do some paperwork or something.” He kissed Lavish fondly, careful not to muss her makeup, and then drifted away like a good boyfriend.
Lavish smiled after him. “I do adore that man.”
Isaac chuckled. “And he adores you. Now tell me.”
Lavish began to wax eloquent, almost poetic in her ire, concerning her clients, her co-workers, and the barista across the street. Isaac made sympathetic noises in all the right places.
Lavish was a high-powered lawyer of some pricey corporate ilk. She was, in fact, exactly the opposite of Xavier’s normal type of girlfriend. Except her height. (Xavier liked women tall enough for him to require a stepladder.) For one thing, she was brilliant, and for another, she had more clout than he did in certain circles. These things made Xavier uncomfortable, and made Lavish last longer than any of his other lady friends.
Eventually, Lavish (unburdened, relaxed, and three royales sweeter) set off with Xavier to some hugely expensive meal.
The shifter whom Isaac was supposed to be counseling, a lean sweet-faced vanara who worked tech and had come all the way up from Silicon Valley, waited patiently. Isaac turned to him with an apologetic smile.
“Boss’s girlfriend,” he explained. “What can I get you?”
“A local stout, whatever you recommend, and some good advice.”
“Well, I can vouch for the beer, but the advice is less reliable.” Isaac, served the shifter his stout, and readied himself for a session. Open and friendly expression, check. Calming energy pushed out, check. Sympathetic ear, engaged.
“That’s not what I hear.” The man was stiff about the shoulders, twitchy, uncomfortable but not emotionally overwrought. Not a romantic problem, then.
“So, what’s troubling you?” Isaac’s evening officially began.
The vanara was not too bad off. He was having a hard time socializing at a new job, kept wanting to stroke his coworker’s heads and stuff like that. Isaac recommended relaxing at a shifter spa for help with tension, and suggested a few social tactics for better fitting in with humans – baking some nice banana bread for his team that kind of thing.
Clara nudged Isaac’s shoulder as the man left, steps light. “Another happy customer. And cute.”
Isaac smiled. “Oh, you know me, just trying to help.”
“Yeah, but no one ever listens to your problems?”
“Moi? I don’t have any problems.”
“Uh huh. You mean, you don’t wanna share them. It’s fine. Keep your secrets.” But she was clearly a little hurt.
Isaac yearned to console her. Of course he did. It was what he was. His wolf ached to nudge up against her. But Isaac was strong enough to resist his own nature, especially if yielding meant exposing his past. No one could be trusted with that, even Clara, whom he genuinely liked.
Gladdy came mincing in then. The kitsune didn’t have an appointment. She was visiting Saucebox for a drink with the girls, nothing to do with Isaac. Still, she looked a bit subdued so he checked in with her while he poured her an Omnivores Forever shot.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
Gladdy sipped the tiny drink. “Had a lover named Buttercup once. Pretty little thing.”
“Rough da
y at work?”
“Oh, you know DURPS. Paper-pushing. The usual.”
“Why so down, then?”
“My boss was weird all afternoon. Something happened this morning. Some visitors or whatever from higher up the food chain put her in a crap mood.”
“Your boss is a kelpie, right?”
“Uh huh. And I know they’re always pretty grumpy, but she was different today – like, seriously worried. I’m hoping we don’t have layoffs coming or something like that.”
“I doubt it’s that bad. You know kelpies. Plus, you’ll be fine. You’ve been there for decades.”
Gladdy nodded, finished her drink, and ordered another.
“Those your friends there?” Isaac passed it to her and nodded toward the door where a small, noisy group of mixed female shifters and humans wandered in.
Gladdy brightened and went to join them.
Isaac wished his job was always so easy.
He only had the early shift that night. He was off at midnight, leaving Clara and the third bartender, Lance, on for the rest of the evening.
The city was alive and buzzing when he hit the street. He should have been more alert, kept his nose in form, because Hayden got the jump on him and he ought to have smelled him coming.
The barghest slammed into Isaac and shoved him up against the wall in a side alley with that speed all shifters have, especially the bigger predators. Isaac’s wolf reacted, but sluggishly. Stupid creature was pining for something.
Hayden was up against Isaac before he could blink. The barghest used all his muscles to hold Isaac captive, trying to mark him, first by rubbing his mouth against Isaac’s cheek and neck, but then his teeth flashed. Not canines, thank fuck, the man was no Alpha to have a third form, but still the claiming intent was there. Isaac was having none of it. He was still a werewolf, and while he may not rank, he bet that his wolf was just as big as Hayden’s dog.
His wolf perked up and growled. Too little, too late. Isaac internally cursed at him to shut it. His human side was perfectly capable of handling this.
Instead of shifting, Isaac brought his knee up as hard as he could. It was the only leverage he had. Hayden cried out, doubled over, and dropped back. Isaac brought his other knee up into the man’s nose hard enough to break it.
The guy was a shifter. It’d heal easily enough, but it’d heal faster if he shifted and instinct would tell him that. Clearly, he wasn’t as good at controlling his beast as Isaac. Plus, full moon was tomorrow night. He succumbed to the urge.
The barghest shifted right there in the street. A profound indecency, what with no major threat and it being Friday night in San Francisco, full of raucous humans.
Isaac didn’t shift himself. It was ingrained in him to clamp down on his wolf and suppress the need that came along with the threat of a fully formed black dog. A lifetime of training and discipline kept him human. It was as if he had no other form at all.
His beast stirred, wanting to be free, to take over, to eat his humanity. His wolf was becoming a problem. It seemed that the less Isaac shifted, the more difficult it became to dumb down the creature within, as if his human form had forgotten what his wolf felt like and wanted to revisit it. It hurt worse than anything to hold back. It hurt more to stifle his shift than it did to actually give in to it.
But even stifled, Isaac was still a werewolf, and faster than any human could be on two legs. He was also built like a runner, long and lean with a big stride. So he took off.
The black dog chased him, of course, but Isaac was faster. To run was to encourage the hunt, but Isaac hadn’t any other option. The club was closer. He might have gone back, but instinct drove him home. His wolf took over what he could. Isaac’s brain clouded with fear and instinct, driving him downhill toward his lonely den and his shabby apartment.
He ran, missing the comfort of Tank’s big form. Wondering at any moment if the big werewolf would step out of the shadows and rescue him. He snorted at his own idiocy.
Like some white knight.
Like some pack mate.
Like some mate.
Isaac made it, just. He fumbled with the stupid lock, but was inside and slamming the gate behind him in time.
The barghest hit it hard. A huge shaggy black creature, part wolfhound, part monster, teeth like a hyena, breath like a cesspool. The gate dented and rattled. Isaac feared for its survival. But it held. It was one of the reasons Isaac rented that particular apartment.
Isaac didn’t stay to see if it would continue to hold. He ran the steps up to the front door, and was through and slamming it shut behind him. Up the stairs, he crashed into his third-floor apartment. It was empty of all his human roommates – Friday night, after all. With that door triple-locked behind him, then his bedroom door dead-bolted, Isaac dove into bed. He was fully clothed and covered in spilled drinks and street grime. But safe. One more night, safe, and still human. Or human enough to pass.
* * *
The San Andreas pack was tense all Saturday. Fortunately, nothing out of the ordinary happened to justify it. The SBI never appeared on their doorstep to arrest anyone. No one was found while running perimeter. The pack was safe.
The full moon hunt that night was subdued, especially when compared to their normal monthly jaunts which had a tendency to be bouncy and joyful. Still the pack brought down a beautiful buck. It was, at least, a successful hunt. The wolves took pride in their abilities.
Max and Marvin met them outside as they returned in the early morning. The mates didn’t often stay awake to greet them, but tonight they felt the need. On full moons, the mage and the merman usually hung out at Max’s place, drinking white wine and eating smoked salmon frittatas and binge-watching Scotland’s Next Top Alpha (arguing about whose kilt was the longest) until one or both fell asleep.
They’d formed an odd friendship – the aggressively cheerful merman and the prickly mage, but a friendship nonetheless. Tank thought it a very good thing. Marvin reminded Max that there were joys in life, and Max reminded Marvin that there were losses. Full moon, when they were inevitably left behind, was a time for sympathy and bonding. No doubt they complained about too much body hair in the shower drain, and how come every meal had to include red meat? It was a mark of concern that tonight the two hadn’t drunk themselves into silliness and slumber. Even they had felt the need to stay alert and on guard.
Bryan ran to his mate and pressed against his legs. Max leaned over and ran his hands reverently through the thick cream-colored fur.
Alec was a little more coy, but no less pleased to find his merman waiting up for him. A quick sniff-check to ensure Marvin was safe, and then a simple head-butt of love, while the merman fondled Alec’s silky ears.
Tank felt a pang of loneliness, for there was no one waiting for him. In that moment, what he wanted more than anything was to run the bridge into San Francisco, to the worst part of the Mission, to check if the man without a smell had made it home safely. But that was a silly idea. There was nothing special about Tank, no reason for particular affection or regard, no reason for anyone to be waiting, or expecting him to check on them.
Tank shook off his melancholy, taking comfort in the rest of his pack around him, the fact that both the mates were safe and untroubled by SBI, and the pleasing thought of a barbecue with friends tomorrow.
His bed, when he sought it, was big and empty. So he stayed in wolf form, nose to tail, and let his dreams be of gray eyes, because he was a wolf who knew no better and might be excused some measure of yearning for the impossible.
* * *
Isaac pretended to be sick on Saturday night. This always happened when full moon fell on a work night. Xavier, thank god, had never put the two together. His best bartender was mysteriously ill about once a month or so, and Xavier only grumbled about scheduling.
He could suspect PMS, I suppose.
Xavier was annoyed by the inconvenience, of course, but not as much as he might
have been on an ordinary Saturday night. Because full moon meant Saucebox’s shifter customers were mostly elsewhere. Some because they wanted to be, others because they must be. For supernatural creatures, full moon wasn’t a night for drinking and dancing (not at a club in San Francisco, at least).
Isaac spent full moon as he had every one for as long as he could remember. Barricaded in his room, desk up against the door, dresser pushed in front of the window, just in case. He had a bag of greasy junk food and a pile of meaty snacks. The cravings could get bad. Beef jerky was a godsend.
Isaac hated the full moon. Hated its call. No matter what he did, his body was wracked with chills as though in a deep fever. He was also super clumsy, like his hands were actually paws. His bones shook and his joints ached with a need he refused to satisfy. His wolf, trapped deep inside, howled with the pain of it. Both of them were miserable.
* * *
Sunday’s barbecue was definitely not a quiet, unassuming affair. Frankly, gatherings involving werewolves rarely were. Luckily, Alec anticipated this from the start, so when the Pack had their first post-moon roast, they invited all the neighbors.
The neighbors, mostly out of curiosity, had all attended. Now the San Andreas Pack hosted Sausalito’s version of an unofficial block party once a month. Of course there was Mitch, who left passive aggressive notes on their motorcycles and pretended he never got the invitations. He also liked to run the leaf blower first thing in the morning. But every neighborhood has to have a Mitch – it’s basically a requirement amongst humans.
People began to trickle in at about five in the afternoon and just kept coming. Gladdy brought her entire leash, a motley yet cheerful assortment of friends and lovers and mashie nibblers (as she called the more esoteric of her relationships). Most among her retinue were human, although there were a few of the smaller shifters as well. They all tended toward bright clear eyes, t-shirts with hand-stenciled slogans, and questionable haircuts.
Gladdy shook them all off and went directly up to Alec, where he sat sipping a beer and chatting politely with Dr Werstmeizer (three houses down on the left) about concerns growing pit fruit in a coastal environment. Gladdy always said hello to Alec first. She was not (absolutely not) doing this to show Alpha respect. As she was fond of reminding them, foxes didn’t have Alphas. No, she did it because she usually had a burr in her tail about something.
The Omega Objection Page 6