Tanner managed to jump out of the car’s path without a spontaneous shift, even though the wind of its passing ruffled his hair and tugged on his jacket. But fifteen minutes later, his heart still hadn’t returned to its normal rhythm. He huddled in the doorway of John Helmer Haberdasher, staring at the window display of fedoras, understated neckties, and cashmere sweaters in muted tones. After he counted the tiny medallions in a navy patterned tie for the fifth time (227), his breathing finally settled enough to step out onto the sidewalk again.

I should know better than to wear all black at night. But he hadn’t been in the mood for a brighter color this evening, or even for a boring old white button-down, not with the end of his freedom looming somewhere on the horizon. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, but when his fingers brushed the signet, he jerked them out again. He didn’t need any reminders.

He trudged up the sidewalk, past the Heathman Hotel, past the Schnitzer Concert Hall, but paused outside the Newmark Theatre. Chase had brought them to a play at the Newmark in Tanner’s second year, before Jordan had joined the house. He’d always had vague dreams that he’d come back again, maybe with Chase alone, to see another show, or maybe a lecture. A couple of interesting events were coming in March. Maybe Chase would want to go with me.

Tanner gulped. Chase won’t want to go to the freaking living room with me, not after I screwed up tonight. Maybe if Tanner apologized. Maybe if he promised never to do it again. Maybe if he swore that he only wanted to be friends. Maybe if I change into an entirely different person.

Besides, who knew if Tanner would even be here come March? In a way, not knowing when the end would come was worse than having an exact date. If only Uncle Patrick didn’t believe so strongly in self-determination. At least as long as the self-determination in question kept to traditional Wallowa pack values. As Tanner wandered past the theater, he wondered if Uncle Patrick was waiting for him to call and announce that he was ready to come home.

If that’s the case, he’ll be waiting until Sheol freezes over.

Tanner paused at the corner of Jefferson, trying to decide whether to head through Goose Hollow and the hills or continue through the PSU campus. That would mean a longer walk, but the campus was another place he’d never see again. He’d dreamed of being a student there—or somewhere—since he’d taken his mandatory online course in his second year. Every were was required to take a college-level class during their Howling, so they could decide whether they wanted to matriculate to a human university after their service years. The other guys had complained about it nonstop, bemoaning homework and studying and exams. Even Hector, who’d been taking online programming classes for years, had objected because he’d had to take a literature class.

Tanner had reveled in it because it would be his only chance—nobody from the Wallowa pack ever attended college. His cousin Finn had secretly applied to the University of Washington—and then taken his frustration out on Tanner when Uncle Patrick had forbidden him from going.

So Tanner had covertly followed the other guys’ classes too—Hector’s Gothic lit, Gage’s calculus, Dakota’s film studies. All of them had looked at him like he was crazy to take on more schoolwork when he didn’t have to.

The light changed. Before he stepped off the curb, Tanner checked all directions—even up, because with the way his luck was running tonight, he could get beaned by a falling brick or dive-bombed by a rogue harpy. Once he got on the other side and turned under the bare branches of the trees lining Jefferson, a black sedan slid by, its engine purring almost noiselessly. At least its lights are on now. Although it might not have been the car that nearly clipped him—black sedans all looked alike and they were everywhere. Hells, his pack had three, when the occasion warranted more formality than the pickups or the SUVs. The car stopped at the next signal, and Tanner almost caught up with it again, but as he was gazing absentmindedly at its taillights, he realized there was a small dent in the trunk a few inches above the bumper.

He dodged into the shelter of a parking garage. That dent looked exactly like the one Finn had put in the pack’s new Lincoln when he’d backed into a tree stump while he was learning to drive. Tanner ducked down, trying to make out the driver, but couldn’t see anything other than wide shoulders and cropped dark hair—which could be any adult in the pack except his red-haired uncle. The person in the passenger seat had longer hair, styled, lighter.

Tanner’s fingers went numb. It’s not . . . It couldn’t be . . .

But then the passenger turned to say something to the driver, and for an instant, Tanner’s eyes locked with his.

With Finn’s.

Finn’s eyebrows snapped together and he mouthed Tanner’s name. Gods, no. Tanner had never walked away from an altercation with Finn without bruises. He wasn’t about to risk that tonight, not when his heart had already taken a beating.

So he took off back the way he’d come. The car couldn’t follow him until it navigated the one-way grid, so he had a little bit of a head start—assuming they were after him. He headed past Broadway, the lights of the Schnitz’s marquee flashing by in his peripheral vision. The smell of baking bread still lingered near the door of the Subway shop as he cut over on Sixth, where the clanging bell of an approaching MAX train made him nearly jump out of his skin. Too much traffic. Too many lights. I need cover.

He rounded the next corner and raced back toward the Park blocks, barely registering that he was crossing against the light on Broadway because the haven of trees was in his sights at last. With a final burst of speed, he lurched under their blessed shelter and huddled at the base of an elm to catch his breath.

Surely his cousin hadn’t tried to commit wolficide via Town Car. That was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? There was no real evidence that the car that had nearly hit Tanner was the same one, or that its driver hadn’t simply been careless about turning on their headlights.

Even if it was, there’d be no reason to expect Finn to deliberately target Tanner for serious injury or . . . Tanner pressed a hand to his galloping heart. Or death. Yes, Finn was a bully. Yes, he and Tanner despised one another. But intentional vehicular manslaughter? Highly unlikely.

But not impossible, his lizard brain murmured.

“Stop it,” he muttered, startling one of the street kids smoking nearby. “Nobody’s trying to kill you.”

“Uh, sure, dude,” the kid said. “Got any spare change?”

Tanner was tempted to give him the damn ring, but that wouldn’t do the kid any good, and Uncle Patrick would look disappointed. So he dug into his jeans pocket and handed over a couple of crumpled bills and a handful of coins.

He left the kid and his friends counting the money, his instincts still refusing to listen to reason. They can track me. If they get out of the car, they’ll catch my scent.

He needed to get away. He needed to find safety. Although his heart screamed for Chase, for the sanctuary of the Doghouse, that was the last place he ought to go, because it was the first place they’d look.

Even if Finn and his driver were only here to pick Tanner up, to take him back to the Wallowa compound, Tanner suddenly realized that he couldn’t face it. That life wasn’t worse than death—he was a privileged were and he knew it—but it was suddenly impossible to bear. How could he live without learning? Without wonder?

Without Chase?

Okay, given the epic fail of tonight’s kiss, he was doomed to live without Chase anyway, but could he handle living without someone like him?

Although Tanner’s heart beat out a denial—that there couldn’t be anyone like Chase, not ever—he forced himself to think, to plan. If he couldn’t go back to the house and he refused to return to the compound, he still had to go somewhere. Somewhere the pack couldn’t find him. Somewhere nobody would think to look.

Or if they did look, they wouldn’t see what they expect.

But first, he needed to throw Finn off the scent. He pulled out his cell phone and called for an Uber. Luckily, there was one only two minutes away, although every second of those two minutes felt like days. When Tanner slid into the back seat, he greeted the driver absently.

“You sure this is the right destination, man? I mean, there’s nothing there.”

“Yes. I’m sure. It’ll be all right. I’m . . . meeting somebody.”

“If you say so.”

Tanner sat in the center of the seat, the better to watch out both windows while keeping his own face in shadow. It seemed as if every car they passed was a freaking black sedan, although he knew that wasn’t possible. By the time the driver dropped him off near the Lower Macleay trailhead, his nerves were sparking under his skin with the threat of a spontaneous shift. Not now. Not yet.

“Here you go. If you’re sure—”

“Yes, yes.” Tanner punched in an extra-large tip and scooted across the seat. “Thanks.”

“No worries, man. Good luck.”

I’ll need it.

Tanner ran through the parking lot and into Forest Park, not slowing until he hit the Wildwood Trail near the Witch’s Castle. He cut up through the trees until he was hidden from any random passersby—although since the park was technically closed at dusk, there shouldn’t be anybody around. Except people who shouldn’t be here at all. Like me.

But he’d fix that. Right now.

With trembling fingers, he took off his jacket and spread it out on the ground, then toed off his sneakers. As he took off his shirt, pants, socks, he folded each compactly and arranged them on the jacket, then added his underwear. The shoes were a problem—they didn’t really fit, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to carry them easily. Reluctantly, he set them aside under an exposed tree root. He folded the jacket around the other clothes, cursing to himself when it was clearly not secure enough.

“Ties, ties. I need ties.” His gaze caught on the trailing shoelace from his sneakers. A little short, but I’ll make it work. He unlaced both shoes and used the laces to bind his jacket into a tight ball with the sleeves protruding. Shivering in the chill wind, he tied the sleeves around his neck and let his shift, vibrating under his skin since he’d dodged the car, take over at last.

He was still inexperienced enough—he’d only passed his level two shifting certification last month—that the change was uncomfortable, despite the shifter magic that facilitated the transformation. Nevertheless, he sighed with relief when his fur was fully sprouted, thick and warm and proof against far more severe weather than Portland on the brink of winter. The clothing pack was awkward, dangling down between his legs, but he knew from experience that he couldn’t carry anything in his mouth for long distances, and he couldn’t abandon it altogether. He’d have to morph back at some point, and most humans didn’t take kindly to a naked guy walking into their yard or place of business. It would be bad enough without shoes.

Tanner bounded down the hill again and onto the path. He eyed Balch Creek, burbling over stones and under fallen logs. It’s probably colder than a frost giant’s balls. He should wade into it anyway, though, and follow it as long as possible to confuse any trackers. He glanced down at his clothes. They’d get soaked and never dry out.

If the Uber trip didn’t do the trick, walking around in the water won’t do any better.

So he climbed back off the trail and started to make his way through the brush. His belly felt so empty it was practically cleaving to his spine. I should have eaten some of those nachos after all. Then his nose twitched, the scent of game drifting on the night air. His ears pricked forward, and he crouched low, creeping toward the rustling underbrush. Leap. Pounce. Snap. So easy. Then blood and flesh and—

Tanner met the wide, terrified eyes of the rabbit cowering under a thimbleberry bush and froze. I can’t. His human emotions crashed into him hard, overpowering his wolf instincts, just like they’d always done whenever he’d attempted a shifted hunt.

He hadn’t ever confessed that to anyone—that he could never fully surrender to his wolf, never leave humanity completely behind. But it would be obvious when he got back to the compound. As part of assuming the alpha mantle, he’d have to run with the pack at the next full moon and bring down a deer.

He retched into a pile of leaves, purging himself of everything in his stomach until there was nothing but bile. I’m never going to do that.

Tanner dropped onto his haunches, panting. I’m really never going to do that. I’m not suited to be a pack alpha. I’m never going back. Somehow, I’ll find another way. Another life.

And in the meantime, nearly two years of living alongside Hector, with his cheerful disregard of the five-second rule and his conviction that washboard abs were highly overrated, had taught Tanner a lot about scavenging from trash cans.

He took off, loping easily through the trees, heading for Skyline Boulevard and a smorgasbord of restaurant garbage bins.

 

 

The trip through Faerie with a retching Gage was not something Chase ever wanted to repeat—especially with the same FTA driver. The duergar had not been amused by how often Gage had to stop and decorate the preternaturally beautiful Faerie landscape with vomit.

At least the other guys had gotten home safely, Jordan bombarding them with tales of Hamish’s awesomeness the instant they walked in the door. “Dude, he gave us all tickets. To the next Hunter’s Moon concert. He said—”

Gage clapped his hands over his mouth and bolted for the first-floor bathroom.

Jordan stared after him, wide-eyed. “Wow. I guess it’s a good thing he wasn’t in the Uber with us, huh?”

Chase stripped off his jacket, which, along with his shoes and pants, hadn’t escaped Gage’s spell-induced technicolor yawn. “What makes you think after tonight that you’ll be allowed to go anywhere for the next two years?”

Jordan’s brown eyes grew wide and seemed to droop. “Chase. You wouldn’t. This is Hunter’s Moon. In the front row. With VIP access.”

“I don’t really care if you’re about to be knighted by the Queen of Faerie herself. You broke the rules, Jordan. So did Gage.” The sounds emanating from the closed bathroom door indicated that Gage might feel much less inclined to break any rules in the future. At least any that involved beer. “Don’t you think there should be consequences?”

“You sound like a witch,” Jordan muttered. “Blah blah blah natural consequences.”

“Well, they did set the underage drinking spell at the Bullpen.” Chase jerked his thumb at the bathroom. “That should give you an idea of exactly how forgiving they are.”

“Okay, but—”

“Look, Jordan.” Chase started to run a hand through his hair but thought better of it. “It’s been a hell of a night. I want to get out of these clothes, take a shower, and sleep for the next six hours at least. Because tomorrow I’ll have to report all this to the Assimilation Board.”

Dakota appeared behind Jordan, backed by Hector, who was chomping on a piece of pepperoni pizza, apparently unfazed by the continuing soundtrack of Gage’s, er, distress. “You don’t have to report it, do you, Chase? I mean, we won’t say anything.”

Jordan bounced on his toes. “No! Swear! We can be silenter than those Astomi dudes, and they don’t even have mouths!”

“I appreciate the sentiment, guys. It speaks well of your loyalty, if not of your ethics.” All of them looked down at their feet. “But what happened tonight was not a secret. There are witnesses.” Chase shot a raised-eyebrow glance at Jordan. “Aside from the fact that when Gage set off the alarm, it was logged with the Supernatural Monitoring Agency, I have to report it because it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s my duty. Because it’s my job to take care of you in public—”

“You didn’t—”

“We can’t—”

“They shouldn’t—”

Chase wasn’t sure who said what, but it didn’t matter. “Go to bed. Gage’s . . . incident should be winding down soon, so I’ll get him settled after my shower. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”

Everyone—even Jordan—was subdued as they nodded and wandered off toward their rooms. When Hector would have taken the pizza box off the counter, Chase said, “I think that’s enough for tonight, Hector. Don’t forget you’re on short rations for pizza after last month’s binge. At your own request, I might add. You don’t want a repeat of the nightmares.”

Hector winced. “Right. Thanks, Chase.” He abandoned the box and shuffled down the hall.

Chase swallowed, staring up the stairs where Tanner’s room lay. I should say something to him. So before he headed to his own room with its blessed en suite bathroom, he crept upstairs and knocked softly on Tanner’s door. “Tanner? It’s me.”

No answer. “Listen, I, ah, think we need to talk, but . . .” Wait a second. If Tanner was planning to walk home, he might not even be here yet. Chase eased the door handle down and peeked inside. The room was dark, the bed unoccupied.

In one way, Chase was glad—he didn’t feel ready to face Tanner tonight. He wanted to be at his best, and that certainly didn’t describe his current state. In another, he was disappointed because he hated having things hanging over him. He preferred to confront problems head-on, immediately, before they had a chance to fester and grow.

But he didn’t have that option tonight.

Before he could lose his resolve, he called up the Assimilation Board’s incident reporting app on his phone and keyed in both events—although the drop-down list of infractions didn’t include “allowing a first-year junior to nearly get mauled in the fight pens.” Great. I’m a trailblazer. Maybe they’d name the violation after him—the Denney Disaster or the Chase Catastrophe. He glanced at Tanner’s door again. I’m not mentioning my Tanner Trouble. That’s none of their business anymore, thank the gods.

He trotted downstairs to soak some of the night’s frustrations away in a nice, long shower. Once he’d donned clean sweats, he went to find Gage, who was still hugging the porcelain in the front bathroom, his hair sweaty and flat against his scalp, making his ears more prominent than usual.

“Chase,” he croaked, “you were right. I think dying would have been better.”

Chase chuckled. “You’ll change your mind in the morning. When was the last, er, event?”

“I dunno. Ten minutes or so?”

“Then it’s over. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. You’ll feel better after a good night’s rest.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Gage tottered to his feet and let Chase help him into the shower. When Chase ran upstairs to grab some clean underwear and sleep pants for him, he knocked on Tanner’s door again. Still no answer, so he peeked inside. The bedclothes were still smooth, but a pizza box sat on top. Chase listened carefully and made out the sound of the shower in the second-floor bathroom. Good. Tanner had made it home and gotten something to eat, since he’d had virtually nothing at the bar.

We’ll talk tomorrow.

Maybe by that time, Chase would have located his courage and figured out what to say.

Before he got to his room, though, his cell phone pinged with a message from the Assimilation Board, ordering Chase to present himself at their offices by 6:30 a.m. So much for a good night’s sleep.

 

 

The next morning, Chase was ready to leave by five thirty so he could make his six thirty appointment with time to spare—it didn’t pay to be late when the board ordered you to get your ass to their presence.

The house was quiet. Well, mostly. Hector’s snores bled through his door. Faint, muffled yips came from Jordan’s room. Since his door was ajar—Jordan still hadn’t grasped the concept of space that wasn’t communal—Chase peeked in. Jordan was curled on his bed, one leg twitching under the blanket. Dreaming again.

The top of Gage’s head was visible under a jumble of blankets on the living room couch—he’d opted to stay close to the downstairs bathroom, just in case. Dakota’s and Tanner’s doors were closed, the hallway silent. Chase sighed and let himself out of the house. Maybe by the time Tanner had gotten a few more hours’ sleep, he’d be willing to listen to Chase’s excuses. And maybe an invitation to dinner? Chase snorted as he hiked to the MAX station. Now who’s dreaming?

When he got to the board’s offices, the grandmotherly were at the reception desk was just pulling her purse from her desk drawer. Since the board governed the assimilation protocols for all supes, including the helio-sensitive races, they were only open during the graveyard shift. Chase was probably their last appointment of the day.

“Oh good. You’re on time.” She typed something into her computer, then pulled an orange badge out of a drawer. “Please sign in and clip this to your shirt.” She gestured to her purse. “You don’t mind, do you? I need to leave a bit early.”

“No. Please go ahead. I’ll just wait here.” He brandished the coffee he’d picked up at Peet’s on his way from the train. “I’ve got the essentials.”

She beamed at him. “I do like a supe who’s prepared.” She bustled over to the door, then paused, gazing at him with what he thought was sympathy. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Chase fervently hoped he wouldn’t need it.

But after a solid hour of interrogation from a were, a glaistig, a bored-looking angel, and a sphinx, he was seriously wondering if he should call his pack’s lawyer.

“I’ve explained that the first-year slipped down to the fight pens while I was in the restroom. I wasn’t away from the group for more than ten minutes. I had warned them all that the lower levels were off-limits. But Jordan is still working on his impulse control.”

The sphinx stared at him, inscrutable. Of course, sphinxes were always inscrutable. Chase wasn’t sure their faces were capable of any other expression. “If you suspected he might slip his leash, why didn’t you insist he accompany you to the restroom?”

“That’s a little, um, creepy, isn’t it?”

“For that matter,” put in the angel, “why did you take a pack of underage weres to the Bullpen in the first place?”

“One of them had just turned twenty-one. It’s a tradition—”

“Sacred tradition,” the were muttered, earning an irritated glance from the angel.

“—that the boys were anxious to experience. I believed that the Bullpen’s underage drinking spells were a sufficient deterrent.”

“Yet they were not,” the sphinx drawled. Inscrutably.

“Apparently they didn’t fully understand that the consumption of alcohol was also covered by the spell, not simply the attempt to purchase it.”

The were fixed him with a jaundiced eye. This guy needs to get out in the sun more. “So you admit that you didn’t instruct your charges fully?”

“I—” Chase swallowed a tart rejoinder. Getting belligerent wouldn’t help his case. “I believed I had.”

“Circumstances appear to contradict that, Mr. Denney,” the glaistig said. She glanced at the other board members. “However, I’ve received very complimentary reports on your performance with the young weres at your house from Dr. MacLeod, which we have taken into consideration in your case.”

“You have?”

“Yes.” She rapped the table with a gavel carved in a seashell motif. “Since nothing in your testimony this morning is sufficient for us to reconsider our initial evaluation, Chase Denney, you are hereby removed as RA for Howling Residence Seven—”

“Removed?” Chase’s belly cramped. “But—”

“—for three-months.” Her voice turned even chillier after his interruption. “Followed by six sessions of peer counseling and two weeks of retraining.”

“Three months? But they can’t be on their own for three months. Jordan can barely control his spontaneous shifts. And Hector—”

“We’ll assign a substitute RA, of course,” the sphinx said, their wing feathers rattling in what might actually be agitation. “We know our duty. Unlike some.”

Chase fought the urge to shout, to spout a dozen other reasons why he needed to be back at his house. Hector’s pizza limitations. Jordan’s toy moratorium. Tanner— Tanner. Gods, by the time Chase was allowed to live at the Doghouse again, Tanner might not even be in residence anymore. All the more reason to talk with him today.

“All right. I’ll arrange to move out today.”

“No.”

“No? Tomorrow?” Would they be that lenient? Could he push it? “End-of-week?”

The sphinx stared at him, unblinking. “Effective immediately. We cannot allow your detrimental influence on impressionable minds until you’ve been properly cleared. You are lucky, Mr. Denney, that we’re allowing you this second chance. I suggest you do not squander it by questioning our authority.”

The glaistig nodded to a trow who stood inside the door. “Grrgathr will escort you back to your pack compound.”

“But my clothes. My laptop.” My friends.

“Will be transported to your compound by dusk this evening. That is all, Mr. Denney. Please shut the door firmly on your way out.”