“You cook too?” Jaylen asked. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d get a dinner invite out of this—damn sight better than eating take-out for the thousandth time this month.
“Well, uh,” Westley’s ears turned red. “Not very well. But I’ve got a strong stomach, so—” He grinned.
Jaylen grinned back.
“I, uh, I wanted to tell you I like your hair. The different colored rubber bands and stuff.” He waved the back of his hand in an awkward gesture that encompassed Jaylen’s head and the two feet on either side.
Jaylen fingered the ends of his braids. Each one was tied with a small neon rubber band. He’d left them loose today to hang down to his mid-chest and back, but the big rubber band was in his pocket in case he needed to get his hair out of the way to do some killing. “Thanks. I do it myself.”
“Seriously?” Westley leaned forward, before apparently thinking better of sticking his nose into a near stranger’s hair. “How long does that take?”
“Hours,” Jaylen said. “So, am I the first black guy you’ve ever met? I haven’t seen anybody who wasn’t white since I rolled into town.” He kept his tone light, but Westley’s answer would tell him how he should interpret the stares the locals kept throwing his way and whether Westley had sat down because he liked Jaylen or because he had a kink for black guys he wanted to explore.
“No, you’re not,” Westley said. He pushed his shoulders back, as if he were trying to look more worldly. “I went to college. And graduate school.” No mistaking the pride in his voice.
Jaylen grinned. Christ, he was cute. “But if you hadn’t, I would be?”
“We actually have three black families in La Mer, so there.” Westley crossed his arms and fixed a smug expression on Jaylen like he expected a prize.
“Wow, that many,” Jaylen said obediently, but also meaning it. For a town this small, situated in the middle of a bunch of other no name towns in the midwest, three families wasn’t anything to sneeze at. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to get confrontational with you.”
“You didn’t,” Westley said. “I get what it’s like to be the odd man.”
Jaylen couldn’t imagine how that was possible, unless Westley thought being a hot gigantic white dude made his life rough, but he was interrupted before he could ask.
“Westley!” The waitress hurried over. Jaylen tensed when she gave Westley a hug, which Westley happily returned.
“Hi Patty!”
“You want the special, hon?”
“Please.” Good God, did Westley give that huge smile to everyone? Jaylen didn’t feel so special anymore. He sat like a putz and hating himself for it because, hello, some people liked to smile and he shouldn’t take it so damn personally that Westley was one of those people. It wasn’t like he had lifelong designs on the guy. More like forty minutes of flip-fucking and a hand job farewell. Yeah right. You wanted a whole night with him and his ass and eggs and bacon in the morning. You can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to your dick.
“You know, thank you so much for helping Mikey.” The waitress wolf was still talking, and Westley was still smiling, now with added nodding. She turned to Jaylen. He sat up, trying to hide his alarm at being addressed, pushing it down along with his desire to spill her guts on the table with a twist of his hidden blade. “My son had the flu, and Westley got him back on his feet before he missed any school.”
“Wow,” Jaylen said. He wasn’t sure how he was expected to respond. “How’d you do that?” he asked Westley.
“Oh, he’s wonderful with herbs,” Patty answered. “Has a cure for everything. Don’t you, hon?”
Either Jaylen was crazy, or Westley looked uncomfortable right then. “You make me blush,” Westley said, not blushing. Maybe it was discomfort at the praise, but for a split second Westley had looked... terrified. Patty didn’t seem to notice as she hugged him again.
“’I’ll get that special going for you,” she said as she hurried off.
“I bet Mikey isn’t too happy with you,” Jaylen said. “Man, what were you thinking? Curing a kid before he misses any school?” He watched Westley’s expression.
“Yeah, I should probably avoid him for a little while.” Westley seemed more relaxed as he slouched in the too-small chair. His knees knocked into Jaylen’s under the table. Whether he noticed or not, he didn’t shift away.
“So, maybe you want to show me your garden some time?” Jaylen asked.
Westley looked puzzled. He sat up, pulling his knees from Jaylen’s. “You’re into gardening?”
“No.” Jaylen stared at him, waited for him to get it. (I’m trying to hit on you in public.) He darted his tongue out in a flagrant display of lip-licking.
“But you said— Oh.” Westley grinned. “Ohh. Yeah, you can, uh, come see my garden.” He put too much emphasis on it, and Jaylen winced. Clearly Westley wasn’t versed in subtlety.
“What’s going on over there?” The father proprietor asked from behind the counter. Jaylen started up to put himself between the man and Westley, even though Westley looked like he could take him, easy, but the man’s finger pointed out the window, toward which every patron’s head swiveled.
A police car had pulled up in front of the Curlicue and two officers were peering inside, crouching and angling in an attempt to see through the blinds. “They probably forgot it’s closed on Sunday,” someone said. Laughter followed and people returned to their business of stuffing themselves. Westley, though, looked troubled. He checked his phone. “You didn’t hear about anything happening last night, did you?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. My friend who was supposed to meet me, Austin, he normally partners with the officer over there.”
“The one trying to open the door or the one lurking around the window?”
“The window,” Westley said. “I could understand if he stood me up to work, but he hasn’t texted, and he isn’t over there.”
Jaylen reached across the table and dared to squeeze Westley’s hand. “I’m sure he’s fine.” And if he isn’t, you will be because if he’s the wolf I killed last night, I probably saved your life.
“Yeah.” Westley’s cheeks were red as he took his hand back. “Raincheck until later? I should go make sure he’s okay.”
“Sure.” Later should give him enough time to hide all the weird stuff that made up his everyday life. “I should give you my num—” but Westley was already gone. Nobody raised a stink when he ran out without paying. Small town trust. They knew he’d be back later. Jaylen watched him hurry over to the officers. They spoke to him briefly. From Westley’s squared shoulders, Jaylen guessed he hadn’t learned anything new. He signaled to his wolf waitress to keep the refills coming and kept his eyes on the action. He paid and left after they unlocked the coffee shop door. No sense sticking around after that.
He contemplated hanging out to see if he could slice Patty on her break, but deemed it too much of a risk. He’d do her later. Her father hadn’t sparked his radar, and he still needed to check out Mom. Patty might be a shifter by bite, which would put her on the low end of the totem pole. The hereditary wolves were the ones to watch for, power passed down generation to generation, a genetic dysfunction, a sickness those werewolves treated as an excuse to lord it up and act like assholes. The born alphas and omegas were those with the shifter line in their blood. All the bitten wolves were betas, stuck in the middle of the hierarchy so long as they went unmated, and, as far as Jaylen could tell, pretty damn useless. He didn’t take much pleasure in killing wolves like Patty, but the hereditaries? Hell yeah. He’d slaughter them morning, noon, and night. Didn’t matter to him if they were alpha or omega. Granted, he didn’t run into an omega as often since they tended to be more homebound, but he’d slice one if he saw it. After all, it takes two to make a monster. They were the kind that had killed his family. Had killed him.
He turned on the local radio station on his drive back to the motel. “...two bodies found...” No mentio
n of finding the wolf, but maybe the police hadn’t released that information. They might have deemed it “too weird” for public consumption. No identification on the “victims,” pending “family notification.” He parked in front of his room and walked up to his door. Something that looked like a small white rug dipped in blood lay in front of it. Nudging it with his boot, he rolled it over to see a small, dead face. It was a rabbit. He stepped back, hand on his knife.
“Denton?”
No response. Of course not. This was a tease. Bastard liked to play with him, always had. “You best run, son.” Jaylen tossed the rabbit beneath a bush that grew against the parking lot. He didn’t run anymore. Now he killed. He’d have Denton running soon enough.
WESTLEY’S GROWLING STARTED deep in his gut as he drove the winding country roads that led him home. It almost always surprised him when he was angry enough to get like this. Austin’s partner hadn’t told him anything. In fact, he’d outright dismissed him. Mark could be a real ass when it came to “tradition,” and his tradition didn’t include an omega wanting to know things. “None of your business, boy,” was the reply when Westley asked where Austin was. The kicker was the bastard was a beta. He’d been turned the year before. It wasn’t even his tradition he was defending. There was nothing worse than an unmated beta because all they did was try to pull rank games until they made it official with an omega and cemented their “superiority” as a de facto alpha. Of course, sometimes it went the other way and they wanted an alpha, but those betas usually settled down a lot faster and with a lot less showboating. Then there were the rare pairs, the betas who mated other betas. When he was younger his parents had warned him to steer clear. “There’s a place for everyone already set. Those there are carving out a place for themselves where one shouldn’t exist.” But that was why Westley had liked them.
Mark’s “none of your business” probably translated into “He’s sleeping off a bender,” but why couldn’t he say so? Austin was a beta too, but not an asshole. Not as big of one as other betas, anyway. Westley had stalked back to his truck and slammed the door after him. He hadn’t even had the chance to eat, and now he didn’t want to. He forced himself to slow his breathing. You are calm, cool, and collected. Everything is okay. Assholes are as assholes do. Maybe he didn’t have the best mantra in the world in terms of being inspirational, but it did the job.
And now, Jaylen. An excited knot formed in his stomach. New guy, new slate, and, yes, God, yes, human. A quick fuck was one thing, but Westley needed to get his medicine right so he could ask Jaylen out on a regular basis—assuming he’d stick around. He hadn’t been on a date since, well, since that thing with Cody, which had been a stupid, capital S, idea, and he’d mostly done it because his mother had pressured him.
“You’re an omega, Westley, you need to find someone your age now before they’re all taken.”
Screw that. He was fine in his awesome cabin alone. And he didn’t want a wolf anyway. To risk passing this curse to children—no thanks.
When he was a pup, running around on four legs with Tom and Cody had been the best fun.
Then he’d shifted back to human after one of those awesome nights and discovered the dead body of one of his fifth grade classmates lying in the middle of his living room.
“Me?” He had looked to his parents for reassurance that he wasn’t a killer.
“My kill,” his father had said, too quickly, before sending Westley up to his room.
“It’s what happens sometimes,” his mother had said later, tucking Westley against her bosom. “It’s nature.”
“I don’t want it,” Westley had sobbed.
She’d sighed. “I’m sorry you inherited this legacy, Westley. But it doesn’t have to be a curse.”
From that moment on, Westley had resolved to find a way out.
He was twenty-one when he stumbled on the right combination of herbs to stem his hormones, twenty-three when he stopped his transformation completely. Fortunately, he’d never had to explain his interest in gardening. His parents supported it as a proper activity for an omega. And, as the lowest on the totem pole, he wasn’t expected to join the other wolves on the hunt.
Every so often his mother had brought an alpha or beta woman home to sniff around and, after Westley came out, she’d presented him with men. Westley ignored them all. If he were a normal human, his parents would have been proud of him for all he’d done. Straight A student, varsity letters in three sports, early admission to college where he’d majored in plant husbandry.
Instead they snapped and yelled. At one point, Westley’s father drove him to a strange house and tried to force him into taking a man twice his age as his mate. Thankfully, the man had been horrified. (“You said he was willing!”) and sent them both packing.
“I don’t think we should talk anymore, Dad,” Westley had said, picking at his knees when his father drove him home. He’d nodded, and maintained his stony silence, as he’d done ever since.
Westley liked his life as it was. Sure, he was on medicine he’d have to take until he died, but who wasn’t? It wasn’t any different than taking something for depression or diabetes. The werewolf curse could be controlled. He’d found a way. He didn’t begrudge the others their beliefs, but for him, being human, actually human, was the only thing he’d ever wanted.
And now, with Jaylen, maybe he could have it.
FALLING FOR SOMEONE—don’t do it. Damn sure that was in the Hunter’s Handbook. The one Jaylen had written in his head, anyway. He wasn’t falling for Westley. First thing, Jaylen only intended to be in town long enough to kill the Alpha or chase him out, and second thing, Westley didn’t seem like a guy who’d take too well to what Jaylen did for a living. He was more of the settling down type. He gardened, for God’s sake. Jaylen couldn’t drag him out on the road with him, and he couldn’t promise Westley he’d come back to him, not when he didn’t know day to day if he’d make it to the end of each.
But when he closed his eyes, he saw Westley’s smile. When he tried to sleep, he heard Westley’s ridiculous donkey laugh in the silence. When he touched his dick he.... Well, he’d memorized the way Westley’s chest stretched his T-shirt so tight it perked his nipples, leave it at that.
He hadn’t gotten laid in a while. That was all it was. So what if he jacked off thinking about Westley? Wasn’t the first time. Every town had a hot guy. Jaylen’s luck, he managed to run into so many of them. He ought to start keeping a tally, keep his fantasies straight. But those guys had all been über confident (and mostly straight), and sometimes acted like Jaylen had come to town to steal their women. He didn’t like fighting other people—waste of time and energy, but when he did, he put them down fast. Left blood and broken noses in his wake. It was a fine way to get himself rushed out of a town ahead of schedule.
He tried not to think about how he might have killed the Alpha already if not for temper tantrums and asshole posturing from liquored up frat boys. There was one time, a few years back, when he was so close, in town before the weres had started acting weird, before the Alpha had turned up his charm, and he got run out of town by a pair of asshats who thought he’d taken their pride in some way he was never clear on. Leaving them bleeding and screaming maybe hadn’t been the best reaction to that, but Jaylen had always struggled with seeing the long game. Hit first, ask questions never. It worked for him, most times.
The drug came into it when he was twenty-five, courtesy of a witch named Danni. Best one night stand he’d ever had, and they hadn’t even fucked. They had stayed up all night talking magic and “What if we could...,” “If there was a way...,” and figuring shit out. It was a mix of this and that, powders ground down from roots with weird names, mostly. Shit he’d get arrested for having because they violated customs laws.
The first time he took the drug, nothing had happened except the pain. The second time was the kicker. Wolves everywhere. Thankfully, he had sense enough to know how unlikely that was. (And Danni there too.)
Third time did it. Balanced it out. From there it was trial and painful, painful error that made him realize he needed to detox every twenty-four hours and stay off it for a few hours before dosing up again. He tried to keep to his schedule. Over a full-moon, he could reduce it because the wolves’ hormones were so jumpy his drug would react to them even on a half-dose. And he knew the Alpha was near when his reactions increased, because their hormone levels rose even without the moon beckoning them out. It made hunting so much easier. Made life easier, really, and it kept his hope alive that he would survive to avenge his family.
“FUCKING BOLL WEEVILS.” Westley stared in dismay at his garden tomatoes and the little critters happily chomping through them. He’d spent the morning reading his new books, and now was taking a break to tend his garden. He stomped toward his garden shed and came back armed with a spray bottle. “Fuck organic,” he muttered, and started his attack. The weevils fell away. For good measure, he soaked them into the ground and then sprayed his lettuce and cabbage as well. He double-checked the wire cages that were supposed to keep the rabbits out and found that something had been digging around the radishes. He stomped the wire back into the ground and shoved more dirt in around it.
He heard a car rumble up the long drive, wending its way through the trees that framed either side of the gravel road. He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans as he waited for it to come into view. When he caught a glimpse of the blue and red bar on top of the brown sedan, he sighed and walked the spade and spray bottle back to the shed. He emerged as Cody parked. Westley motioned him toward the front of the cabin. Tom, in uniform as well, stretched his huge self out of the passenger side. Cody ambled up to the porch.
“How are the rabbits?” Cody thumbed toward the garden.
“No problems as yet,” Westley said. He hovered on the stairs, waiting to see why Cody had decided on a drive by. “You guys want something to drink?”
“We’re on duty,” Tom said, before Cody could accept. He offered an apologetic smile.
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