by Tara Lain
Jazz’s wolf inhaled. Lindsey. Pop-Pop. Mom. Love.
His brother wolf and two humans ran out from the side of the path he was now standing on, breathing hard. Mom threw her arms around him and hugged his neck. “You’re amazing. We’re all so delighted.”
Jazz shook his head but gave two little yowls of pleasure.
Pop-Pop patted him and smiled. “Now you understand why we believe in you so strongly. Not because you won, Jazz, but because you gave it all you had. You didn’t think you could win, but you didn’t let that stop you. We couldn’t be prouder.”
Jazz’s wolf nuzzled under Pop-Pop’s chin.
“Let’s let the boys shift back. Then we can shower them in champagne,” Lindsey said. “After all, a one, two, three win for Vanessen is cause for celebration.” He walked toward the trees. “Come on, Jazz. You too, Cole and Winter.” He pointed toward their two drivers, who waited near a stand of bushes with a large piece of cloth. “They’ll give you some privacy to shift back.”
Jazz’s sides still heaved as he caught his breath. He plopped down on the grass within the circle of the tarp and rested his head on his paws. Shift hurt. He whined a little as he relaxed his mind and let the energy of the universe flow into his brain with all its searing, acid pain. “Ahwooo. Ahwooo. Ahwo… Ow. Ow. Ow.”
With no more adrenaline pushing him on, the change back sucked energy from him, and he rested his head on his arm. “I need a little nap.”
Chapter Fourteen
JAZZ LAY on the grass in human form, his naked body trembling as if he’d been flayed with a barbed whip. Damn, shifting on the fly hurts, but it’s over fast. Shifting back really smarts. He sighed and ran a hand over his throbbing chest. He hated to admit that one of the reasons he didn’t join in the full moon runs was that he didn’t really like to shift the way the other wolves did. They all said it hurt, but somehow, he guessed it didn’t hurt them as much as it did him. Or maybe I’m just a total wimp.
“You okay?” Winter stared down at him with a grin.
The view from the ground was heart-stopping. Winter defied standard definitions of beauty. Six-foot, six-inches tall, popping muscles through lean, hard, pale skin, with a dick that should have had its own zip code, it was enough to give all other wolves except maybe Cole a complex.
Jazz dragged himself to sitting, uncomfortably aware of his thin naked body. Admittedly, he could compete in the family jewels department, but who the hell ever got to see them? “I’m fine, thanks.”
Winter reached down, slid his hands under Jazz’s arms, and yanked him to his feet. “I guess you are fine, man. Hell, you just beat the ass off both me and Cole. I know I told you I was sure you were way better at racing than you thought you were, but man, I never thought you were good enough to grind me and Cole to fine powder.”
Jazz shook his head. “I did not.”
Cole walked up as Jazz spoke. “Yeah, you did. Winter and I ate your dust the whole race. It was pretty d-decisive.” He laughed.
Lindsey walked forward, holding a stack of clothing. “Dress yourselves, gentleman, before you become more famous for your dongs than your running skills.” He laughed as he handed out pants and shirts among the three of them.
When they were dressed, the drivers took down the cloth, and Jazz was shocked to see a huge gathering of pack members waiting for them. Landon and Crystal Harker and Merced Marketo walked forward, hands extended.
“Most impressively done, gentlemen,” Landon said. “Jazz, an amazing performance! None of us realized what a talented racer you are. You’ve been holding out on us, I think.”
Jazz shook his offered hand. “No, sir. I didn’t actually know I could run that fast either.” Damn, that’s true. He drew in a sharp breath. How the hell did I do that?
Landon cocked his head. “You okay, son?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you.”
Landon looked at him quizzically, but he released Jazz’s hand and moved on to Winter and Cole as Merced Marketo came forward.
Feeling dazed, Jazz stood there shaking hands for another fifteen minutes before Lindsey and Seth waded in and insisted people give the victors time to rest before their award ceremony. Cole took one arm and Winter the other, and they practically carried Jazz back to the campsite. It was a good thing, since Jazz wasn’t totally sure he could make it on his own. His feet kept dragging to his new theme song, How did I do it? How did I do it?
At the camp, Lindsey, Seth, Jazz’s mom, and the others all waited with bottles of champagne including a big icy glass for Jazz. Lindsey laughed. “I know you’re not technically old enough, but just this once, on private property, I think we can break a few laws.”
“Thanks, bro.” Jazz had drunk champagne before, of course, but this was a nice treat.
When everyone had a glass, Pop-Pop raised his. “To Jazz, who regularly inspires us, makes us proud, and leaves us in awe, and to Cole and Winter for being such heroes. And such good losers.”
They laughed as they raised their glasses and then drank. Jazz sipped, but he couldn’t get his brain in the game. Everyone collapsed into chairs and food got passed around. When Cole offered Jazz a platter of beef, he waved it away.
Cole frowned, set the platter on a table behind him, and then looked back at Jazz. “What’s wrong, Jazz?”
Winter leaned over. “Yeah, man, what’s up?”
His mother pulled her folding chair closer. “Please, Jazz. We’re concerned. Is there something going on? It seems like you’re upset about something. If you’d rather not discuss it with everyone around, maybe you should talk with Pop-Pop alone.”
His mom looked worried. Pop-Pop did too. Hell, so did the rest of them, his whole amazing family. What had he ever done to deserve them? He owed them the truth.
Softly, he released his breath. “I don’t know how I did it.”
“Did what, dear?” his mother asked.
“Won the race.” He ran his hands over his shaggy, long hair. “I don’t know how I beat Winter and Cole. It doesn’t make any sense to anyone, including me.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. You did win, so I can only assume you ran faster. You’re not suggesting that Cole or Winter let you win?”
Winter snorted. “Hell no. I love him, but not that much.” He gave Jazz a smack on the shoulder. “You beat us fair and square, man.”
Jazz just shook his head. “I know I ran faster, but what I don’t understand is how. I mean, I don’t ever run much, and I’m not as strong as Winter or Cole, or even a lot of those males from the other packs.” He rocked forward and back.
“The facts are the facts, Jazz,” Lindsey said.
“But you’re not just talking about the race, are you, Jazz?” Pop-Pop added softly.
Jazz glanced up. “No. Weird stuff happens around me all the time. Maybe I’m just weird.”
Winter raised his pale brows. “Well, that’s certainly true.”
“Are you serious, Jazz?” his mom asked.
“Yes.” It came out more as a cry than he intended. “Shit just happens. I mean, look at me. No matter what you guys say, I don’t look like an alpha male werewolf. And sometimes, I think I see stuff that other people don’t. Hell, I even think I got mad and, well, made some people disappear. I’m sorry. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I feel different. More different than I felt before I knew I was a werewolf.” He wiped his hands across his face. “It’s driving me crazy.”
His mom was at his side, wrapping an arm around him and making soothing sounds. “It’s puberty, darling. Believe me. I’ve done some research, and not all young alphas develop at the same rate. Yes, the boys around here all get big and muscular fast, but we don’t know where your birth parents came from. They might have been from another country with completely different bloodlines.”
Jazz frowned. “Winter’s not from here, either.”
“But he’s Lindsey’s half brother by blood. We know Damon’s developmental patterns. We don’t know yours.”
<
br /> Winter nodded. “Yes. Damon and I have been places where the wolves were very different from us physically, and we’ve even met wolves with special powers.” He looked up at Damon. “Right, Dad?”
Damon nodded. “Yes. I’ve known wolves who could read minds and some short wolves who were so strong, they could lift a car or two.”
“Really?” Jazz looked back and forth between his stepfather and brother. “How come you never told me?”
Damon shrugged. “I guess the topic never came up. You didn’t tell us you were having these experiences… and doubts.”
Jazz stared at his hand. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to say. I feel so strange all the time.”
His mom’s arm got tighter around him. “You probably come from a line of wolves who are extraordinarily fast and intuitive.”
He sighed. What about the visions and the guy who couldn’t see him? But he didn’t want to spoil the celebration. “I guess. It’s weird being an orphan.”
His mom grabbed his shoulders, held him at arm’s length, and gazed into his face. “You’re not an orphan, and don’t you ever forget that. No one loves their child more than we love you.”
“Thank you, Mom. I love you too.”
Winter gave him a light punch on the arm. “Be happy. You’re faster than any wolf in the territory—including Cole and me.”
Jazz barked a laugh. “And don’t you forget it.” He took a breath and stood. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys back here and we can go to the award ceremony together.”
“Okay, dear.” His mom kissed his cheek, which was embarrassing, but he loved it.
Trying to look carefree, he strode toward the line of outhouses that had been set up for the Packarama. Pack members gave him pats on the back and high fives as he passed. Yeah, they might not like his family, but they weren’t going to turn their backs on a male who could beat Cole Harker and Winter Thane in a race, even if he was a skinny dweeb.
He stepped inside the smelly outhouse and did his thing. He should have done it in the woods like the wolf he was. He chuckled, washed his hands, and walked out.
A group of young males who’d watched him in wolf form as he finished the race stood a few yards away. One of them, Louis Schneidell, yelled, “I’ll bet they let you win.”
Another loser, Sam Turcott, sneered, “Who cares who wins a fag race, anyway?”
Jazz gritted his teeth but laughed out loud at them and headed toward the campsite. Assholes.
As he walked around the corner of the temporary structures they always set up out in the wilderness for the interpack events, he heard voices and stopped.
“That’s quite a boy you’ve got there, Casper. Looks like he could end up more powerful than all the alphas in the east.” That was Merced Marketo speaking.
“We’re very proud of him.”
Jazz kicked at the dirt with his flip-flop and grinned. Making Pop-Pop happy hit his top ten list in life.
“But he’s young and has a lot of growing and deciding to do yet,” Pop-Pop added. “He’s got great talent in a lot of areas. I don’t want him pushed into making decisions that aren’t right for him.”
Gods, he loved his grandfather.
“Going into business, you mean?” Jazz could hear the frown in Merced’s voice.
“Possibly. He’s got excellent business instincts. Vanessen Enterprises has always done well for you and your pack, Merced. It’s been a good investment.”
“Yes. We own a lot of your stock, Casper.”
“Much appreciated.”
“It’s a powerful voting bloc. Never forget that.” There was an edge to his voice that raised Jazz’s hackles. Is he threatening Pop-Pop?
“Yes, and I’m sure you’re not going to be voting against your pack’s interest. Wouldn’t it be good to have another werewolf in charge? To have Jazz in the business, if he chooses to join us?”
Merced’s disapproval couldn’t be any clearer. “It’s one thing to have a half-human grandson following you into the human world, Casper. Or even Damon, who’s been a loner all his life and won’t change now. But we need new blood. A new generation. Jazz is an alpha-class were. He was born to lead a pack. You can’t deny him his birthright.”
“The fact is, we don’t know where Jazz comes from. Yes, he has alpha-class skills, as he proved today, but as for being born to be a pack leader? We don’t know that. The Connecticut packs may expect young alphas to follow their parents, but maybe that wasn’t the tradition where Jazz comes from. The most important thing to me is what Jazz himself wants to do. Business? Pack? It’s up to him. And of course he can lead the Vanessen Pack if he chooses that too.”
“Oh come on. You can hold out the fiction that you’re a pack, but Vanessen is just a pack of convenience. You’re not trying to grow and create a powerful werewolf community. You’re more of a fraternity with an elegant housemother than a pack. Jasper deserves to really lead. Hell, he might be strong enough to unite the packs and be the most powerful alpha in America. I mean, who knew he could win that race? What else can he do?”
That made Jazz half-proud and half-terrified.
“He can do whatever he wants, Merced. It’s his choice.”
Marketo’s voice rose. “But the next generation needs an alpha, for crap’s sake. Both Harker and Marketo Packs. Landon and I won’t live forever.”
“Come on. You’re both young men.”
Marketo lowered his voice, and Jazz had to lean forward to hear them, which meant that Merced was barely speaking because Jazz could hear a butterfly’s wings.
“We’re getting older and neither of us is as powerful as we were. If we’re challenged by the wrong people and lose, the packs could become… well, even less uh, inclusive than they are now. It could get ugly. And there’s real dissension, Casper. I don’t fully understand what’s stirring them up, but it’s real and it’s dangerous.”
“Landon has Cole, and you have Winter—or Damon, for that matter. Or even Paris. There’s no lack of alphas in this community.”
“I don’t have them. You do.” Merced sounded grumpy.
Pop-Pop chuckled. “I’m sure a loan program can be worked out.”
“Dammit, Casper, this is serious. You can think this werewolf stuff is a big joke until some gangster or flaming homophobe decides to take over the area and your pretend pack is just as impacted as the real ones. Winter and Damon don’t want to be alphas. They’re too content in their damned human jobs. Cole’s happy with Paris in his hideout in the woods and likes you more than me. You hold all the cards, and you need to start sharing, or the Connecticut packs could end up out of business.”
Pop-Pop’s voice cracked like a whip. “Jazz is gay. You know, that thing that werewolves never are? What about that, Merced?”
Merced sighed. “When the packs realize they have no choice but to change their attitudes, they will.”
“Forgive me if, after a near war, I’m not all that convinced.”
Jazz shivered. The Vanessen pack had been created when wolves from the other packs had threatened Jazz’s mom and grandfather because they knew about the existence of werewolves.
“What if Jazz’s real parents show up and want to take him back?” Merced asked. “Only two pure alphas could have produced that kid. You’ll be damned glad for some pack support if that happens.” The sound of stomping feet suggested he’d stormed off, which meant he was pissed since, as an alpha, he could walk on eggshells and not break one.
I shouldn’t have listened. Jazz sighed. Pop-Pop was so great, but damn, Jazz had helped suck his grandfather and mother into the werewolf world. Not that he took all the credit. As the father of Lindsey, Damon had done more, but still. If Jazz wasn’t there, the other packs might leave his family alone. He shuddered. What if Merced was right? What if his own parents, his blood family, were lurking out there somewhere? He’d never thought about that being a threat to Pop-Pop and his mom. What if his birth parents wanted him back? Wha
t if they expected him to take over some unknown werewolf pack and… stop! That’s not going to happen. You’re eighteen. You’ve been alone your whole life until Lindsey found you.
He turned toward the van.
“Is everything all right, Pop-Pop?”
Jazz turned back at the sound of Lindsey’s voice. He should let them know he was there. If they hadn’t been surrounded by werewolves, Merced might’ve smelled Jazz, even though his nose wasn’t anywhere near as good as Jazz’s.
Pop-Pop sighed deeply. “They’ve got designs on Jazz. His winning the race reminded them how much power we have in our little group. It doesn’t sit well with a lot of the pack members.”
“Yes, but the fact is, we have that power, and most of them are afraid to come up against it.” Lindsey chuckled. “Or the Vanessen money.”
Pop-Pop sighed again. “Speaking of which, Merced just reminded me how much Vanessen stock he owns on behalf of the Marketo pack.”
“Was it a threat?”
“Implied. We don’t know how far they’ll go to get an alpha, and now they’re focused on Jazz.”
He had to quit listening. Jazz took a breath, made some noise, and called, “Hey, you guys. Aren’t we supposed to be going to the award ceremony?” He walked around the corner and tried to look unaware of what had gone on. Feeling like a rat eavesdropper was his sentence for being one.
Chapter Fifteen
AN HOUR later, Jazz had received his award, as had Cole and Winter, to a lot of polite applause as well as the raucous cheers from the small group of Vanessens. Arm in arm, they all headed back toward the campsite where his mom, who’d run off early from the ceremony to supervise the food, and Mo and Marchand, the werewolf drivers, were laying out Brie, baguettes, fruit, and lots and lots of meat—the Elizabeth Vanessen Thane idea of a werewolf picnic.
“Jasper. Jazz.”
Jazz looked over his shoulder. Trixie Marketo, wife of Alpha Merced, walked toward him holding the arm of a guy—a young male werewolf. Make that a cute young male werewolf.
