“We aren’t a normal pack.” Tank swung to sit on his bike. Their DURPS records would have indicated some of this. Sexual orientation was a protected status, even among shifters. So these trappers wouldn’t know from the records that the San Andreas Pack was mostly queer. Although if they read the files carefully they’d see that both Alec and Bryan had domesticated listed next to their names. Pair-bonded shifters tended to behave themselves slightly better than single ones, so a mating on record was considered a point of socialization and therefore not protected status. It wouldn’t take much to learn both werewolves had been domesticated by males.
The trappers appeared, however, not to know. Not to have investigated San Andreas as thoroughly as they should have.
This told Tank, more than anything else, how little these two were interested in his pack. Whatever they were chasing, it wasn’t anything to do with San Andreas.
Still, Alec would want Tank to press the pack’s agenda. And Tank wanted to give the SBI something more to worry over than Isaac’s whereabouts. So he forced his point. “When your grace period is up, I recommend you come visit us.” He looked them up and down. Law enforcement, on the tail of a vagrant werewolf, they probably hadn’t eaten properly, or hunted, in weeks. “Stop by and we’ll feed you something,” he paused significantly, “fresh.”
The two glared at him in silence for a long moment. Finally, the Alpha spoke because she had to pull the power back in her favor. “You’re not leaving town anytime soon, are you Mr…?”
“Nope,” said Tank, not offering his name. They’d never offered theirs. Besides, they could find his easily enough now that they knew he belonged to the San Andreas Pack. That’s exactly what DURPS was for.
Then, because he wasn’t Alpha, so it was no shame to ask permission, Tank said, “Am I free to go?”
“Just not too far.” She looked pleased to have been asked.
Tank knew how to play the game.
He pulled on his helmet, ostentatiously, blocking them out. He didn’t respond and he didn’t agree to stay. He’d leave town if that meant following Isaac, but he had to find him first.
CHAPTER TEN
Werewolf on the Lamb
Isaac ended up at Clara’s place. It was the best he could think of at short notice. If they’d found him at his home, they likely could find him at work. Clara’s, however, was somewhat less predictable. He assumed his previous pack (such as it was) was after him. They’d be hard-pressed to trace him to Clara’s.
The Rocky Mountain Pack had no military or law enforcement connections to tap for aid. They were an off-grid pack with neither the resources, nor the intelligence, to run background checks on all his coworkers and then track each address down.
Unless, of course, it wasn’t them. But who else wanted him that badly?
He turned up at Clara’s only a few hours before they were supposed to go on shift together.
She let him in with a broad smile. “Hi, sugar! Come to do your nails? I got this fantastic turquoise – would look killer on your skin tone.” He catalogued her mood automatically – happy and relaxed.
Then she really looked at his face. “Isaac, sugar, what’s wrong? Did you not have fun with Tank last night?”
Isaac blinked at her.
“Oh, you did have fun. I thought you might. He is mighty fine. You should stick with that one for a bit. Is that the problem then, too much fun?”
“Clara, I’m not going to work tonight.”
“You’re not?”
“Can I crash here?”
“Sugar, what’s going on? What happened?” She took his hands in hers and guided him to sit on her old worn corduroy couch.
Isaac was ready with his story. He hated to lie to her, but he couldn’t possibly tell her the truth. “It’s Hayden.”
“Oh no, that asshole! Couldn’t Tank, you know, stay and guard you and be all big and buff and protective and shit?”
“He can’t be with me all the time. And I shouldn’t need him to be.”
“He can’t? Pity. I imagine you’d like having him watch out for you, you know, all the parts of you.” She licked her lips suggestively.
Isaac actually found himself laughing. “I think he would.”
Clara waggled her brows. “There is something you aren’t telling me. Did you two? Ooooo, you did! I want all the juicy details.” She winced slightly. “Well, not juicy juicy. How about the Cliff Notes?”
“Can I stay here, just for tonight?”
Clara nodded, although there was a little fear in her eyes. Isaac hated himself for putting it there. There was a nasty piece of crap boyfriend in her past, years before Isaac knew her. But she was justifiably scared of anything that smacked of stalker.
Isaac looked at her full on. “I won’t bring him down on you. He can’t find me tonight and I’ll be gone tomorrow, I promise.”
“I don’t wanna turn you out on the streets, not ever.”
“But you need to protect yourself Clara, I get it. And you’ve no guarantee he won’t go through you to get to me. Please make sure Oscar walks you home tonight, okay?”
She nodded, “Okay. But it’ll have to be the couch for you. I already got a friend in Mandy’s bedroom. Mandy’s at her boyfriend’s for the weekend, bless her.”
“Clara, I’m shocked, you have other friends besides me?” Isaac placed a hand to his chest and batted his eyelashes, vamping it up to make her feel better.
“I know, right? This one’s special, she’s a shifter. Sweetest little thing.”
Isaac tensed. Waiting, holding his breath.
“Cat shifter. You’ll like her and she’ll adore you. They always do. We were at school together.”
Isaac cocked his head. He didn’t know much about Clara’s past (humans didn’t tend to spill their guts quite the same way as shifters did in his presence). But he did know that she’d been one of those true Southern belles with the debutante thing and the white dress and the private school and a ton of money. Something bad had happened, twisted it all, and she’d run, abandoning everything – including the money. Only to land in an apartment almost as shabby as his, in an almost as bad part of San Francisco.
Clara made a funny face and explained. “I went to one of those horrible all-girls high schools. Catholic. They took in charity cases and Jessie was one of them. Of course, she hadn’t shifted yet. It was quite the scandal when they found out what her family really was. They kicked her out but we stayed in touch.”
Isaac nodded. It explained a lot about Clara. Including why she wasn’t weirded out when shifters started frequenting her bar, following Isaac. She’d had a shifter friend as a kid. That kind of thing made a difference with humans. “Will it weird her out to find me here?”
Clara nodded. “Probably. I’ll let her know before I leave. Right now though, I’m starving.” She made big hopeful eyes at him.
Isaac stood, glad to have purpose. “I’ll make you something.” Isaac enjoyed cooking. It’d been one of his duties at the cult. The only one he was actually good at. Now that he also got to choose what to make and how to make it, cooking was a true pleasure.
Clara clasped her hands in a pretend swoon. “I love you. Stay forever.”
He gave her a sad smile and located her one skillet. “Me-style omelet?” He knew what was likely in her fridge – a dozen eggs, some optimistically acquired (now sad) vegetables, and twenty different types of cheese.
“Marry me?” she said. Clara couldn’t cook anything, or at least she claimed she couldn’t.
Isaac made her a quick open-faced omelet, cheese on top turned bubbly and crispy from the broiler. Clara always joked it was part omelet, part pizza, but it tasted delicious. Especially with a ton of hot sauce, which Clara put on everything. Isaac, who had nothing to prove where spicy was concerned, preferred his without.
She ate two helpings with gusto and then scampered off to work, promising to apologize to his special friends whe
n they showed up for counseling. “But Xavier is all your problem to handle, sugar.”
“Just tell him what’s up, he’ll get it.”
She gave him a long-suffering arch of perfectly plucked brows, but left, and he knew she’d do as he asked.
Isaac was a night owl by nature and by profession. He stayed up, puttering about cleaning Clara’s kitchen, and then her living room, and then most anything else he could clean. It occupied the time and made him feel useful and like he wasn’t taking advantage of his friend by lying and hiding.
A couple hours later, Jessie appeared from the second bedroom looking sleepy and confused. She was bigger than Isaac expected, all striking sharp features, nose a little large, eyes huge and liquid black, skin a deep gold. Her hair was a mane of brown with a million shades to it. He’d thought when Clara said cat she meant bakeneko, which meant small. But this woman was statuesque, which meant she was a larger shifter. From the Arabic cast to her features, his guess went to lion, but America being the melting pot it was, the lines between source country and shifter type were blurred.
She looked surprised and a little scared to see him, because Clara had forgotten to warn her.
Isaac let his wolf rise to the surface, not in his eyes or fur or skin, just in his nature. He pressed that out, the part of him that made him comfortable to others, and presented it to her, like some friendly gift – invisible warmth and affection, low-rank, non-threatening.
She instantly relaxed and gave him an appraising look. “Who’re you?”
“Friend of Clara’s. I’m Isaac. Another stray.”
“Jessie.” There was a wariness to her that could be cat nature, or could be fear of men or fear of humans.
He nodded. “You went to school with Clara before you were bitten.” He was telling her he knew her story, that Clara had trusted him with that.
She relaxed further. “You work with her at the club?”
“I do.”
“Not tonight?” Her look turned flirtatious.
“Naw.” He suspected she was one of those who felt her worth partly justified by male admiration. His wolf wanted to help her get over that.
“Why you here?”
“Boyfriend troubles. You?”
She smiled, a little disappointed. “The same.”
Isaac’s voice dropped instinctively to that mellow soft burr that was as near to a purr as a werewolf could get. “I made an omelet. Are you hungry?”
“Absolutely ravenous.”
He cut a piece of the omelet and popped it in the microwave. It beeped and he handed it over with hot sauce, which she declined, and a glass of milk, which she smiled over.
“She told you I was a cat shifter?”
He nodded. “I thought you’d be smaller.”
She laughed. “I should be larger, but I’m not very big for my kind.”
He offered his best guess. “Sekhmet?”
She nodded.
“So things okay with your pride?”
“Not so great, actually. The boyfriend was an arranged match, and there aren’t enough of us for me to turn him down out of hand.”
Isaac put the kettle on to make them both some tea. Hot milk would be better, but she was already drinking most of what Clara had in the fridge.
“Was it out of hand?”
She shook her head, looking sad.
“Well then, why don’t you tell old Isaac all about it?” He let himself fall back into his role. There was comfort and peace in it for both of them. For all Isaac chafed against the reasons, he did love helping people, even when he couldn’t help himself – especially then.
* * *
Tank went to bounce that evening hoping against hope that Isaac would show up for his shift, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He was running scared, so he’d avoid all usual haunts.
Tank’s churning stomach suggested that Isaac might not even be in San Francisco anymore. It hurt to already miss and mourn someone he’d known for such a comparatively short space of time.
The trappers did turn up, in plain clothes but still looking like cops in that way that people do when they’re military trained. You, civilian, me, protector – hoo-ah. Or whatever.
They certainly weren’t in clubbing gear. The bear shifter seemed to think khakis were acceptable. Which of course, they weren’t. Ever. Even Tank knew that.
Tank grimaced at them and let them in, but kept a close eye on them.
They seemed startled to find him working the door, and engaged in a hissed back and forth that went something along the lines of, “Maybe it is him and we’re totally off.” “No, there must be another one. They just work together.”
The trappers settled into a small booth to one side of the dance floor with a good view of the room and the bar. Tank reluctantly approved this choice. It was the spot he would have selected.
After that, everything was normal, except it didn’t fill up as much as before. Isaac was certainly a draw.
Xavier came over to Tank at one point and asked, in an annoyed tone, what he’d done to his best bartender.
Tank gestured with his chin at the trappers, refusing to take the blame for Isaac running.
“Narcs?” Xavier noted their posture, position in the room, and general attitude.
The man didn’t look scared for himself, only confused, which reassured Tank. He’d hate to think there was anything blatantly illegal going on at Saucebox. He was growing rather fond of the place and didn’t want it to be shut down.
“Feds,” said Tank. Not sure he wanted Xavier to know they were SBI. FBI was bad enough.
Xavier’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “They’re after Isaac? Why?”
Tank shrugged.
Lavish came sashaying over. “Tank, gorgeous, where’s my honey?”
Tank lifted his chin at Xavier.
“Not that one. My pretty, pretty honey?”
Tank shrugged. “Not in tonight.”
Lavish pouted. “But it’s his shift. Isaac never misses his shift.”
Xavier arched a brow. “Sure he does. Even Isaac gets sick occasionally.”
Tank instantly stiffened. “How occasionally?”
“Don’t you worry, big guy, there’s nothing seriously wrong with your boy.”
Lavish sighed. “It’s pathetic here without him. No one knows what to do with themselves.”
It was kind of true. The usually small trickle of after-work shifters had come, hoping to see Isaac, or having arranged for a consult. But there was no Isaac, so they milled about – lost, confused, and unhappy. Or they left.
Tank worried, of course he did. And he watched the trappers. He also kept Hayden out, when that asshole showed up, informing him curtly that Isaac wasn’t even there.
Hayden spat in his face.
Tank decked him, breaking his nose. But that was basic posturing amongst predators. The nose would heal the moment the barghest shifted.
The trappers didn’t even bother to look up at the brief fight. An Alpha could have sent Hayden running, tail between his legs, without doing anything. Clearly, she had other stuff on her mind, stuff that involved drinking a pink, foamy concoction and contemplating legal homicide of someone not Hayden.
The night continued.
Nothing else happened.
No Isaac.
The SBI Alpha eventually stood up, walked over, and slammed her hand to the bar top to get Clara’s attention. The place had gotten crowded, although more so with humans than shifters.
“Where the fuck is he?”
Clara ignored her and no one else answered. The other SBI agent drank his sweet mead glumly.
As Tank had expected, they came after him at the end of the night, after the club had closed.
“You hiding him, grunt?” the Alpha wanted to know, clearly annoyed at the universe for stalling her hunt.
Tank rolled his eyes and turned to Oscar. “You walking Clara home?”
“For sure. You’re off duty without your boy, or does the boss have something more for you?”
Trappers heard that. The bear shifter sniffed. “What boy is that?”
Oscar narrowed his eyes at the big blond. “Who the fuck are you?”
The berserker pulled out his SBI badge.
Oscar sneered at it. “I’m human and so is our boy, so I ain’t gotta say nothing to you.”
Clara turned up then, eyes sad and worried. Oscar took her arm and hustled her off, because the trappers might try talking to her too.
“Mistrustful of shifters, are they?” the Alpha asked Tank.
Tank resisted rolling his eyes. She was such an Alpha. “Nope, it’s just your charming personality. Draws all the humans to your yard, I’m sure.” He pulled on his motorcycle jacket. “You following me back to pack lands?”
It wasn’t really a question. He could see it in their eyes. Their grace time was over and his pack had rights. Tank was heading home anyway – they might as well use him as an ambassador.
The trappers exchanged looks.
“Fuck it,” said the Alpha.
The berserker laughed at her. “Werewolves, so touchy about territory.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Teal Fire Balls
The trappers drove the ugliest car Tank had ever seen. Some kind of massive SUV thing. Tank supposed it had to be big for a bear shifter to fit inside, but it sure wasn’t pretty. It looked like some Goth kid got hold of a brick in the 1980s, dressed it in metallic black, and stuck wheels on it. It shone more emo than evil under the streetlights.
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