The Omega Objection

by G. L. Carriger

“Apparently, Isaac doesn’t do werewolves.” The kitsune looked a little coy as she imparted that bit of information.

  “What?” I sure hope he’s open to doing at least one werewolf. “What’s wrong with werewolves?”

  Gladdy shrugged. “He doesn’t like them.”

  “He doesn’t?” Tell that to his cock. Tank thought of Isaac pressed against him as they kissed. His body, at least, was interested.

  Gladdy looked at him funny. “You’re gonna have to fix this, Tank.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. He doesn’t seem to mind you.”

  “No one minds Tank.” Colin sounded a little bitter.

  Gladdy glared at Tank. “We want Isaac to stay.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes Tank, we do.” It was as if she spoke for the whole shifter community, which frankly, Tank had kinda assumed was Mana’s job. Then again, Mana was also a kitsune. Perhaps it was a fox busybody thing.

  “Okay.” Tank agreed, wholeheartedly. Even if he was confused about the other stuff, he definitely wanted Isaac to stay. Preferably in his bed, on top of him, for long periods of time.

  Accordingly, after Colin and Gladdy had left and the door slowed enough for Oscar to handle it alone, Tank started a circuit for the club. Of course, eventually his wandering took him toward Isaac’s end of the bar.

  “Hello, handsome,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

  Isaac flashed him a delighted smile at first, then seemed to remember himself and closed up.

  He was pretty busy, so Tank just lurked and waited, keeping an eye on the crowd.

  A blue-haired human male with a pale face and dark eyes sidled up to him. Tank assumed he too was trying to get Isaac’s attention. For some strange reason, though, the man’s focus was on him.

  Tank gave him a curious look.

  The man smiled and leaned toward him to ask a question, although the music wasn’t all that loud (shifters had sensitive hearing). This one smelled totally human, and sweaty and eager – which was flattering.

  Isaac interrupted by passing Tank a cold glass of milk. Tank laughed and took it.

  “You’re on duty,” Isaac explained, his gray eyes flashing briefly at the blue-hair.

  Tank nodded, his whole self focused on Isaac. “Not that alcohol would do much. Wrong metabolism. But I prefer the milk. Thank you.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Tank watched as the pretty blue man, looked disappointed and drifted away.

  “I met one of your pack earlier.” Isaac drew his attention.

  “Yes. Colin.” Dangerous territory, Tank felt, but Isaac had brought it up.

  Isaac began wiping down the bar near Tank, not looking at him.

  Tank wanted those silvery eyes on him. He touched the back of the bartender’s wrist, the hand holding the rag. Just one gentle fingertip. Isaac’s skin was so soft.

  Tank was careful with his words. “What happened, Isaac? What happened with Colin?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Confusion of Werewolves

  Isaac tried not to enjoy the tiny contact too much. Tank’s touch was so gentle from such a big man. Tentative.

  “Werewolves make me nervous.” Isaac dampened down on his own wolf, who once again wanted to bathe in Tank’s scent. Roll all around on top of him, mark him with teeth.

  “I make you nervous?” Tank stopped his caress and seemed a little upset, as if there was some implication that Isaac was comparing Tank to Hayden and his ilk.

  “No. And that’s weird. Because I know you’re a werewolf, but somehow it doesn’t matter.”

  “Something was done to you? Something bad by one of my kind?” A tiny crease appeared between those chocolate eyes.

  Isaac inclined his head.

  Tank considered a long moment before he spoke again. “You didn’t know there were werewolves in the Bay Area when you moved here, did you?”

  Clearly, I’m not the only one with the ability to perceive motive. Is Tank like this by werewolf instinct, or is it only with me? Isaac was thrilled by the idea of being Tank’s only.

  It also provided the opening he’d been searching for. “How long have you guys been here, then?”

  “About six months. Everything duly recorded by DURPS. We moved in by the book. Alec is a stickler for such things. But being as you aren’t a supernatural creature, I guess there’s no reason for you to check the records of territory. It really upsets you, doesn’t it? Us being here?”

  Isaac hesitated and then, because Tank had kissed him and that was worth something, admitted, baldly, “San Francisco is known for its general openness toward queer folk, and supernatural folk, and interspecies dating. Werewolves aren’t known for any of those things. In fact, in my experience, they are the opposite of accepting.”

  “Is that what happened to you? Some asshole wolves beat you up for being queer?” The big man’s tone was soft and dangerous.

  Isaac made a funny face. “Nooooo,” he said, but he knew that he didn’t sound sure of himself.

  “My pack, we aren’t the normal kind of werewolf. I promise.”

  Isaac was instantly on his guard and suspicious. “You’re not. How’s that? Not that I know a whole lot about packs, but you’ve an Alpha, and Gladdy says there’s an enforcer.”

  Tank nodded. “Two. A proper pack always has two. One of ours is Colin’s older brother.”

  Isaac crossed his arms. “That sounds about typical.”

  Tank clenched his massive hands. His expression was one of agonized self-doubt. Isaac could tell that the man believed he was doing this all wrong.

  “It’s true that, in general, werewolf packs aren’t known for” – Tank cleared his throat, obviously hunting for the right words – “progressive social attitudes.”

  Isaac snorted. Well, that’s a very politic way of putting “homophobic assholes.”

  Tank soldiered on. “We tend to live in trailers with the carcasses of cars and deer in our yards, bum about on motorcycles and complain about the little woman back at the ranch.”

  Isaac snorted again, this time in amused recognition.

  “But San Andreas really is different. Alec, our Alpha, he’s gay. He’s not at all what you’d expect. He’s kind of a nerd and kind of a dork. He’s a marine biologist and his mate is a merman.” This was all said in a rush, as if Tank felt he had to spit it out or he’d lose courage.

  Isaac felt his eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Your Alpha is gay? How is that even possible?”

  Tank shrugged. “Well, I’m bi. You know that, right? I mean, we did kiss, but sometimes I surprise people with it. You know, ’cause I look like this, all huge and clumsy and unkempt, and then I’m like, hello, totally queer, and they’re all…”

  Isaac stopped him with a chuckle. “Yes, Tank, I figured. Your tongue in my mouth was a dead giveaway. I thought you might be in the closet or something.”

  “No closet’s big enough for that.”

  “Could be a walk-in.”

  Tank snorted. “Well, I’m queer and so is my Alpha. So are a few others in our pack. It’s kinda why we formed.”

  Isaac nodded. “I concede, that is weird. From what I know of werewolves. Go on?”

  Tank brightened noticeably at the encouragement. “Well, we have a Beta. You know that’s good, right? I mean not as good as having an Omega, or a Beta and an Omega, but still we have a Beta.”

  Isaac was proud of himself (he only flinched a little).

  “And he’s gay. And he’s awesome. Best Beta ever.” Tank’s big chest puffed up with pride. “Betas keep the Alpha calm. Ours is awesome.” He seemed to feel compelled to explain.

  Isaac didn’t mind – after all he was pretty ignorant of werewolf pack dynamics. He hadn’t been raised in a pack. He’d been raised in a cult. “Go on.”

  “Bryan, our Beta, never says much. He’s just kinda grounding and sweet and golden.”

  “Like you?” Isa
ac was embarrassed the moment he said it.

  Tank was still distracted. “Oh no! Bryan is a million times better than me. I don’t rank at all.”

  There was a strange kind of desperation to his earnestness, as if it were vitally important that Isaac understand his pack. Isaac supposed this must have something to do with helping Colin.

  Tank, obviously, would do anything for his pack. “Bryan is magical. And he’s also a familiar. You know, a Magistar’s familiar? Because his mate, Max, is this kick-ass super powerful mage.”

  Tank glanced up, caught Isaac’s confused and slightly alarmed look, and back-pedaled. “But Max is a totally decent dude. If you excuse his potty mouth. I mean, Max can be a little curt but he’s not intentionally malicious – well, not unless you earned it.”

  Tank paused, panting a little. The poor guy was talking a mile a minute and clearly not used to it. Fortunately, Isaac was accustomed to listening, and the bar had quieted slightly. The blue-haired bit of fluff who’d been making eyes at his werewolf earlier had scampered off somewhere to lick his wounds. As he should.

  Wait, my werewolf? That’s not good. Inside, Isaac’s wolf gave him a smug look. Mine. Yes.

  Said werewolf hadn’t finished his milk. He was still trying to explain. Trying to make Isaac feel safe. “Actually, Max is kinda an asshole, but he’s our asshole, and one-hundred-percent human, so you shouldn’t have any problems with him.”

  Isaac allowed himself to be charmed. “Okay, let the defense rest for a moment and allow me to catch up? So, you have a gay nerd Alpha, a merman Alpha-mate, a silent Beta who’s also a mage’s familiar. I’ll give you, that doesn’t sound like any pack I’ve met or heard of.”

  Tank nodded. “Well, then there’s me and Colin and Lovejoy. We’re basically normal. Although Colin and I are queer. Lovejoy’s straight but he’s dating a kitsune drag queen, so that’s gotta count for something.”

  Isaac felt as if he had completely lost control of the entire conversation at this point. Where’d the drag queen come from? So he just nodded. This is getting weirder and weirder. His wolf agreed. Isaac told his wolf to butt out.

  Tank continued, “Our enforcers are normal and enforcer-like. Except that Kevin joined our pack in order to get Colin away from his family and Judd used to be a loner. And he’s super gay too and old. We aren’t sure how, but pretty old.”

  He brightened up suddenly. “Oh, Isaac, you know what you should do?”

  “What’s that, Tank, baby?” The endearment slipped out as Isaac let himself go with the flow. It could hardly get any more surreal, could it?

  “You should come to one of our barbecues! We have a big one after each full moon. You missed the most recent one, but they’re great. You could meet everyone casually, and test us out. See that we’re decent dudes.”

  Isaac thought that was the worst idea he’d ever heard. His wolf thought it was the greatest. Pack pack packpackpack, he panted.

  Isaac scrambled for an excuse. Tank had certainly made his point that his pack was different from, and less threatening than, any other pack. But it wasn’t safety that concerned Isaac. Not entirely. It was wolf instinct. Theirs. And his.

  He avoided any kind of barbecue commitment by asking another question. “You settled here, in the city?”

  That didn’t make sense. There was nowhere decent to run in San Francisco proper. Not really. And one thing Isaac had learned about werewolves after he left the cult was that most of them ran wild on full moon. And city wouldn’t countenance that.

  Tank shook his head. “Across the bridge in Sausalito. Max, our Magistar, has this massive old run-down house and it’s right up against parkland. He basically gave it to us so long as we fixed it up.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, Max hates the place and we were having a hard time finding something to rent where we could all live together.”

  Isaac blinked.

  “Not like that! It’s just better, as we’re a young pack, if we all live in the same space. Like frat bonding or something. So, come to our barbecue? You’ll see we aren’t all bad, I promise.” Big chocolate eyes blinked at him, full of pleading.

  Isaac couldn’t come up with a good excuse so he said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Tank gave him a tentative smile and ducked his head shyly. “I’ll let you get back to work, then.”

  Isaac realized that bar traffic had picked up once again. He took a deep breath. Just because he was frazzled and confused didn’t mean he couldn’t do his damn job.

  Tank drifted away, half his milk left behind.

  Isaac’s wolf keened that the other man hadn’t been taken care of properly. His wolf wanted to hunt for him, provide more than just milk. You’re an idiot, wolf.

  Mine, said the wolf.

  * * *

  Tank got to walk Isaac home that night.

  Well, to be more precise, he persuaded Isaac to climb onto the back of his motorcycle so they could ride there together.

  Isaac was a delicious tangle of long limbs, draped awkwardly but perfectly against him. He folded himself up in an endearing manner, letting out a tiny sigh that might be joy or terror at the intimacy. Because intimacy clearly wasn’t Isaac’s thing.

  The short trip was everything Tank loved about riding with a partner. The full length of Isaac’s lean torso pressed against his body, strong hands on his hips. Tank wished it were longer but the few blocks flew by at such a late hour. He made Isaac wear his helmet, because Isaac was fragile and human and more important in all ways than Tank’s own fat head.

  Isaac’s lips were parted and he was breathing funny when they stopped. His eyes were brighter than normal after he pulled the helmet off. Tank suspected Isaac enjoyed riding with him, too.

  Tank licked his lips, eager.

  The other man’s gray eyes, under the waning moon and old streetlights, followed the action and dilated.

  Tank had this glorious thought that perhaps this amazing man actually wanted him. Wanted stupid, big, oafish Tank, with nothing to offer anyone but endless stability.

  “Come up with me?” suggested Isaac, looking surprised by his own words.

  Tank nodded, mute with joy and luck. He slid off the bike and kicked down the stand. He was confused as to his good fortune, but not so much that he would second-guess anything.

  Like a child, tentative and afraid of rejection, Isaac took Tank’s hand. Why should he fear anything? I will do whatever he wants, however he wants it. Perhaps Isaac did not realize that yet. Tank would have to show him.

  Their entwined hands were somehow sacred. Tank was taken back to his childhood, a lonely boy in the schoolyard, afraid of his own size already, and leery of the other children. They all seemed so erratic and unpredictable, high-pitched and terrifyingly frail. He’d forgotten the memory until this moment.

  It had been Bryan, back then. (Biff, as he was called by their former pack. He’d asked them to stop with that name, now that he was a familiar. Biff apparently didn’t have the required gravitas for a Magistar’s familiar. Max said if Biff wouldn’t do, how about Bubbles, and then called him that for a week. But Max also already called him Bryan so he was just being Max-ish about it.)

  Bryan was Tank’s age mate. Both of them had been still human, too young for the bite. Bryan’s hand had meshed with his, and he’d tugged Tank forward into the schoolyard. Bryan, a child of the Boston pack, already bowing to his future responsibilities as Beta. You are mine, the firm grip had said to Tank. You will be ours. And we will keep you safe. And I will keep them safe from you. Together.

  Isaac’s grip was achingly similar.

  Although, of course, the difference was that Tank wanted Isaac. Rather desperately. Wanted him with white heat and hard need and a permeating desire to yield. It was worse than any need for release, the need to give everything over to another.

  Tank followed Isaac because he was being led and his place was to follow. And he found comfort
in that. He hoped Isaac would not want him to push or to conquer. So many saw dominance in his size – saw aggression and superiority. But Tank was made to be used by a lover, to surrender parts of himself into another’s keeping.

  Isaac would learn soon enough. When it came to sex, Tank was all things gentle and never demanding. No doubt, then Isaac would reject him. He would see disappointment in those wounded gray eyes.

  Thinking this, Tank ducked his head and hesitated while Isaac unlocked his apartment building.

  Isaac was human, so Tank scrabbled for the language of the Castro and handkerchiefs. All that nonsense labeling humans loved so much, because they did not have pack to tell (or nose to smell) where they stood. Humans must define identity for themselves.

  “I don’t top, Isaac.” Tank’s voice was almost a whisper.

  “No, you don’t,” replied Isaac, without any kind of surprise. “And it’s not because you like the dark bite of the pain of being taken – although you do, don’t you?”

  Tank didn’t answer, too relieved by the man’s ready acceptance of his faults.

  “And it’s not because you’re lazy, or a seeker of attention, or out to prove some point about heteronormative gender roles.”

  “Huh?”

  Isaac pulled open the now-unlocked door. He hadn’t looked at Tank while he spoke, but stayed focused on the fiddly deadbolt.

  Inside, the hallway and the stairs were old, the carpet covering them threadbare and stained. The building smelled human, musty and ancient, with the bones of previous residents netted through the air – skin and sweat lingering like cigarette smoke. It made Tank think of unhealthy prey.

  “You forget what I am, Tank.”

  “I do?” Tank followed Isaac up the stairs to another door and another lock. Jesus, how many are there? How unsafe does he feel?

  “I’m the bartender that shifters visit because I understand how they think. You are you, and formed, I believe, to be made use of. You yearn for that.”

  “Yes,” breathed out Tank. Your foundation, please, let me be that. You can dig deep and build upon me, a home of wanting.

  Isaac’s apartment was depressingly shabby. And the door to Isaac’s room, where Tank was led, hands still entwined, was also dead-bolted and locked.