For the first time in his life, Tanner wished he were smaller. If only I could shrink, like those angels who can dance on the head of a pin, and hide under the nearest bar napkin.

He clutched the base of his beer glass—miraculously full again, thanks to that stupid pitcher the OSU weres had left on the table—and kept his elbows tight to his body, waiting for the inevitable questions, accusations, and derision.

“Dude.” Hector’s voice held something milder than flat-out accusation. Dismay? Maybe, but this was Hector, Tanner’s fellow misfit. Of course he’d keep his reaction low-key. Tanner sighed and raised his chin, prepared to face his friend’s disillusionment. But Hector wasn’t paying any attention to him. He was staring at Gage. “Did you know Jordan was heading downstairs? Do you know what the fight pens are like?”

Gage slid even lower in his chair. “I didn’t think it would do any harm for him to just look.”

Dakota snorted. “We’re talking Jordan. When has he ever just looked at anything?”

“Shit,” Gage muttered. “I screwed up, huh?”

“Jordan is the one who screwed up,” Hector said. Then he paused, a chip halfway to his mouth. “Although it would have been good pack behavior to . . . You know, I’m not sure what good pack behavior would have been. If you couldn’t stop him—and since it’s Jordan, you probably couldn’t have done that without pinning him to the ground—should you have gone with him? To have his back?”

Dakota leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Maybe he should have pinned him to the ground. It’s up to senior pack members to make sure the juniors don’t do anything stupid, and sometimes that means physical restraint. I mean, other than Tanner, technically we’re all still juniors, but we’re all older than Jordan.”

“But in the middle of a bar?” Gage asked, his voice edged with outrage and guilt. “What about all those lessons on being unobtrusive in public?”

“Yeah, in human public,” Hector shot back. “But this is a supe-only joint. Humans can’t even find the door because of the redirection spells.”

“I’m not sure pinning him down would have been the right way to go, but Hector’s right,” Dakota said. “We should have done something. Talked him out of it. Told Chase what was going on. Maybe we should have all gone down with him. Or distracted him.” Dakota shook his head. “That’ll teach us never to leave the house without a Frisbee.”

“My dad would have expected me to stop him,” Hector said. “Like the way we keep juniors out of the packing plant, so they don’t get their noses stuck in the machinery.”

“Our pack doesn’t work that way,” Gage muttered. “The juniors know they have to behave or they’ll be gutting fish for the next three moons.”

“Yeah, but when they’re really young, you don’t let them on a boat, do you? They have to learn somehow.”

“We’re not stupid. We don’t let them near a boat until they’ve passed their sailing test.” Just when Tanner thought he’d managed to evade everyone’s attention, Gage turned to him. “What do you think, Tanner? What would they do in your pack?”

Tanner took an injudiciously large swallow of beer—which went down the wrong way. He coughed wildly, while Dakota pounded him on the back and beer spewed across the table and out his nose.

Hector ran over to the bar to get a glass of water. Gage snagged a stack of napkins off a passing server and mopped up the table, then dabbed at the beer on Tanner’s shirt.

Finally, Tanner managed to recover enough to wheeze his thanks. He accepted the water from Hector and took a long drink.

Dakota administered a last pat to Tanner’s back. “You okay now?” When Tanner nodded, Dakota grinned. “Beer through the nose can be killer.”

Gage goggled at him. “You’ve had beer come out your nose before?”

Dakota shrugged. “Hasn’t everyone?”

Hector nodded. Tanner didn’t have to—the evidence was all over his shirt.

“Not me.” Gage folded his arms. “Our pack alpha won’t let any of us drink until we hit twenty-one.”

“Even under supervision at the pack compound?” Hector asked around a mouthful of cheesy fries. “For holiday meals?”

“Nope. He’s in recovery. He doesn’t keep the other adults from drinking, but he doesn’t want the kids to start until, as he puts it, ‘they’ve already got half a brain.’ What’s your pack’s alcohol policy, Tanner?”

Tanner managed not to choke on his water. “My pack’s policies are whatever is the most traditional.”

Gage made a face. “That doesn’t mean anything. ‘Tradition’ is nothing but a word for how things have always gotten done. So how do things get done back home?”

“It’s not my home,” Tanner muttered.

“What?” Dakota leaned forward. “Say again?”

“I said,” Tanner forced out between clenched teeth, “that my so-called pack is not my home.”

“But—but—” Hector spluttered. “But they’re your pack.”

“Yes, they’re the pack I was born into, but I’ve never fit in. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life shoving murdered trees through a rip saw. I don’t want to get stuck in a politically motivated marriage so we can rebuild a pack that, in my opinion, isn’t viable anymore.”

Gage stared at him, eyes wide and beer-snorting apparently forgotten. “Seriously?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Hector said slowly. “Our pack territory runs next to yours, so I know your pack has dwindled, but is it really not viable?”

Tanner shook his head. “There are no females at all, and only six adult males. Seven if you count my cousin—”

“Don’t forget to count yourself. You’re an adult now.”

Tanner smiled wryly. “Am I? Is it already 11:52?” Dakota checked his watch and shook his head. “Still only seven, then. But if you want the truth?” Tanner swallowed, suddenly wanting to say it, needing to say it, even if it was only one time. “I’d rather live packless than go back there.”

Hector stared at him, wide-eyed, and one of the other guys—Gage, maybe, although he’d never admit it—whined softly in the back of his throat.

“Dude,” Dakota whispered. “Have you talked to Chase about it? Is that what you were doing over by the restroom before?”

Gods. Tanner’s face burned, humiliation roiling in his belly—unless that was the beer. He probably should have eaten something, but too late now. Escape. That’s what he needed. Space and quiet and darkness where he could relive his humiliation in private and not have it hashed out by his friends with his missteps dissected like pack beer policies, for Remus’s sake.

He stood up, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “I’ve got to go.”

“Go? But Chase and Jordan aren’t back yet.” Hector gestured to the half-empty baskets on the table. “And there’s still nachos.”

“You guys stay.” Tanner shrugged into his jacket, his arm getting tangled in one sleeve until Dakota came to his rescue. “I’ll walk back to the house.”

“Walk?” Gage squawked. “It’s more than five miles.”

Tanner shrugged. “And I’m a were. I’m used to long hikes.” Was he ever. Whenever he’d been caught in a transgression—not doing his chores, reading instead of socializing with the pack—Uncle Patrick had one of the betas drive the two of them up into the hills above the compound, no matter what time it was, even if it was in the middle of the night. Uncle Patrick would send the beta off, and he and Tanner would walk back down to the compound, Uncle Patrick lecturing gently about Tanner’s responsibilities, painting what he probably thought were rosy pictures of what life would be like when Tanner took up the alpha mantle. “Tell Chase—” Tanner grimaced. Tell him what exactly? “You know what? Never mind. I’ll see you guys back at the house.”

“Tanner . . .” Dakota rose, reaching for his own jacket, but Tanner waved him back to his seat.

“Really, guys. I need a little space.” He forced a grin, which was no doubt pathetic. “Just call me a lone wolf.”

All of them groaned. “Don’t even joke about that,” Gage moaned. “Not if you don’t want to give us all nightmares.”

“All right. I’ll see you later.”

Tanner hurried through the thinning crowd, allowing a couple of rather bedraggled patrons whose scent screamed hyena to exit before he slipped out the massive oak door onto the chilly Portland sidewalk.

He buttoned his jacket up to his chin, wishing he’d opted for his heavier winter coat, or at least his down vest. Late November in Portland wasn’t as cold as it was in his pack territory in eastern Oregon, but it was plenty chilly. Of course, if he were in shifted form, it wouldn’t matter. In shifted form, he could make it back to the house in no time—his wolf was small, but fast. Even approaching midnight, though, there were way too many people around to do anything so foolish.

I’m an adult now. Or at least I will be in about twenty minutes. I know better.

Tanner snorted, shoving his fists into his pockets as he headed up Oak Street toward Broadway and the hills beyond. I know better.

“You know better” had been his uncle’s litany during Tanner’s entire childhood. Sometimes it was directed at Finn, when his father had caught him tormenting Tanner. Somehow, the punishments Uncle Patrick meted out for those infractions, even when they were pretty harsh, never seemed to deter Finn. In fact, Finn so loathed that his own father was tougher on him than he was on Tanner, a mere nephew, that the next taunt, or prank, or attack would escalate.

Tanner had become an expert on hiding bruises. And Finn had gotten smarter about hitting Tanner only where it wouldn’t show.

Tanner sighed as he stopped at the corner of Broadway to wait for the light to change. Uncle Patrick had always ended his lectures the same way: “The alpha is the pack, Tanner, just as the pack is the alpha. The two are inextricably bound. Remember that.” So why didn’t he feel inextricably bound to his own pack? Was that because it technically hadn’t had an alpha since his father’s death? The other men in the pack deferred to Uncle Patrick as alpha pro tem, but since Uncle Patrick was always careful to reiterate that he was merely holding Tanner’s place for him, maybe they felt disaffected too. Great. Another responsibility for when I go back—find some way to unite a bunch of weres who are at least twice as old as I am, most of them older, and convince them that our pack can become great again.

Assuming it ever had been. What did great mean, anyway? From what he could remember of his father, he was a gentle man with laughing dark eyes—the complete opposite of his fair-skinned, freckled, red-haired mother.

Maybe I can convince them that we need to rethink our pack economy. Sticking stubbornly to the timber industry when all but one of the mills in the county had closed, simply because that was their traditional income stream, was ridiculous bordering on suicidal. Maybe they could branch out—heh—into forestry work. All the forested lands in their territory were public now. If they switched to conservation instead of production, maybe—

Tanner shook his head. Even if the nature of the pack changed, it would still be in eastern Oregon. Still isolated. Still too far from Chase.

But then, tonight Chase had made it clear that he didn’t share Tanner’s feelings, hadn’t he? Maybe going back to the pack and trying to effect change from within—even if it meant a match not of his choosing—was what he owed everyone: his uncle, his pack, his parents’ memory. And Chase. Tanner couldn’t let Chase believe that everything he’d done for Tanner over the last two-plus years had meant nothing.

He owed it to Chase to be a man. To be an adult. To be an honorable alpha. Own up to his mistakes. Apologize. And move on. As much as it would destroy his heart.

The light changed—in fact, it had cycled through more than once as Tanner had huddled on the street corner, feeling sorry for himself. Well, no more of that.

He straightened his shoulders and stepped into the street—just as a long black sedan gunned its engine and pulled away from the curb, lightless.

Heading right for Tanner.

 

 

“I’m sorry, Chase! It was an accident. Really.”

“You mean you accidentally left the table, walked down two flights of stairs, pushed past a roomful of mature shifters—all of whom are bigger than you—and jumped into a ring to face two hyena shifters? That kind of an accident?”

Jordan bit his lip. “Well. Sort of?”

“Sort of. You—” Chase swallowed his words as the bears from the fight room lumbered up the stairs and waved at him. “Come on.” He grabbed Jordan’s elbow again and dragged him behind a stack of Widmer IPA cases, out of sight of the stairs. “What were you thinking?”

“Nothing bad, I promise. But you’re always telling us that we should make the most of our opportunities, right?”

Chase frowned. “Yeeesss.”

Jordan dropped the guilty, hangdog look. “That’s what this was, see? An opportunity! I’ve always wanted to see a match between shifters—”

“You see precisely such matches whenever you have a hand-to-hand lesson with Mal.”

“I mean shifted shifters.” Jordan’s voice was laced with scorn. “Sparring when we’re still human doesn’t count, especially with Mal hanging over us ready to grab us if we don’t pull our punches.”

Chase pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jordan—”

“I thought I’d sneak down for a second and watch from a corner, you know? And it was easy! Nobody stopped me or anything.”

Yes, Chase had noted that, and he intended to speak to the management about it at the first opportunity. “You should have stopped yourself, Jordan. You promised me you wouldn’t go near the pens.”

Jordan squinched his eyes and screwed his mouth up. “Weeellll, technically, I didn’t promise.”

“Jordan—”

“And it would have been fine, really. A couple of guys were getting dressed again when I got down there, so a match was just over. But these two hyenas were trying to get this big bear dude to fight them, and the bear said something really funny. So I laughed.”

“You laughed.”

“Well, it was funny. But the hyena dudes thought I was mocking them.”

Chase closed his eyes. “Of course they did.”

“But I wasn’t, Chase, you know I wouldn’t, I swear! That’s just how I laugh. But then when they challenged me, I thought, ‘Hey! Another opportunity!’”

“Jordan, they could have seriously injured you. Possibly even killed you.”

Jordan scoffed. “No, they wouldn’t. The referee would have stopped them.”

“Did you see a referee?”

Jordan’s eyebrows pinched together. “Well. No. But there’s gotta be one, right?”

“Why do you think so?”

“Mal always referees our matches, so I thought . . .” His jaw dropped. “You mean there’s not?” Chase shook his head. “Oh wow. You mean you could have been . . . I could have been . . .” His eyes widened, lips trembling. Then he punched the air. “That is epic!”

“No, Jordan. It is not epic. It is the antithesis of epic. I could send you home for this, you know. You’d be banned from the Howling program for three years minimum and confined to your own compound until you proved to the pack council and the Assimilation Board that you’re mature enough not to compromise their safety—”

“But I didn’t! My pack isn’t anywhere near—”

“And your own.” Chase locked gazes with Jordan, ramping up the alpha authority until Jordan whined and turned aside, baring his neck. “All right. I’m going to have to report this—”

“No! Please don’t, Chase!” Jordan’s big brown eyes were pleading. “I promise I won’t do anything like it again.”

“I’m sorry, but I must. The infraction occurred on my watch. Whenever I take you all out in public, I’m the de facto alpha for our temporary pack. I’m responsible for your actions. If a safety violation happens, I have to fill out the paperwork and submit to the Assimilation Board for reprimand.”

“They’ll reprimand me?”

“No.” Chase put a calming hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “They’ll reprimand me. Because I’ve failed in my duty.”

“But you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault. Gods, Chase, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“No.” Chase allowed himself to chuckle. Jordan’s reactions were always so extra. “But I should really be used to that by now, shouldn’t I?” Instead of settling under Chase’s touch, Jordan seemed to get even more agitated, shifting from foot to foot. “Jordan, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, Chase,” he said, wincing, “but I really gotta pee.”

Chase sighed. “From what I’ve heard about how much Coke you knocked back, I’m not surprised. Come on.” He led Jordan out of their hiding place and toward the stairs. “But I hope you’ve learned that—” A weird, high-pitched keening rent the air. “Augh!”

Chase clapped his hands over his ears. Jordan did too, whining in a pitch nearly as high. Hoots and thumps and heavy footsteps filtered from the bar above.

“Oh gods,” Jordan moaned, “what is that?”

Ice congealed in Chase’s belly. “It’s the underage drinking alarm. And if we can hear it, it means someone in our party tripped it.” He leaped for the stairs, taking them two at a time, Jordan bounding at his heels.

When they got to the main floor, Chase didn’t need to ask who had tried to fool the spell, because a ball of green witchlight was surrounding a cowering Gage while nearby patrons either laughed, jeered, or glanced irritably at the glare.

“Gods damn it,” he muttered, “I warned them.”

Two hulking trows approached the table. Where were they when a kid nearly got lunched in the fight pens? Chase turned to the kid in question and pointed to the restroom door. “You. Go. Do not loiter because we’ll be leaving immediately.”

Jordan nodded and skittered away. Chase squared his shoulders and marched across the bar, growling at anybody who got in his way. He arrived at the table as the two bouncers each dropped heavy hands on Gage’s shoulders. The alarm cut off abruptly as they lifted him bodily out of his seat.

“Gentlemen.” Chase bared his teeth at them. If they chose to interpret it as a smile, fine. If they took it as a challenge—also fine. “Thank you, but I’ll take it from here.”

The bouncers stared stonily at Chase for a moment, then released Gage, who dropped back into his chair with a wince. “Get him outside,” one of them rumbled. “You know what comes next.”

“Yes, I do.” Chase fixed Gage with a glare. “And you’re about to find out too.”

Gage peered at him with wide, frightened eyes. “Am I gonna die?”

“No.” Chase accepted an empty five-gallon plastic bucket from the stoic bartender. “But you may wish you could.”

Jordan skidded to a stop next to a cowering Hector as the bouncers stalked away. “Omigods, omigods, those guys were huge! What even are they?”

Chase glanced over his shoulder at the restroom, where a line snaked out the door. How did he finish so fast if— Never mind. I don’t want to know. When Jordan took a step toward the retreating bouncers, Chase grabbed his arm. “What did I tell you? No butt sniffing! Besides, we’ve got to get out of here now. All of you, up.” Hector reached for the last nacho. “Stop. Trust me. You won’t want to have eaten recently during this next bit.”

All of the juniors scrambled out of their chairs, the witchlight that still surrounded Gage turning their faces a bilious green. Just wait, Chase thought grimly as he herded them toward the door. Dakota grabbed Jordan’s arm when he veered off toward the bouncers again, and pulled him outside. “Around the corner,” Chase ordered. “Wait for me in the alley.” Gage tried to slink out next, but Chase held on to him. “Not you. You’re last. What on earth made you think you could get away with drinking? I warned you about the spells.”

“I know,” Gage said. “But I thought it was just trying to buy drinks. Tanner didn’t finish his beer, and all the other guys know what it’s like, so I thought a taste wouldn’t—”

“Tanner?” Chase scanned the bar, suddenly realizing that Tanner hadn’t been at the table. “Where is he?”

“He said he was going to walk back to the house.”

“Five miles?”

“He said he was used to hikes.”

The green witchlight turned a sulfurous yellow. Time was running out. Chase peered out the door and caught Hector’s back disappearing into the alley. Showtime. He handed the bucket to Gage. “Hold this.”

“Oookay. Why?”

“You’ll find out.” Chase put his hand on Gage’s back and pushed him out the door onto the sidewalk. As soon as they were past the threshold, the witchlight died—and Gage’s face turned green on its own. His shoulders heaved once, twice, and then he was spewing into the bucket.

Chase breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it was a good thing Tanner had left early. A night-long vomit-fest wasn’t the best way to end a birthday celebration.

Chase chivied Gage—his head still in the bucket—toward the alley.

“Oi.”

Chase turned at the unfamiliar voice to find Hamish Mulherne, Hunter’s Moon’s kangaroo shifter drummer, standing in the doorway. Chase winced. Was this guy going to read Chase the riot act for not caring properly for his charges? If he was, Chase would take it—he deserved it, after all. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your evening.”

Hamish grinned. “It’s not my evening that’s disturbed.” He gestured from Gage’s heaving shoulders to Jordan’s face peering around the corner. “Did you lot drive over here?”

“No. We took an Uber.” Chase winced. “Nobody’s going to let Gage in their car, are they?”

“Not likely. Look.” He handed Chase an oak leaf imprinted with a gold Celtic knot. “Take this around the corner. Make sure you’re out of sight—that’s required—then press on the knot and say ‘Cludo.’”

Chase glanced at Gage. “I think we’ve had enough magical intervention for the evening.”

Hamish clapped Chase on the shoulder. “You’ll appreciate this one, trust me. That’s a token for the FTA.”

“FTA?”

“Fae Transportation Association. New service that my band leader’s boyfriend’s brother’s starting up.”

“Band leader’s boyfriend’s brother?” Chase realized he sounded like an idiot parrot, but his attention was split between Gage and Jordan, who was creeping out of the alley until Dakota’s big brown hand yanked him back.

“Yeah. You may have heard of the bloke. King of Faerie?”

Chase blinked. “The King?”

“Of Faerie. Yeah. He wants his subjects to have something to keep them occupied now that blood feuds and human kidnappings are right out. So he’s started this service. A fae . . . well, call ’em driver, I guess. Sounds better than escort, eh? They’ll meet you and take you through Faerie to your destination. It’ll be a bit of a hike—entrance and exit points are fixed inside Faerie, and the drivers have to keep to certain paths so they don’t disturb the residents—but it’s outdoors all the way, which”—he wrinkled his nose—“seems mandatory for this bloke.”

“Yes, but—”

“Don’t worry about the rest of ’em.” Hamish pulled out his phone. “I’ll pile ’em in an Uber and they’ll be there when you get back.”

Gage retched again, causing a passing human couple to veer almost into the street. Chase took the oak leaf. “Thank you. So much. You didn’t have to step in—”

“Nah. Don’t mention it. I was young and stupid once myself.” A shadow moved in Hamish’s gray eyes. “Now I’m just stupid. Good luck, mate.”

Hamish strode down the sidewalk and collected Hector, who’d made a break for it, following a guy holding a pink Voodoo Doughnuts box. As Chase guided a wretched Gage past them, deeper into the alley, all of them were gazing up at Hamish worshipfully. Nothing like a little star power to grab their attention. Chase hmmphed. Maybe I should have Hamish deliver the next warnings about misbehaving in public.

But Chase had nobody to blame but himself. He’d let himself get distracted by something he’d wanted for so long. It wasn’t Tanner’s fault. It wasn’t Jordan’s fault either, or Gage’s. Chase was responsible for the juniors when they went out in a group, and he had failed—spectacularly. It was only right that he face the consequences.

He maneuvered Gage behind a dumpster, then laid the oak leaf on his palm. He pressed his thumb on the Celtic knot and murmured, “Cludo,” hoping he got the inflection right. It must have been close enough, because an instant later, a burly duergar materialized next to the dumpster.

“Destination?” he rumbled.

Chase gave him the house address, while trying not to be concerned that duergar were famous for leading travelers astray. Not exactly a comforting choice for a guide.

The duergar grunted, then pointed to Gage. “Not cleaning up after him. Not in my job description.”

“Of course.” Chase pointed to the bucket. “That’s what this is for.”

The duergar shook its head. “Plastic. Pfaugh. Only natural materials allowed past the threshold.”

“But our cell phones. Our clothing—I’m not sure if it’s—”

The duergar sighed, its breath blowing Chase’s hair off his forehead and sending the reek from Gage’s bucket gusting over him. “Not responsible for damage to clothing or possessions.” He jabbed a finger at the dumpster. “The bucket stays.”

Gage hugged the bucket to his chest. “No,” he moaned.

Chase tugged it out of his hands. “Try to hold it in until we get home. And next time you’re in a spell-protected bar? Stick to water.”