I have a theory that the longer the hiring process is for a job, the quicker the firing goes. By ten past eight, just five minutes after I walked in the front door of the building, I was back on the sidewalk. Unmoored. Reba trailed after me, carrying a cardboard box that had once held copier paper but was now half-full of my personal items off my desk and out of my locker. My still-warm cup of coffee was wedged precariously in one corner. “I called you an Uber,” she fretted, her eyes wet. “Doc…”
I shook my head, words stuck somewhere in my chest. Daniel Mansfield, one of the heads of the state medical board, had been waiting in my office when I clocked in. He had been with a vaguely familiar man, someone who pinged my senses hard, but I couldn’t place. He wasn’t a were, but he wasn’t quite right, something not really human about him. I didn’t get very long to puzzle it out, though. The fug of chemical berry cherry sugar body wash clung to him, making me gag as he reached to shake my hand as Dr. Mansfield introduced him. Nelson Garrow II (people with his kind of money never used ‘junior’—only roman numerals for them, baby), owner and medical director of the Garrow Clinic.
Because of course.
When Mansfield introduced him to me, I forced a smile. “Of Garrow Clinic. Of course,” I said. “I’ve spoken with several of your… workers,” I said. “In fact, this weekend, I got to experience their particular brand of attention. Your clinic is a very unique place, Dr. Garrow. In fact, I’d love to learn more about it and just how you work.”
Garrow bared his teeth in a wide, gummy grin. “I’m sure you would, Landry,” he put emphasis on using my name, not my title. “But unfortunately, we at the clinic have a bone to pick with you…”
They made short work of my employment, apparently because I was somehow involved in a vandalism spree at the clinic after hours over the weekend. Resign my position at the coroner’s office, and I’d receive a decent letter of reference with only the most oblique nod to the ‘trouble’ I’d caused. Refuse, and not only would I get dragged through all sorts of legal proceedings, but I’d also likely lose my license to practice.
The anxiety I’d kept on a fragile, slack leash since my rescue slipped free, and I’d folded in on myself, hyperventilating. Garrow had patted me on the back, his heavy hand sending sharp spikes of panic through me with each touch. Between his overpowering smell and my senses screaming at me to run, my body felt stretched and twisted, unsure where to go to what to do.
Mansfield moved back around the desk, already cleared of my things, and joined Garrow in patting my back.
They were both of an age—maybe that was something they taught when they went to med school. How to fake a bedside manner via hearty slaps on the back. “Look.” Garrow sighed, his meaty palm resting against my spine, pressing me down toward my knees. “If we didn’t have security footage of you at the clinic, tearing shit up, we could just let this go. Rather, we could be more lenient in how we addressed the matter. But, as it is,” he paused and let his hand trail down my spine, then back up to rest at the base of my skull. He gave a short, sharp squeeze that Mansfield did not seem to notice, hurrying back around to the other side of the desk now that his quota of physical interaction with humans had been met for the week.
“I understand that you had been taken to the clinic at the request of your aunt, a longtime employee of Bluebonnet Research, one of the clinic’s branches,” Mansfield said carefully. “You’d been attacked?”
I managed a nod, my breath thin and hot, burning my throat and chest. Garrow’s stench was choking me, his hand hot and hard against my back, keeping my spine bent and face down.
“Look.” Mansfield sighed, “as far as the higher-ups are concerned, you’re out of there. You were still on probation anyway, and there is a strict one strike policy. But…” He paused and there was some sort of unspoken back and forth between him and Garrow. Garrow’s fingers curved, thin crescents of fingernails scoring my back even through my work shirt and undershirt. What the actual fuck… The pain was enough to cut through some of the anxiety fog, but only some. “I’d like to speak further with Dr. Garrow and the clinic board on your behalf, because frankly, Dr. Babin, you’re one of the best candidates for this position we’ve seen in years. The violent trauma of a home invasion can…” He trailed off. “Well, play with the brain, really. I was mugged when I was an undergrad, and it took me years to stop using a nightlight!”
Yes, because these two experiences are comparable. I bit down hard enough to make my teeth squeak together. For once, the shrill little voice in the back of my head was being vaguely reasonable. Keep quiet. Don’t snarl, don’t snark, just keep your fool mouth shut!
Garrow’s nails eased back, and his hand dropped away from me. “Don’t give him false hope, Daniel.” Garrow sighed. “But it’s definitely something we can discuss. Just don’t,” he added, hand back on my neck, nails scraping, “think this means you’ll get your job back, Dr. Babin. While we at Garrow are sympathetic to your trauma, the fact remains you destroyed thousands of dollars in property, scared the hell out of several of our employees, and we have it all recorded.”
What about the weres? How’d you manage to avoid filming them, too? I didn’t nod, no matter how badly my head wanted to move. Garrow’s hand eased away again, this time in a slow slide that dropped away as he reached my belt.
Oh, ew. Bad touch time.
Dr. Mansfield sighed again. His (my) chair creaked as he leaned back. I finally braved a peek and found he had his eyes closed, hands folded across his middle. “Dr. Babin… Landry… My hands are tied, son. Until further notice, you’re no longer employed here. Take your things and go.”
Garrow rose as I lurched to my feet. He reached as if he wanted to take the box but stopped short, converting the movement into an awkward pat on the sides of the box and a tight smile. “We’ll be in touch.”
Reba must have intercepted me because I remember nothing from the wash of loud buzzing noise in my ears once I realized I was truly being let go and standing on the pavement as Reba and I waited for the Uber she’d called for me. “You go on home,” she urged, pressing the box into my arms, waiting until she was sure I had a grip on it before letting go. “This whole mess is just a clusterfuck, Doc. I don’t know what the hell they’re thinking, but that can’t be you trashing the clinic! Hell’s sake, you’re not that kind of person!”
A small blue Prius pulled up to the curb, and I smiled wanly at her. “Thanks, Reba. Text me, huh? Let me know how things go?”
She sniffed hard, her fire engine red ringlets trembling as she jerked her head in a sharp nod. “Don’t go hide on me, hear? Call me tonight. Let me know…”
I nodded. There’d be nothing I could tell her, and we both knew I wouldn’t call her. I couldn’t. It was too raw, my whole life going to hell. Too raw and too much of a knot.
The ride to my house took less than ten minutes, even during the two-car pile-up that constituted rush hour in ‘downtown.’ I hauled my box inside, locking the door behind me. Numb, I did a walkthrough of the house, checking for anything out of place. Traces of Waltrip’s smell lingered in the air, tangling up with the sweet-berry-plastic stink that had embedded itself in my senses from the office.
I should call Waltrip, I thought, before remembering his business card had been one of the things missing from my effects at the clinic. I realized I hadn’t canceled my cards that had been in my wallet and, in a sort of daze, padded over to my computer and started going through websites for my credit card, bank, and even my bookstore rewards card, methodically reporting each one stolen. There’d been no activity on any of the cards, which was a small mercy, I supposed, but I knew that they hadn’t been taken with the intent to use them but rather to just get information on me and make it more difficult for me to live my life. It took over an hour and a half, but I finally got a confirmation number from the bank and hung up, slumping in my seat, letting my head loll back, and closing my eyes.
Got rescued from a wackadoodle werewolf prison clinic, got fired, took care of some financial stuff… Yep, busy day. I deserve a bit of a nervous breakdown now. It wasn’t quite time for Waltrip to pick me up from work, and the thought that he would lose his shit if he showed up and I wasn’t there crossed my mind, but in a perverse streak I’m not too proud to admit to having, I decided not to try looking up his number or start a phone tree by calling Ethan and asking him to call Tyler to call Waltrip and get Waltrip to call me.
That would be some junior high-level shit, logistics-wise.
“Fuck.” I sighed to the empty house. I’d just have to go back down to the office and hang around outside, hopefully intercepting Waltrip before anyone noticed I was back and lurking.
Three hard, loud bangs on the door jerked me to my feet, copper-bitter fear flooding my mouth as my senses kicked into overdrive.
This was my typical workday. I wasn’t usually home. No one should be knocking, I thought, quickly followed by Idiot, if you’re usually at work right now, how do you know no one knocks during the day?
The knocks came again and, with them, a tinge of something familiar. Nothing so overt as an odor or a specific sound, but a bone-deep knowledge about who was on the other side of the door.
Fuckity fuck. How had he found out I was home?
I opened the front door to see Ethan fucking Stone staring down at me, pale eyes crackling with fire, face flushed, body visibly trembling. I stepped back, already tensing to flee even though I knew that, if he wanted, Ethan could easily catch me even in his human form, and that, as much as my senses were telling me, predator, run! Ethan was not going to harm me. “Hey,” I whispered the only word I could muster under his intense glare.
“Landry,” he growled, moving fluid fast, kicking my door shut behind him as he strode to me, scooping me off the floor and pressing a hard, teeth-clacking kiss to my mouth. My legs went around his waist automatically, my hands finding anchor on his shoulders, grasping him so tightly my joints ached. He kissed me again, his breath a rough groan in his throat as he walked us the short distance to my sofa. We tumbled, landing half on the sofa with his legs on the floor and mine bent at an awkward angle between us. I broke the kiss enough to breathe, squeaking in a very virile and extremely unmouselike fashion when he bit the tendon between my neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise and sending thrilling waves of heat and need and belong to me through every cell of my body. I arched up, letting him tug my shirt free from my trousers, gulping in air as he frantically kissed my throat, my chin, everywhere he could reach without shifting positions.
“Ethan,” I managed, his name thin and reedy. “Ethan, wait a sec.”
He jerked back to sit on his heels, hands resting on his thighs. He was red-faced, breathing hard, looking at me like I was the answer to some big question, but still he held back.
It would have helped if I had more blood in my brain, but as it was, we just stared at each other for a long minute before words finally came out the way I wanted them to. “How did you know I was here?”
Ethan closed his eyes, visibly shuddering before answering. “I went by your work. Well, former work, huh? I heard… Tyler told me that last night…” He trailed off and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled, tired face. “Shit, Landry. I panicked.”
“What did Tyler tell you? I thought you knew what was going on and… and I thought maybe I’d see you last night, honestly.” My voice was small. Ethan’s eyes snapped to my face, and I felt flayed, too exposed. Sinking back into the corner of the sofa, I wished it could just swallow me whole because Ethan’s intense gaze was too much. I wasn’t afraid of him, though that unhelpful little part of my brain told me I should be. “What did Tyler say?” I asked again. “Please.”
“Last night went to shit fast.” Ethan sighed, scooting forward so he was resting near my legs, leaning back over me again. “They were going to slip you and your aunt out, but something happened. Someone knew, and everything went to hell in a hand basket before they really got started. They had two moles inside, but they got made.”
“One of them was with Waltrip the other day,” I murmured. “David, I think?”
Ethan shrugged. “I just know Tyler went way off book with what he did. The fallback plan was to wait. I would come get him—get you—if the original plan fell through.” He blew out a harsh breath. “One of the inside guys called me, like we’d arranged if things went to shit. But by the time I got out of Belmarais, he’d messaged me to stay away, that things were falling apart and there was no way to get y’all out.”
Ethan’s hair was soft between my fingers. I stroked and tugged, closing my own eyes then. “So, you came looking today?”
“Waiting was brutal. I never want to go through that again.” He huffed, adding, “The idea of you going through it at all… it makes me want to tear things apart. Hurt them.” He crawled onto the sofa and pulled me close, leaning back so I was against his chest. “What happened at work?”
I told him slowly, his fingers moving up and down my back nothing like Garrow’s press and claw from earlier. Ethan snarled, demanded to see my back, letting out a string of curse words that blistered my ears to hear. “So, this asshole didn’t show you the alleged video?”
“Um, no? But Dr. Mansfield saw it and probably members of the board…” I shifted, heat flooding my face and throat. There was that lovely Shame Tomato Red again.
“You were fired first thing on a Monday? If the state board for you folks works anything like the state level oversight for law enforcement, there’s no way in hell they’d have convened before hours on a Monday and been ready in time to fire you by your shift start time.”
“As far as they know, one of their employees—hi, me—went bananas and destroyed a private clinic!” I tried to lean back and glare, but he held me closer. I didn’t have much fight in me anyway, and he was so warm, and I was feeling safer than I had in days…
“Even if Garrow or someone from his clinic went straight to the state board with evidence you did this, which is bullshit, how the hell would he have gotten in touch with them so early? Aren’t these assholes all in Austin, anyway? That’s hours away.” He squeezed me tight for just a few seconds, less affectionate and more protective than anything. “This smells wrong, Landry. All kinds of shit.” His hands started moving up and down my back again, his scowl new levels of intimidating. “You sure this Garrow isn’t a were? That thing he did to you—it sounds like forcing obedience.” At my expression, Ethan sighed. “You ever seen an older dog pin a pup that’s acting up? Grabs ‘em by the neck and holds them down?” I nodded. “Some weres will do that kind of thing when they are trying to force a wayward were to come to heel, so to speak. It’s considered extremely rude, and you don’t see it much outside of super isolated clans, the ones who swear the old ways are best and all that crap.” He reached down to tip my chin up, making me look him in the eye then. “Now, are you sure Garrow isn’t a were?”
“What? No. I mean, he didn’t smell like… Shit.”
“Didn’t smell like shit. Good to know. But was he a were, Lan?”
“He stank to high heaven like cheap berry body wash or something. Just damn near overpowering.”
Ethan squeezed me again. “Like he was covering his scent.” It wasn’t a question.
“Maybe,” I allowed, burrowing closer. The trope of big strong alpha male protecting his mate made me cringe in the worst possible ways nine times out of ten, but at that moment, I was more than willing to let Ethan just hide me and protect me from everything in the world.
I felt ashamed. Weak.
“Hey.” His hands stopped moving. Shifting around, he sat up and pulled me onto his lap, so I was facing him, astride his muscular thighs. Hello emotional and hormonal whiplash in three… two…
“I know that face,” he murmured, gripping my hips tightly. He slid his hands back just enough to squeeze my ass before leaning forward to press a kiss to the hollow of my throat. “None of this is your fault. It’s not because of whatever reason you’re imagining.”
“I wasn’t thinking it was my fault till now,” I grumbled, letting my head fall back, exposing the line of my throat to his warm, wet kisses. “I was thinking I’m weak. Ow! Fuck, Ethan! That hurt!” I jerked back, but he held me tight. Rubbing at the sore spot at the base of my throat, I bared my teeth at him in a feral snarl. “What the hell?”
“You’re not weak. And I’m not gonna sit here and give you an ego boost pep talk,” he growled. He pulled me close again, and I went willingly, bending my head to kiss him hard, lips pressed to teeth, little thrills of pain dragging me out of the slide toward gloom and doom thoughts. At least for the moment.
“I never stopped wanting you,” he breathed against my mouth. “Never. I thought about you every goddamned day. Christ, Landry, the stupid daydreams I had where you would just show up at the office. Or I’d see you coming up the walk.” He squeezed my ass again, arching his hips up against me. His hips and his very obvious hard on. Yes, please… “Even when I knew you weren’t coming back, Lan… Fuck.”
He groaned and let his head loll back, pressing up again. “Swear I didn’t come over to try to fuck,” he whispered. “I just… I needed to make sure you were alive, that you weren’t dead on the side of the road somewhere. I needed to see you, and when you opened the door…”
I ground down against him, drawing a gasp, then a hiss, as our cocks pressed together. “I know,” I murmured. “I know you’re not here to get laid. But we have like seventeen years to catch up on.”
That startled a laugh out of him. “Fucking hell, Lan. This is the worst time for us to try hooking up.”
I paused, mid-grind. He was panting, gripping me so tightly there’d be bruises. I hoped there would be, anyway. “Hooking up?” The phrase left a cold, empty spot inside me, like swallowing a bit of ice. “Is that what you want us to do now?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, it’s not a no from me,” I rushed because it really wasn’t. Was it what I wanted? Not at all. But I’d take it. The years without Ethan had been lonely, even when I was with others. He’d made a space for himself in my heart, or maybe I’d made it for him, and without him in my life, it dragged, felt heavy.
I was doing lying to myself about it.
Ethan couldn’t stop staring at my mouth, wanting to kiss again, but he spoke anyway. “No, it’s not what I want,” he said. “But trying to start something up again, start us again, in the middle of this shitstorm…”
I didn’t want to hear anymore. It sounded too much like it was going to hurt if he finished that thought aloud. Moving quickly, I leaned in and kissed him again. After the briefest pause, he kissed me back. Fingers fumbling, we scrambled to unfasten our jeans, hands getting in one another’s way as he tried to race for the prize. Laughing, we ended up on the floor, wedged between the sofa and coffee table, jeans pushed halfway down our legs, Ethan missing a shoe, my shirt rucked up to my armpits. I nearly howled when he bent his head to my tight nipples, sucking hard enough to hurt before laving the sting away with the flat of his tongue. “Fuck! More, like that!”
He laughed against me, moving to the other side as he dragged his fingertips down my ribs, over the soft skin of my stomach. I groaned, pressing against him again, the sound turning into a shout, ecstatic and sharp, when he slipped against me. His hand, strong and warm and only a little rough, slicked the copious precum leaking from both our cocks across the heads, around the shafts. My legs curled around his back, nonsense pleading tumbling from my lips as he started to stroke us together. It was messy and fast and desperate, his grunts of pleasure and gasping short groans of my name, of promises that weren’t quite words, underscoring my own breathy, high pleas and sighs. I wanted to keep my eyes open, wanted to watch his face, see him fall apart, but he squeezed us together, his thumb pressing against my weeping slid, and I shattered. My orgasm raced through me, crashing down hard enough to steal my breath away.
Everything was white and blurred for a moment, a year. I felt my cries more than heard them vibrating in my throat as I arched up, the hot spill of my release between us, slicking us both. Ethan’s own rough shout was muffled by my neck, his hand still moving, stroking us together even though we were both sensitive to the point of pain by then. Neither of us wanted it to end, but he slowed his hand, then stopped, moving his sticky wet fingers to my hip as he panted against my chest. I let my legs fall back to the floor, the ache in my hips reminding me I wasn’t seventeen anymore. Without a word, Ethan rose and padded to the kitchen, coming back with damp paper towels. He cleaned us both and dabbed at an unfortunate spot on the carpet before smiling and tugging the coffee table over a few inches to cover it. “There,” he said. “Good as new.”
I laughed, feeling just plain happy for the first time in days. “Fuck,” I groaned. “I don’t want to get up.”
Ethan started to say something, a smile on his lips, but paused, then frowned. “We’re gonna have to. You got company.”
“Fucking were senses,” I muttered even as a heavy knock fell on my door and just kept falling. I hop-struggled into my jeans, tugged my shirt down, and checked to make sure Ethan was decent before heading for my front door, Ethan trailing behind me.
Waltrip was waiting on the other side. As soon as I opened the door, he shoved a flash drive and my phone against my chest and pushed past me. “If y’all are doing fucking, we’ve got work to do.”
I fumbled the phone, almost dropping it. “Where the hell did you get this?”
“My mole has sticky paws,” he said, wiggling his brows.
Ethan rolled his eyes so hard I was pretty sure he’d need an ice pack later. “For fuck’s sake. Come on, let’s take a look.”