Howling on Hold

by E. J. Russell

  “Yeah, a lot of people did. We’ve got one whole conference room set aside for ’em. The gifts, that is. Not the people. They’ll start arriving tomorrow, and the whole place is booked.” He screwed up his face. “The thing is, I wouldn’t have any place at the inn even if the groom and some of the guests weren’t vampires. But because they are, I’m keeping a distance too. Quentin—he’s an incubus, and apparently smells okay to them—he’ll be playing resort host on-site while I keep downwind and handle any off-site errands.”

  “So the resort is a no-shifter zone for the next few days?” Hugh asked.

  Ted shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry.” Then his face brightened. “But hey, what about the cabin? There’s a pretty sweet guest bedroom on the first floor, and you’ll have the place to yourselves tonight. Quentin’s off on some arbitration thing for the supe council, and when he gets home, we’ll be staying at the innkeeper suite in the lodge.”

  Chase shared a look with Tanner, who was glassy-eyed and listing slightly to one side. “Okay with you?”

  He flashed a feeble thumbs-up. “As long as there’s a shower and food that hasn’t been tossed in a dumpster, I’m good.”

  Ted chuckled. “Trust me. Food’s not a problem.” He patted his belly. “Bear shifter married to an incubus, so I keep the place stocked with appropriate fuel.” He peered at Tanner, probably noting his hollow cheeks and general dishevelment. “Do you want to, um, clean up a bit and then grab a bite?”

  “Oh, gods, please.” Tanner clasped his hand together prayerfully. “Especially the first, and the sooner the better.”

  Ted rubbed his nose and exchanged a sheepish glance with Hugh. “I didn’t want to say anything, but . . . well . . . And apparently were scent lingers longer than any other kind except skunks and stressed-out Tasmanian devils.”

  “You can say it. I reek. Trust me, nobody wants to fix that problem more than I do.”

  “Right, then. Come on and I’ll show you the bathroom.” Head tilted to one side, he squinted at Tanner. “I guess you fellows didn’t have a chance to pack. I can lend you something, but me and Quentin don’t have anything that’ll fit you.”

  “I’ve been wearing the same clothes for three freaking months—when I’ve worn anything at all. I’ll deal.”

  “Great!” He beckoned to them. “This way.”

  Tanner followed Ted toward the porch stairs, but Chase held back. “You go ahead. I’d like to talk to Hugh for a couple of minutes first.”

  Ted shot a grin over his shoulder. “No problem. Come in when you’re ready.”

  Chase watched, poised to leap if Tanner lost his balance. When Ted closed the door behind them, he finally relaxed. Slightly.

  “Man, you’ve got it bad,” Hugh said.

  Chase turned back to him, but his denial died on his tongue at Hugh’s expression of wistful sympathy. “Yeah.”

  “I know the feeling.” He glanced at the cabin door. “Man, do I ever.”

  “I, ah, take it that the reason you hit on Ted hasn’t vanished?”

  Hugh grimaced and shoved his hands into his pockets. “What can I say? I’m pathetic, and Ted’s probably the most amazing guy on the planet.”

  Chase cast his own yearning glance over his shoulder. Not quite the most amazing. Chase had never told Tanner, but Tanner was the reason Chase hadn’t bailed on his RA service after only three weeks. When Chase had arrived, the ink on his service agreement barely dry, the only other guys at the Doghouse were third-year residents, one of whom—the hulking Martell—was older than Chase. Chase had been completely out of his depth. Remus’s blood, he’d even resorted to studying his despised law books in his room to avoid confrontations—not exactly the behavior of a were with alpha potential.

  Then Tanner had arrived. His solemn acceptance of Chase’s authority had given Chase the confidence to actually exert said authority. Tanner had made Chase a real RA. Maybe in the next few awkward hours, I’ll find the guts to tell him so. But speaking of being a real RA . . .

  “Hey, Hugh. Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Since we don’t know how long Tanner and I will be here, could you arrange for someone to check on the guys at the Doghouse? They’re okay for a while, but what if we’re stuck here for days?”

  Hugh chuckled. “Afraid they’ll do something stupid?”

  “They’re junior weres—one of them very junior. ‘Stupid’ is kind of their middle name.”

  “Sure.” Hugh glanced at the spot where the FTA driver had vanished into the trees. “I’d like to check on Mal anyway. I’m sure he’s okay—I mean, he’s Mal. Know what I’m saying?”

  Chase nodded. “Trust me. We do. When Mal’s scheduled for a hand-to-hand combat class at the Doghouse, that very junior were has his nose pressed to the window for at least half an hour beforehand. But I can hardly give him grief for the hero worship when its object is an actual hero, you know?”

  “And how.” He glanced at the cabin again and sighed. “Tell Ted so long for me, okay?”

  “You don’t want to go inside?”

  “Nope.” He shrugged. “Maybe someday seeing him’ll get easier, but that day hasn’t arrived yet.” He raised a hand in farewell. “Sit tight, okay? I’m sure someone’ll be in touch soon.”

  Tanner followed Ted into the cabin, shuffling along like a zombie gorilla shifter. Just inside the door, he stopped and blinked. “Wow.”

  Ted’s big open face lit up even more. “You like it?”

  “It . . . It’s . . .” It’s got walls. A floor. A roof. “It’s a great place.”

  “Yeah. We’ve got quarters at the resort, but we stay here mostly.” He blushed. “Sentimental reasons.” Ted eyed Tanner’s bedraggled clothing. “I can wash your, um, outfit for you, but it won’t be dry for a couple of hours.”

  Tanner shuddered. “Gods, no. Burn them. I never want to see them again.”

  Ted chuckled. “No need to get extreme. There’s a secondhand shop down in Dewton, Stuff ’n’ Things, that’ll take ’em.”

  “What?” Tanner flapped his tattered shirttail. “Even these?”

  “Sure. Shirl, the owner—she’ll fix ’em up and find somebody who needs ’em. She’s good at that. Wait here for a sec and I’ll grab something for you to wear in the meantime.”

  Ted loped down the short hallway and disappeared up the stairs. Tanner sighed and looked around. Rough wooden paneling lined the walls, and the pine floors were scattered with throw rugs in muted tones. The room stretched the width of the cabin, with windows flanking an oval table on the left. They can eat breakfast watching the sun rise over the lake. The dining area was separated from the kitchen by a red Formica counter. On the opposite side of the cabin, furniture sturdy enough to suit a bear was grouped around the woodstove with its cheery fire.

  This is exactly the kind of place I’ve dreamed of living in. Although in my dreams, Chase was always with me.

  Next to the door was a neat line of boots and shoes in various degrees of enormous. He glanced down at his own grubby feet with their broken nails. I’ve got nothing. No shoes. No clothes. Nothing of my own. How can I fit back into this world? How can I fit with him?

  Ted trotted into the room, his arms full of folded denim and flannel. “Here you go. Sorry everything’s so big. Q-Bert, I mean Quentin, had smaller ones when he first got here, but he, um, grew, and we gave everything to Shirl.” Ted offered the bundle to Tanner, who automatically held out his hands to receive it, but Ted hesitated. “I’ll put everything in the bathroom, okay?”

  Tanner glanced down at himself. Right. No sense getting the clothes dirty before I ever put them on. “Sure.”

  “It’s this way.” Ted strode down the hallway, and Tanner shuffled after him. “Towels and everything are in there. Couple of spare toothbrushes too. Use anything you need.”

  “Thanks.” Tanner scared up a smile. “You’re really nice.”

  Ted shrugged, blushing above his beard. “Anyone would do the
same. I’m nothing special.” He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “I’ll put some stew on to heat so you can have a snack when you’re done, but take as long as you like.” With one last brilliant smile, he left Tanner blinking at Ted’s uncomplicated generosity. And he thinks that’s nothing special?

  He shook his head and stepped into the bathroom. His jaw sagged. Moon and stars. If the cabin’s furniture was sturdy enough for a bear, the claw-foot bathtub with its rainfall showerhead was big enough for two. Exactly how big did his husband grow? Their duergar FTA driver could fit in there with room around the edges to squeeze in a bauchan or two.

  Oil lamps and fat candles in pewter holders sat on the vanity and a long Mission-style side table, although the wide window above the tub let in plenty of sunlight now. Tanner crept across the cork floor, retrieved a fluffy brown towel the size of his Doghouse comforter from the table’s lower shelf, and set it on top of the stack of clothes Ted had left on the closed toilet lid.

  Gods, toilet paper. Even in his wolf form, he’d missed that. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait another instant. He stripped off his disgusting clammy clothing and started the shower. The water heated almost immediately, filling the room with blessed steam. When he clambered over the side of the tub—which came halfway up his thigh—and closed the curtains around himself, the water pummeled his skin deliciously, just shy of too hot for comfort. For a moment, he simply stood there, letting the water sluice over his head, his chest, his shoulders. But then he got busy with the soap, because even though Ted said to take his time, he didn’t want to assume. Besides, not only was there real food out there, but Chase was waiting. The idea of spending an evening holed up here in this picturesque cabin with only the two of them—even if nothing happened but a meal or two, conversation, and sleep under actual blankets with a real roof overhead . . . Well, Tanner didn’t want to delay it one instant more than was necessary.

  The shampoo, like the soap, had a pleasant herbal scent. He tried to identify it from Dr. MacLeod’s botany lectures, but the closest he could come was saffron, and that was too valuable to be used in anything as mundane as soap and shampoo. Whatever the scent, though, it was remarkably good at removing dirt.

  When Tanner stepped out of the shower to dry off, his skin pink from the heat and scrubbing, he wouldn’t have been able to tell he hadn’t bathed in three months. But his reflection in the mirror—hollow eyes, scraggly beard, shaggy hair—told the real story. The medicine chest held nail clippers and the spare toothbrushes Ted promised, but no scissors or razor. Tanner would have to settle for looking disreputably half-shifted for a while longer.

  Feral.

  He sighed as he wrapped the towel around his waist and sat on the toilet lid. Someday I’ll feel normal again. Someday. He spread his raggedy old shirt in his lap to catch the clippings as he tamed his claws. But not today.

  The peace of the lake—the lap of its water on the shore, the call of a mourning dove, the sough of the wind in the treetops—finally smoothed Chase’s mental hackles. He was able to take a deep, unimpeded breath for the first time since he’d discovered that Tanner was missing. Maybe for the first time since November.

  He certainly hadn’t relaxed during his suspension, always feeling as if one paw was caught in a trap of his own making. But is it the location or the company that’s the comfort? He suspected that if Tanner weren’t with him, the lake would put him on edge the way every place, everything, everybody had since that kiss.

  Ted emerged from the cabin and trotted down the stairs. He peered around, squinting into the trees. “Where’s Matt? I mean, Hugh?”

  “He left to check in with Mal.”

  “Ah. Okay.” Ted grinned sheepishly. “Matt’s a good guy. He used to be a tabloid photographer, you know, until he started working with Quest. Back before I met Quentin, I used to get a bit lonely up here so I, um, phoned in anonymous tips about Bigfoot sightings, then walked around in partial shift, just out of camera range. That’s how I met Ma—Hugh. Good thing he doesn’t hold a grudge.”

  Poor Hugh—a human pining after a married bear shifter. I guess I’m not the only one with relationship woes. At least he and Tanner were both supes and both single. There’s got to be some way we can work things out.

  To give Ted time to recover from his embarrassment, Chase gazed out at the lake again. “It’s beautiful up here.”

  Ted ambled up and stood shoulder to shoulder with Chase. “Yeah. It’s almost perfect, now that I’ve got Q-Bert to share it with. I’d, uh, give you the fifty-cent tour of the resort and all, but you know . . .”

  Chase grinned up at him. “Pervasive were stink?”

  “Sorry. But I can give you the ten-thousand-foot view, so you’ll know where everything is. Plopping down in the middle of nowhere after getting schlepped through Faerie is a little disorienting.” Ted gestured to the main resort building. “That’s the lodge, obviously. You can’t see it from here, but there’s a boathouse and another dock on the other side.” He pointed into the trees. “If you feel like exploring the forest, I’ve got a cave you can duck into. It’s thataway, about halfway to Dewton, the closest town.” He scratched the back of his head. “Although if you’re hiding out, I guess you won’t be going there.”

  Chase squinted into the forest. “I don’t think we’re hiding out so much as recovering.”

  “Well, Dewton’s not exactly a boomtown, and no supes go there that I’ve ever heard of. It’s probably about as safe as it is here, plus it’s got wi-fi and better cell reception, so if you need that . . .” He shrugged. “We’ve got electricity and coverage up at the lodge, but we like to keep the cabin a little more rustic.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine, Ted. We really appreciate your hospitality.”

  His sunny smile dawned. “Tanner’s getting cleaned up. I put some leftover stew on the stove for afterward, so you can—” Ted smacked his forehead. “Shit on a biscuit. It’s fish stew. You weres don’t like fish, do you?”

  Chase chuckled, remembering how Gage had tried—and failed—to introduce the Doghouse gang to seafood. “Some of us do, but I admit, it’s not a traditional pack favorite.”

  “Don’t feel like you have to eat it. There’s plenty of food in the pantry, so help yourself.”

  “We’ll manage. Please don’t worry about us.”

  “Okay, then.” Ted tugged on his collar and smoothed his shirt front. “I’ve got to get back to the lodge, finish up some last-minute details. Tomorrow I’ll be setting off the spells to eliminate all the shifter scents from the place, so Cas will be comfortable during his stay.” He jerked his thumb at the cabin door. “There are a bunch of the candles in there with the same spell, so if you need to keep people from tracking you, fire up a few of ’em. They’ll, ah, cover the bear scent pretty well too. I know you weres aren’t especially fond of that either.”

  Chase sniffed surreptitiously. For some reason, Ted’s bear scent didn’t raise his hackles anymore. He lifted his hand in farewell as Ted loped down the path toward the lodge. I think that might depend entirely on the bear.

  “Gods damn it,” Tanner muttered when the sleeves of the borrowed shirt drooped past his knuckles again. The cuffs would not stay rolled up. Although the soft fabric felt great against his skin, the shirt was so big on him it was like wearing a flannel parachute. Although the jeans weren’t too big around the waist, the belt still bunched them uncomfortably across his hips, and he’d had to roll the legs up so far that it looked like he was smuggling bagels around his ankles. Even Ted’s socks were too big—if Tanner pulled them all the way on, the heel cup was halfway up his Achilles; if he positioned the heel right, the toes flopped at the end of his feet like clown clodhoppers.

  I shouldn’t complain. At least everything’s clean.

  He glanced around the bathroom, making sure he’d left it in the same pristine condition he’d found it in, then bundled up his revolting dirty clothes and eased open the bathroom door. He sniffed experimentally. Ted clearly w
asn’t in the cabin anymore, but Chase.

  Tanner’s heart couldn’t decide whether it wanted to leap out of his chest or hide behind his spine. That might be the after-effects of too many protein bars and the druid equivalent of Red Bull, but Tanner suspected it had everything to do with Chase.

  He looked for me. As soon as he knew I was gone, he looked and didn’t stop until he found me.

  Logic tried to wrestle Tanner’s stupid hopes to the ground. It’s his job as RA to keep track of everybody. He’d do the same for Hector or Jordan or any of the guys. I’m not that special.

  Chase took his job so seriously that he’d taken the fall for Gage’s and Jordan’s stupid escapades and gotten suspended for three whole months. Thank the gods I didn’t run until I was of age. Tanner didn’t want to think about the repercussions of an RA losing track of a junior in their care. It had never happened. Tanner frowned, staring down at the cork floor. Had it? There was so little written lore in were society. Individual packs might keep some kind of records—although if the Wallowa pack did, Tanner had never seen them. If they didn’t share them within their own pack, they certainly wouldn’t disclose them to any other pack. It was as if they were afraid that letting any other pack know about their problems or challenges would expose an exploitable weakness.

  That was something that Tanner had learned in his time at the Doghouse, in his online classes, and his lessons with Dr. MacLeod especially: intentional suppression of the truth was just as harmful as ignorance. Thanks to Dr. MacLeod’s information-sharing philosophy, Tanner knew more about fae and druids than the history of his own species.

  He crept down the hallway and peered into the kitchen. A pan of biscuits sat on a cooling rack, and Chase was frowning into a big stewpot that was simmering on the stove.

  “Hey.”

  Chase jerked, knocking his hand against the pot. “Ow! Shit.”

  Tanner dropped his bundle and hurried over. “Did you burn yourself? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”