by Tara Lain
Jazz clinked glasses, sipped, then looked up into Wyn’s large brown eyes. “What is us exactly?”
Wyn’s pleasant expression kind of collapsed on itself. “Sorry. That was pretty phony, wasn’t it?”
“You could say that, depending on what you mean by it.”
“I don’t exactly know. I guess if the Marketos have their way, we’ll end up as a couple, and we’ll run the Marketo Pack in the future.”
At that moment, the waitress came, and they both ordered porterhouse steaks, extra rare. Jazz would have liked a side of filet, but that was hard to explain to humans. The lady gave them both a smile and left.
“Are you an alpha?” Jazz gazed at Wyn steadily. Was he going to tell the truth?
Wyn shrugged, glanced around, and then lowered his voice. “You could say I’ve got alpha tendencies. I can shift for a couple weeks out of the month. My hearing’s good, and I’m stronger than most. Not like you, I imagine.”
Okay, that was part of the truth.
Jazz didn’t confirm or deny Wyn’s assumption. “Do you know why Marketo isn’t happy with determining the next alpha the old-fashioned way? Let the pack members fight it out.”
Wyn shook his head and glanced around again, as if wary of potential listeners. “He says that’s been happening in packs around the world, and the overall power of the race is declining. The alpha ends up being whoever wins, even if they don’t have genuine alpha skills. He doesn’t want that to happen to his pack.”
“But you know how much the pack members hate the idea of a gay werewolf.” He flopped back against the red leather booth. “Marketo and Harker Pack members found ways to rationalize the fact that three Vanessens won the Packarama race because they didn’t want to believe they could be beaten by gay wolves.” He pushed as much sincerity into his expression as he could muster. “Do you really want to spend your life justifying your right to lead?”
Wyn shrugged. “All alphas do that, don’t they?”
“And we’d have to do it ten times as much. It sounds like a crappy way to live.”
Wyn glanced up. “Don’t you want to be alpha? Hell, it’s being handed to you on silver, my friend. Most wolves have to fight for that much power.”
“When I was adopted, I accidentally fell into the middle of the biggest concentration of power you can even imagine. I’m sure the Marketos have told you—or maybe you saw for yourself—that my brother, my father, and my pack mates are alphas. My grandfather, mother, and other brother, as well as my brothers-in-law, wield huge power and influence in the human world.” Jazz watched Wyn’s face and sucked in his reactions. He felt… what? Scared? “I don’t need Marketo Pack to be powerful, and I’m not sure I want it.”
Wyn’s scared energy amped up. “But you haven’t ruled it out, right?”
“No. I want what’s best for the packs. I’m not convinced I’m it. Or should I say, we’re it?” He smiled, but still watched Wyn carefully. “You seem torn.”
“What do you mean?”
How honest should he be? “I don’t sense that you’re all that excited about being alpha of a pack. I mean, you could be more powerful than any of the other Marketo weres. You’re a Marketo. Step up and take it. I’m just some mongrel of unknown parentage. You have way more claim than me.”
Wyn glanced at Jazz edgily. “You know that?” Jazz nodded. “Shit. I’ve always kept a low profile because of the whole gay thing. Where I come from, being a gay werewolf is a good way to get banished from the pack, and that’s a dangerous way to live. So I don’t hide it, but nobody worries as long as I’m just some omega who doesn’t represent any threat. Then my aunt found out I’m bi, and here I am. They want you, and they want me to get you for them.”
“So they don’t know what they’ve already got in you?”
He frowned. “They don’t have me. I can probably back up a powerful alpha like you and run a pack, but not on my own. I haven’t got the strength. Or the desire.”
“Well, they don’t have me either.”
“Uh, honestly, I think they’ll retaliate in some way if you don’t go along.”
“How?”
“Something about stock. I know that doesn’t sound very werewolfy. Does it make sense to you?”
Jazz stared. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Shit. They weren’t kidding about you.” He took a breath. “Merced says he’ll use his large block of stock to help put some dude named Orwell into power in your grandfather’s company. Honest, I don’t know much more, except I gather Orwell’s no friend of your grandfather.”
Jazz nodded. “You could say that.” Okay, so the fucking plot thickened.
Two waiters arrived with trays at that moment, and the smell of the steaks made Jazz’s mouth water so much, he could barely talk. But the scent of the meat didn’t fully cover the scent of werewolf. Both of the burly waiters were wolves, an extremely rare event. The occasional half human might mix in regular society, but it was unusual for full wolves. Jazz was the oddity, but when was that not true? These two dudes weren’t alphas, certainly, but they still had strength. Soldier types.
One waiter, a bald male with a gold tooth, said, “I hope you enjoy your dinner, sir.” There was an odd formality about the statement, as if he’d rehearsed it.
The other waiter, an equally muscular male with unkempt black hair, put a plate in front of Wyn. He stared directly at him. “Is everything satisfactory, sir?”
Wyn glanced up from his plate and frowned. “Yes. It’s good.”
The guy smiled. “All right, good. I’ll check back.”
The two waiters walked away, and the dark-haired one glanced back.
Wyn said too loudly, “This smells good, doesn’t it?” He bugged his eyes at Jazz.
Jazz answered, “Yes,” also too loud.
Wyn spoke from the side of his mouth. “Those dudes are wolves.”
“Yep.”
“What the hell are they doing here?”
“What? You don’t believe they’re just hard-working shifters earning their daily bread at minimum wage?”
“Yeah, right.” Wyn cut his meat and stuck a hunk in his mouth. “They’ve gotta be from Marketo, right? Spying on us? Maybe they’re testing whether you can smell a werewolf?”
“I passed.” Wyn snorted. He started to take another bite, and Jazz held up his hand. “Offer it to me.”
“What? Oh.” He smiled. “Want a bite of mine?”
Jazz leaned forward and sniffed. It smelled fine. Better than fine. He grabbed it in his teeth and chewed. He was starving. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and then he’d been too distracted to enjoy it.
Jazz went back to his own plate and cut off a piece of meat just slightly smaller than would choke a hyena, shoved it in his mouth, then closed his eyes appreciatively. “Have you ever seen either of those two dudes in Marketo Pack?”
Wyn got a crease between his brows. “Uh, not that I remember, but I’m a newcomer.”
Jazz stared into space a minute. “I’ve never seen them either, and I’m not a newcomer. Plus, I’ve got a very good memory.” He didn’t say for smells. “Hang tight. I’m going to the”—he raised his voice—“men’s room.” He stood, and Wyn smelled worried. “Be right back.” Jazz walked with purpose toward the sign that announced Restrooms and pushed into the one with the guy outline on the door. There was a man at the urinal.
Jazz walked past him into a stall.
Can I do it? At will? Without calling Dash for instructions? He remembered Dash telling him how to become visible again. So I need to do the opposite. He let heat fill his chest and trickle under his skin like lava until it almost hurt, spreading of its own accord into his head. For a second he panicked, it felt so invasive, but no worse than shifting. Hell, not much was that bad. I need to get out there and find out what those males have up their sleeves besides some very hairy arms.
He let that urgency push against his chest along with the heat. It was very uncomfortable, but was it e
nough? Time to try.
He pushed the stall door outward slowly, like it might have opened on its own. The guy who’d been peeing was washing up and he glanced at the stall with a frown—but not at Jazz. Jazz purposefully smiled and waved his arms. The man didn’t seem to notice. He pulled a couple of paper towels out of the dispenser, then with another glance toward the stall, pushed open the door. Jazz walked out behind him.
Hurry!
He hightailed it to the kitchen entrance, waited for the next server to open the swinging door, and slid inside. Lots of busy humans. No wolves.
Careful not to brush against anyone, Jazz tiptoed to the back entrance and listened. Sure enough, he heard two rumbly voices that sounded like the waiters who’d come to their table.
One male said, “How long do we have to wait around?”
“Settle down.” That must be the dark-haired male. He sounded in charge. A cell rang. The dark one answered, “Yes, sir?” He paused. “Okay. Got ya.” Another pause and he said, “The boss says we can leave. He’s gotten all he needs.”
“Great. So when do we get to eat?”
“Great gods, will you shut up?”
As their voices receded, the bald male said, “Wanna go find some females after we leave here?”
Jazz frowned. Who are these guys? And who’s “the boss?” Merced? Would Merced hire people like this to test me? Damn, this hadn’t been worth much, but at least he knew he could turn invisible at will.
Quickly, he hurried to the men’s room again, took a chance opening the door since there was no one to do it for him, and practiced letting the heat out from under his skin in one of the stalls. When he was pretty sure the world could see him, he rushed back to the table.
Wyn looked up. “They took your food to the kitchen to keep it warm.” Wyn’s plate sat bare and bloody in front of him.
“Sorry. There was a line.”
“Where’d you go? The freaking ladies room?” He forced a smile, but he looked nervous.
The waitress rushed back with his plate. “Thank you,” Jazz said. He took a bite but watched the woman walk away. “I found those males and spied on them.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, they were behind the restaurant.”
“And they didn’t see you?”
“No.” He wasn’t going to say why. “But they’re gone. They got some kind of call from their boss saying he had all he needed.”
Wyn smelled relieved. “They probably went back to Marketo and told him you passed with flying colors.”
“Yeah.” He still felt wary, but better. He chewed and swallowed his last bite of steak.
“You seemed to enjoy that.” Wyn smiled.
“I figured I should since Marketo’s paying.”
Wyn snorted. “I’m really sorry about this whole mess, but you’re not the only one being manipulated here. First, I’m invited to stay with my uncle. Then I get told I’m expected to hook up with some guy I don’t know and become his little woman while he runs the pack.”
Jazz nodded and drank the rest of his iced tea.
“Want dessert?”
Jazz shook his head. “For me, the only dessert after a steak is another steak.”
Wyn chuckled; then his cute face got serious. “What shall I tell Merced?”
“Your boss?” He said the word and watched for reaction.
Wyn flinched. “He carries a lot of weight in my family, being an alpha and all.”
“Your dad’s not an alpha?”
“Uh, no. He’s a beta. Right hand of the leader of our pack.”
“In New York?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “So what shall I tell Alpha Merced?”
“Tell him I’m thinking about it… seriously.”
Wyn looked surprised. “I kind of thought you weren’t interested.”
Jazz told the truth. “I want what’s best for the Connecticut packs and the Marketo and Harker alliance needs an alpha. I think Cole Harker would be the best choice, but his husband hates the packs, and Cole doesn’t like them much better. I’m not sure he’ll ever say yes. Then there’s you, but you say you won’t do it alone. So the packs may get stuck with me.” He stared at Wyn. “Stuck with us, since I’d need to ally with the packs through marriage, not being blood and all.”
“I see.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “That might keep Marketo off your back for a little while. He’d be happier if you were a sure thing, but it’s way better than a refusal.”
“Good.”
Wyn sighed. “So let’s set up another date so we can get to know each other. We could be spending a lot of time together.”
Jazz liked Wyn okay and got that he was a pawn in this plot, but still the idea of spending more time with him made the steak flip over in his stomach. He managed a nod.
At that moment, the waitress walked up. “Anything else for you gentlemen?” She grinned as if she found them hopelessly cute.
Wyn shook his head. “Just the check, please.”
“I’ll have that prepared right away. Meanwhile, here’s a little aperitif compliments of the house.” She put two small glasses on the table, one in front of each of them.
“Oh, how nice.” Wyn picked up the glass in front of him.
“May I ask what it is?” Jazz said.
She leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s limoncello.”
“Oh, I—”
She patted his shoulder. “I know, dear, but there’s so little, and it’s quite harmless. I thought you should have some too.” She gave him a wink, supporting all the charming maternal energy she radiated.
He laughed and lifted his glass in a toast to her, then took a sip. “Wow. This is good. Thank you.” He drank some more.
“Enjoy. I’ll get that check.”
Jazz stared at the pretty yellow liqueur, then looked toward the door where the waitress had disappeared. He gasped.
“What?” Wyn asked.
Jazz couldn’t answer. Through the glass window in the kitchen door, he saw a hazy outline, like a head that wasn’t quite there. It was misty, glowing, but it gave him chills all over his body.
Jazz whispered, “Don’t-don’t drink any more.”
Wyn set down the glass as if he’d been burned.
“Take out your phone like we’re swapping numbers.”
Wyn did it, and Jazz grabbed his own phone, brought up his text list, and hit a key.
Running a hand through his silky red hair, Wyn mumbled, “I don’t feel so good.”
“Drink water, lots of it.”
They both downed the contents of their water glasses. Jazz stared toward the kitchen, but the apparition was gone.
“What? What is it?” Wyn’s head was drifting toward the table.
“Some kind of drug.” But he knew that wasn’t true. He’d have smelled drugs. This was something else.
“Need air.”
Jazz grabbed his arm. “No. Not safe.” But his head swam and vision blurred. His arms felt too weak to hold his phone, but he hit one last key.
The smell of male werewolves rushed into his nostrils—right before everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JAZZ THRASHED. Memories flooded through his foggy brain. The smell of werewolves, fear, anger, danger. Hands grabbing him and…. Did they drop him?
He stretched out his kinked back. “Ow.” It felt like somebody had used his body for pitching practice.
Wait. Wyn. Danger.
“Wyn? Where am I?” He struggled to open his eyes and sit up, but a strong arm held him down. “Let go. Get off me!”
“Jazz. You’re okay. Calm down. It’s me. It’s us.”
Jazz breathed in the sweet scent that said Dash. His heart went from pounding in fear and anger to pounding for different reasons. He willed his eyes open, and his lids finally parted. Oh yeah. Jazz smiled at the frown on Dash’s face. “You worried?”
Dash looked up quickly, and Jazz’s glance followed. C
arla, Dij, and BeBop all stared down at him.
Carla knelt down beside him on the couch in her room where he was lying.
Jazz shook his head, but it hurt. “How did I get here?”
“Long story,” Carla said.
“Start out by telling me what happened to Wyn. Is he okay? Last I knew, he was passing out on the table at the restaurant.”
Dash frowned again, then smoothed it out. “He’s fine. I called the Marketos to come and get him.”
“How did you know where to call?”
Dash cocked his head. “Uh, googled it.”
“What did you tell them?”
He dropped to his beautiful butt on the floor and crossed his arms on his knees. “That you’d both had too much to drink and you texted me to come and get you.”
“They believed it?”
“I think so.”
Carla glanced back and forth between them. “Don’t you want to know what actually happened, for crap sake?”
“Yeah, yeah I do, but I had to be sure Wyn didn’t get hurt because of me. So what happened?”
“I got your text, but before it even arrived, Dash said he was worried something was wrong.” Carla cast him a sidelong glance. “I thought he was just jealous, but it turned out to be a good thing. Dij went with him, and they were almost to the restaurant when you sent the aardvark.”
Dash took up the story. “When we got there, we found two big dudes dragging you out. They said they were your family, that you weren’t used to drinking and they were taking you home. We let them get through the front door, then, uh, Dij distracted them, and I knocked them out.”
Jazz stared at him as the story poured out. Jazz glanced at Carla, who frowned. “How exactly did you do that again?”
“Dij came up behind them and took them by surprise. They both turned to see her, and I slammed a, uh, shovel into one guy’s head, then, uh, kicked the other one in the knees and finished him off with the shovel,” Dash said.
“Where was Wyn during this?” Anything to get Carla off the scent. But how much does Dij know?
“They left him under the table where he had apparently slid,” Dij told him. “We called his uncle, and two men came to get him.”
