Sumage Solution GL Carriger

by G. L. Carriger

  He knew the Bay Area was accepting of all sorts but this was pretty amazing. So many different species in one place. He tried to be relaxed and comfortable but he couldn’t shake the creepy feeling of not pack. He shivered with that instinctual Beta sense of wanting to take responsibility for a crowd yet not actually having legitimate responsibility for that crowd. It made him hunch in on himself protectively. A big man trying to look small.

  The mages didn’t help. The place reeked of coolant and ozone and melted rubber. Worse, sumages, all of them. There was the Plug at the door and the other Plug guarding the entrance to the inner sanctum, and more than a few Pinchers behind the counter. He’d never seen so many sumages in one place.

  Biff didn’t like any kind of civic mage, the working ones or the sumage failures. The real ones were arrogant blowhards who looked down on shifters, but at least they only stank of quintessence when in use. They were, after all, professionals.

  Sumages were a different story. A sumage’s only purpose was to diffuse a quintessence discharge. They didn’t have the same kind of control and thus disrupted quintessence at all times, in a haphazard way, simultaneously drawing it to them and not holding on to it at all. They oozed that sweet chemical scent until it tickled a wolf’s nose. Itched his eyes. And they were unpredictable – you never knew what a sumage might have an effect on. Biff had seen a Plug once step in and stop a shifter from changing forms.

  That’s just creepy. Unnatural.

  No wonder DURPS kept so many on staff. Government processing loved putting people on edge. Especially powerful shifters.

  Speaking of which, the berserker didn’t look so good. Biff didn’t think a bear shifter could change during daylight, not without his pelt, but they were anger-triggered. And this was an aggravating environment. He wondered if the guy was an Alpha.

  So, Biff sat and waited patiently, tried not to sneeze, and kept his eye on the twitchy Norse god in front of him.

  It got physical way faster than Biff thought it would. Frankly, he didn’t think DURPS was as prepared as it should have been either. For quintessence attack, yes, but not for a physical confrontation.

  The berserker must have taken offense to something the barghest said or did, because the dog shifter suddenly had a fist in his face. Since both were confined to human skin by the sun, it quickly became a two-man punch-and-grapple match…in the waiting line of a government department. The Plugs at the doors had no idea what to do. They were trained for mage casts and shifting forms, not macho idiots.

  Biff stood up. Stretched languidly and extended his Beta power outward. Calm down. No contest here. No one’s after your territory, No one’s after your mate. Relax.

  He wasn’t sure it would work. After all, he was a wolf, wrong species.

  He moved in closer.

  Biff was big, but nowhere near as big as the berserker. The bear shifter clocked in low for a bear, four hundred pounds and six foot seven or so. The barghest was about half that but way quicker. The two men were clinched together, almost wrestling, which would give the bear the advantage. It was a weirdly erotic, horribly violent embrace.

  Biff reached up and grabbed each man by the scruff of his neck. It worked great on the pups in his old pack. Then he shook them gently, grip firm and slightly on the edge of pain.

  “Be still,” he barked, and pushed at them with his Beta power. Settle.

  Touch was good, touch helped. It usually did. Biff centered himself, grounded himself, shooting out calmness like a weapon. Blanketing them with it, as those little flowers had blanketed the parking lot when he arrived.

  The black dog bellied up first. Not offering his neck, nothing so extreme, but sinking into the surety of Biff’s calm. Then a few moments later, the berserker followed. They were both Alphas, thank heavens. No other rank would react like that to a Beta’s touch. The two relaxed, pulled apart. Biff let go of their necks.

  “Is there a problem here?” A new smell wafted in, wet mud and horse manure. The voice that came with it was sure and commanding. Bossy. Female. Very powerful.

  “I don’t know,” growled Biff. “Is there?”

  Both men seemed to realize what had nearly happened and went red with embarrassment. To lose control like that, in public, in a place of business. Humiliating. Especially for Alphas.

  The berserker instantly apologized. The barghest only hung his head.

  The woman behind the powerful voice gave Biff an interested look. She was big, wild-haired, and dressed in green. “You the werewolf application?”

  Biff nodded. Kelpie? Never met a female kelpie. Horses of the water. Ain’t DURPS just full of surprises.

  “You’re next, then – come with me.”

  * * *

  Max looked up as his latest appointment entered his office. Big man – quiet, predatory, grumpy, and diffident.

  Of all things, his boss walked in after.

  “Barker, you show this one some respect. He just busted up a brawl out front. I may even be moved to offer him a job.”

  “Ma’am.”

  The big guy sat down almost self-consciously. He was awfully muscled. Many shifters were, but this one looked like he worked at it. Max was slightly afraid for the chair. Gym bunny? Gym not-a-bunny-because-not-prey?

  Ms Trickle lurked in the doorway to let off more steam. “Dude, scarlet pimpernel flowers? All over the parking lot! Really?”

  “You know I can’t control the outcome.”

  “What are we, celebrating the birth of bloody spring?”

  “Kitsune, ma’am, whatcha expect?”

  “I suppose it’s too much to ask for some flipping dignity around here?”

  “Can’t get what you never had.”

  “Speak for yourself, Barker. Scarlet pimpernels indeed. What are we, French fucking spies? Unbelievable.”

  Max glared at his boss’s retreating back. He hated to be put in an inferior position. He was already the bottom of the pecking order. Being a sumage, the only time he had any kind of authority, especially over someone like this guy sitting in front of him, was when he was behind his desk. Max was a stepping stone, and his boss had just made him very easy to step on.

  He glanced down at his paperwork. Flipping heck, the werewolves. Fine, the werewolf. Lucky me, looks like they only sent one. He glanced up at his dour companion. Guessing from the size of the man, they’d sent him the Alpha. Just great. Bring on the arrogant comments, overbearing opinions, and ridiculous charisma. I hate talking with someone more charming than me.

  Strangely, his visitor didn’t instantly start ordering him around. Just slumped into the chair and looked at him, almost shyly, from behind some seriously unfair eyelashes. He was kinda adorable, which was absolutely the wrong thing to think about a werewolf. Thick brown hair, on the lighter end of things, kept short on the sides and a bit longer and messier on the top. Eyes oddly wistful behind those absurdly long lashes. Scruff of a beard, more absently forgotten about than intentionally sexy. Wide mobile mouth that looked as if it could smile but didn’t.

  Screw those Alpha werewolves. Was it something in the genes? They always seemed to be hotter and meaner than other shifters. This one was like some poster child Mr Full Moon – he could barely cross his arms over his chest, both of them bulging too much. Maximillian, don’t you dare think about bulging right now.

  Conscious of his instructions, however unlikely he was to obey them, Max gave what he hoped was a friendly nod and started the interview.

  “Alpha? DURPS is honored.”

  The big man snorted. “Not Alpha.”

  Max blinked. How’s that possible? “You mean they come bigger than you?”

  “It’s not always about size.”

  Max couldn’t stop his own mouth, but he could keep to a mumble. “Not in the clubs I go to.”

  The man only blinked at him.

  Not a big talker, eh? Well, that’s fine, I talk enough for two. “And you are?”

  “Bryan. Bryan Frederiksen. Beta. Most
people call me Biff.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “It’s just a nickname.” A tiny hint of a smile peaked the corner of the werewolf’s mouth. He knew perfectly well Max wasn’t reacting to his name. Werewolves and bikers tended to go hand in hand, and they always had stupid nicknames. This stupid nickname also had the sexiest voice Max had ever had the misfortune to meet. Low and growly in an I just deep-throated your cock kind of way. Jesus H, what is going on with you, Max? Get it together.

  Max was a huge flirt but he wasn’t a tramp. His mouth resided firmly in the gutter but he could usually keep his brain functioning enough to do his blasted job no matter how hot the client.

  He forced himself to concentrate. Werewolves.

  Max hadn’t had a lot of experience with packs, but he had met a half dozen or so when he worked portside. Bryan Fucking Frederiksen was like no Beta he’d ever met.

  “Beta, my ass.” Although it did explain why hot-as-shit-Biff – God, what a horrid name – didn’t have that crazy charismatic draw that made everyone and anybody want to follow him. Not that Max wasn’t drawn to the man, but he was more Beta calm than Alpha zing. Still, Betas rarely had that kind of muscle. Betas weren’t made for battle, everyone knew that. Didn’t matter what kind of shifter, it wasn’t their role to fight or enforce but to fix and repair. This man’s appearance was just weird.

  “You should meet my Alpha.”

  “Yeah, I probably should.”

  The big man grimaced. “It’d be best if we could handle this without him.”

  “Now, that sounds like a Beta. How did you…happen?”

  “That part of the interview?”

  “Naw. Just curious.”

  Bryan Frederiksen shrugged, looking bashful. Beautiful lashes lowered over hazel eyes.

  God, he’s so cute. Stop it, Maximillian. The kind of Beta werewolf who waltzed into DURPS and busted up a brawl was going to be too complicated by half. The paperwork alone.

  “All right, big, brawny, and beautiful, I see you’ve no pack name listed here?”

  The large man didn’t look as offended as Max had hoped. If anything, ol’ Bryan took the address as a compliment. A little bit of red tinged his cheekbones. Max found it suddenly hard to breathe. This one plays for my team? Not possible. More likely he just wasn’t used to a compliment. So many straight men weren’t.

  “Alec wants to name us after we’ve settled.”

  “So, you aren’t already established?” New pack, big black mark against allowing them residency. New packs could be rough going for everyone – angry and fractious. Max made a note.

  “Sort of. We splintered off an existing pack. Red Paws, near Boston.”

  “Like from the Red Sox? Cute.”

  The werewolf grimaced. Not happy with his previous pack? Guess that’s why they splintered.

  Max looked back down at the form in front of him. “I’ve got seven names here and not much else.”

  “What else do you need?”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Anyone ever tell you that talking to you is like trying to screw a statue?”

  “My wife. Though she didn’t put it quite like that.” Mobile mouth quirked.

  Of course he has a wife. “And yet I see no female names on this list.”

  “No longer got the wife.”

  Max was shocked by the profound relief he felt at that precious bit of information. “So, this is it, all of your pack, just the seven? No associated spouses or girlfriends or boyfriends or children?”

  The man cocked his head. “You consider non-werewolves pack members?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Biff frowned, giving it serious thought. “Yeah, well I guess my ma would be pack, in terms of how she was treated, but she never ran with us. You know, being a human and all.”

  Was this werewolf purposefully acting slow on the uptake or was he an actual idiot? Or was he keeping secrets? Or did East Coast wolves really have a different definition of pack? Max hoped it wasn’t idiocy. Although the man across from him did seem to be slightly hypnotized. Max wasn’t accustomed to being the focus of such undivided attention. As if the next words that came out of his mouth were going to be something wonderful. Christ, this is just a government interview.

  “All right, Sport.” Max leaned back. “You’re not making this easy on me. Let me lay it out for you. In this one moment, I control your future.” The horizontal and the vertical, he wanted to add. Because wasn’t that some lovely imagery? But lecturing must take precedence over flirtation, for the time being. “We don’t need or want a pack in the Bay Area. It may surprise you to learn that, in these parts, werewolves aren’t welcome. The only way for your pack to even be considered is to get through me. I know, I’m nothing more than a lousy sumage paper-pusher to you, but you gotta make nice and open up or you’re going right back across country. And I’m sure your Alpha won’t like that one bit.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Queer & Pleasant Danger

  Biff sniffed cautiously at the beautiful man across from him. No scent of adrenaline or rage. The sumage wasn’t angry. He was simply stating facts. Perhaps getting a little frustrated with Biff’s terseness. I told Alec he should send someone else. Biff cursed himself. He’d never been great with words.

  His nose wrinkled.

  There was that chemical coolant smell – the scent of quintessence used and corrupted, rather than shifted. It wasn’t as bad as it could be. It had a buttery, burnt-sugar overtone, like caramel and something boozy. Spiced rum? It was almost, actually, nice. Never met a sumage that smelled good before. It reminded Biff of something. Something recent. What was it? Oh yeah, the orange flowers on my head.

  “You smell of parking-lot flowers.”

  “Not that again. I’d like to state for the record that the Scarlet Pimpernel was a Brit who spied on the French, not the other way around.”

  Biff didn’t say anything to that. He never humored nonsense with speech.

  This Mr Barker was easy on the eyes to go with the yummy smell. When did I decide it was yummy? Of course, appearance was less important to a wolf than scent, but the man in Biff liked Barker’s looks plenty too. Sumages were supposed to be thin, nerdy types. This one was nearly as tall as Biff. At least, Biff thought he might be, standing up. Muscled too, but lean with it, like a runner. Loose-limbed and rangy, almost awkward, but also not. Biff could see that gawky-elbows thing was a front – there was a predator there, underneath. Barker had thick black hair, which he kept a little long out of laziness (that was Biff’s guess), not fashion. His skin was a sweet coffee color, either from a mixed-race background or too much sun. Biff’s money was on race. This being California, maybe some Latino or Pacific Islander? Barker’s eyes had a bit of a slant to them and his nose was wide. He’d a pointed chin and cheekbones for days. Biff would bet good money he couldn’t grow a beard if he tried. Thank you, universe. Why cover over any of that hotness?

  Barker was also, unfortunately, disposed to be difficult. Biff had a feeling it wasn’t in this man’s nature to make anything easy on anyone, even himself. Also, he clearly had a thing against werewolves. Unsurprising in a sumage.

  Biff settled back in his chair, ready for battle. Hello, Trouble, nice to meet you. “I’m not sure where to start, pretty man.”

  That seemed to take some of the bluster out of the sumage. Did he blush? Hard to tell with such tan skin. Biff was as surprised by how much he wanted to make him blush. Well, this is inconvenient.

  Biff knew he was gay, had known for a while now, just hadn’t done anything about it. First there was Pam, that sad awkward broken marriage dragging on and on. Then there was his homophobic father and finally his own discomfort with himself. It took Alec to change it all. Alec to finally come out. Not as gay – everyone knew from the get-go that Alec was gay. Biff had had to fight all too many battles to keep his little brother safe because of that. No, Alec had refused to come out as Alpha. And then he had. And then he found Marvin. And then he
moved to California.

  And Biff, as his Beta, had followed. No choice. He wanted to follow. He always wanted to follow Alec. He’d followed and looked after and fought for his brother from the moment he was born and would do so until the day he died. That was a need that would never stop – more than a need, it was Biff’s whole purpose.

  Others followed Alec too. But not so fervently. Still, the presence of his new baby pack had taken Alec from natural-born Alpha in theory to actual Alpha. And had taken Biff from closet to possibilities. In California, he could be gay, too. And Beta. And all the things he’d kept bottled up while he was waiting for his Alpha to choose change.

  Hot, troublesome, sumage, Mr Barker was full of possibilities, and was back to asking him something again. No, telling him something.

  “Look, wolf, just talk to me. I need to know about your pack. I gotta judge its stability, whether you’ll fit in here. This is the San Francisco Bay Area. We got weirdos coming out our ears. All types, human and shifter. We don’t take well to a pack of big dudes coming in and bullying the locals. You can’t bring your East Coast biker ideas on what constitutes normal and impose them on the West Coast.”

  “You’re kicking us out because we’re from the wrong coastline?”

  Barker puffed out an exasperated breath and rolled his eyes. “No. I’m saying we thrive on different. You want to stay, prove you’re different. Prove you won’t be a problem.”

  Biff didn’t want to out his brother, not to the government. That wasn’t right. Plus, it wasn’t any of their business.

  “You writing it down?”

  The sumage assessed him out of… Jesus, did Trouble have blue eyes? Dark skin, black hair, cheekbones, and now blue eyes. The world isn’t fair.

  “No. Look, there’s no spot on this form for notes, just the recommendation box here. You’re either approved or you aren’t. Just convince me and you’ll be fine. I won’t tell them why.”

  “I understand you don’t already have a pack in this area.”

  “You understand right, but that’s not a good reason to take one on. ‘Specially not a newly minted pack. As a rule, you guys are bad news, and that’s in an area accustomed to your kind.”