by Zoe Perdita
The woman who’d propositioned him stood next to two towering bears. One was a good six feet four. The other bear was even taller. The woman kept chattering in Russian and pointing at Davis accusingly.
He shook his head. “I think this is a misunderstanding. I didn’t do anything to your friend. She propositioned me, and I turned her down.”
“Is she not beautiful enough for you?” the smaller of the two bears growled.
“She’s lovely, but I have a mate,” Davis said. His throat constricted with the word. Fuck. It made no sense for that word to feel so damned right when it was all a lie.
The bear sneered. “A man with a mate doesn’t go to this kind of club. A man with a mate he loves stays home. You came to the club so is she ugly? Fat?”
Davis frowned. “First of all, that’s all kind of offensive to the many different types of women in the world. Second, my mate is a man. A he. So you can see my dilemma.”
The taller of the two sneered and grumbled something in Russian. Something nasty. At least, from the look on his face it sounded nasty.
The shorter bear nodded. “We don’t like fags.”
Davis set his jaw and took a step back. That word set his blood on fire.
In all truth, this wasn’t his fault. It’s like trouble got bored when he wasn’t around so it stuck out its foot and tripped him wherever he went.
“I don’t care what you like and don’t like. Mikhail is a friend, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care either way,” Davis said and shrugged off his jacket. If he had to fight, he’d do so as a wolf. Which meant his clothes were about to get ruined. Not a big deal for someone with a wardrobe like Ken, but Davis had two pairs of everything. He’d be down to one if he didn’t strip.
The larger bear cracked his knuckles and sneered. “Think you can run from us?”
“Run? No. That wasn’t the idea,” Davis said and pulled his T-shirt over his head. He wouldn’t have time for the jeans and boots before they got to him. A wolf needed the element of surprise when fighting bears. Davis didn’t have that, but he did have speed and agility.
Without wasting another second, he bent forward and let the alpha rip through his skin. The thick coat of brown fur sprouted as his bones cracked and rearranged themselves into a hulking alpha. Not as hulking as the bears, but large enough for the job at hand.
The woman, a human, screamed and ran back toward the club.
Davis paid her no mind. His claws clacked against the ground and his hackles rose. He bared his fangs at the smaller bear, then leapt toward the bastard.
A gun glinted in the light of the yellow street lamps, but Davis couldn’t stop himself mid-jump. He barreled into the bear with the gun, and they tumbled onto the ground in a pile of paws and fists.
A jab caught Davis in the jaw and another in the ribs. Something cracked. Even in human form bears were strong motherfuckers. Davis held back a yelp and chomped on the hand that held the gun.
The bear screamed, and the blood leaked into Davis’s mouth, over his sharp fangs and down his chin. He ripped at the flesh and bone until the gun clattered next to them. Then he nudged it away with his nose. No way in hell he felt like getting shot tonight. It’s one fate he’d avoided thus far, and he had no desire to change that.
A roar sounded behind him, and Davis turned.
The larger bear had shifted while they tussled, and that bastard looked in no mood to fuck around. He stood on his hind legs, stretched to his full height, which was closer to eight feet than six.
His broad shoulders rippled with raw power. If that bear got a hold of Davis, he could squeeze the alpha until all his bones broke. Another first Davis wasn’t keen to experience.
“Kill him,” the smaller bear spat and held the bloody mess of his hand, what was left of it, to his chest.
Davis doubted that asshole would be a problem. Unless he had another gun. Which. . . fuck! He couldn’t think about that now.
The shifted bear charged on all fours, his great fangs sharp and ready to tear.
Davis moved toward the river. Bears were fast in short spurts, but he could outrun one. He couldn’t overpower one, but that’s not what he needed to do at the moment. He needed cleverness over sheer strength. Especially since bears weren’t nocturnal animals. They didn’t have the same enhanced night vision wolves possessed.
Davis counted on it now.
When his paws hit the wooden pier, they rang hollowly against it. The sound of the river drowned out the incessant beating of his heart. Black water rushed under them. If only he made it to the edge, he might be able to—
The pier shook as the bear stomped onto it.
Yes! As long as the bastard followed him, this might work.
Davis skidded to the end of the pier, his claws dug into the wood, and he waited with his lips curled into a snarl.
The bear didn’t slow. He ran full tilt toward Davis, the pier shaking with every great pound of his massive feet. As the bear neared the edge, Davis darted out of the way, pressed himself to the pier’s surface, and—
A gunshot blasted through the air, so sharp it rang in Davis’s ears. The bullet hole smoked next to his nose.
The smaller bear stood near the pier, gun in his good hand and a dangerous gleam in his eye.
Then the larger bear lunged into Davis and the two of them rolled off the pier and into the dark river. The icy water surrounded him, yanked him down, and Davis struggled against the current. Toward the surface, freedom and air!
His lungs filled with cold water instead. And the bear’s claws dug into his hip, ripped the flesh of his thigh and yanked him deeper.
If Davis died, he’d never be able to make things right. Really right.
That meant Davis couldn’t die.
Not like this.
Not yet.
7
Sometime between his first glass of wine and the entrée, Ken knew the date with Sam was a total bust. Not just because it took Sam ten minutes to order (who did that?). Or that he pulled his bread apart into pieces before he ate it like a five-year-old, though that grated on Ken’s nerves as well.
Perhaps Sam was nervous and that’s why he chattered about the new marketing plan that he came up with for twenty minutes, as if they were in a meeting and not out to dinner.
At least, that’s what Ken thought Sam was talking about. In all honesty, he’d stopped paying attention five minutes before and focused on the way the wine clung to the side of his glass. It was too thick and sweet for a proper dinner wine, but the waiter insisted it went well with red meat.
Ken didn’t agree. But it was difficult to get a taste for the steak when, with each bite, all he thought about was Davis with that bear. Davis holed up in some seedy Russian club doing who knows what with who knows whom. He stabbed a chunk of steak, brought it to his lips and frowned.
Being jealous of Davis’s conquests was the dumbest thing he’d done in years, the day in the kitchen notwithstanding.
We never kissed.
What the hell was Davis thinking? If anyone else said that, Ken would’ve assumed it was some sort of game. But Davis – no. Davis wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t play with Ken’s feelings when he was back in town trying to fix things, even if he just made everything worse.
At least he did it with a little bit of charm. And he knew how to cut a damn steak.
Sam sawed so hard the edges of the meat got jagged.
Davis would slip his knife through the meat like a pro, then bring it to his lips and practically kiss it before he chewed.
Shit.
Now Ken compared their steak eating ability. As if that mattered. But if he had to be with someone for years, maybe it did matter.
Before Davis returned to Haven, Sam was the only prospect of love in Ken’s life. Maybe he still was (because fooling around with Davis twice didn’t equal a lasting relationship), but it was all kinds of unfair to drag Sam around when Ken wasn’t the least bit interested in him.
Not anymore.
To be truthful, he wasn’t that interested in the first place, besides the convenience factor.
“What are your plans for Christmas?” Sam asked.
Ken blinked and dabbed his mouth. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.”
“Oh. What are your plans for the holidays then?”
“Well, my friend just moved back to town. I’m helping him get back on his feet. It’s a long story,” Ken said and downed the last quarter of his wine in one gulp.
“That’s what you said at the Farmer’s Market. I’d like to hear the story. He’s not an ex, is he?” Sam’s brow wrinkled when he asked.
Ken sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat. Here he had the perfect opportunity to move on, and he couldn't do it. He’d spent a week trying to pretend Davis wasn’t crowding every other thought out of his mind, but that wasn’t the case. Even now, Davis’s presence hung over him like a shroud, and he couldn’t shake it.
Couldn’t get away.
Loving Davis might be stupid and pointless, but Ken didn’t know how to stop.
“Not an ex. More like. . . . Have you ever dated a guy who is, well, straight?” Ken asked and kept his face as neutral as possible. “Or mostly straight?”
Sam raised both brows over his perfectly symmetrical eyes. “I actually thought I was mostly straight for a long time. I didn’t realize I was gay until my mid-twenties. Why?”
This wasn’t really great date talk, but Ken was too far past that point to care. “And how did you know you weren’t straight?”
“A friend took me to a gay club, and I met someone. We hit it off. At first, I just thought it was a phase. It didn’t work out in the end, but I realized I’d been keeping this secret from myself as long as I’d been keeping it from others. Why? You think your friend is gay, or do you wish he was?”
Ken almost laughed. That was far too close to the truth for it not to sting. But what kind of straight guy sucked another guy off? And that kiss? Yeah. But something else Sam said struck Ken even harder. It didn’t work out in the end. That was it—the thing Ken didn’t want to think about.
If Davis realized his preferences weren’t as narrow as he’d always claimed, what would keep him by Ken’s side? What if he came out and that ruined whatever they had. Their friendship—gone—just like Davis when he ran off fifteen years before.
“I don’t know,” Ken finally said and finished his food in silence.
After dinner, Sam walked Ken to his car. “You can come back to my place, you know. I’m not confused about what I want.”
Ken nodded absently and unlocked the door. “Neither am I.”
“I hope you don’t get hurt,” Sam said and took a step back.
Too late for that, Ken thought, but forced himself to smile.
Of course, Davis wasn’t there when Ken got home. Not a big deal, really. Unlike last time, Ken didn’t expect Davis to be home. It was probably too short a time for a few games of seka anyways.
Ken’s phone rang at ten thirty as he lounged on the couch and debated whether he should stay up another hour or get to bed.
“Mr. Isben?” Tasha said and let out an annoyed huff. “Mr. Harrison is in holding. First time this week, so I guess we can celebrate.”
Ken squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about Davis’s scent surrounding him. Damn. He should’ve sat in the chair instead. “What did he do?”
“A fight in a bar. The owner wanted to talk to you about the damages. Otherwise, he said he wouldn’t press charges.”
Just what Ken needed tonight. He frowned and stood up. “Yeah. I’ll be there soon.”
It didn’t even occur to Ken to call Davis until he was halfway to the police station. He pulled out his phone and pressed Davis’s number. It rang five times before someone picked up.
“Hello?” a woman said, her accent Russian.
Ken’s heart stopped beating, and he licked his lips. What else did he expect? “I need to speak with Davis,” he ground out through gritted teeth. They felt like they’d turn to dust in his mouth he clenched his jaw so hard.
“Oh. He’s busy with my friends. Bye bye!” she giggled and hung up.
Friends?
Tyler was in trouble, and Davis was off fucking whoever!
Ken practically threw his phone onto the cement, but that wouldn’t do him any good. Instead, he shoved it back into his pocket and marched the rest of the way to the precinct.
Tasha smiled wearily when Ken arrived. “Oh, you look like hell, Mr. Isben. No offense.”
Ken nodded. Well, his best friend decided to go have sex with several women at once while he – shit! “Yeah. It’s been a long day. Tyler?”
She pressed a button and the door buzzed so Ken could step through.
A man with fiery red hair and a black leather jacket stood on the other side. Not a cop, by a long shot, but he looked at Ken like he expected him. The man was somewhat familiar, and it took a moment for Ken to realize he was the bartender at the local shadow folk bar: Sullivan’s.
“Hey, Ken Isben? I’m Rory Sullivan. Ty got into a fight in my bar. Look. I don’t think he’s a bad guy. In fact, he did several of my tats, but he picked a fight with one of the regulars. Broke a barstool and a few glasses. They don’t want to press charges and neither do I. It’s just shadow folk shit, you know? But I’m not gonna pay for the stuff he broke.”
Ken frowned. If Tyler couldn’t pay for it, Ken would end up footing the bill. Again. “Yeah. I’ll talk to him about it. He didn’t offer to pay or—”
Rory’s eyes, which were the bright amber of a fire shifter, softened. He smelled like smoke. And something else that was so familiar it was right on the tip of Ken’s tongue. Dragons. He smelled like dragons. “I think he was high when he started the fight. Or drunk. I don’t know. He wasn’t himself when he got to the bar tonight.”
Ken’s gut clenched. The time when he needed Davis, and Davis wasn’t there. Typical. Even if the alpha was back in town, he was conveniently absent at the worst possible moments. “I’ll take care of it.”
Rory patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks. If you ever drop by, I’ll give you a drink on the house.”
Ken nodded stiffly. Why would this bartender smell like a dragon? “Wait. Do you know Jin Yue?”
Rory froze, and his eyes hardened. “Not here. I’ll wait outside.”
That cold knot in Ken’s chest grew. Was this the dragon’s fault, or had Tyler just done a typical fucked up Harrison thing? Ken had half a mind to let Tyler stew in a cell all night, but that wasn’t going to help anything.
Finally, an officer hauled Tyler through a different set of doors, and Tasha handed over his meager pile of belongings. It took Tyler three tries to put his phone and wallet into his pockets.
They signed the papers. Tyler’s signature was barely legible, and Tasha gave Ken a knowing look.
Ken smelled the alcohol on Tyler, and hoped it didn’t go any deeper than that. He couldn’t handle a relapse at a time like this.
When they stepped into the cold night air, it bit into Ken’s cheeks and chased away the weariness he felt before. Ken wrapped an arm around Tyler’s waist to steady him, and Tyler leaned into it. Slowly, he sat the alpha on a bench.
“Wait here,” Ken said, then turned to the shadows.
Rory Sullivan stood there, and his eyes burned flame bright. When Ken neared him, he felt the heat radiate off Rory’s skin, smelled the scent of magic—burnt leaves.
“How do you know Jin Yue?” Rory asked in a rough whisper. He’d shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He was dressed a lot like Tyler in tight jeans and a black shirt that hugged his chest. The leather jacket was all nineties punk.
Ken shook his head, because what the hell was he supposed to say? In front of a police station, no less. Well, it wasn’t like they did anything really illegal. “Ty’s older brother is having a problem with him, money wise, but Mr. Yue said he’d keep Ty out of it as long as Davis did his part.”
&nbs
p; Rory gaped. “Wait. You think Jin had something to do with this? He doesn’t run drugs.”
Ken shook down to his bones, and he took a deep breath to steady it. “Fine, but he’s more than happy to fuck with people’s lives for a fifteen year old mistake. Ty’s got enough shit in his life, and he doesn’t need to deal with a dragon too. Tell Jin that, if you see him.”
Little balls of fire jumped to life in Rory’s palms. “I’m his mate, and I know for a fucking fact that Jin had nothing to do with Ty’s problems. He’s a fucking addict, and he needs help.”
Ken snorted. Oh, what the hell had Tyler gotten into now? Jin Yue’s mate was a friend of his? Shit! “That makes it a hundred times worse. Tyler has help. Stay the hell away from him. You and your mate.”
Then Ken stalked away and hoped Rory didn’t decide to light him on fire.
Tyler had almost fallen off the bench by the time Ken got back, and he hefted Tyler up. “What’re you on?”
Tyler blinked blearily. “I’m not on shit. Just did jägerbombs at the club, then went to see Rory with this idea for a new tat, and he’s all warning me about his boyfriend or some shit. Said I needed to get my act together before I came back to his place. I thought we were bros, but—fuck it,” Tyler said, his words slurred together into one long sentence, and Ken’s fingers dug into his ribs.
“You been to a meeting lately? I thought you weren’t suppose to drink or use.” Ken tried to keep his voice even. Non-judgmental. Setting Tyler off when he was like this never ended well.
“You smell like my brother,” Tyler said instead of answering the question. “Did he fuck you?”
Heat rushed to Ken’s cheeks, and he yanked on Tyler to keep him from pulling them both into the street. Not easy with a wolf several inches taller than Ken himself. “How is that your business?”
“Cause I know you want him to fuck you. But if he did it wouldn’t mean shit—he’s a stupid bastard, and you know it. But everyone just loves him even when he fucks them over again and again and again!” Tyler shouted into the night air.
Thankfully, the street wasn’t crowded, but Ken pulled Tyler along quickly nonetheless. “You’re staying at my place,” he grumbled. “And you’re going to call your sponsor first thing in the morning.”
