by Lisa Oliver
The Shaman stepped closer and Asaph felt a hand on his arm. Calm enveloped him – a sense of calm he hadn’t felt since that fateful night. His breath escaped him as he sank into that warm feeling. He’d had no idea how wound up he’d been until the pressure from his animal was gone.
“There’s no other way,” the Shaman said kindly. “Most wolves pine away when they refuse a mating. It takes time; the wolf dies; and as our human side can’t live without our animal spirit, we die shortly afterwards. It’s Fates way of ensuring that the matches they make actually have a chance of working. Your wolf is stronger than most, and has taken a different path. He’s fighting you and eventually, because that’s the way things are among our kind, he’ll burst free. Bronson told me you have no intention of ever taking a male as a mate, so unless you want to be responsible for the deaths of innocent humans when your wolf goes on the rampage, which he will as he tries to find his other half, I suggest you tidy your affairs, and stay close to home.”
“There’s no other option? It’s mate or feral?” Asaph couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had a business to run.
“You’ve already refused the mating option and by doing that, you’re fighting your wolf. He’s fighting back. He wants the man you thought so little of that you tried to buy his time.”
“What will happen to Ronan, Shaman?” Asaph had forgotten Bronson was in the room. He just hoped the hand on his arm would stay a moment longer. He’d had no idea how tired he’d been. If the Shaman stayed a little longer, then maybe Asaph could get his head on straight.
“I got the tickets you sent me Bronson, and I’ll try and get an audience with him after the show. If he’s agreeable, I’ll take him to the Miami pack with me and hopefully he’ll find friends and a suitable mate there. It worries me that he has no pack support and it could be that he’s never been among his own kind.”
“And if he doesn’t respond favorably to the idea of moving?” Again Asaph was grateful for Bronson’s questions, because he was too busy trying to cope with the rock in his chest where his heart used to be. Ronan leaving was not an option his wolf wanted to consider, even if he had no plans ever going near the man again.
“Then I can only hope that there’s a shifter in the area that’ll take him on. There’s a good chance he doesn’t know what’s going on, if he hasn’t been raised in a pack situation. He’ll be feeling tired, out of sorts, he could get depressed. If he has a busy life, friends, something he’s passionate about, he might be okay. If not…” The Shaman shrugged and patted Asaph’s arm. “Just thank the Fates you hadn’t taken in his scent, or bitten him and then left him. He’d already be dead by now if you had.”
Chapter Seven
Pink’s “Just Like Fire” came over the speakers and Ronan lost himself to the sultry beat. He, Jeff and Marcos were just free forming, letting the music take them. It was a habit they’d got into when they first got together and realized they had common interests; many of their new routines came from simply going with the flow.
No one can be like me anyway…. Ronan shook his head, and focused on the sultry undertones of the music rather than the lyrics. Since the night he’d walked out of the club, he’d been feeling out of sorts. His wolf was quiet and he’d been getting tired, which wasn’t normal for him. He bent, arched his back and ran his hands up the leather of his thigh high boots, flicking his hips as he rolled his spine upright again. He never wanted the music to stop. He just wanted to keep dancing forever. There was nothing that could surpass the joy of moving to the beat, feeling the rhythm….
/~/~/~/~/
“What the H-E-double toothpicks happened?” Ronan touched his head. There was an egg-shaped bump on it; what on earth was he doing lying on the stage floor with Jeff and Marcos hovering like a pair of bare-chested angels?
“You fell, man. Dancing one minute, the next you were a heap on the floor.”
“Sugar puffs. Was there a knot in the floor, did a heel break?” Ronan didn’t think that’d happened. His bootmaker was the best in the business and there’s no way he’d supply faulty heels.
“I think your head is the major concern,” a new voice sounded the instant Ronan caught a strange scent. Wolf, his wolf finally woke enough to tell him. Wolf. Danger.
“Hey man, I don’t know who you are, but we’re closed. You’re not even supposed to be in here.” Bless Marcos’s protective nature.
“I’ve tickets for the show, but there’s not going to be a show unless this young man gets his head checked out. I saw the fall; it was fast and brutal. You don’t want your friend trying to dance in those delightful boots with a concussion do you?”
“Are you a doctor?” Finally, someone asked a sensible question. Ronan wanted to get up, he wanted to run, but Marcos and Jeff had their hands on him and he couldn’t move.
“I am, yes,” the smooth voice said, “and I think it’d be a good idea to get this young man to his dressing room, don’t you?”
“My mother said I never should…” Ronan whispered, captured by green, sympathetic eyes.
“Go with a strange man in the woods…or words to that effect. I totally understand, but we’re only going to your dressing room.”
“Yeah.” Tootsie pops and cabbage rolls, what’s wrong with me? I need to get away from this wolf before he…he…. Ronan’s thoughts swirled to a stop. His mother never explained what would happen if he came in contact with another wolf shifter, just that he was to stay away from them.
“I promise your mother would approve of me,” the stranger whispered in his ear. Ronan found himself caught up in strong arms, and carried; he was being carried by a stranger, and Jeff and Marcos weren’t doing anything. How hard had he hit his head?
“Are you magic?”
“Only the best kind,” the kindly man assured him as he settled Ronan in a chair; before closing and locking the dressing room door.
“I haven’t got much time,” the stranger said, “and I promise I’m not here to hurt you,” he added probably smelling Ronan’s fear. “You know about our kind?”
Ronan nodded.
“You know you’re one of us?”
Ronan nodded again and felt the lump on the back of his head. It was sore. He prodded the swelling with his fingers, hoping it would be gone by the time the show started. It was no fun dancing with a headache.
“You know you’re an omega wolf?” Ronan’s fingers stopped, and his mouth dropped open.
“It’s okay. I can smell you,” the stranger said quietly. “I’m concerned because there aren’t packs in the area.”
“My mom said,” Ronan stopped. His throat was dry, and somehow the stranger knew it and passed him a bottle of water. Ronan took a grateful swig and then said, “my mom told me to stay away from others. Male omegas are not treated well in pack situations and I came here because there wasn’t a pack listed in this area.”
“So your mom’s nearby?”
Ronan swallowed; there was a lump in his throat this time. He opened his mouth to speak but gave up and shook his head. “She’s dead. Five years,” he managed to whisper. “Dead.”
“Oh you poor, poor baby,” the stranger said, and within seconds Ronan was in strong arms, but instead of feeling scared, he felt comforted, warm – almost like when his mother was alive. Tears streamed down his face, and Ronan could do nothing to stop them. He hadn’t cried this hard since the day he buried his mother.
/~/~/~/~/
“A Mr. Waters here to see you, Mr. Bosch. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says you know him and it’s urgent.” Beatrice’s voice on the intercom made Asaph jump. Waters. Waters. Fuck, the Shaman.
“Send him in,” Asaph said brusquely. He looked across at Bronson who was busy on his tablet. For some reason his friend hadn’t left the office since the Shaman had gone, even when Asaph had made it clear he wasn’t discussing anything that had come from that meeting. But maybe the Shaman was wrong…maybe….
“Mr. Waters, sir,” Beatrice sai
d, showing the man in.
“You can go home now, thank you, Beatrice. I might be here for a while, but there’s no need for both of us to burn the midnight oil.”
Beatrice frowned, but nodded and closed the door. Asaph remembered his manners.
“Take a seat, Shaman, please. Have you found out anything that can help my current condition?”
“I didn’t come here to talk to you, Asaph. Bronson’s office told me I could find him here. Bronson, would you care to have dinner with me? I have a proposition I’d like you to consider.”
“Now wait just one minute.” Asaph stood and moved around his desk, planting himself directly in front of the Shaman. “Bronson brought you here because….” He stopped, his nose filled with the most amazing scent – jasmine, pine needles and an underlying sweet musk he couldn’t identify. “You’ve seen him. You’ve spoken to him. That’s him, on your clothes isn’t it? You held him. What the fuck are you doing touching my mate?”
“Your mate?” Waters didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by Asaph’s anger; if anything he seemed amused. “If I recall, you refused to have a male mate; but if you’re asking about Ronan, the dancer you saw a few weeks ago, I have spoken to him and he’s a truly delightful young man. Omega wolf, as Bronson suspected and totally isolated. The only reason I smell of him is because he fell, and I carried him to his dressing room so we could talk. He’s fine, in case you’re wondering. Now Bronson about dinner….”
“You can plan your date later, what’s wrong with Ronan?” Why wasn’t anyone taking him seriously? If Waters and Bronson wanted to boink, let them do it on their own time. He needed to find out every tiny detail about the man behind that delicious scent.
The Shaman let out a sigh. “You are, without a doubt, one of the most persistent, arrogant, pain in the ass alphas I’ve ever had the misfortune to deal with. Ronan is fine, but this mating bond isn’t doing him any favors either, it’s just affecting him differently. That’s why I wanted to talk to your friend. Bronson, I wanted to ask how you’d feel about dating Ronan and considering him as a mate. He has no family, would be unused to a pack, but honestly….”
Waters’ voice disappeared. All Asaph heard was the rush of blood in his ears; his vision turned monochrome and he dimly heard the sound of cloth tearing. Fuck, his wolf was free, and he was not a happy puppy. Before Asaph could even think he’d pounced on his oldest and dearest friend, bringing him to the ground. With Bronson dead there’d be no one between him and the wearer of that wonderful scent.
“Asaph, don’t you dare!” What? Who? Shaman. Wise man. Magical. Mustn’t eat him.
“Shift, before I force you.” Shift? But I was…fuck, what was I doing? Why am I standing on Bronson’s chest?
Asaph moved back and shifted, sitting on the ground naked, his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe his total lack of control and to think he was seconds away from killing his best friend. The Shaman was right; he was going feral. “What the fuck is happening to me?”
“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Bronson said shakily as Waters helped him to his feet. Asaph was pleased to see he wasn’t hurt. “You’ve found your mate, or at least your wolf has. It’s time to man up and accept it, instead of rejecting the gift the Fates have given you. I don’t want to lose you, but surely you can see what might happen if you don’t accept your fate.”
“I never thought I’d…not in a million years…fuck. I need to see Ronan. Now I’ve scented him, I can’t think of anything else and it was bad before.”
“What you should be asking yourself is will Ronan see you. His mother warned him to stay away from all wolves, and that’s a rule he lives by,” Waters said. “I can encourage him to meet you, but what you do from there will be up to you; I don’t think he’s the type of guy to give you a third chance.”
“Please.” Asaph didn’t think he’d ever used that word in his life. He was used to taking, buying or coercing people for the things he needed and wanted. He still couldn’t stand, his legs shaking at the thought of what could have happened with Bronson. He’d beg if he had to, get on his knees and plead, for a chance to meet the mate he didn’t think he wanted. And how fucked up is this line of thinking?
Chapter Eight
“I’m not sure I can do what you’re asking,” Ronan said quietly. The coffee shop down the road from his apartment was almost empty, but he was still worried someone would overhear the weirdest conversation he’d ever had. He had a mate; a mate who’d been with countless females, but had never wanted to date a man. A rude and arrogant mate who’d already tried to buy his “services” once, and clearly had no respect for him as a person. While the thought of having someone there for him, caring and loving only him was a dream come true, the packaging his came in was not something he felt comfortable with.
Shaman Waters patted his hand, and Ronan felt the same calming sensation he’d felt three days before in his dressing room. “I don’t know Asaph that well,” the kindly man said. “I know he regrets his actions; he was as blindsided by this connection as you were. He simply wants the chance to take you out on a date.”
“But he’s….” Ronan spread his hands indicating a larger size. “You know…and I’m…not.”
“Your dear mother did you a disservice,” Waters said gently. “I know she was worried on your behalf,” he added when he saw the flash of anger in Ronan’s eyes, “but there are packs that treat their omegas like the gifts they are.”
“Mr. Bosch doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’d treat anyone as a gift, let alone someone like me.”
“Your Asaph has a lot to learn, and the Fates have clearly decided you’re the one who can help him reach his full potential. Your connection,” Waters looked around making sure they weren’t overheard, “your connection will ensure he can never hurt you, and if you say no to anything, anything at all, he’ll have no choice but to accept it.”
“He won’t like it though,” Ronan said, looking down at his burger. He was having trouble eating, and he gave up, lifting his coffee mug instead. When he looked up Waters was smiling at him.
“Asaph is going to have to change his ways, otherwise the ramifications for him will be life threatening.” Waters seemed to think that idea was funny, but Ronan didn’t.
“It’s not a good basis for a mating, though, is it? He already resents me, how is that going to give either one of us our Happily Ever After?”
“Be at this restaurant tonight. The reservation is for eight; I’d get there just a bit later,” Waters said, sliding a card across the table. “Wear your best duds, put on your highest heels, and strut into that place like you own it. I’ve seen you do it on stage, now’s the time to show this arrogant alpha what you’re made of.”
Ronan flicked his hair back and tilted his head. What would be the harm? They’d be in a public place. It wasn’t as though Mr. Bosch could jump him, throw him over the table and fuck him. The Fates decided that Asaph the Arrogant was perfect for him. Maybe it was time to see for himself.
/~/~/~/~/
Has he arrived yet? Asaph glanced at Bronson’s text, his lips tight. He was sitting in his favorite restaurant, wearing his “lucky” Armani suit and he was as fidgety as a buck rabbit.
No, he’s ten minutes late already, maybe he’s not going to show, he sent back.
Waters said he’d agreed to come. Be patient.
Patient; Asaph didn’t have time for patience. His wolf was getting more aggressive by the hour. Since catching his mate’s scent on Waters’ clothes, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. His head was filled with exotic images of Ronan dancing just for him – thoughts of that limber body leaving him hard and aching. Never having been with a man, his sudden desire for one in particular was messing with his head, but the rest of his body was more than keen.
A sudden silence caused him to look up. The hostess was heading in his direction, and behind her…Oh Mother of God, how could anyone keep from drooling when Ronan Montgomery was arou
nd. Because it was him, it couldn’t be anyone else. Not with that purposeful stride, a proud head held high, his hair like a satin curtain falling behind his shoulders – taller than Asaph had imagined, but then he’d been on a stage the only other time he’d seen him.
As they got closer, Asaph panicked; he was not the type to panic. Did he stand up? Shake hands like he would at a business meeting. Did he stand and move around the table, help Ronan to his seat as he would if his date was a woman? What was the etiquette when it came to dating a man who was also his Fated Mate?
Could he stand up? That was probably a better question, and given the state of his cock, Asaph didn’t think standing anytime soon was a good idea. But he couldn’t just sit there like a lump either – a form of greeting was common courtesy. But it seems Ronan was made of stronger stuff, or at least had dated a man before. He came right up to the table and held out his hand, his face showing nothing.
“Mr. Bosch, it’s lovely to meet you.” Asaph stared at the hand, his nose filled with the scent of his mate. His throat was closing up, he couldn’t breathe and he knew, he just knew if he touched Ronan’s slender hand then he’d be a goner – he wouldn’t be able to let go.
Chapter Nine
“Hmm,” Ronan said as he withdrew his hand. Ignoring someone at their first greeting was not a good idea; although Asaph looked like someone just kicked him in the goolies. Ronan was having trouble controlling his own body – he’d never been so hard in his life, and he knew it was due to the rum and raisin scent of his mate. Fortunately, he was used to performing under stressful conditions, and it was with that training in mind he swung himself into the nearest seat and smiled sweetly at the hostess.
“Could you be a sweetheart and arrange for another drink for my companion, and I’ll have a large cherry soda with ice, thank you.” He flicked his hair and flashed his winning smile, and the hostess turned a fetching shade of pink before scurrying off. Ronan crossed his legs to one side, the heels causing his knees to hit the underside of the table. He twisted his body and rested his elbows on the table.
