by Zoe Perdita
The bartender smiled at him. Tyler couldn’t remember her name, but she was friendly with Rory. “Another beer?”
“Tequila. Two shots,” he said and pulled out the last of his cash.
It was cheaper to drink at home, but then he wouldn’t get to soak in the atmosphere.
Rory fucking owed him, that was for sure. Next time he went to Sullivan’s he’d be sure he got to drink on the house all night.
“You here alone?” the bartender asked as she readied his drinks and slid them into his waiting hands.
“Yeah,” Tyler grumbled and downed one shot after the other. The alcohol scorched his throat and cleared his head. The heat seeped up his cheeks and settled in his chest as he let one of the patrons coax him onto the dance floor.
He moved to the music, sweat beading on his brow and under his black T-shirt. His tatted up arms were in full view, and he scooted up to a few girls who happily let him join. They were all fingers and probably straight. Just looking for some fun in a safe place. And, since he was a guy, they probably assumed he was bi and open to be groped.
Fuck, he didn’t mind, and the constant pound and buzz of the music and the throb of bodies helped him forget everything.
Almost everything.
At one point, in the sea of club clothes and limbs, he swore he caught a glimpse of that silvery blond hair again and a hint of that man’s unique musk before it faded. A few minutes later, hands crept up his hips, over his jeans. Strong masculine hands, and he let them.
It was just dancing. Fuck, if he was high he might grind into the man’s cock just for kicks. As it was, Tyler swayed and leaned back, his head light and his pulse quick.
Lips brushed his ear, and he caught that scent again – now so familiar he swore he’d know it anywhere. “I’ve always wandered what an alpha smelled like.”
Tyler tensed, but he didn’t turn. Why the fuck should he care if someone knew what he was? That meant it was a fellow shifter, even if he had no clue what this fellow shifter was, or why he smelled so much like magic. Or why the hell in a place like Haven City he’d never run across a wolf.
“Lucky you,” Tyler said.
The strange shifter laughed gently. His chest, solid and hot, brushed Tyler’s back and sent a shock through his system.
When the song changed those hands slipped away, and by the time Tyler turned, the man was gone.
Again.
What the fuck?
Still, none of Tyler’s business, and he told himself that knot in his gut was aimed at all the other stupid shit in his life and not some vague disappointment at losing his mysterious dance partner.
When Tyler finally stumbled out of the club at two a.m., the sidewalk outside The Pit was empty. A few cars were parked along the street, and the stench of the river rose up to greet him. It rushed on the opposite side of the road at the base of a slight grassy embankment that’d been built to make it look pretty and not deadly.
He didn’t have a car to drive home, nor was he going to call a cab. That’s some shit Ken would do because he could throw around money like it was nothing.
Tyler wasn’t so lucky – never had been and probably never would be.
Still, ever since he got out of the Flats and moved to Chinatown, his business improved. However, a lot of his new clients were shifters from the Triad – at least that’s what he guessed since they mostly wanted tats of their shifter gang statuses. Still, money was money. It’s not like he was one to complain about it.
But that meant he’d have to walk twenty blocks home in the cold spring air. He shrugged on his jacket and popped the collar against the breeze. His sweat dried as he moved purposefully down the road. A few blocks from The Pit, he heard the telltale sound of a fist slamming into flesh, quickly followed by a pained grunt and a huff.
“Fucking faggot, coming on to me,” a man spat. “Maybe I’ll throw you into the river and see how you like that.”
“Go ahead,” a familiar voice said, bright and husky.
Tyler’s chest clenched as he rounded the corner into the alley where the sounds originated.
The blond shifter sat scrunched against the cinderblock wall, his face swollen and his chest bruised. His hair hung over his eyes, ragged and stained with blood.
Three men stood over him, all human. They looked younger than Tyler himself, probably college students at one of the local universities from the style of their clothes – slightly baggy jeans and polo shirts. At least, that’s what Tyler thought dumb shit college assholes dressed like.
He cracked his knuckles and bared his teeth.
The blond noticed Tyler first, and the three idiots turned toward him as one unit. The guy who stood in front of the shifter wore a spotless Yankee’s baseball cap, the other two had their brown hair slicked back in the exact same way. They looked at Tyler like they’d gotten an extra present on their birthday.
“Maybe I’ll throw you in the river,” Tyler growled and stepped toward them.
The one with the hat had bloody knuckles and stepped up to meet Tyler like he stood a damn chance in a fight. Well, he didn’t know Tyler was a wolf.
He was taller than Tyler, probably a good six foot three and meaty. Tyler’s strength was leaner, and he was just slightly shorter than six-foot by about half an inch. Still, he met the asshole’s gaze and showed the tips of his fangs.
“Leave it alone. This queer wanted us to fuck him so we decided to fuck him up. Got a problem with that?”
Tyler didn’t feel like answering with words. And if Ken had to bail him out of jail – again – he’d claim he was doing the public a favor. Tyler reached forward, grabbed the asshole by the hair and slammed that prick’s face into his knee. The snap of bone and teeth rang through the air, and the heavy odor of human blood filled the alley.
The guy stumbled back, hands to his busted face as he whimpered something unintelligible.
His cronies tried to scurry away, but Tyler caught them both by the back of their necks. The first one got a fist to his face, and the second one got a knee to the gut before Tyler slammed their heads together with a satisfying crack. They tumbled into a writhing pile.
“Is that your car, assholes?” Tyler asked and pointed at the black Audi pulled partially onto the curb.
The leader groaned, and Tyler glanced at the blond shifter.
His eyes were wide, and he nodded as he struggled to his feet.
Tyler thought so – it looked like some spoiled shit’s car. He yanked the switchblade from his pocket and glanced at the building next to him. None of those places, mostly restaurants and a few bars, had cameras.
Good.
It made vandalism a hell of a lot easier.
He went to work quickly – first with the tires. He slashed all four of them. Then he carved ‘asshole bigot’ into the hood.
Not his best work, but it’d have to do.
Finally, he rinsed his hands in the river, gross but better than dragging those idiot’s blood all the way back to his place.
No sirens blared down the street, so those assholes hadn’t called the cops – yet. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t, and Tyler wasn’t going to be around when they arrived.
His body buzzed, and his heart raced. His cheeks burned in the crisp air like it was the middle of summer. If the blond wasn’t there, Tyler might’ve tossed those assholes into the river and been done with it.
But that was pretty much murder, and he didn’t want to go to prison.
The blond shifter held his side and shivered in the breeze.
Tyler frowned and yanked off his jacket. He handed it to the guy he’d just saved, which didn’t sound right in his head, so he didn’t dwell on it. “You got someone you can call?”
“Not really,” the blond said and put the jacket on. He was about an inch taller than Tyler, and the jacket came up short on his wrists. He smiled ruefully. “Maybe I’ll take a swim in the river, alpha. What do you think?”
Really? Tyler grabbed the blond’s hand a
nd gripped it tightly. “Yeah, that’s not happening. I didn’t just rescue your ass so you could drown yourself.”
The blond limped behind him, but the alpha didn’t slow. He walked at a brisk pace. They both needed to get the fuck out of there before the cops showed up and this weird shifter took a nosedive into the Columbia.
Plus, Tyler’s heartbeat hadn’t slowed. His body flooded with adrenaline accompanied by a whole new emotion he wasn’t familiar with. It heated his flesh, and his head ached for something to bring him down.
Relax him.
Because if he didn’t find it, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
He freed the cigarette he kept behind his ear and lit it one-handed.
“You smoke?” he asked.
The blond shook his head. “Can I try it?”
Tyler handed him the cigarette and watched the blond wrap his gentle lips around the butt and suck in. He didn’t inhale properly and coughed immediately afterwards, his eyes watering madly.
Tyler took the cigarette back and stared at this strange shifter’s eyes. They were the same color as green glass with flecks of gold at the center. Not yellow or orange like some shifters, but pure gold.
“That’s terrible,” the blond said and laughed nonetheless.
“Well you don’t have to do it,” Tyler grumbled and continued their trek.
He rarely took anyone home, not even the girls he fucked. He’d crash at the chick’s place, just because it was easier to leave in the morning than kick someone else out. But this – what was he doing?
And even as he thought about it, he couldn’t stop doing it. What other option did he have? Leave this helpless shifter by the side of the road and let him jump into the river? Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen even if Tyler couldn’t figure out why he felt that way.
He wasn’t Ken. He didn’t do altruistic bullshit for the warm and fuzzies.
He could barely help himself; how could he help another person?
“Aren’t you cold?” the blond asked after a another mile or two. They walked next to the street that ran parallel to the river, and the bridge that crossed into Chinatown stood about a block ahead.
“No,” Tyler said, though he felt the goosebumps trailing up his arms and over the back of his neck.
“Liar,” the blond said softly and pressed his shoulder into Tyler’s bare arm. The heat from his body soaked into Tyler’s through the jacket.
Once they crossed the bridge, the hackles on the back of the alpha’s neck eased. Even if those assholes called the cops, chances are they wouldn’t be able to track them here.
That early in the morning the lights from Chinatown still burned and the river reflected them into a great gold and red glow. Too bad none of the noodle carts were on the street at that hour. Tyler’s stomach grumbled after all that exertion on the dance floor.
He trudged up the stairs to his apartment and the blond followed. It was on the second floor above his tattoo parlor – Got Ink? – and a lot bigger than his last place. Ken even went out of his way, like usual, to help Tyler furnish it. At least they went to Ikea and not someplace super expensive. Otherwise, Tyler would’ve been too concerned about breaking shit to live in it properly.
His heart lodged in his throat as he stepped inside and flipped on the light. It smelled like Davis and Ken – their familiar musk nearly overpowering the blond shifter’s scent – but they weren’t there.
However, signs of their presence hung in the apartment, from the neat pile of mail on the side table to the clean dishes next to the sink. The flyer for the depression support group sat on top of the pile of mail, neatly unfolded and way too obvious to have been an accident.
Ken did all that, no doubt, because he didn’t trust Tyler’s ability to clean his own damn apartment or know what was best for himself.
Tyler frowned and yanked open the fridge. Yep. Typical. They left the food too.
The blond slunk inside behind him, and Tyler’s nerves pricked as he moved next to the alpha like they still held hands. “What now?”
Tyler yanked the pasta from the fridge and glanced at him. In the bright florescent light, the blond’s chest sparkled. “First, tell me who you are and what happened to your damn clothes. Is that glitter?”
“Quinn,” he said and ran his finger over his skin slowly. “I lost my shirt at that place. Some cats took it and said I should sparkle. What’s your name, alpha?”
Quinn stood right next to him like he had no clue what personal space was. Tyler took several steps back. “Tyler, uh, Harrison. Are you homeless or high or some shit?”
“Not really,” Quinn said.
Tyler frowned at the state of Quinn’s bruises and cuts. Damn. Maybe he needed to call Ari, but dealing with that healer wasn’t on the top of his ‘fun shit to do’ list. “Go take a shower and wash that blood off. You can do that without slitting your wrists, right?”
“I think so,” Quinn said as Tyler pointed out the bathroom.
He turned to avoid watching Quinn slink inside and close the door, his heart hammering like he’d been jogging for miles.
Weird and annoying.
Tyler’s eyes stung, but he reheated the spaghetti while Quinn bathed. He ate his entire bowl and half the meatballs before Quinn emerged from the bathroom, nude and slick.
His pale hair dripped onto his shoulders and the remnants of the glitter still clung to his skin. He wrapped the towel – Tyler’s towel – around his waist and strode into the kitchen. His gaze flitted over everything as he passed.
The assholes in the alley hadn’t caused much damage. There was no fresh blood on Quinn’s skin, and the bruises already faded, like he’d used a healer’s salve – which was impossible because Tyler didn’t have any. The mark on Quinn’s side was the worst; a bluish purple hue that explained why he flinched as he walked. The mark on his face wasn’t as bad as it looked before, somewhere between a black eye and a bruised cheek.
Still, there was really nothing else Tyler could offer him but something to eat and a place to sleep, and even that was pushing it.
“Hungry?” Tyler asked and pushed the rest of the food across the counter. He hadn’t bothered to sit down. The tingling in his nerves wouldn’t let him.
Quinn looked at the plate piled high with pasta and meatballs. “I don’t eat meat.”
“What are you? A rabbit shifter?” Tyler grumbled and removed all the meatballs from the plate. He ate them as he did.
Quinn’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Not quite, but meat is against my nature, much like it all but defines yours.”
Now this asshole sounded like Cage when he got philosophical, and that’s not what Tyler needed at the moment. He brushed out of the kitchen and sunk into the couch. It was gray and squarish with a few colorful throw pillows that Ken picked out, but it was more comfortable than it looked. Tyler would’ve gone with black leather if it weren’t more expensive.
Quinn stood in the kitchen and slurped at the noodles.
“You can sit down if you want,” Tyler said and crossed his arms. He smelled himself and felt the stickiness of sweat that had long ago dried, but he was too lazy to shower. He’d do it before he went down and opened the shop the next day – which probably wouldn’t be until noon considering the damn night he’d had.
Quinn padded into the living room and sat down. He ate the spaghetti carefully, somehow managing not to get one drop of sauce on his face or his bare chest.
Tyler glanced at him from time to time, but he had no fucking clue what to say.
He’d lost most of his old friends when he got clean since they were all dealers and junkies. Cage told him to get friendly with the people in his NA group, but Tyler didn’t want to see them more than he had to. Also, besides the obvious, they didn’t have anything else in common. Shit, the only person he could stand was Rory most of the time, and even the fire mage got on his nerves now and then.
Like tonight. None of this shit would’ve happened if Rory actually showed up.<
br />
But then what would’ve become of Quinn?
Tyler glanced at Quinn out of the corner of his eye and sighed. “What happened with those assholes in the alley?”
Quinn sucked a noodle between his lips before he answered. His hair hung in loose waves around his face, slowly drying. “I was leaving that dance house—someone said it was a ‘pit’ but it didn’t look like a hole in the ground to me. Well, I thought those boys looked angry and pathetic. They called me queer when they drove by, so I asked them for a fuck, and they decided to beat me up instead.”
“It’s called The Pit. Are you a whore or something?” Tyler asked.
Those strange glass green eyes softened. “You mean do I get paid to have sex? No. I didn’t think they’d be interested. I thought they might beat me to death.”
Not only was he a freak, he had to be a suicidal freak too. Like Tyler didn’t have enough to worry about. “You really want to off yourself?”
Quinn shrugged and twirled a noodle on the fork. “No, I just don’t want to be—I want to be able to do what I did tonight without anyone stopping me.”
“Dance or get beat up by some homophobic assholes?”
Quinn chuckled, and it sounded like wind chimes. It sent a distinct ache to Tyler’s gut. “Dance. I don’t really like pain, but I’m used to it.”
Shit. What the fuck was Tyler supposed to say to that?
His eyes stung, and Quinn had finished the bowl of pasta. He held it cupped in his long fingers and the faint lines at the edge of his strange eyes pinched with weariness.
“Look, are you gonna rob me during the night?”
“No,” Quinn said. “Did you want me to?”
“Why the hell would I want you to do that? Fuck. Never mind. You can sleep out here. If you do steal from me, I’ll find you, got it? And no killing yourself either.”
Quinn nodded and smiled. “No stealing or suicide. Got it.”
Tyler stalked to his room, yanked the blanket off the bed and tossed it on the couch. “Use that or whatever. Night.”
Then he closed the door and leaned against it, pressed the flats of his palms to his eyes, and took a deep breath.
