It was a fantasy, nothing more, he reminded himself as he turned off the water and began to towel himself dry. If he was smart, he’d keep it that way.
HE WASN’T prepared to find Nick and Company already ensconced in the house when he made his way downstairs. He followed his nose into the kitchen, where the smell of onions and frying meat caught his attention, despite the fact that what he really craved right now was blood.
He paused in shock in the doorway at the sight of Nick’s pack crowded into the kitchen, everyone helping to make dinner. Tate looked disconcertingly domestic, a smudge of white flour on one cheekbone. A floury handprint also marked one thigh.
Tish was unpacking some dinnerware from a cardboard box and Peter was in the process of uncorking a bottle of wine. Duncan had his eyes closed as he stood sniffing the air, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of cooking meat. He opened them at Alex’s entrance, but Alex had no idea what was going on in his head. His expression was both amused and distant.
“Hey!” Tate waved cheerfully at Alex. “Tish called, asked what they might bring, and I said plates, so hooray, the day is saved!”
“What’s he doing here?” Nick growled softly in his ear as Alex came into the room. He was clearly displeased, and Alex couldn’t really blame him. Now they would have to be on their best behavior instead of relaxing and being themselves as planned.
“Who cares?” Peter said happily, passing Alex a glass of wine. “The food smells awesome.”
“Wipe your chin,” Nick snapped and Peter wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand, giving Nick a rueful grin as he did so.
Peter was right, however. While Alex was in the shower, Tate had managed to sauté onions and mushrooms, grill steaks, and microwave the potatoes. Even now, he was using a hand towel as a makeshift potholder and carefully lifting a pan of fluffy cheese-and-garlic biscuits from the oven. It did smell good, even to someone like Alex, who seldom found food appealing.
“I’ve got another batch ready to go without garlic,” Tate said over his shoulder. “Just in case anyone prefers them plain.”
Alex gave Nick a helpless little shrug. He pitched his voice low so that only a werewolf could hear. “I had a problem with the water earlier. He came to help. The food’s all his, by the way. I can’t exactly kick him out now.”
Nick briefly showed his teeth. Alex knew it was unconscious, but it raised the hair on the back of his neck just the same. The enmity between their peoples was just too ingrained to ignore at times.
“Steaks are just about done; at least, the way I like them,” Tate said to the room in general. “Anyone else like them so rare they bleed?”
“Yes,” Duncan and Peter both answered simultaneously, and Peter called out “Jinx!” It was a schoolyard thing to do, and Alex noted with interest the indulgent smile that passed briefly over Nick’s features.
Peter quickly shook his head. “Duncan says so little, no one would ever know he’d been jinxed. Might as well release him.”
Duncan reached out and pushed Peter on the shoulder, causing him to wince in mock pain. “Anyone ever tell you that you spend too much time hanging out with teenagers?” Duncan rolled his eyes.
Something in Peter’s pocket began to vibrate and Alex flinched at the sound of several high-pitched voices singing cheerfully, “Ding dong, the witch is dead!”
“What the hell is that?” Alex asked as Peter frowned and pulled his cell out of his pocket.
Peter didn’t even look at the number; he pressed a button on the phone and replaced it in his pocket. “My sister,” he said shortly. “I don’t want to talk to her right now.” All of the animation had gone out of his face, leaving him looking deflated and smaller somehow.
“I didn’t know you had a sister.” Alex was a little embarrassed at his surprise. It wasn’t as though Peter couldn’t have a sister. It was just that those that joined the Life seldom mentioned anyone who was not also a part of it. Alex had never given it much thought before but it was weird to think of Peter or anyone else in Nick’s pack as having relatives. The fact that Alex had been part of a family at one time was rare among his own kind.
“We’re not speaking,” Peter said repressively, giving Alex an evil glare. That was weird as well; Peter was usually the most “normal” of all of Nick’s crew and usually the least irritable with Alex.
“You have to talk to her sometime.” Nick’s tone was deceptively mild. Alex felt uncomfortable, as though he’d walked in during the middle of an ongoing conversation.
Peter’s lips tightened into a thin line.
Tate set the frying pan to one side on the stove and handed the tongs to Nick as though the conversation with Peter was not taking place. He dusted his hands on his jeans, oblivious to the fact that he was leaving more flour behind. “Well. Looks like you guys have everything under control here. I’ll be heading out now.”
Everyone else in the room turned to look at Nick. His mouth twitched into his trademark little smile as he glanced briefly at Alex. He assessed Tate with a raised eyebrow, snapping the tongs open and closed a few times.
Alex smiled despite himself. Maybe Tate would sense the tension in the room and choose to leave regardless. Maybe not. At any rate, the evening was proving to be very interesting. He decided to make the offer anyway. “Stick around, Tate. It only seems fair since you did all the cooking.”
Tate cast a slyly amused glance around the room and Alex could suddenly envision him as a satyr. He could see Tate so clearly with slightly pointed ears and a wreath of leaves around his head, red-brown hair lightly covering his naked chest…. The image came and went in a flash but was deeply arousing just the same. Tish shot Alex a glance from across the room and winked. For a breath-stopping moment, Alex thought she’d read his mind until he realized she was reacting to the situation.
“Well, if you insist,” Tate said with a smirk. “Come on, everyone. Grab a plate and help yourselves.”
“It’s your funeral,” Nick said sotto voce, knowing Alex would hear him anyway.
It pained Alex to realize that Nick was right. He should be doing everything in his power to discourage Tate from hanging around, but instead he’d just invited him to dinner. Alex wanted very badly to give himself a dope slap. What was the matter with him? It seemed this new acquaintance could only end in disaster.
By the end of the meal, however, Alex had begun to think he was overreacting. Tate had proven to be good company. He’d somehow managed to get Peter started on the subject of literature, and Peter had held sway over the group as a lively discussion about the relative merits and failings of the American educational system took place. This segued into what made a book a best seller, with Peter arguing that the creation of such was so formulaic that he could write a best seller easily, as long as he included all the key ingredients. The discussion changed rapidly into the subject of favorite books, a topic to which Duncan unexpectedly warmed, and then moved on to theater. They wound up arguing about which was the better play, Les Misérables or Cats.
Alex had to laugh at Peter’s vehement defense of Les Misérables.
“Nothing happens in Cats.” Peter was amusingly indignant. By this time, they’d moved into the living room, wineglasses in hand, and had sprawled across the various pieces of furniture. Tate had convinced Alex to light a fire, and the resulting warmth had only added to the contented mood.
“Yes, there is a certain level of interest in watching people accurately portray catlike behavior, but I can’t fathom why it became the second-longest-running show on Broadway. We might as well spend two hours watching some tubby tabby washing its butt. The music is uninspired. Now, Les Mis, on the other hand…. The fact that the entire play is conveyed through repeating musical themes is fucking magical.” To prove his point, Peter began to sing opening lines from “One Day More.”
His rich baritone was perfect for the part of Valjean. Alex couldn’t help it; he joined in, singing the part of Marius.
&nb
sp; Tate, his eyes lighting up from excitement, unexpectedly supplied the vocal of Cosette, though he remained in the same key as Alex instead of taking the soprano role. While not a trained singer, there was a raw power to Tate’s voice that blended harmonically with Alex’s melodic line. There was a strange sense of recognition in hearing Tate sing identical words of love at first sight along with Alex and he pushed it, like all of his emotions regarding Tate, into containment.
Tish’s voice suddenly soared into the room with the part of Eponine, and Alex felt a rush of intense belonging. This must be what it feels like to belong to a pack, he thought.
Nick straightened from his slouch in his seat and leaned forward as he opened his mouth to join them. For a startled moment, Alex thought he was going to supply the part of Enjolras, even as a corner of his brain questioned how Nick would know the song. Everyone paused as the song reached the point of Enjolras’s entrance. To Alex’s surprise, Nick sang mournfully, “Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead….”
Tate fell out of the singing with a guffaw of laughter, dragging Tish and Alex with him. Peter, on the other hand, switched gears rapidly, joining Nick in his rendition of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Within seconds, everyone was singing along, taking turns filling in all the parts. It didn’t take long for the song to disintegrate into a lighthearted argument over lyrics.
Tate looked smugly pleased as Peter and Nick bickered about whether the singer was saying “bismillah” or “makes me laugh” during the “will not let him go” portion of the song. He was sitting closest to the fire; the flames cast a dancing light over his pale skin, drawing Alex’s glance repeatedly in his direction.
Nick backed down when Peter suggested they Google the lyrics. “What the hell does ‘bismillah’ mean anyway?”
“In the name of God.” Tish spoke with serene confidence. Alex noted that no one questioned her word on that.
“Your voice is incredible,” Tate said to Alex, obviously referring back to the Les Mis song. “You sound better than the original soundtrack. Of course, that was recorded sometime in the late eighties, so we know that couldn’t be you.”
Shit. Way to go, Alex. If he wasn’t careful, he’d give the whole game away.
“You make a pretty good Cosette, yourself,” Peter said easily, unaware of the undercurrents in the room.
Tate gave Peter a mocking little half-bow from the waist up. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to throw boots at me, but I’m not in the same class as you two.” Tate turned to Nick. “You guys should take this show on the road. You’re frighteningly good. Obviously a misspent youth.” He didn’t wait for Nick’s response but turned to Duncan instead. “So, Duncan. What do you like to do for fun?”
Alex expected Duncan to give one of his usual, pithy, one-syllable word answers. He did, but his answer was unexpected. “Chess.”
“He’s damned good too,” Peter said grudgingly.
Duncan smiled, not quite baring his teeth. “I’ve been playing for a long time.”
Tish, it turned out, was a violinist. Alex felt a little embarrassed as he watched Tish and Tate hold an animated discussion about music and instruments. Tate had found out more about Nick’s pack in one night than Alex had ever bothered to learn in the years that he’d known them. As Alex watched the interactions around him, he wondered what Tate was like with his patients and whether he was just as good at making them relax so that he could tease information out of them—and presumably their owners as well. It was easy to picture Tate calmly examining a cat, smoothing back the fur on its face as he tilted its head upward. Alex blinked sharply, wondering where all these images were coming from.
“What about you, Nick?” Tate turned an easy smile on Nick, where he was slouching in his chair once more. The flickering light from the hearth threw the planes of his face into sharp relief and when Alex turned to look at him, for an instant, he could see the sharp muzzle of the wolf overlying his features.
“I used to be a pilot,” Nick said shortly. The lightness in his mood snuffed out as some darker memory crossed his path.
“Really?” Alex was startled into asking. Somehow, he’d never expected that.
Everyone else in the room got quiet. Nick shrugged. “Had to give it up. Can’t afford it anymore.”
The conversation petered out after that. Nick rose smoothly to his feet, checking his watch. “It’s getting late, guys. We should push off.”
“I gotta go too,” Tate agreed, rising to his feet with a little stretch. He yawned as he spread his shoulders, the action stretching the shirt over the muscles of his chest in a tantalizing way. He untied his sweater and slipped it on over his head. Alex couldn’t help but be disappointed to see Tate cover up again. He didn’t bother chiding himself over watching Tate pull his head through the neck of the sweater and thread his arms through the sleeves. Watching was just watching. There was no harm in admiring a beautiful thing.
He walked them all to the door.
“We had a lovely evening,” Tish said warmly, as they all spilled out onto the front porch. The light from the hall behind them fell in a bright rectangle on the stairs where everyone paused as they said their goodbyes. Alex could see small clouds of vapor as Tish spoke, and he glanced involuntarily up at the sky. The moon was only a thin sliver, but now that Alex paid attention to such things, he knew it wouldn’t be long until it was full again.
“Good food,” Duncan rumbled. In the darkness, his towering height seemed even more intimidating.
“I’ll say,” Peter chimed in, stretching backward to give his belly an exaggerated rub. “Yum. Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I had such a good meal.”
“You say that about every meal, Peter.” Tish laughed, provoking a chuckle from everyone in general. “Thank you, Alex, for having us over. And you, too, Tate, for cooking such a wonderful dinner.”
“My pleasure. It was nice meeting y’all,” Tate said with a smile.
“We should do this again sometime,” Peter suggested. “This was fun. Makes a nice change from sitting home and watching television.”
“Maybe you’d like to start an amateur theater group?” Nick suggested dryly, but Alex could tell he was just teasing. “We had a nice time, Alex. See you at the end of the month?”
“Yes,” Alex agreed. He wrapped his arms around himself in the cool night air, standing on the porch as everyone moved off and toward their cars at last.
It was an odd feeling to watch as his friends all got into their various vehicles and drove away. Friends. He had friends.
Chapter 3
“YOUR light’s out.”
“Excuse me?” Alex had just clicked the automatic lock button on the black Ford Escape, causing the lights to flash. He paused to look over his shoulder at the unkempt man who was walking past. It was close to dusk and there were few people in the parking lot of the home supply store. It had been a long time since he’d had to worry about a potential mugging. Most predators instinctively recognized another predator when they saw one. The last person who’d mistakenly viewed him as a potential victim had ended up providing him enough blood to slake his thirst for a very long time. Not to mention, he was no longer a threat to anyone else.
“Driver’s side headlight is out,” the man said, continuing to walk on by, not caring whether Alex heard him or not.
“Oh. Thanks!” He called out after the man. He came around to the front of the car and pressed the lock button on his key ring again. When the lights flashed, the driver’s side headlight remained dark. Damn it. The last thing he wanted was for some overzealous cop to stop him on the way home. His driver’s license might not bear the scrutiny, despite the fact that Moretti had a reputation for superior work when it came to providing documents for the vampire community. Shrugging, Alex headed into the hardware store to pick up the water filters that he needed.
He stopped by the auto supply place on the way home.
�
�Here you go, sonny,” the man behind the counter said, handing him the light bulb in a small box. He seemed oblivious to any potential insult in his address, and Alex let it go. He realized the old man didn’t mean anything by it. That was just the way he spoke.
“I don’t suppose you could show me how to replace it?” Alex smiled winningly at him. Hell, he wasn’t above using his charm on the guy if it would get him back on the road any sooner. Give him a car from the 1960s or ’70s and he was confident he could repair or replace just about anything. Most of the newer models seemed to have little tricks to opening the simplest latch.
The old man looked pained. “I’m so sorry, but they’ve changed the policy here. We can’t touch the customers’ cars. Guess they’re afraid we’ll break something. I can tell you, though: don’t touch the light bulb with your bare hands. The grease from your fingerprints will heat it up and make it bust. You have to use gloves.”
Great. He thanked the clerk and took the little box out to the parking lot. In the light from the storefront, he reviewed the driver’s manual. The diagram seemed simple enough. Piece of cake. He popped the hood release and came around to the front of the car to lift it up, using the prop bar to hold it in place.
Step one: Remove the electrical conductor.
The electrical conductor proved to be a small rubber-covered bulb protruding from the back of the lighting assembly. Unfortunately, the lighting assembly was down in a very tight place between the battery and the front grill. The electrical conductor was hard to grip, even though Alex’s long fingers could reach down into the small space. Try as he might, he could not get the conductor to release from the back of the housing unit. Concerned that he might break it and certain there must be a simple way to perform the task, he went back to the book.
Remove electrical conductor. That’s all it said. Even when he turned the page, there was no further indication of how to remove the conductor. He could just make out the word push in the center of the conductor, along with two large arrows that also pointed at the center of the bulb. Smiling, he gripped the conductor by the sides, pushing inward. When that failed to release the conductor, he pushed directly over the word itself with his thumb. Still nothing.
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