Contents

WOLF MOON

by Isabel Dare

About this book:

Working as a motorcycle mechanic, Jake has met his share of rich guys. Arrogant jerks, all of

them.

There’s nothing he likes better than to yell at them until they go away, even if that loses him a

lot of business.

But then he meets Conrad. Soft-spoken, elegant, sweet-natured Conrad, who asks Jake to

remodel his vintage chopper. And asks him out to dinner, too.

Guys like Conrad don’t fall for guys like Jake. Everyone knows that.
Everyone except Conrad, apparently.
But then, just when things are going suspiciously well, Jake finds out that Conrad is a

werewolf…

The fourth book in the Mountain Wolves series, Wolf Moon is 30.000 words long.

This book contains explicit gay material and is for mature readers only.

It was one of those mornings where absolutely nothing went right.
The ceiling fan was broken, and the early spring sunshine was rapidly turning the bike shop into

an oven. Jake didn’t have time to get out the ladder and repair the fan, even though it would only take
him ten minutes. He had to finish a custom built bike for a demanding customer—and the mirror he
was installing had just broken in two.

What was it, seven years of bad luck?
Seven minutes would be more than he could afford, at the rate business was going lately.
Jake wiped sweat off his forehead with a rag, thrust it into his back pocket, swore loudly, threw

the broken mirror into a corner, and started over.

“Stupid no-good junk,” he told the bike. “You deserve better than that.” He had to find a better

supplier for mirrors. It was just another item on an endless to-do list.

The motorbike was a cherry-red chopper, low and fierce looking, and it wasn’t all flash: she had

the best bones money could buy. Jake made sure of that. He always did. His work was his passion,
and if something wasn’t perfect, then as far as he was concerned, it was broken.

The new mirror slotted easily into place, and Jake sighed and stood back, hands on his hips.
He surveyed the bike for a long time, looking for flaws, making sure his handiwork was all it

could be.

It was one of those things that he couldn’t explain. He had to look hard enough to connect with

the bike. Then if something was wrong, the bike would tell him.

Heavy footsteps on the concrete floor interrupted him.
Someone was coming in.
The door to the shop was always open, propped wide with a rusty motor block, in the hopes of

catching at least some cool air. But most of his regulars knew better than to just walk in. They’d shout
first, or honk a horn, or something like that.

They knew better than to disturb Jake in a moment like this.
Jake turned. He frowned fiercely when he saw it wasn’t Garcia, the customer he was expecting.
“Yeah?”
The newcomer stood and stared at the chopper, then at Jake, without bothering to answer. As if

he had all the time in the world and didn’t care that he was wasting other people’s.

Jake felt a muscle in his jaw begin to jump as he surveyed the customer in turn.
Rich guy. Probably over from Silver Springs, some visiting tourist. Someone who didn’t have to

work for his money.

The customer was tall and lean, maybe half a head taller than Jake, and he had long blond hair

tied back in a ponytail. That was a typical biker look, but the rest of him didn’t fit the image. His
leathers were custom made and spotless, there wasn’t even a trace of stubble on his jaw, he had no
tattoos, and those long slender hands had never developed a callus. And why wasn’t he wearing
gloves, did he think road burn was a joke?

To make matters worse, the man was ridiculously beautiful, with slanting cheekbones, a strong

chin and an elegant tilt to his hip that a male model would have envied. His eyes were a deep dark
green, and his mouth was a fine curve that looked as if he smiled often and easily, though his
expression was serious now.

Jake swallowed hard. He tried to ignore how gracefully the man stood there, looking like a

fallen angel in the middle of the dust and chaos of Jake’s shop.

What the fuck was this guy even doing here? Was he lost?

“I’m busy,” Jake said in a grating voice. He tossed a spanner from hand to hand, making his

point with each solid thwack. “Whaddaya want?”

The customer smiled, and oh fuck that was a gorgeous smile. It was like the sun rising.
Perversely, it only irritated Jake the more.
Who did this guy think he was, coming in here to flaunt his beauty all over the place? What was

he doing, slumming? Rich guys didn’t come to Jake’s shop, they went to Elroy’s in Silver Springs,
where they got ripped off with a smile and a greasy handshake.

“Well, I was told you might be able to help with a little problem,” the customer said at last. His

voice was cultured and soft, and he was still smiling in a way that was utterly distracting. “My
motorbike is—”

“Busy,” Jake cut in. Whatever the little problem was, he would bet a hundred bucks that it

wasn’t anything interesting. Probably just another soulless shop-bought bike with crappy components
causing problems. If Jake had seen one, he’d seen a thousand. And he didn’t want—he didn’t need
this ridiculously gorgeous guy disrupting his thoughts.

The guy blinked, thrown off his stride. “What?”
“I’m busy,” Jake repeated. “You deaf?”
Of course, if the guy actually was deaf, Jake would have some apologizing to do. Maybe in sign

language.

But the blond angel had clearly heard him. His smile grew a little fixed.
“Do I understand you correctly? You don’t want to work on my bike?” he asked, almost

plaintively.

Jesus.
Rich people.
They made Jake want to throw stuff.
It was like the guy had never even considered the possibility that Jake might have other things to

do, more urgent things. Things like finish this damn custom job before Garcia came calling.

“Why don’t you go fuck off back to Aspen Drive or wherever the hell you came from,” Jake

said. “Hell, go to Elroy’s bike shop if you need to get your oil changed. Don’t bother me.”

He turned away, dismissing the man from his mind. He had work to do.
The chopper looked perfect, and Garcia would be happy. Good thing, too, because if Garcia

wasn’t happy…well. No point in dwelling on that outcome.

Jake tilted his head to one side, looking hard at the chopper’s chrome detailing. There was

something that looked a little off there, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Tell me what’s bothering
you, baby.

In the distance, he was vaguely aware of the blond angel slowly blowing out a breath and then

walking out.

Good riddance.
Though Jake was a little surprised that there was no tantrum, no heated words, no arrogant ‘Do

you know who I am?’ coming from that beautiful mouth.

Then something unfinished about the chopper drew his attention, and he forgot all about the

angel. Something, there—it caught the light—ah.

There was one round opening in the perforated exhaust that wasn’t perfectly smooth. It had a

rough edge. It would distort the sound of the engine’s roar, just a tiny little bit, but that was enough for
Jake. He had to fix it before Garcia came in.

Jake went to grab his tools to dismantle the exhaust on Garcia’s bike.

Then he froze in his tracks.
What the hell?
Outside, a bike engine coughed to life. It sounded intimately, unbelievably familiar. It sounded

like a bike from Jake’s dreams.

He threw down his tools with a clang and stormed outside.

***

The bike’s engine faltered, then sputtered into silence.
Jake stood in the doorway, his mouth open.
“That’s a 1951 Panhead,” he said accusingly, without even looking over to see the blond’s

reaction.

His eyes were on the bike.
God, she was a beauty. Ancient, built and re-built, ridden to hell and back—but her pure lines

shone through. She needed work, but she hadn’t been ruined. Someone had been taking good care of
her.

He hadn’t seen a bike like this in a long time.
When Jake was still a kid, his older sister Francine used to have a Panhead chopper. She was

the wild one of the family, a girl with a foul mouth and a mohawk, and she loved the bike, but she
didn’t like working on it. She just wanted to ride.

So it was a piece of rusty junk, until Jake got his hands on it. He’d spent more hours on that bike

than on school work. Learned more from her, too.

“Yes, I know,” said the blond angel in his soft voice, and it could be Jake’s imagination, but it

sounded as if the blond was amused.

Amused at Jake’s expense? Terrific.
Still, he couldn’t leave this bike to the mercies of Elroy’s bike shop. Not now that he’d seen it. It

wasn’t like he didn’t have other customers that were assholes.

He could work with the angel, for the sake of his bike.
“How the hell did you end up owning a bike like this?” Jake said, flinging out the words like an

accusation. “Never mind, I’m sure you bought it off some biker.” He could just see it. Some poor guy
down on his luck, selling his most treasured possession to pay rent. “And now you want me to fix that
little engine problem, right?”

He slammed back into the shop and brought out a toolbox, then dropped to his knees next to the

bike, his hands running over her cooling engine, ready to start work on her.

Then he looked up at the blond guy, remembering just in time what his bookkeeper always told

him: ‘Try to remember you’re running a business, Jake, not a charity.’

“It’s going to cost you,” he said. “Need an estimate?”
“No, that’s all right,” said the blond guy, with that insufferably gorgeous smile. “I’m glad you

changed your mind.”

Jake spat on the concrete, just for the satisfaction of seeing the blond guy wince. “You should

have told me you owned a real bike.”

“I see,” said the blond guy. “Well, I’m glad it meets with your approval. I always try to exceed

people’s expectations.”

Jake glared. He couldn’t make out what the guy was smiling at, but he was pretty sure he was

still being made fun of.

“Give me your number,” he barked, rolling up his sleeves. His fingers itched to get to work.
The blond looked startled and a little flushed. “I…you want my number?”
Good grief, what was his problem?
“So I can call when the bike’s ready,” Jake explained, wiping sweat off his forehead with one

bare arm.

He’d call if he remembered to do it, anyway.
Smooth customer service wasn’t really what Jake’s shop was known for.
Good work, yes. Service with a smile, not so much.
“Oh.” The blond looked disappointed, for some reason. “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t have it with

me,” he said in that soft, cultured voice. “I just came into town. I’m staying with my brother, but I
don’t know the number by heart.”

“You don’t have a cell phone?” Jake asked.
The blond shook his head.
Jake stared at him, baffled. Who didn’t have a cell phone, in this day and age? What was he, a

recluse? A technophobe?

“Well...” Jake ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Come by in a few days then, I guess.”
It would have been easier by phone, when he didn’t have to see the man’s face. That face was

going to haunt his dreams. And that tall, slender shape, the elegant cant of his shoulders…

“Very well,” said the angel. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Conradin.”
Jake blinked, looking up at him. It felt weird, shaking hands when he was down on his knees

with the guy towering over him. There was something uncomfortable about it. Too intimate,
somehow. And the guy’s name was weird, too.

“It’s German,” the blond said, almost apologetically, as if he could read what Jake was thinking.
Jake shook his hand, reaching up. The long fingers felt very slim and cool against Jake’s

calluses.

“Jake,” he muttered. Like you care.
“My friends call me Conrad,” said the angel.
Jake didn’t see how that was relevant information. Wasn’t like they were ever going to be

friends. But he nodded to be polite, then turned his attention back to the bike.

Still, after a few seconds, almost despite himself, he looked up to watch the blond angel walking

away.

He was gorgeous from behind, too.

***

It took a little while, now that he was on foot, but eventually Conrad found himself on Mount

Street, in front of the diner where he was meeting Erick.

There were a couple motorbikes parked in front, and as Conrad walked closer, he saw that one

of them was Erick’s. Good. He was on time, then.

When he entered the diner, a few heads turned, but Conrad ignored them.
This was a small town; any stranger would draw the eye. He’d learned when he was young that

it was best to avoid attention.

Erick’s familiar scent was here, overlaid by all the diner smells, and Conrad walked through the

line of booths, looking for him.

Finally he found Erick in the last booth by the wall.
It was a typical strategic position. Erick could see everyone in the diner from here, and nobody

could sneak up behind him. More of a defensive move than Erick usually made. Unlike Conrad, he
liked to flaunt himself.

Erick half-sat, half-lay against the leather booth, lounging there with a cup of coffee and

surveying the other occupants of the diner as if they were putting on a show for Erick’s amusement.
That, at least, was familiar.

“Hi,” Conrad said, smiling helplessly as he came closer.
Erick was aware of his presence from the moment Conrad stepped inside the diner, of course.

Yet he looked like he always did, cool and remote. Imperturbable. Unchangeable.

All the same, Conrad couldn’t help the rush of affection he felt.
His big brother wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but Erick had always protected

Conrad, always looked out for him. Whatever walls Erick had built up for himself, Conrad knew he
still had a place behind them.

“Hey.” Erick’s icy blue eyes focused on him, and he got up to embrace Conrad. His arms were

strong and warm. Then he pulled back, looking him over with narrowed eyes. It felt like an
inspection, almost. “Where’s your bike?”

Conrad sighed. “It’s in the shop. I had some trouble on the way over.”
“Hm.”Erick sat down and motioned for him to do the same; Conrad slid into the booth on the

opposite side.

“You left it at Elroy’s Choppers in Silver Springs?” Erick asked. “Those guys will fleece you.

Especially if they think you’re a tourist. Want me to have a word with them?”

Conrad sighed a little. He hadn’t seen his brother in nearly a year, but it felt like they were

falling right back into the same old pattern. And that pattern was beginning to feel more constricted
than it used to.

Sometimes he didn’t particularly want Erick looking out for him. Some day, it would be nice if

Erick would admit that Conrad could, in fact, look after himself. But he doubted it would ever
happen.

“No, it’s at Jake’s,” Conrad said softly. He bit back a smile, refusing to let his imagination

linger on the tempting image of the surly mechanic with the incredibly broad shoulders and
impressively tattooed forearms, who smelled so deliciously of hot oil and pure male musk.

Erick would never understand. Conrad wasn’t sure he did, either. But he knew he wanted to see

Jake again, if only for the pleasure of having Jake snarl at him. He wanted to see a lot more of him.

Erick blinked. “Really? Does he know you’re one of the Reds? Because I’ve heard he doesn’t

want to deal with us.”

Conrad always prided himself on the evenness of his temper, but he was beginning to get

annoyed now. “I’m not one of the Reds, okay? I’m just visiting, and I don’t want to get into one of
your turf wars.”

Erick smiled coolly. “You know that’s not how it works. The moment you come into town,

you’re either an intruder or you’re one of us. Someone else found that out recently, too. And since
you’re not an intruder, all that’s left is to figure out your rank in the pack.”

Conrad blinked. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed.

It wasn’t like Erick to speak so openly of their shared secret. Just what had happened to

Conrad’s big brother in the time he’d been away?

A waitress came over and slapped down a menu as if to underscore Conrad’s point. She was an

older woman with a sour expression, and a perm so tight that it looked painful. “You want coffee?”

Conrad shuddered. She smelled like cigarettes. “Er. Green tea?”
The waitress gave him a filthy look and stomped off without answering him.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” Erick said, amused. “Green tea, in a diner? Really?”
“Well, it wasn’t my idea to meet here,” Conrad protested. “How can you even stand the smells

in this place?”

“Try the waffles,” Erick said with an airy, elegant motion of his hand.
Conrad sighed. Erick really was as frustrating as ever.
“You like living here, in the boonies?” Conrad asked, trying to understand the change in his big

brother. For all that he looked the same as ever, something had to have changed for Erick to keep
living here with the pack.

They were both city kids, and Conrad could never see himself living anywhere that didn’t have a

thousand restaurants to choose from every night.

Then there were the museums, concerts…the dates that never seemed to work out…the noise, the

smells…okay, maybe he didn’t need to think about those. That was only an issue around the full
moon, anyway.

“I still travel, for work,” Erick said quietly. “Not as much as I used to, I admit.”
Conrad nodded. He’d noticed that already.
Their work was intertwined. They both worked for their father’s art gallery. Conrad was the

scout, the one who went to auctions and private showings and tiny little art galleries in the middle of
nowhere. When he found something interesting, he’d signal his father’s office. Then his father would
send Erick to flatter and cajole the owners with his silver tongue until they were prepared to give up
their treasures. But these days, it wasn’t always Erick who closed the deals.

“When I come back, this feels like home,” Erick said. “Even though—” he caught himself,

looking away.

Conrad pounced. “Even though what?”
Erick rubbed his neck, long blond hair falling conveniently forward to hide his expression. “I’m

—”

He stopped again, and Conrad could have yelped with frustration. It was so rare that Erick was

willing to open up, to talk without putting on the mask of indifference that he’d worn since he was
twelve years old.

Conrad looked up, and found the waitress standing over them, pencil at the ready, tapping her

foot impatiently.

“Waffles,” Conrad ordered blindly. “And some club soda.” Green tea was out of the question,

apparently.

“Waffles for me too, please, Daisy,” Erick said, instantly turning on the charm. His voice rose

and fell like the tide lapping at a sunny beach, bathing them all in golden warmth. “And I’d love some
coffee. Black as sin, hot as hell, you know me.”

The waitress—Daisy, what a name for such a belligerent woman—snorted inelegantly. “Think a

lot of yourself, don’t you,” she said as she scribbled away.

“I do. But I also think a lot of your coffee,” Erick shot back.
She turned away, but Conrad thought he could see a smirk on her face. Almost a smile. If you

didn’t look too close.

“I’m not sure if your voice works on her or not,” he said pensively.
Erick smiled at him, not a fake smile but a real one, a small and ironic twitch of his lips. “Oh, it

does. You should see her when I’m not trying to woo her. A fury could take lessons from her.”

“What were you going to tell me?” Conrad prompted after a little while.
Erick pretended to be engrossed in the menu. “Hm? Oh, I don’t recall. How long are you going

to stay, little brother? Would you like me to show you around town?”

Conrad sighed. “Sure.”

***

Conrad rode into Silver Springs on the back of Erick’s bike, arms tightly around his brother’s

slim waist.

This felt very familiar, too. Erick was the one who’d taught him to ride.
Conrad wouldn’t have minded looking around Sevenacres first, but Erick seemed absolutely

hell-bent on getting out of there.

It was baffling. It seemed a nice little town, if not as prosperous as Silver Springs.
Given Erick’s expensive tastes, he would have expected Erick to pull up at a beautiful old town

house on some quiet side street. But Erick just kept going, tearing full throttle through Silver Springs
and up into the hills.

Conrad leaned into Erick’s back as the climb steepened, wondering just where they were going.

The town was spread out below them, gleaming in the sunlight of late afternoon.

They went up a side road that wound into the hills, higher and higher, until Erick finally pulled

over and cut the engine.

Conrad slipped off the back of the bike. He tugged off his helmet, shook out his hair and looked

around.

They were standing in a private parking lot, screened from the road by huge rhododendron

bushes that were already in bud. They would be spectacular once they bloomed.

A sign said, “Private Parking, Ridge House Only.”
There were several other bikes already parked there, as well as a big black truck with mirrored

windows. The truck had a logo painted on it: REDS Home Safety, underneath a jagged, stylized image
of a wolf’s paw print.

Conrad blinked. “Home safety?” he asked.
Erick shrugged at him. “It’s something Brand set up, for those of the pack who didn’t have jobs.

Security for the rich. I’m not involved, except when people refuse to pay the bill.”

Conrad nodded. That made sense. Very few people could withstand Erick’s powers of

persuasion.

“And you—all of you—live here?” he asked, tentatively.
Conrad had never lived in a pack, not full-time. He had no idea how it worked. On full moons,

there was nothing more glorious than running and howling with your brothers. But then there were all
the other days and nights. What would it be like, to live in a crowd of werewolves all the time?

Erick rubbed at his neck, another uncharacteristic gesture. “Yes. Look, don’t tell them I met you

in the diner, all right? I’m not supposed to go into Sevenacres, except on Brand’s orders.”

Conrad stared at him. “Why? What’s going on?”
Erick had never cared about orders or rules. He always did just as he pleased. Of course, given

that he had just met Conrad in a place he wasn’t supposed to go near, that was probably still true. But
he seemed almost…embarrassed?

When Erick didn’t answer, Conrad stepped forward and took Erick by the shoulders. “Just tell

me.”

At least here, they could speak with some degree of privacy. Maybe he could shake some kind of

sense out of Erick.

Erick sighed, but for once, he met Conrad’s eyes. “I got into some trouble. I’ve been—demoted,

in the pack.”

“Demoted,” Conrad echoed. What did that even mean?
He sniffed at Erick’s scent, trying to understand. Erick smelled tense, worried even, and there

was something about his posture—

“You didn’t just lose rank,” Conrad realized, incredulous. This couldn’t be real. “You—you’re

at the bottom? Of the entire pack?”

Erick’s shoulders drew back a little, as if he was bracing himself for a blow. “Yes.”
“What—I can’t believe—that’s outrageous. Last time I saw you, you were Brand’s right hand

man. How did this happen?” Conrad’s hands were shaking, and he gripped Erick’s shoulders harder
to compensate.

This was all wrong. How could Erick stand there so composedly and tell him this?
His perfect big brother never suffered setbacks, or not for long. And he had never lost rank

before: Erick was always at the head of the pack. Not like Conrad, who was somewhere in the
middle, no matter which pack he ran with. He didn’t have the true killer instinct, not even as a wolf.

And now Erick was last of the pack. That was—unbelievable. Horrifying.
Some werewolves died if they were lowest in the pack. Some just slunk away, exiling

themselves from their own pack, to die alone in the wilderness. The thought stabbed at him, a sharp
pain under Conrad’s breastbone.

“It’s all right,” Erick said softly, evading the question. “Don’t worry, Conrad. I think I needed

this.”

That statement was enough to stop Conrad in his tracks. His hands slipped off Erick’s shoulders,

and he just stared.

Needed this? His beautiful, arrogant big brother never needed anything.
Or anyone.
Whatever had happened, it was mindblowing. How could Erick have changed so much in less

than a year?

***

Jake barely heard Garcia come in.
Part of the reason was that he had rock music playing, as usual. Right now Ronnie Van Zant was

explaining, loudly, that he was born in the gutter with a temper as hot as fire.

Jake could relate to that.
Another reason was the bike, the ‘51 Panhead chopper that belonged to the blond angel. She was

such a beauty, beneath the grime and the sub-standard parts, and he could already imagine what she
would look like when she was done…

“You fuckin’ deaf?” Garcia bellowed. “I said, you done with my bike?”
Garcia stood in Jake’s workshop with his head a little bent, to keep from clanging into the

baskets of tools and bike parts that hung from the ceiling. He was a huge guy, bald and broad-
shouldered, with a black beard a mouse could get lost in, and he had tattoos on his knuckles that said
KING on one hand and KONG on the other.

Jake winced. Garcia had a voice like gravel in a woodchipper. “Not yet.”
“Why the fuck not?” Garcia roared. “You said it would be ready three days ago.”
“Need to fix the exhaust first,” Jake said absently, still staring at the Panhead. She needed so

much work, and he hadn’t even looked at the engine problem yet. Maybe he should do that first, since
technically that was what he’d been hired to do…

“Jake,” Garcia said, coming closer. “What’s with you, man? You high?”
“No,” Jake said, glaring. “Just busy.”
Typical of Garcia, that that was the first thing he thought of. Garcia had never met a drug or a

type of liquor that he didn’t like, and he had the tolerance of an ox. But getting high or drunk wasn’t
Jake’s idea of a good time. He’d seen too many guys end up in the hospital that way, and some of
them hadn’t come out.

“You’re not busy working on my bike,” Garcia observed.
With a growl of annoyance, Jake turned to him. “She’ll be ready when she’s ready. Got that?”
Garcia eyed him shrewdly, his eyes raking over Jake’s oil-stained shirt as if reading it for clues.
That was the other annoying thing about Garcia. When he wasn’t in a partying mood, he was

sharp as hell. Too sharp for Jake’s comfort, sometimes.

“So whose bike is this?” Garcia pointed at the Panhead with his thumb. “Looks beat up.”
“Needs work,” Jake agreed, “but she’s worth it.”
Garcia smiled, showing sharp white teeth. “Sounds like you’re talking about a woman to me.”
Jake shrugged. He wasn’t going to tell Garcia that his interests didn’t lie in that direction. This

was a small town. Word would get out, and Jake preferred to keep his private life private. Not that he
had much of a private life, anyway.

“So whose bike is it?” Garcia insisted.
Damn, he was like a terrier with a rat between his teeth sometimes. Just wouldn’t let go.
Jake thought about ignoring him, but he figured that would only make Garcia more curious.

“Some tourist.”

“Huh.” Garcia thought that over, then, with another sharp little smile, “Good-looking tourist?”
“Yeah,” Jake admitted before he realized what he was saying.
Incredibly good-looking, in fact. Disturbingly good-looking.
Garcia let out a bark of laughter. “Figured as much. Okay, muchacho, you work on the hot lady’s

bike, but I want mine in working condition tomorrow. Got that?”

“Maybe Friday,” Jake said, absently rubbing at his stiff shoulders. He needed a workout. “Leave

me alone, Garcia.”

Garcia scowled. “Get laid, man. You need it.”
“Get out of my workshop,” Jake suggested, before picking up a staple gun and meaningfully

hefting it in Garcia’s direction. As far as Jake knew, there was no possible way to intimidate Garcia,
but that had never stopped him from trying.

“Use that on your face,” Garcia advised him. “Staple a smile on it. Might help.”

Then he left, with Jake growling after him inarticulately.
Bastard always had the last word, too.

***

When Jake left the workshop, it was late and his stomach was growling. It had been growling for

a while, though he didn’t realize it until he was putting the padlock on the workshop door.

That often happened when his work was going well. He lost all track of time, and only when he

was finished did he notice that he was hungry, thirsty, and tired.

Today, despite Garcia’s yelling, work had gone well. Jake had found the Panhead’s engine

problem and fixed it, and started swapping out some parts—nothing permanent, just to see what
would fit her, what she’d look like.

Conrad hadn’t asked him to improve his bike, of course. But when Jake showed him what he

could do, he might be interested.

Or not. It depended on what kind of a rich asshole he was, Jake thought with a curl of his lip.

Did he actually care about the bike, or just the image that came with it?

Some guys—most guys, in Jake’s experience—didn’t care about parts or provenance, they just

wanted a flashy bike that they could roll up to bars in. Oh, and a custom paint job, something with
dragons or naked ladies or whatever they thought would look macho.

Jake didn’t do paint jobs himself. He had a friend he could call on, Axel, who specialized in

them. Paint jobs were the icing on the cake, as far as Jake was concerned. But if the cake tasted like
crap, it wasn’t going to be improved with any amount of icing. It was the bike that mattered, her
bones, her heritage. But not many people cared about that.

Yawning with hunger, he walked up the rattling metal stairs to his apartment.
When he was this tired, it was a real godsend to be living over the workshop. The place was an

old factory warehouse, and the area was zoned for industry, not apartments, but the owner didn’t mind
Jake living there. It probably helped that the owner was Garcia’s mom, and that Garcia got free bike
tune-ups out of the deal.

Jake unlocked the triple locks to his place and went in, locking up again behind him. The

downside of living on the cheap side of town was that sometimes someone would try to break in.

Of course, the last time someone had tried to break in, Jake was still in the workshop, working

on a bike that belonged to a visiting motor club. Even though it was past midnight, some of the bikers
were still there too, watching him work, and they had a lot of fun with their would-be burglar.

Jake kicked off his work boots, left them lying by the door, and went to get a beer.
The fridge was empty, as usual, except for beer, yoghurt, and milk and eggs for breakfast. One of

these days he’d have to get around to doing some shopping.

He picked up the phone, dialed a number he knew by heart. “Hey, it’s Jake.”
“Jake! Usual, my friend?”
Jake grinned. “Yeah, the usual. Extra cheese, I’m hungry.”
“Coming your way!”
Jake hung up, smiling. He liked Chico’s.
It wasn’t the snazziest pizza place in town, and it wasn’t the closest to where he lived, but they

baked their pizzas in a real wood-fired oven and they stayed open later than almost anyone else.

Chico had a whole fleet of fast little scooters zooming around town, and Jake fixed them whenever
something went wrong, which was often. He rarely had to pay for pizza, but he always tipped well for
fast delivery.

He stretched, feeling the burn of exhaustion in his muscles, and opened the metal shutters.
The tall factory windows looked out over back lots and brick walls, but behind the buildings, the

mountains rose up, indomitable. Looking at them always lifted his spirits.

Have to get out there one of these days, he thought with a pang of regret.
The downside to working on bikes all day—and sometimes all night—was that he never had

enough time to ride them. Never enough time to just feel the rubber meet the road, and ride into the
hills with the roar of the engine filling his soul.

Now it was late, it was dark, and the moon was rising. Jake watched the moon edge past the roof

of a scrap iron yard. She was big and round, close to full, and there were stars coming out all around
her.

It was a beautiful night, but there was nobody to share it with.
Nobody to lift his beer to in a silent toast, nobody to fight over the last slice of pizza with.
He was used to it, but sometimes it still made his gut feel hollow.
His mother, may she rest in peace, used to say that Jake wasn’t meant to live alone. “Look at

you!” she’d say, sniffing disapprovingly at the newspapers on the floor, the empty beer cans on the
windowsill. “Like a bear in a cave. You need to come out of there and start living.”

Jake sighed and took a long swallow of beer. Sorry, mom. This is my life. This is all I know

how to do.

***

Conrad walked down the long marble-floored hallway of Ridge House. Erick was leading the

way, and Conrad was following him, just like always.

Yet everything had changed, somehow. Conrad still couldn’t get his mind around that, but he

could feel the change with every step he took. Erick was different, and there was a new tension
between the two of them.

Conrad would have liked the hallway to be longer. Miles long, even. That would give him some

time to reflect, to catch his breath. To figure out how to deal with Erick’s new status—or lack of
status—in the pack.

But there was no time. They were already at the end of the hallway.
An oak door swung wide open, and Conrad stepped into a huge living room.
It was beautiful, all aged wood and white modern furniture, and there was a fire roaring away in

the fireplace, though it wasn’t really cold enough to make it necessary. The warmth seeped into his
bones.

One wall was all glass, and the view took his breath away.
Hills and forest stretched away in all directions, and there was barely a sign of any other

habitation. It was a wilderness view, and the wolf in him—normally well hidden and expertly
subdued, until the full moon rose—began to stir. He wanted to run down those hills, wet his paws in
the river, and howl up at the sky…

“Good, isn’t it?” said a rich voice behind him. “When I saw the view, I knew we had to get this

place.”

Conrad nodded, turning to face Brand. “It’s beautiful.”
One sniff was enough to confirm that Brand was still pack leader. That was one thing that hadn’t

changed, at least. Brand smelled the way his voice sounded—rich, almost unctuous, with overtones of
hot leather and amber.

Next to Conrad, Erick changed posture. His head dropped back, exposing the long, beautiful line

of his throat, and then he sank gracefully to his knees.

Conrad stared, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.
He knew, of course, that this was what bottom-rank wolves did. They submitted. Always.
He just couldn’t—this was his brother.
Brand stepped closer, smiling. “Good to see you again, Conrad,” he said urbanely, and he

stretched out a hand. His posture exuded strength, and a kind of easy-going sexuality that seemed to
encompass everything around him.

Conrad was too flummoxed to shake hands. He felt dizzy, watching Erick, watching them both.

Brand was a big man, wide-shouldered, and now he towered over Erick. That was wrong, too. Erick
was taller than him.

With an easy grace, Brand nodded to him and withdrew his hand, then began to stroke Erick’s

long blond hair back from his face.

Erick pushed into that stroking like a cat, looking—contented. As if he wanted this. It was

unbelievable. Erick never let anyone take liberties with him, never. He was as prickly and standoffish

But Brand wasn’t even watching him, he was watching Conrad. Waiting for his reaction.
Conrad swallowed, trying to regain some control of himself.
He was an interloper. It wasn’t his right to criticize the decisions of the pack, or to intervene.

That was a short road to disaster.

“I see Erick didn’t tell you that there have been some changes around here,” Brand said, still

smiling.

“He told me just now,” Conrad said softly, while Brand’s big hand continued to stroke Erick’s

head. “I just—had some trouble believing it.”

Brand nodded. “I can see that. But believe me, this has tied the pack tighter together. And Erick

is learning to serve, instead of disrupt the needs of the pack. Aren’t you?”

His hand dropped under Erick’s chin, tilting his face toward them both. A commanding gesture.

And Erick flowed into it, moving with his hand as if he’d been trained that way.

Conrad felt his hands tighten into fists.
“Yes,” Erick said, and the tone of his voice was—submissive. Obedient. “I do try.”
It was all wrong.

***

More of the pack members filed into the room, with that easy, loping stride so characteristic of

werewolves. Sometimes it made Conrad wonder why normal humans couldn’t spot them from miles
away. When you knew what to look for, werewolves were so distinctive, no matter what shape they
came in.

Of course, maybe that was only because he was one himself. Born werewolves were supposed

to be extra sensitive to nuances of scent, sound, and posture, and to Conrad, each of the newcomers
shouted werewolf.

The pack ranged around Brand, nodding to Conrad in greeting.
He’d seen most of them before, but not all; there were new faces, new scents, new names to

learn.

“The pack has increased,” Conrad said to Brand, trying for a neutral tone of voice.
It was hard to remain civil, hard to remember how to speak naturally when his brother was right

there, kneeling, his face tilted up toward the newcomers.

Some of the pack were circling Erick, looking as if they wanted something from him.
The smell of male musk slowly grew stronger. Conrad shuddered, trying to close himself off

from it.

“Yes,” Brand agreed. “We’ve been doing well. Would you like to join us, Conrad?”
It was a bald offer, and it came too soon for Conrad’s liking.
He didn’t want to be put on the spot like this.
But there was no choice, not once the offer had been made.
“Sorry, no,” he said, his posture as unthreatening as he could make it. “I’m just visiting.”
Brand nodded urbanely. “I guessed as much. Still, as Erick’s brother, you have a place in the

pack. If you want, you can run with us this coming moon. I know you won’t interfere on other days.”

There was a hint of menace beneath that smooth voice, like sand rolling beneath a wave.
Conrad understood. The pack ruled here, and if he wasn’t going to become one of them, he had

to make sure to stay out of their way. Out of their business.

Even if that business included Erick.
Conrad swallowed hard. He was watching one of the pack, a lean man with a stern face and

grizzled hair. He was very close to Erick, standing over him with a proprietary air.

“Will you stay here, while you visit your brother?” Brand said. “We have room.”
Conrad was forced to turn his attention back to the leader. He licked his lips. Erick expected him

to stay at the Ridge House, he knew that.

“I—no,” he blurted. “Thank you, but—I couldn’t.”
Erick’s icy blue gaze flicked to him instantly. He looked displeased, but he said nothing.
That was utterly unlike him.
But maybe—maybe he didn’t have permission to speak. Erick surely wouldn’t be allowed to use

that beautifully persuasive voice for his own purposes, not here. Not on werewolves. God, that was
an unsettling thought.

“I think I’ll find some place to stay in Sevenacres,” Conrad heard himself saying. The words

seemed to come out of nowhere, and he blinked, surprised at himself.

For a half-second, the thought flashed across his mind: Easier to check up on my motorcycle if I

live there.

A disingenuous thought. What he saw in his mind’s eye wasn’t his motorcycle at all, but Jake,

tossing a spanner from hand to hand with a surly, angry expression that was somehow wildly
attractive. It make Conrad want to step in close and taste that danger for himself.

Conrad shook himself, trying to dislodge that inviting image.
“Really?” Brand looked a little surprised, too. “Well, it’s a pleasant enough town. Less

expensive than here, certainly. Though I wouldn’t have thought that was an issue for you…?” His
voice trailed off, waiting for Conrad to supply information, but Conrad wasn’t going to let himself be
caught like that. His financial status wasn’t any of Brand’s business.

“I liked the diner,” Conrad said, at random. “Good waffles.”
Brand’s genial gaze became sharp as a laser. “Oh? That’s not a place tourists usually flock to.

Did Erick take you there?”

Oh, drat.
Brand had caught him after all. And now, of course, he would be able to smell Conrad’s

consternation.

Why, why couldn’t he just learn to keep his mouth shut?
He looked over to see Erick glare daggers at him, then compose his face into stillness again.
Conrad didn’t answer the question. He wasn’t going to betray his brother—not anymore than he

already had, anyway.

But Brand’s eyes missed nothing, and he smiled grimly. “I see. Well, I knew Erick had to break

out of the constraints we put him in, sometime or other. That is his nature.”

He sounded as if it was no big deal, but Conrad could smell his anger, lurking just beneath the

surface, like the pungent scent of ozone before a thunderstorm.

“We will teach him,” Brand went on, urbanely, as if he was giving a lecture to some undeserving

student. “We’ll teach him to control his impulses a little better, and to remember the needs of the
pack. Won’t we?”

There was an answering growl from the pack that made the hairs on Conrad’s arms rise.
The stern-looking man standing so close to Erick moved a little, just enough to press his big,

meaty thumb against the smooth curve of Erick’s mouth.

Erick held fast for just a heartbeat, and then he opened his mouth to the pressure of the man’s

thumb.

Conrad couldn’t breathe. He could only watch as Erick’s lips closed around the big thumb in an

obvious imitation of…something else.

God. He couldn’t think about this. He couldn’t watch this.
Conrad felt wobbly, unsteady on his feet, and he knew he had to be showing signs of his

emotional disturbance. Werewolves missed nothing.

“I’ll—I’ll just,” Conrad began, words flying away from his mind as soon as he tried to speak,

“—see myself out.”

Brand gave an easy wave of his hand, giving him permission. Dismissing him, even. He had

leave to go.

“We’ll be seeing you,” Brand said smoothly.
Some of the pack smiled at Conrad. Sharp-toothed, knowing smiles.
It was close, so close to full moon. They knew he would be back.

***

Conrad took a cab back to Sevenacres, and asked the driver to drop him off at a good hotel.
When he got there, he stood for a moment looking up at it. It was a big old building, squarely

built and right next to the busy highway into town. There was a neon sign advertising weekend rates,
but one of the letters had fizzled out.

It didn’t look welcoming. It looked lonely, the kind of place where businessmen went because

they had no choice.

Conrad always listened to his instincts. That was his job, as well as his own personal

preference. He was always on the lookout for interesting, unusual places; places where he could find
art.

This hotel looked like it would have faded reproductions of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers hanging

over the bed. Or maybe a Monet, something pastoral that could offend no one.

No, Conrad decided. Life’s too short.
He turned around and saw to his surprise that the cab was still there, waiting. The cab driver

hung his head out the window, grinning. He was a young man with a huge mop of frizzy hair and a
ready smile. “Change your mind?”

Conrad nodded. “This place looks depressing.”
The cab driver nodded. “It’s the most expensive hotel we got. But I know a place that’s nicer.”
Conrad eyed him, trying to decide if the driver was going to fleece him. He didn’t mind if the

man got a commission, but he did mind being driven to some fleapit. But the driver didn’t smell as
though he was lying.

Conrad got in again, and they drove off, accompanied by a thumping bass as Marshall turned up

the music.

“It’s a bed and breakfast,” the cab driver told him as they made their way into town. “Most

tourists here don’t want hotels, you know? They want a cabin to rent, or maybe a place to stay that’s
more friendly than a hotel.”

Conrad nodded. He rather felt he did, too, especially after the shock he’d had at the Ridge

House. He wanted to rest and recover a little.

“What’s your name?” he asked, on impulse. He didn’t want to read it off the man’s license; that

felt rude, somehow.

“I’m Marshall,” the driver said, with another wide grin that showed immaculately white teeth.

“Everyone knows me around here. Here, let me give you a card.”

Conrad pocketed the card, and Marshall drove round a tight corner with a flourish, and into a

quiet back street. “Here we are.”

Conrad looked out at a white-painted wood frame house with a shingled roof. There were roses

in the front yard, and a small wooden sign that said, “The Floating Tiger.”

He blinked. What kind of name was that?
When Conrad looked back at the driver, Marshall was, of course, grinning at him.
“It’s a bed and breakfast, really,” Marshall said, before Conrad could open his mouth. “Trust

me.”

“And it’s good?” Conrad said. The roses, at least, looked well-nourished. They were budding

all over, with a few already in bloom.

“The best,” Marshall assured him. “And I should know. My aunt runs it.”
Conrad laughed. “I see.”
He got out, paid, and tipped Marshall so well that the grin actually fell off his face for a moment,

to be replaced by a blank, gobsmacked expression.

Conrad smiled. “See you later, Marshall. I’ll tell your aunt you said hello.”
“Call me anytime, day or night!” Marshall said urgently. Then he flushed, turning almost maroon.

“For a cab ride, I mean.”

“Of course,” Conrad agreed, charmed. I think I made a new friend.
He walked down the gravel path toward the front door, and with every step his mood lifted

further. The roses were old-fashioned English roses, the type that actually had scent. They smelled

irresistible, with a fragrance so complex that he was tempted to roll around in it.

And the house itself, though it was a little run-down, with paint peeling from the ornate scrolled

woodwork here and there, smelled—welcoming. Old, but friendly.

This was the right place.

***

“I see Marshall sent you,” said the woman coming to meet Conrad. She was tall and broad, built

on large, comfortable lines, and she was carrying a basket on one arm. She stuck out the other hand.
“Hi! I’m Talisha Akins. My partner Emily is out back in the garden.”

“Conradin Zimmermann,” Conrad said, shaking her hand. “Call me Conrad, please.”
She smiled, a warm smile that was like a ray of sunlight. “Nice to meet you, Conrad. You don’t

have any luggage?”

Conrad shook his head.
All he had was a small shoulder bag. He always traveled that way. No point in getting

encumbered.

“All right then, let me show you the room we have open. Ensuite bathroom, and a great garden

view. You staying long?”

“Um,” Conrad said. “It’s hard to tell. At least a week.”
He would have to think about that. Officially, this was a week off from work, a week to see his

brother and find out how he was doing. But he seemed to have done that already, and it wasn’t an
experience he wanted to repeat soon.

And yet he didn’t want to leave; he wanted to see Jake again. And his bike, of course. And

though he didn’t want to think about it, tomorrow was the last day before full moon. For the next few
days, he was bound to this place, and to the Reds.

“Okay, no problem,” Talisha said reassuringly. “It’s a quiet season, we can give you the room

for at least a week.”

They walked up the carpeted stairs, and then Conrad’s hackles suddenly rose.
The basket Talisha carried was meowing.
The wolf leapt to the front, growling and snarling, and Conrad pushed the reaction back with an

effort, clenching his teeth to let nothing slip. It felt like all the fur on his back was bristling, but he
didn’t have fur. Not yet, anyway. It was an unsettling feeling.

Talisha gave him a worried look. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just carrying these upstairs when you

rang the bell.”

She opened one half of the basket’s lid cautiously, showing Conrad what was inside.
A black cat glared up at him with fierce green eyes. She was curled up tight around three tiny

kittens: one black, one grey and one black-and-white with a spot on its nose. The black-and-white one
looked up at him with hazy blue eyes and gave an impertinent little meep, as if warning him off.

“I hope you’re not allergic,” Talisha said.
Conrad shook his head. “No, I was just startled.” The annoying thing was that he liked cats. The

kittens were adorable; he was tempted to reach out and pet their tiny heads.

It was the wolf inside him who objected, who wanted to chase and bite. Don’t be ridiculous,

Conrad told that darker side of himself. A kitten can’t harm you.

The wolf snarled, complaining, but settled down enough that Conrad could ignore it.
“This is Lady Macbeth,” Talisha informed him. “She was having her kittens out by the lily pond,

so I figured I’d better find her a safer spot before they all crawled into the water.”

Conrad nodded, smiling. “Lady Macbeth is quite the name for a cat.”
Talisha laughed. “Oh, I know. Emily names everything around here. I would have gone with

Blackie, myself.”

They walked into the room, and Conrad saw with pleasure that it was even better than he’d

hoped. It was big, white, airy, with a huge bed and gorgeous tall windows. And it wasn’t—frilly.
He’d cope with that if he had to, but he liked things clean and sparse, rather than ornamented.

“Lovely,” he said, meaning it.
Talisha smiled. “Glad you like it. Now, we normally just do breakfast, but since you’ve only just

arrived and it’s getting late already, we can do dinner for tonight. Or I can give you some
recommendations for a good restaurant.”

“I have a dinner date,” Conrad said immediately, surprising himself. “If you know any

restaurants on the South side of town, by the warehouses…?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s—not usually an area I’d recommend,” she said thoughtfully. “But if

you have business there…?”

Conrad nodded, though he didn’t elaborate on just what kind of business.
“Then I suppose, hmm. Yeah, there’s one place I would recommend, but it’s kind of a hole in the

wall. Turkish food. It’s called, um, Izmir? I think? And it’s next to the tire shop on Broad Street.
Great food, quirky little place.”

“That sounds good, thanks,” Conrad said. He hadn’t had Turkish food in a long time.
Of course, the real question was, would Jake like it?
Conrad didn’t exactly have a dinner date. But he hoped that luck would be with him.
Luck, and Jake.

***

Jake was hammering metal into shape, and the racket was almost louder than the music playing

from the speakers hanging overhead. It wasn’t easy to make more noise than the Ramones, but he was
doing his best.

In the middle of that organized chaos, the blond angel walked in.
Jake saw him coming this time; he was facing the door, which was propped open as usual, and

he saw Conrad stop at the entrance, wince as if the music was hurting him, and then square his
shoulders.

Poor angel. He must not like good music.
Jake watched him walk into the workshop, though he pretended that he was concentrating on his

hammering.

Conrad had a long elegant stride, like a long-distance runner. Everything about the man was

infuriatingly elegant. And here Jake had thought maybe he was exaggerating Conrad’s gorgeousness in
his memory. In real life, he was even better looking.

Conrad wasn’t in motorcycle leathers this time. Instead, he was wearing charcoal trousers of

some finely woven material that looked like wool, polished black boots, and a tailored mauve shirt

that fit his tall, lean frame perfectly.

Probably hand-made for him, Jake thought sourly. Hand sewn by some gorgeous Italian ladies,

sighing over him with every stitch.

“Hi,” Conrad said. “What’s that you’re working on?” He had to raise his soft voice to make

himself heard.

Jake scowled. That wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.
The expected dialogue with any customer was as follows:
‘Is my bike ready?’
‘No.’
‘Well, when will it be ready?’
‘When I’m done with it. Now fuck off.’
But the angel was smiling at him like the sun rising over a cloud, and it was doing strange things

to his blood pressure.

Of course, Conrad’s bike was ready.
Technically.
But Jake wasn’t going to mention it, not unless Conrad insisted.
“Tank mount,” Jake said shortly. No point in mentioning for whose bike it was, or that he’d been

up since before sunrise, finishing the thing. It was going to be a piece of gleaming handmade
perfection when he was done with it, but right now it still needed work. Work he could do, if only he
wasn’t interrupted all the time.

“Did you have dinner?” the angel asked.
Jake blinked, thrown by this complete non-sequitur. Dinner?
As if on cue, his stomach growled. Loudly.
Jake threw a look at the clock on the wall, half-hidden under a salacious Pirelli calendar. It was

nine PM already? Really?

He hadn’t had dinner, of course. Though he was pretty sure he’d had breakfast. Possibly even

today.

“Let me buy you dinner, then,” the angel said.
Now Jake was sure he’d heard him wrong. He stomped over to the stereo, hit the button. The

music stopped, and the sudden silence was deafening.

“What was that you said?” Jake asked warily.
Conrad looked relieved, and his shoulders eased down a little. “I said, I’d like to buy you

dinner.”

Jake stared at him.
That made no sense.
Rich guys didn’t come into his workshop to buy him dinner.
They came to him with complicated custom jobs, and then yelled at him when he didn’t do them

fast enough. They sneered at him over the top of their designer sunglasses, and they complained about
everything. They treated him like dirt they couldn’t wait to wipe off their boots, and Jake snarled at
them in return. That was how the world worked.

But Conrad wasn’t looking at him like he was dirt. Conrad was—looking at him. Like he was a

real person.

“Why?” Jake had to ask.
Conrad flushed a little, a soft rose rising on his angular cheekbones. It looked way too fucking

good on him, and Jake couldn’t help thinking of other ways he could make the angel blush.

No, don’t go there, you pervert. He’s not interested in you. He probably has some kind of

business deal he wants to talk about.

But then Conrad said, “For the pleasure of your company.”
Jake was stunned into silence.
Almost without knowing what he was doing, he laid down the hammer and the tank mount on his

work table.

Thunk.
Then he picked up his coat.

***

Izmir was a tiny restaurant, tucked into a small, narrow front next to a gigantic tire store. It was

jam-packed inside. That had to be a good sign.

Jake followed Conrad inside, trying to look as if he knew what he was doing.
He’d never been here before, didn’t even know this place existed. So how did Conrad, a

stranger in town, know of it?

And why would someone like Conrad even want to eat here? It obviously wasn’t a Michelin

star, white glove, ‘allow me to show you our wine list, sir’ type of place.

Baffled, Jake shrugged off his coat. It was hot inside, and no wonder—there was a cast iron grill

in the middle of the restaurant, huge and smoking and red-hot, laden with meat on long charred sticks.

The smells were mouth-watering, and Jake felt his empty stomach flop around like a landed fish.
They found a tiny table at the back of the restaurant, and a waiter was with them instantly.
“Good evening! Welcome to Izmir! Our specials tonight are—” and the waiter rattled off a list

full of names that Jake had never heard of before. Adana? Peynir? Kunefe?

He looked over at Conrad, completely at sea.
Conrad smiled back at him, another of those ridiculously lovely smiles.
Jake tried hard not to react to that. He scowled instead.
“I love Turkish food,” Conrad said happily. “Haven’t had it in a long time, though. What do you

want to order?”

“Adana,” Jake said at random. He wasn’t going to ask Conrad for guidance. It was a matter of

pride.

“Of course,” Conrad said. “But I think I want some mezze as well—” he gestured to the waiter,

who was taking notes, “hummus, baba ghanoush, tabouli, maybe some ezme?”

The waiter nodded enthusiastically. “Certainly, sir!”
“And some imam bayildi for my main course,” Conrad added. They ordered wine, beer, and

plain water, and then the waiter hurried away, leaving the two of them to stare at each other.

Jake fought the urge to do something rude, like scratch his groin or belch, just to break the

tension.

He just—he felt rattled.
He didn’t know what he was doing here, or why Conrad was smiling at him like that.
It wasn’t like Conrad could possibly be interested in him. So what did he want? He hadn’t even

asked about his bike yet.

“I’m so glad you wanted to come,” Conrad said. “I hate having dinner by myself.”

Jake said tentatively, “I thought—you said—you were staying with your brother?”
See, he could make polite conversation. If he tried hard, he could make this not completely

weird. Somehow.

Conrad winced. “Yes. Well.”
There was a pause in which Conrad looked embarrassed and almost tongue-tied.
Apparently that was the wrong question, Jake thought. Well, fuck.
He opened his mouth to say something else, anything else, when Conrad put up a long, slender

hand to forestall him.

“Sorry,” Conrad said, “I—yes, I saw my brother, but I just decided I wasn’t going to stay with

him.”

It sounded like a family quarrel of some kind. Jake wasn’t going to touch that subject.
“So where are you staying?” he asked instead.
Conrad smiled again. “The Floating Tiger.”
Jake blinked. “The what?”
This time, Conrad actually laughed. It was a bright, clear sound, like a cascade of bells.
God damn it, Jake told himself, stop mooning over him. You’ll make a complete fool of

yourself.

“I know,” Conrad said in a low, confiding voice. “It’s a strange name. Sounds more like a

martial arts school. But it’s a very pleasant bed and breakfast here in town.”

Huh. He wasn’t staying in Silver Springs, but right here? That was…odd.
Jake nodded, casting around for something else to say that wasn’t totally intrusive, but coming up

empty.

Then, thank god, the waiter arrived, and he was carrying a hell of a lot of dishes.
“I think we’re going to need a bigger table,” Jake commented, dazzled. He had no idea what any

of it was, but damn it smelled good.

The waiter gave him a little plate for the mezze, and a big one with long skewers of red-spiced

meat on it. That must be the adana.

Everything else was set out between them. Apparently the waiter took it for granted that they

would share.

“Smells amazing,” Jake said, trying to decide what to eat first. There was long flat bread, and

Jake watched as Conrad tore off a piece with his hands and smeared something orange-colored on it.

“This is great hummus,” Conrad said, with his mouth full.
Jake was trying not to grin. He wasn’t sure if the angel was doing all this on purpose or not, to

make him feel at ease, but it was working. He’d never seen someone who looked as well-bred as
Conrad eat with his hands before.

Jake slid a piece of meat off one of the long skewers and tried it.
Holy crap. Flavor exploded into his mouth: hot peppers, paprika, and juicy roasted lamb meat

that tasted of smoke. It was incredible.

Conrad smiled at him. “Good?”
“Mmm,” Jake said enthusiastically. Wow. He was going to have to come here more often.
“The imam bayildi is great too,” Conrad said, forking up a piece from his plate. “Have you had

that before?”

Jake shook his head. He didn’t think he’d ever had any of this before, except maybe hummus.
Conrad extended the fork with another of those impossibly graceful motions, and said, “Please

try some.”

A little shiver of excitement ran down Jake’s spine. There was something so intimate about

Conrad’s tone…

He leaned forward, but he didn’t take the fork from Conrad’s fingers. That would have been the

safe way out. Instead, he just opened his mouth.

Conrad slid the food into Jake’s mouth, slowly, watching as Jake’s lips closed around the fork’s

tines.

It felt…flirtatious. Seductive.
And as Jake ate the imam bayildi—a delicious, meltingly soft concoction of roast eggplant,

tomatoes and garlic—he thought, I could get used to this.

“The name of this dish is ‘The imam swooned,’ Conrad told him, still in that soft voice that

curled around them both like smoke. Jake could listen to him all day long.

“Swooned because it was so good?” Jake said, trying to hold up his part in the conversation.
He had to stop watching Conrad’s long, beautiful hands moving as he ate. Had to stop watching

him, period.

“That’s the story,” Conrad said. “Of course, some say he swooned when he heard just how much

olive oil goes into the making of it.” His eyes were mischievous.

“Huh,” Jake said. Oh, brilliant repartee, he told himself.
Then he had an inspiration. “You should try some of this, too,” he said. “The—adana.”
And he extended a piece of meat, speared on his fork.
But Conrad shook his head. “I’m sorry, no.”
Jake frowned. The hell? It was like a slap in the face.
“I’m vegetarian,” Conrad said softly.
“…Oh.”
Jake felt like a fool. He looked around and gestured at the giant grill in the center of the room,

full of sizzling skewers of meat. “And this—this doesn’t bother you?”

Conrad shook his head. “I like places like this. Restaurants that only serve vegetarian food—

well.” He shrugged, a delicate dip of his shoulders. “They tend toward the humdrum, in my
experience.”

Jake had nothing to say to that. He wasn’t even sure what humdrum meant. Yet, somehow, it

didn’t feel like Conrad was trying to impress him with his vocabulary. It was just the way he spoke.

You’re going soft, he told himself.
Conrad speared another forkful of eggplant into his mouth. “Tell me about your work,” he said.

“How did you embark upon your profession?”

Jake blinked. “How did I what?”
Conrad smiled. “What made you decide to be a mechanic?”
Jake took a large swallow of beer. “All I know how to do,” he said.
Then, with some vague idea that this was too short an answer to be polite, he added, “I sucked at

school, and we needed money. So I stopped going. Started working at a garage instead.”

Conrad nodded. “How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
Conrad’s eyes widened a little. Was he shocked?
Jake wasn’t going to feel embarrassed. This was who he was.
He wasn’t well educated, and he knew it.
Read, write, add up sums, that was about all that school had taught him. Plus how to hotwire a

car, but that wasn’t exactly in the curriculum. That was more about impressing girls, before he figured

out that those girls were more into him than the other way round.

“You supported your family when you were fifteen?” Conrad said pensively.
Jake nodded shortly.
“They must have been so proud of you,” Conrad said. It sounded sincere, not patronizing, and

Jake felt himself flush a little.

“I guess.” He wasn’t sure why Conrad thought anyone’s family would be proud of their son

dropping out of school, but oh well.

Jake supposed he should ask something in return. Something about Conrad, what his job was.

But he didn’t want to—he figured it would be something he wouldn’t understand, some career as
unreachable as the moon. Something like lawyer or real estate broker or banker. Banker felt like the
most likely option, except that Conrad wasn’t in a suit and tie.

Instead he asked, “How did you get the bike?”
That was more important. To him, anyway.
Conrad blinked, and he looked a little thrown. “I bought it,” he said. “A long time ago.”
Jake tried hard not to roll his eyes. “Of course you did. That’s not what I meant.”
He tried to ignore the way Conrad was looking down at his plate. It looked like Jake had hurt his

feelings.

At that thought, a sharp pang went through him.
Goddamn it. What was it about this guy?
Jake took another bite of succulent meat, and tried to explain. “Someone worked on her,” he

said. “Not all of her parts are the original ones. Someone replaced them, improved them. So I
wondered who did the work, is all.”

Conrad slowly looked up at him. “And you thought it couldn’t have been me.” His soft voice

was flat, impossible to read.

Jake swallowed. “Well—no.” He wanted to gesture at his table partner, at those long elegant

hands that didn’t have a single callus. At his perfect clothes, his beautiful hair. You never held a
wrench in your life, he wanted to say. But somehow he didn’t. He didn’t want Conrad to look away
again.

Conrad sighed. “You’re right, of course. Much as I would have liked you to think more highly of

me, I can’t lay claim to those improvements.”

It might be the effects of the beer, but it took Jake several moments to deconstruct that sentence.

“So who did them?”

“My brother,” Conrad said. “It’s a hobby of his. He always has several bikes that he works on in

his spare time, and I persuaded him to take on this one.”

That was unexpected. “Your brother that you just had a fight with?” Jake asked, then cursed

himself when he saw Conrad wince a little. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s all right,” Conrad said, but it didn’t look all right. It looked like his brother had hurt

him somehow.

Jake tried to tamp down on the instinctive flush of anger, and the need to find this asshole brother

and rearrange his smug face. On the other hand—that bike was a labor of love. The guy couldn’t be
all bad.

“He did a good job,” Jake said. “Er. Not the fighting. On the bike, I mean.” God, he was so

smooth. He should have stayed in the workshop instead of coming out here to make a fool of himself.

Conrad smiled again, though it looked a little awkward still. “So there isn’t anything that you

would alter?”

Jake snorted. “I didn’t say that.” He wasn’t going to lie, not even to be polite. There was such a

thing as professional pride.

“So, what would you do with it, then? Her, I mean,” Conrad corrected himself. He looked

genuinely interested, his eyes alight with fascination.

For the first time Jake felt himself relax a little. This was a subject he could talk about without

turning into a stammering idiot.

“Well,” he began. “I would change the way the fuel tank sits so high—”

***

Conrad said very little as Jake began to expand upon the topic of all that could be done to his old

bike that would turn it into, in Jake’s words, “a road-eating monster hog.”

He only understood half of what Jake was saying, but Conrad wouldn’t have stopped him for

anything.

It was a sight to see, the way Jake’s hands flew this way and that as he gestured to underscore

some point or other. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm, and his posture was no longer closed-off and
suspicious. His powerful, tightly held shoulders slowly relaxed, and he leaned over the table and
waved his hands to explain something about suspension brakes that Conrad didn’t even try to follow.

Jake was so alive like this, and so beautiful, with the strength of his passion shining from his

eyes. When he gestured, Conrad couldn’t stop staring at his muscular wrists, and the tantalizing hint of
tattoos that trailed up beneath under his shirtsleeves.

Conrad tried to stop himself from getting his hopes up. It was a miracle that Jake had even

accepted his invitation to dinner. He shouldn’t presume that this would go any further.

And yet, that little moment when Jake had opened his mouth and let Conrad feed him…good

lord, that was fuel for midnight fantasies for some time to come.

Warmth coiled in Conrad’s belly, and he knew he was flushing again. At least he could blame it

on the heat of the grill.

“Tell me more,” he urged, when Jake paused for a moment. “Tell me how you would finish her.”
Conrad was saying her now, too, though he’d never thought of his bike as anything but it before.

Jake’s love for his work was impossible to resist, and Conrad had a feeling that calling his bike it
would be some sort of insult in Jake’s world.

Jake ate a few more bites, then pushed back the nearly empty plate with a sigh. “Man, this is

amazing food,” he said. “Well, to begin with, there’s the question of chrome—”

And with that, he was off again, on another rollercoaster ride through the history of motorbikes,

various fashions and trends, and Jake’s own incredibly strong opinions about what was and wasn’t
appropriate for a bike of this vintage. All Conrad did was nod along, though he did feel a little guilty
for not holding up his end of the conversation.

When Jake came up for air, Conrad was polishing off the last of the baba ghanoush, relishing

the strong garlicky taste.

There was a pause, and Conrad suddenly realized that he’d been asked a question.
What was it Jake had been saying…? Ah. “What would you want done to her?” That was it.
“Everything,” Conrad said simply.
Jake stared at him. “That could take weeks, you realize,” he said slowly. “Months.”

Conrad smiled. “I want you to work your magic on her,” he said, his voice a low purr, and with

some satisfaction he watched Jake fumble and nearly drop his fork.

Conrad didn’t have the same talents as his brother—he had no supernatural ability to persuade

anyone with his voice alone—but he’d picked up a few tricks from him, even so.

“But—okay,” Jake said, looking dazed. “And you’re serious? You want—everything we

discussed?”

“I give you carte blanche,” Conrad confirmed, but that just got him a blank look. “A free hand,”

he clarified. “I want you to realize your vision of what she could be.”

It was starting to sound like they were talking about a work of art, a sculpture perhaps, instead of

a bike.

Or was there really a difference? Maybe not.
Not to Jake, that was certain. He had all the passionate conviction of a true artist.
“And—you’ll be in town that long?” Jake asked. His eyes were intent upon Conrad’s.
“Is that a business question?” Conrad rejoined daringly. “Or personal?”
Jake colored—not much, and it was hard to see behind the dark stubble, but Conrad’s senses

were preternaturally sharp.

“Business,” Jake said then, firmly.
Conrad wanted to sigh. Too fast, too soon, he told himself. You’re not helping, you’re scaring

him off. Stop it.

It was just so hard to go slow.
He wanted this man, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted that fire, that

spirit, that indomitable strength. He wanted to feel Jake’s arms around him. He wanted Jake to focus
that intensity on him, and feel those powerful, calloused hands explore his body…

Good grief, he was getting hot under the collar. He had to stop thinking about it.
“I don’t know how long I can stay,” Conrad said, wrenching himself away from the tempting

images.

It was the truth. He had no idea how long a grace period he would get before his father

interfered, quietly but firmly telling him to get on with his life and with their business.

How long before his father would ask Conrad to fly out somewhere, to investigate some rumor

of a fantastic trove of art hidden away in an old lady’s home? He’d left his mobile phone back in the
city, just to have some time to himself, but he knew it wouldn’t last.

“But if I have to leave, I’ll come back,” he added. That was the best he could promise. He

wasn’t going to lie to Jake.

Nodding, Jake took a long swallow of beer. “And you’ll be staying at this place, the…what was

it, The Floating Tiger?”

“Probably,” Conrad hedged. “I may end up staying with the Reds for a while, too.”
He wasn’t looking forward to that, but he had to face reality.
Tomorrow was almost full moon, and the first of the three fateful days that werewolves could

not ignore. During those three days, the change would be upon him every night, and he would be an
exhausted wreck by day. He needed a bolt hole, and preferably more than one. Sometimes the change
came early, and there was little he could do to control it.

With a snarled oath, Jake slammed the glass of beer back down on the table.
All that warmth, all that feeling of camaraderie between them seemed to have vanished in an

instant. Jake looked furious.

Conrad blinked, startled. Inside him, the wolf snarled at the sudden noise. “What’s wrong?”

“The Reds?” Jake said in a low voice that was all the more ominous for its restraint. “You’re

one of them?”

Oh, for the love of—
Conrad could have kicked himself. It wasn’t like Erick hadn’t warned him. Conrad had just

forgotten, lulled by the warmth of their conversation, and the feeling of barriers being let down
between Jake and himself.

Well, one of those barriers had just snapped back up, fast enough to give him whiplash.
“I’m not one of them,” Conrad said, slowly and deliberately. “But my brother is. And I ride with

them sometimes. Is that a problem?”

“I don’t work for those bastards,” Jake said quietly. His eyes were dark and stormy, and his

voice was like a muted roll of thunder. “And if you have anything to do with them, then I don’t work
for you.”

Jake shoved back his chair, standing up abruptly.
While Conrad stared at him open-mouthed, frantically trying to come up with something that

would pacify him, Jake dropped a few dollar bills onto the table.

“Thanks for dinner,” Jake said. It came out in a low growl, as if he had to force himself to say

the words.

He turned on his heel and stomped out of the restaurant, a thundercloud in human shape. The

waiters scurried out of his way like mice.

Conrad stared after him.
He didn’t swear often, but this time he said, very softly, “Damn.”

***

After that explosive failure of a dinner date, Conrad slunk back to The Floating Tiger to

recover. He felt strange, almost like he was in wolf form already, with his tail between his legs and
his ears flat against his head. It wasn’t a proud moment, and he was glad that neither of the owners
came out to ask him how dinner had been.

He walked straight up to his room. Might as well get some sleep, and get his strength up for the

change.

The sheets were cool and smelled like lavender, and he slid between them with a sigh.
It took some time to get to sleep, though. His mind kept running in circles.
How could he have messed up so badly?
He’d wanted Jake to at least think of him as a friend, as someone to talk to. And instead, he’d

managed to stir up Jake’s anger and a sense of betrayal. Jake had looked so wounded, the hurt
covered over by a layer of icy anger.

What had the Reds done, that Jake hated them so much?
Conrad had no idea. He knew werewolves could be arrogant, abrasive, especially with the full

strength of a pack behind them.

Brand always talked about the superiority of werewolves, which was something Conrad

couldn’t agree with. Conrad refused to accept werewolves as somehow separate from normal
humans. Even if it felt that way sometimes, because of all the secrets.

Conrad sighed. He didn’t want to keep secrets from Jake. But he did want to find out why Jake

was so upset.

Then a horrifying thought occurred to him.
Was Jake so upset because he knew the Reds were werewolves? Had one of them hurt him, or

someone he cared for?

He shivered, drawing up the blanket higher around his shoulders.
That was something he had to find out, if he wanted to see Jake again. And he did.
Oh, he wanted so much more for the both of them than just dinner.
Maybe that was a fool’s dream. But there was something electric in the tension between them.

Something that told Conrad that he wasn’t the only one feeling an attraction. He hoped it wasn’t just
wishful thinking.

With some effort, Conrad closed his eyes.
For a while he was in the no man’s land between sleep and waking, listening to the birdsong

coming from the garden.

Then he was running through snow, his paws wet and cold.
He was trying to find something—something precious—but it eluded him. When he dug into the

snow, there was nothing beneath it but dead, rotting leaves. All he could do was curl up in them and
howl for his pack, but he was alone, so alone…

Conrad woke up shaking and cold all over, despite the blanket on top of him.
The change was close, so close he could feel it, even though it was still early morning.
Fur prickled beneath his skin. His fingers itched to become claws. A tail twitched, invisible,

beneath his spine.

Conrad hated this stage more than anything.
It wasn’t so bad being a wolf, though sometimes the memory of eating fresh meat made him feel

nauseated afterwards. It was this intermediate stage that he loathed, when he was neither human nor
wolf, and the wolf’s instincts were confusing and overwhelming.

He managed to get himself dressed, then nearly fell downstairs because his mind insisted that he

should be walking on four legs, not two.

He had to get out. He had to get to the Reds, find some shelter. He had to be with people who

knew what was happening, who shared his secret, who understood.

Even if that meant that Jake would never talk to him again.

***

When Garcia came into the workshop that morning, Jake was cleaning the cement floor with the

help of a bucket of suds and a stiff brush. It was stupid, mindless work, and he didn’t trust himself
with anything more important right now.

He didn’t know if he was angrier with himself or with the angel.
Some angel.
Jake’s first instincts had been right. Conrad was just another rich asshole who thought he could

do whatever he wanted. Whoever he wanted. He didn’t have a clue about what life was like for real
people with real problems. If he did, he wouldn’t have come within a million miles of the Reds.

“Let me guess,” Garcia bellowed, “you’re still not done.”
Jake sighed. “I am, actually.”

“Because I’m getting really pissed off, and when someone pisses me off, I—what?”
“She’s done,” Jake said quietly.
Garcia stood there with his big fists on his hips, and looked Jake over. “You’re done with my

bike? Earlier than you said,” he observed. “And now you’re cleaning.” He paused. “Should I be
worried?”

Jake gave him a small, tight grin. “Are you ever worried?” he said, evasively.
Garcia frowned. “What the fuck is going on here, Jake? I have never, ever seen you clean this

place before.”

With all the inevitability of a train hitting a closed barrier, Jake saw Garcia arrive at exactly the

wrong conclusion. He groaned quietly, knowing what was coming.

“Ohhh,” Garcia breathed, an unholy light of amusement in his eyes. “Your lady tourist coming in

today, is she? To pick up her bike. And maybe something extra for the weekend? She looking for a
rough ride?” His thick eyebrows waggled up and down.

Jake wanted to smash something. “No,” he growled. “Just take your bike and go.”
Of course, that didn’t even register.
Garcia was too busy looking at him, frowning and curious. “Why are you so mad, if she’s

coming—oh.” He squinted at Jake, at the tight grip he had on the stiff brush. “Did she turn you down,
is that it?”

Jake threw the brush into the bucket, splashing water all over the floor.
He’d had about enough of this.
“None of your fucking business,” he said. He wasn’t yelling. He never yelled when he got mad;

he just got quiet.

But he stepped up to Garcia. The guy was a head taller than he was, but Jake had never let a

detail like that bother him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

As they faced each other, the only sound was the deep, gravelly voice of Howlin’ Wolf coming

through the speakers.

Jake didn’t feel like rock music this morning. Some days, all you could do was play the blues.
Garcia’s eyes bored into him, and Jake saw with some resignation that there probably wasn’t

going to be a fight. He could have used the distraction, the sweet simplicity of pain. But he wasn’t
going to start a fight in his own workshop.

Garcia would have to throw the first punch, and at the moment he didn’t seem inclined to do it.

Those sharp eyes of his saw far too much, and right now Garcia was looking at him with more
curiosity than anger.

“You are a pain in my ass,” Garcia said, and it sounded almost fond. “So you fixed my bike,

huh?”

Jake nodded. “Try it.”
Garcia hefted the motorcycle off the lifts she stood on in one easy motion, then straddled her.

The door to the workshop was open, and he gunned the engine.

Jake shook his head, watching this.
Garcia was a madman. Most of his customers at least took their bikes outside first.
“Try not to kill any pedestrians,” Jake yelled over the bellow of the engine.
Garcia laughed, said something inaudible over his shoulder, and roared out the door.
Jake watched him go, listening to the sound of Garcia’s ride as it faded into the distance. She

sounded sweet, full-throttled. Better than before.

At least that’s something I can do right.

***

Conrad sat on his haunches, howling his lungs out at the white face of the moon, though it was

half-obscured by scudding clouds.

There was a storm coming. He could smell rain and lightning on the wind.
That was all right. The storm wouldn’t hurt him. He was with the pack, and everything was as it

should be.

For a wolf, life was so much simpler. The company of the pack was all he needed.
Maybe it wasn’t his pack, not precisely, but it was close enough.
They welcomed him. They sniffed at him, and let him sniff them in return.
He was given some temporary rank, somewhere in the middle of the pack. It wasn’t discussed;

he just knew. He knew who to run beside, and who he had to keep behind.

There was another strange wolf with them too, big and dark and heavy-pawed, who looked like

he could easily challenge Brand for leadership. But he just ran with the pack, a little to the side, and
that was all right. The pack welcomed him, just like they welcomed Conrad.

The only thing troubling him was that he couldn’t smell that most familiar scent of all: his

brother’s.

His brother was so far back, the last in the pack, and downwind from him.
A pariah. Almost an outcast.
Conrad wanted to run with him, help him. But when he tried, the other wolves nudged him back

where he belonged.

The lead wolf—Brand—gave a last commanding howl, then set off through the woods, and the

pack followed him.

They picked up many scents, many sounds. Deer, rabbits, a badger, a bear rubbing against a tree

somewhere far away. They would avoid the bear, though the full pack could fight and kill a bear if
they had to.

Running, running.
The drum of many paws against the soft earth.
Breathing hard, feeling the blood beat in his ears.
So many unfamiliar scents. He didn’t know these woods, these tracks.
A rustle in the underwoods.
The white flash of a deer’s tail.
Brand leapt, flanked by two other wolves, and brought down the deer. An easy kill. That meant a

strong leader.

They feasted on the fresh meat.
Rain sleeted down on them, hard cold drops, and the wind picked up. But that was a small

matter to the wolves, with their thick fur coats.

Conrad got his share of the deer. It was a fat haunch that he tore with his teeth, relishing it. Even

though somewhere in the back of his mind, the other half of him protested.

Silly human didn’t eat meat. Well, too bad. Silly human wasn’t in control now.
Between bites, he looked around for his brother.
Still so far back, even though almost all the wolves were eating now.

Erick hung back, waiting his turn. Waiting for the scraps, all that would be left.
Conrad began to drag his haunch of meat over to his brother.
His brother had to feed, too. Conrad would take care of him.
Then Brand sprang in front of him, big and menacing. Two other large wolves were at his side.
Brand growled, and it wasn’t friendly. It was a warning.
Back off.
Conrad felt unsure of himself, but it was death to show it.
Instead, he growled back, ears flat, showing he was serious.
My meat. My brother.
Brand reared back, his jaw dropping open to show his teeth, and his ruff flaring in a display of

pure dominance.

My pack. My rules.
There was no compromise possible.
Fight. Or flee.
Conrad bared his teeth. He knew he couldn’t fight Brand and win. And if he lost, he’d have to

take on the whole pack.

But he couldn’t abandon his brother, either.
Then, fast as lightning, a white streak of fur slid between them. It was his brother, the white

wolf, jumping between them both.

Erick faced Conrad, ears flat, tail in the dust, and growled.
There was no kindness in his eyes, no feeling other than anger.
And a command.
Leave me. Go.
Conrad retreated, hurt and confused.
From a distance, he watched as Erick dropped to the ground in front of Brand’s paws, rolling

around in the dirt like a puppy. Showing his belly and his unprotected throat.

Showing that he was no threat, that he was submitting to Brand’s leadership. That he would do

what Brand wanted. Even if that meant eating only the few last dirty scraps of meat, and not the fat
haunch Conrad had tried to share with him.

Conrad turned around, feeling angry eyes on him. His credit with the pack had just run out.
He was no part of this pack. He had no one to call on for help. Certainly not his brother.
It felt like he was tearing away part of himself, but he had to leave.
For the rest of this night, he would hunt alone.
He ran off, howling his anger and hurt into the night.
The storm followed him.

***

Thunder bellowed overhead, making the windows of Jake’s warehouse rattle in their frames.
Jake watched the rain hammer down against the thick glass. He waited for the next flash of

lightning.

He liked storms, even when they were loud enough to wake him up.
It was still incredibly early, well before sunrise, but the rattle of rain on the galvanized roof of

the warehouse was too loud to get any more sleep.

He’d pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt and stumbled downstairs, rubbing the sleep from his

eyes, and turned on all the bright overhead lights to wake himself up a little more.

It wasn’t that unusual for him to be up before sunrise. He never kept regular hours, and being up

this early meant he could get some work done without anyone coming in to bother him.

The only problem was that he was still working on Conrad’s bike. Despite what he’d promised

himself.

It was stupid, and he was never going to get paid for it. Not after the way he’d stormed out of the

restaurant. Not after what he’d told Conrad.

And he meant what he’d said, too. He wasn’t going to work for those assholes, the Reds.
Yet here he was, drawing up plans for a new fuel tank—or rather, an old fuel tank that he would

reshape and mount and polish until it was perfect.

Conrad’s bike deserved his attention.
Jake still wasn’t sure if Conrad himself deserved Jake’s attention. But he couldn’t stop thinking

about him.

If Conrad were a motorbike, he’d be a racing bike. All lean, strong lines and no frills, with a

sweet soft purr that did nothing to conceal a deadly speed and whisper-smooth handling.

Jake sighed. This was ridiculous.
He was mooning over a guy he’d had a fight with. A guy he barely knew, and yet.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Conrad’s ready smile, the soft sweet tones of his voice, and the

way he had listened to Jake with such intent focus when Jake told him all of his ideas on how to
rebuild his motorcycle.

Jake tended to bore people with that kind of talk. Even other gearheads weren’t that eager to

hear his ideas; they tended to jump in with ideas and notions of their own. That was a natural give and
take, nothing wrong with that. But Conrad, for the first time in Jake’s experience, just listened.

And then Conrad had told him to do whatever he wanted. That was a show of trust that Jake still

didn’t know what to do with.

I give you a free hand, Conrad had said, with a warm, confiding expression on his beautiful

face, leaning forward over the table. The memory ignited a fire of longing in Jake’s belly.

But that was before the whole thing went to hell. He’d wiped that expression off Conrad’s face

with his own anger.

Jake glared at a spatter of oil off his worktable. Why did I have to lose my temper like that?
All Conrad had said was that his brother was in the Reds. That he rode with them sometimes.
But Conrad couldn’t have been present when they first rode into town, terrifying and intimidating

some of Jake’s friends and neighbors. Scaring people and threatening them, just for fun. Old Rosa
Mason, someone Jake knew from way back, had had a heart attack after they threatened her husband at
the drugstore.

It just raised his hackles. Those guys were trouble, and they were everything Jake hated about

motorcycle clubs, the way they thought they could live above the law.

Maybe Conrad wasn’t like that. He didn’t seem like the type at all. He wasn’t a bully.
Or maybe he is, a dark voice snarled in Jake’s head, the voice of distrust and suspicion that he

could never entirely stifle. Are you going to roll over for him just because he bought you dinner?

Jake picked up a hammer. He couldn’t keep thinking about this. His thoughts kept going in

circles.

He needed to stop thinking, and the best way of doing that was to keep working.

***

Someone’s fist banged on the door to Jake’s workshop. It was almost as loud as the thunder from

the tremendous storm overhead.

Jake looked up from his work, shaking hair out of his eyes. Then he looked at the clock, barely

visible behind a calendar picture of a naked girl floating around in an inner tube.

It was still way too early for any customers to be showing up. There was a reason why the door

was locked.

Maybe it was Garcia, coming in to rave about what Jake had done to improve his bike. Though it

was early for him, too. Unless he’d been partying all night, of course…

The banging got louder and more impatient, and the door rattled with the force of the blows.
Jake sighed and scuffed over to the door. “Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on,” he muttered as he

unlocked the door and flung it open.

Then he stared, his jaw dropping.
On the other side of the door, in the pouring rain, stood someone who looked just like Conrad.
Except…it wasn’t him.
Conrad wore his long blond hair tied back, not loose, and he didn’t have such an arrogant tilt to

his jaw. And—Jake squinted against the harsh orange light of the street lamp—Conrad’s eyes were a
different color. Conrad’s eyes were green, not this icy, cold blue.

The other man was looking him up and down, too. And apparently he didn’t like what he saw,

because his lip curled in a vicious sneer. “So. This is what my little brother chooses to spend his time
with? Tsk. And he used to have such impeccable taste. Where is he?”

Jake was tempted to land a punch straight into that smug, sneering face. So this was Conrad’s

brother, the one Conrad had some kind of argument with.

Well, there was no doubt whether this guy was a dick or not.
“What do you want?” Jake countered.
The blond looked at him as if he was dirt scraped from under someone’s fingernails. That old,

familiar look. I’m rich and you’re scum.

“I just asked you,” the asshole brother said, “and I am not fond of repeating myself. Where’s my

brother?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Jake kept his voice level. What exactly had Conrad said, that his

brother expected to find him here?

The blond sniffed the air, and his expression changed. “He’s been here,” he said with absolute

certainty. “But not tonight.” In a low voice, he added, “Oh, Conrad, what are you doing?”

He ran a hand through his long hair, and for a split second he looked worried, before that cold

disdain closed off his features again. “His bike is still here,” he said, and again it wasn’t a question,
though he hadn’t even looked around for the chopper. “When did you last see him? Do you know
where he’s staying?”

Jake drew a long breath. “That is none of your business,” he said quietly.
What in hell was going on here? Was this guy stalking his own brother?
“Look,” the blond said, and then he paused, visibly drawing himself together. His posture

changed, becoming more supple, and he smiled. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, here. I’m Erick.

I’ve been looking for Conrad, because I’m worried about him. He’s my little brother. Can you help
me?”

There was something about the tone of his voice that disturbed Jake.
It wasn’t like Conrad’s voice at all; Conrad’s voice was soft, cultured, and very pleasant. Erick

sounded smooth and warm, as polished as a late night radio host, but there was a faint hint of menace
beneath it. It felt like Erick was trying to talk him into something, and it made Jake’s hackles rise.

Jake drew back his shoulders, dropping into a defensive posture without conscious awareness.

“Why are you worried?” he asked in return.

If this was some family quarrel, Jake didn’t want to get involved.
But if there was something going on with Conrad, something bad—he couldn’t discount that

possibility—then he needed to know more.

Erick looked a little disappointed, as if he’d hoped for more. As if he expected Jake to just fall

over himself to help him, despite being sneered at. That kind of attitude set Jake’s teeth on edge.

“Conrad went off alone tonight,” Erick said, his words coming slowly, as if he was feeling his

way. “That’s dangerous. In his condition, he should stick with his friends.” He paused, giving Jake a
searching look. “Do you understand me?”

A thin filament of worry curled around Jake’s spine.
In his condition.
It sounded like the sort of thing people would say about Garcia. But Garcia, at least, knew how

to take care of himself when he was wasted or buzzed to high heaven. Garcia usually managed to get
himself out of trouble, without getting his friends involved in whatever crazy shit he got up to. And
Jake appreciated that.

“Is Conrad on drugs?” Jake asked bluntly.
To hell with all this pussyfooting around. He wouldn’t have thought it of Conrad, but it wouldn’t

be the first time he was mistaken in someone.

Erick blinked, and then he broke into laughter. It was unfriendly laughter, with an undertone of

hysteria in it.

Jake was tempted to slap him. “What?”
“I see,” Erick said, still laughing. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew—well, never mind. I shouldn’t

have bothered coming here.” He turned his back and began to walk back to a gleaming motorcycle
parked nearby.

Jake yelled after him, “Hey, wait!”
Without turning his head, Erick swung one leg smoothly over the saddle, gunned the engine and

roared away.

Jake stood there in the pouring rain, staring after the rapidly disappearing bike. It was a custom

Triumph Bonneville, Jake noted with the part of his mind that never stopped examining bikes and
parts, no matter what else was happening.

Overhead, thunder rolled, echoed by the surrounding hills.
Jake rubbed his neck, and his fingers came away wet with rain. He was getting soaked, but

maybe the cool water would help him clear his mind.

The initial burst of anger was fading, quickly replaced by concern.
Jake kept replaying Erick’s words, trying to make sense of them.
I thought you knew.
Knew what?
He went off alone tonight. That’s dangerous.

Why? This was a pretty safe town. Where exactly did Conrad go, that was so dangerous?
In his condition, he should stick with his friends.
That was the especially worrying part. What condition? After Erick’s surprised laughter, Jake

didn’t think it was drugs. It didn’t fit Conrad, anyway.

So what was it? Was he sick? Did he need medicine?
There was no reason for Jake to get involved. Hell, it wasn’t like he and Conrad were even on

speaking terms right now.

And Conrad’s brother was an arrogant jerk. There was no way Jake wanted to do him any

favors.

Besides, Jake had no idea where Conrad was, either. So how could he even help?
No, there was no possible reason why he should get involved in this.
No reason at all.

***

The sun was just rising through a haze of rain when Jake roared into the residential part of

Sevenacres on his old military bike. The saddlebags were still full of stuff from a camping trip, and
her weight pulled heavy at his hands, but he’d had no time to unpack. It was the only motorcycle in the
shop that was even close to operational right now, except for Conrad’s, and Jake wasn’t about to
steal his bike, not even to go look for him.

Jake had only one thing to go on. He knew the name of the bed and breakfast Conrad was staying

at. Erick evidently didn’t, or he wouldn’t have asked.

Whatever was going on between the two brothers, they didn’t seem to be very good at talking to

each other.

When he roared into the quiet side street and saw the sign for The Floating Tiger, Jake got a

feeling that he wasn’t going to find Conrad here.

He had no idea why he felt that way.
It was pure instinct, and Jake tended to trust his instincts.
When he shut off the engine, the street was so quiet that the loudest sound was his own heartbeat

thumping in his ears. Of course, it was still way too early for normal folk. He hoped he hadn’t woken
everybody up.

He rang the bell.
A yawning woman opened the door after a long wait. She was wearing a long housecoat, and her

hair was wrapped in paper twists. Her dark eyes widened when she saw Jake standing on her
doorstep.

“Sorry,” Jake offered. “I know it’s too early.”
She nodded, recovering quickly. “You’re right about that,” she said. “Well, what is it? You

don’t look like you’re going to sell me on some new religion. Do you need a room?”

Jake admired her poise. He was pretty sure he would not have been so articulate if someone got

him out of bed like this. And I wouldn’t have been so nice, either.

“I’m looking for Conrad,” he said. “He said he was staying here…?”
The woman nodded. “He is. Well, mostly. He went out yesterday, and I assumed he—well, I

knew he had a dinner date the day before.” She smiled a little mischievously. “I figured it went well.

He isn’t home yet.”

Jake felt his shoulders slump.
Damn.
He wasn’t surprised. Somehow he knew Conrad wasn’t home. But it would have been nice to be

wrong, to see Conrad strolling down the stairs on those long legs, and to—face it, Jake—apologize
to him.

He gave the woman a sharp look, trying to decide whether or not to be straightforward with her.

It was a risk, and he could be damaging Conrad’s reputation. And his own, he supposed, but that
didn’t seem so important with strangers.

The woman gave him a look in return: assessing, firm, but kind.
That look made up Jake’s mind for him.
“He had dinner with me that night, actually,” Jake admitted. “But—it didn’t go well.” He sighed,

trying to find the words to explain.

Jake was well aware that he didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a dream date. He was wearing old

scruffy motorcycle leathers, his hair was all tangled, and there was at least two days’ stubble on his
cheeks. But to his relief, the woman didn’t look as if she was going to laugh, or be offended by the
possible implications of two men having dinner together.

“And he didn’t go home with you last night?” she asked, softly. She was beginning to catch some

of Jake’s worry, and the smile had slipped from her lips.

The question hung in the air, delicate as gossamer.
Jake winced. If only.
“No,” he admitted. “I was hoping to find him here.”
The woman tilted her head on one side, and her eyes were bright as a bird’s, full of uncanny

intelligence. It made Jake a little nervous; it felt like she was seeing right through him.

“I don’t make a habit of tracking my guests’ movements,” she said.
Jake was tempted to say, Oh, really? But he didn’t think that was wise. He could tell something

else was coming, that she was making up her mind to do something or reveal something, so he said
nothing. He just waited.

“I’ll call my nephew. Hang on a moment.” She vanished, leaving the door open, and Jake stared

into the carpeted hallway, bemused. Her nephew?

After a while, a cat came down the stairs, meowing. She was all black, and her green eyes were

a little wild. Jake eyed her, wondering if he should close the door.

But then the woman came back, and she shooed the cat out of the way. “Lady Macbeth, go back

upstairs!” she said, and the cat reluctantly withdrew.

“Sorry,” the woman said, coming back to Jake. “She just had kittens and they keep escaping, so

she’s a little on edge. She didn’t bite you, did she?”

Jake shook his head. He didn’t want to make small talk about cats; he wanted answers. The need

to go after Conrad thrummed inside him like a tightly-wound spring. “Any word?”

She nodded. “My nephew Marshall drives a cab, and he took your friend Conrad to Silver

Springs yesterday. He says there was a motorcycle club meetup there. You probably know more
about that than I do.”

Jake didn’t know a damn thing, but he didn’t think it would help his cause to admit that. “Uh

huh,” he muttered. “And he didn’t pick Conrad up after that?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I get the feeling Marshall was disappointed not to see him again.” A

corner of her mouth tilted up. “Your friend must be a charmer.”

Jake tamped down on the sudden, absurd flare of jealousy. “Right. Well, thanks,” he said,

knowing it was too gruff, that he was on the verge of being rude.

“Good luck,” she said. “Hope you find him.”
“So do I,” Jake muttered. He strode back to his motorcycle, wondering what on earth he was

going to do.

One of the saddlebag clasps had come undone, and he tugged it closed, his mind elsewhere.
Silver Springs. A motorcycle club meeting.
That had to be the Reds.
But Erick didn’t know where Conrad was, either. So he wasn’t at their club house or wherever it

was they’d been meeting.

Jake had nothing more to go on, nowhere to start looking. But that tight-strung feeling inside him

seemed to twang when he thought about heading for Silver Springs.

Something was calling him there.
Or someone.

***

Silver Springs was an opulent town, full of neatly kept houses and tightly manicured lawns, and

Jake always felt like he didn’t belong here.

At least they were getting used to bikers, now that the Reds were staying here. Jake wasn’t

getting as many funny looks as he used to. But he wasn’t getting any closer to Conrad, either.

He circled the town, frustrated, trying to pick up—what?
It was ridiculous. He had nothing to go on.
And yet something was calling at him, tugging at him. A nameless feeling that grew stronger the

more he tried to ignore it. It was pulling him away from the town now, and toward the mountains that
lay behind it.

Jake followed. What else could he do?
The rain poured down, and the sun was completely hidden again. It was a lowering sky, dark and

stormy, with jagged clouds sailing overhead, and the road was slick and wet.

Dangerous weather, and not exactly ideal for riding into the mountains. But Jake kept going.
Dark forest rose up on either side of the road, dripping more rain. There was no one else on the

road, except a truck or two heading into town, coming down from the mountain pass. One of them
honked at Jake, in greeting or warning.

That feeling was growing stronger now, but harder to define. It seemed to be tugging at him,

trying to steer him to the left. The wrong lane.

Jake wasn’t about to go ride into oncoming traffic. He might be on a fool’s errand, but he

wouldn’t make it a suicidal one.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a track leading away to the left. More like a deer

path than a road. Even as he passed it, that strange tension inside him twanged.

He yanked the wheel around, made a tight 180 turn, and drove onto the dirt track.
Chunks of rock spat away from under his wheels, and mud fountained up to his thighs.
Talk about a dirty ride. He’d be hours cleaning this crap off his bike, let alone himself.
The track wound between tall pines, and his headlights illuminated nothing but rain and tree

trunks.

Clearly there was nothing out here. He must be going crazy.
The track narrowed, and then something lit up in his headlights.
A fence, rusty wire between white wooden posts.
And behind the fence, a dilapidated old wooden house.
A “For Sale” sign swung from the fence. It looked like it had hung there for about a decade.
Jake shut off the engine and sat there for a moment in the pouring rain, trying to understand what

had driven him here.

Conrad couldn’t be here. Why would elegant, sophisticated, beautiful Conrad be hanging around

an abandoned house?

Unless his drug dealer lives here. All his old suspicion came roaring back.
Jake tried to shake that idea off, but it made all kinds of sense. And yet he couldn’t believe

Conrad would stoop so low.

No. Something else is going on here.
He jumped over the fence—it wasn’t that high—and walked toward the house, his boots

squelching in the mud.

Up close, the house didn’t look all that bad, just old. The paint was peeling, but the roof seemed

solid enough, and there were no gaps in the wooden shingles. The shutters were closed, and he could
see no light behind them.

Jake stood on the doorstep for a moment. He could knock, but it seemed absurd.
Instead, he tried the door.
It was unlocked.

***

Conrad curled up on himself, lost in a sunken dream.
It was cold. He wanted to curl up tighter, put his nose under his tail for warmth. But his spine

didn’t want to cooperate. And his tail—where was his tail?

He whined, low in his throat, hoping one of his packmates would hear him…
No.
He had no pack.
He was alone.
His brother’s pack was not his, not any longer.
Shivering, Conrad tried to find his way back to being human.
It took so long, and it was painful.
He didn’t want to be like this, naked and furless and defenseless.
The wolf fought him, all the way. The wolf wanted to be in charge.
And it was so much colder, to be human.
So much more alone.
There was a noise, not far off, and Conrad tried to prick up his ears, but they wouldn’t move.
Friend? Enemy? Predator?
He tried to catch the scent. His nose was weak now, human, but he caught a trace of—warm iron

leather man-smell oil—no, that couldn’t be right.

Jake couldn’t possibly be here.
Wherever here was.
But now there was a creak, and footsteps. Heavy footsteps, carrying the weight of a man across

wooden floorboards.

And that scent—heady, deliciously male—was only growing stronger.
Conrad opened his eyes, trying to focus in the gloom.
A dark shape was coming in closer, towering over him.
He shrank back, confused.
The wolf wanted to run.
The human wanted to hide.
Conrad wrapped his paws—arms—over his head and groaned as another jet of pain sliced into

him. It felt like his bones were being pulled apart.

Someone was standing there, not moving. Someone was watching him.
No! Nobody should watch him!
But he couldn’t do anything, only lie there and shudder. Pain rippled through him in all-

consuming waves.

“Jesus,” someone said. A dark, deep voice.
Jake.
It was him.
Even though it couldn’t be. How could he be here?
A hand touched Conrad’s bare, furless shoulder, and he yelped.
“Easy,” the voice said, a rumble of sound that Conrad couldn’t help but find comforting. “It’s

okay—”

The hand stroked over his shoulder, slowly.
A big hand, and warm. Very warm.
Conrad wanted to curl up in that warmth.
“Do you need medicine?” Jake said.
Conrad tried to understand him. The words came through fuzzy and indistinct, so much less clear

than howls.

The wolf didn’t want to talk. The wolf wanted to bite and snarl and drive off the stranger.
Conrad resisted the impulse with everything he had.
Jake was no stranger.
“No,” he managed, the word coming out all smoky and warped from his aching throat.
“Okay,” Jake said.
He didn’t sound alarmed or even worried. He sounded—strong. Grounded. Like a tree.
Conrad needed that strength so desperately.
“You’re cold,” Jake said. It was as if he understood Conrad’s need for simple words, plain

words, easy to understand.

Conrad agreed. He was cold.
Cold, and alone. No, not alone, not any more. Jake was here now.
“I’m taking you home,” Jake said then. “That okay with you?”
It sounded so good that Conrad gave a little moan.
He wasn’t sure he could manage any more words. Instead, he just butted up against Jake’s hand,

then clasped it with one of his own strange furless paws.

“Easy,” Jake said again, but he didn’t take his hand away.

Conrad held on, wanting to be sure that he wasn’t imagining this.
Jake’s hand was warm against his fingers, and a little rough. It felt real.
“I’ll get you some clothes,” Jake said. “Hey, listen. I need to go outside for just a moment.”
That was a lot of words to track. But the human side of him was slowly getting stronger,

overpowering the wolf’s fierce possession of his mind and body. Conrad understood.

He didn’t particularly want to understand, though. He didn’t want to let go of Jake’s hand, or see

him walk away. Jake might never come back.

Conrad rubbed Jake’s hand against his mouth, wanting to take in more of that wonderful male

scent, that heat. He wanted to kiss it, but now Jake tugged his hand away. “I’ll be back in a minute,”
he said.

Conrad slumped against the cold floor, wanting to howl.
Jake’s heavy footsteps were moving away, moving out of the house.
What house? Where was he? Sluggishly, Conrad’s mind began to stir, asking questions that he

had no answers to.

A door slammed. More interminable waiting, and then Jake was back.
Conrad sighed with relief. He wasn’t being abandoned.
“Here,” Jake said, coming closer to crouch at Conrad’s side. “Put these on.”
Conrad pawed at the bundle of clothes. It was some kind of fabric. Heavy. Soft.
He dug his fingers into the fabric, wondering how to get it around him.
It felt like it would be warm, and he had lost his fur. Humans wore these to make up for their

lack of fur. He knew that, but it was a vague, abstract knowledge, and he couldn’t figure out how it
related to him.

Jake watched him for a moment or two, then shook his head. “Okay, let me do this,” he said. He

didn’t even sound angry. “Can you put your arms over your head?”

It took some effort—Conrad had to remember which of his paws were his arms—but after a

while, he managed it.

“Good,” Jake encouraged him, and Conrad wanted to roll around in that warm approval. He

wanted to hear it again, from Jake’s lips.

Big hands tugging at him, and now he was wearing something soft. A sweater, the humans called

it.

No, he was human himself. He called it that.
It didn’t quite fit. His wrists were bare, sticking out from the sleeves and looking white and bony

and strange. And there seemed to be a lot of extra fabric around his shoulders.

“Now pants,” Jake said. “I don’t have any underwear, sorry. Just—here.”
Conrad tried to remember how to use his legs, but they were long, gangly objects that didn’t

seem to belong to him.

Jake wasn’t touching him, just holding out a ball of fabric in his direction. He was a little

flushed, and looking away from Conrad for some reason.

It wasn’t what Conrad wanted. He wanted Jake to look at him again, and to say “Good” again.
Reluctantly, Conrad grabbed the fabric, and it unfolded in his hands.
Right. These were pants.
They went over your legs, he knew that. But his knowledge seemed to end there, and he stared

down at them, confused.

Jake was watching him now, and Conrad lifted up his eyes to meet Jake’s, pleading wordlessly.
“Oh, angel,” Jake said softly.

Conrad wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“Here,” Jake said then, and now he was closer, picking up the pants in his big, competent hands.
Yes, that was better. Now Jake was touching him again, lifting up Conrad’s legs and then all the

rest of him, tugging fabric over his hips—Jake was strong.

Was he a werewolf too? No, Conrad would have smelled it.
Jake was so close to him right now, and even with his now mostly-human senses, Conrad could

still tell that his scent didn’t have those particular animal overtones.

Not a werewolf, then. But so strong, and kind, and his hands were so warm.
Conrad let himself sag against Jake, against the cool leather of his motorcycle jacket, and Jake’s

arms came around him to hold him.

He could hear Jake’s heart beating. A powerful heartbeat, thudding in his broad chest.
His arms were wide and muscular, and clearly made for holding Conrad close.
Conrad fit into his arms perfectly, much better than he fit into the sweater.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jake said.
Conrad nodded. He would have agreed to anything, as long as Jake kept holding him like this.

***

Jake walked slowly up the metal stairs, half-supporting and half-carrying Conrad. It was the

strangest burden he had ever brought up to his apartment. The strangest, and the most precious.

Conrad was still only half there, and his eyes were foggy. He leaned into Jake, trusting him to

take his weight.

It was very strange. Jake had no idea what was the matter with Conrad. It was almost like

Conrad was a sleepwalker, like he thought that Jake was just another part of his dream.

But that didn’t explain why Jake had found him curled up naked on the bare floorboards of an

empty house, without any sign of how he’d gotten there.

No tire tracks, no boot marks, nothing. And no sign of his clothes, either.
Right now, though, none of that mattered. Explanations could wait.
What mattered was that Conrad was cold—Jake could feel the iciness of his skin beneath the

inadequate sweater—and needed help.

“Hey,” Jake said when they reached the top of the stairs. “Can you stand up by yourself for a

second? I need to unlock the door.” He couldn’t do that with Conrad wrapped all around him like a
clinging vine. Not that he really wanted Conrad to let go.

Conrad muttered something into Jake’s hair, and slowly unwound his arms from around Jake’s

torso. Then he stood swaying on his feet, looking as if he would topple down the stairs any moment.

Hurriedly, Jake shoved him against the wall, giving him some support before he fell over. “Just

stay there,” he said in the gentlest tone he could manage, trying not to show how worried he was.
“Easy. Good.”

At that last word, Conrad smiled at him, a smile of such startling beauty that Jake thought his

heart would stop.

“Yes,” Conrad said.
Jake fumbled for his keys. He couldn’t look away from Conrad, and it made unlocking the

various padlocks a little more difficult.

At least Conrad was speaking again. He hadn’t said a word since that single “No” when Jake

asked if he needed medicine.

When he finally got the door open, Jake waited a moment, to see if Conrad would say anything

else, but no. He was just smiling dreamily.

If Conrad wasn’t on drugs, and Jake was still not willing to believe that he was, then Conrad

was giving a remarkably good imitation of being high as a kite.

Jake shook his head. “Oh, angel.”
He should probably stop saying that. At least, in the state he was in, Conrad wasn’t going to

remember it and hold it against him later.

Jake bumped up against Conrad, giving him a shoulder to lean on, then wrapped his arm around

Conrad’s slim waist. “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.”

Together they stumbled through the doorway, and Jake slammed the heavy door shut behind them

and bolted it.

“Here,” Jake said, taking careful steps so Conrad wouldn’t fall over his feet. He steered the both

of them around to the stove he’d set up in the middle of the loft, and the big old couch in front of it.
Then he gave Conrad a nudge with his hips, and Conrad easily fell down and into the soft cushions of
the couch, his long legs sprawling.

“Oh,” Conrad said, looking surprised. Then he rubbed his cheek against a cushion.
Jake had to bite back a grin. Conrad was so out of it, but he was so sweet at the same time. It

made Jake ache to take care of him, to protect him so nobody could hurt him when he was like this.

He picked up an afghan and unfolded it, then wrapped it around Conrad’s shoulders.
There, that was a little better, though his skin still felt cold, and his wrists and ankles stuck out

from Jake’s old hiking clothes. He and Conrad weren’t exactly the same size.

It wasn’t a cold morning, though the sky was still overcast after that huge storm. When the

sunlight hit the big factory windows, the loft would warm up quick enough.

But Jake didn’t want to wait for the sun to come out. Instead, he knelt by the cast-iron stove and

emptied the ash tray.

The stove was an old beast of a thing that he’d managed to wrestle up here with the help of two

friends and a lot of swearing. It always took him a while to get a good fire going, but once the cast
iron was warmed up, the heat would stay for hours.

There was a stack of firewood and kindling out on the balcony, under a tarp. Jake came back

with armfuls of both, and made sure to lock the balcony door behind him. He didn’t want Conrad
wandering out there and deciding to see if he could fly.

Not that there was any danger of that right now. Conrad was half-sitting, half-lying on the couch,

his long blond hair hanging around his face, and the colorful afghan wrapped tight around his
shoulders.

His hair needs tying back, Jake thought suddenly. Conrad was so elegant, he wouldn’t want to

look this disheveled. And Jake’s fingers itched to sink themselves in that silky hair and find out if it
was as soft as it looked.

Jake huffed a breath, disgusted with himself.
Don’t be an idiot.
Jake wasn’t going to touch Conrad anymore than he had to, not when he was like this. Not when

Conrad was so vulnerable. The thought of anyone taking advantage of him in his current condition
was heartrending.

Jake knelt by the stove and began to build up the kindling, stacking bigger pieces of wood around

the smaller ones. He didn’t want to make a small, careful fire; he wanted a fast blaze that would heat
the stove up quickly and bring Conrad some comfort.

He struck a match, lit a wad of paper, and blew carefully on the small flame. You never needed

more than one match to make a fire, not if you were careful. That was one of the things Jake’s mostly-
absent dad had taught him on their few camping trips. And the lesson had stuck.

The fire grew, and soon Jake could close the stove door. The iron was heating up under his

hands.

He stood up, stretching to take the stiffness out of his knees, and looked at Conrad to check on

him.

The blond was curled up further on the couch now, his eyes unfocused but still not closed, his

hands clenching and unclenching on the blanket as if in reflex.

When Jake took a cautious step closer, Conrad looked up at him.
His beautiful green eyes were a little hazy, but his voice was clear enough when he said, “Where

am I?”

***

“You’re safe,” Jake said.
That seemed to be the most important information he could give right now.
You’re safe, you’re with me, and nobody’s going to hurt you. I’ll take care of you.
He was a little surprised at himself, at the fierce instinctive rush of feeling that was so much

stronger than common sense.

Conrad looked around, blinking dazedly, and then slowly focused on Jake again. There was no

surprise in his expression, no shock, no ‘what am I doing here, and with you of all people?’ that Jake
could see.

Then Conrad shook the afghan off his shoulders and stretched out his hand, turning it over slowly

in the air and staring at it.

“It’s morning,” he announced. His voice sounded very rusty.
“Yep,” Jake agreed.
He wasn’t going to ask questions or overload Conrad with information, not while Conrad was

still coming back to himself. Back from…wherever he had been. Whatever had driven him to seek
shelter in that empty house.

The stove was heating rapidly, and the wood crackled as it burned. Jake could feel his back

getting slowly roasted, and he took a step away from the stove and toward the couch.

For a moment he stood there, looking down at Conrad, who gazed up at him with wide,

wondering eyes.

Jake was torn between conflicting impulses.
He wanted to bend over Conrad, wrap him up in his arms, and hold him close. He wanted to

stroke that shining hair and tell Conrad he was safe.

And at the same time, he knew he couldn’t do it. I am not that guy. I’m not going to take

advantage of him. I’m not going to make him regret trusting me.

God, the pull toward Conrad was so strong, he could almost feel it like a physical force, like a

line stretching taut between them. It was the same feeling that had led him to find Conrad in the first

place.

After a moment’s thought, Jake sat down on the cement floor with his back against the couch, by

Conrad’s feet. He drew up his legs and wrapped his arms around then, and stared unseeingly at the
crackling stove. When he wasn’t looking at Conrad, it was a little easier to keep himself under
control.

God damn it, what is wrong with me?
Jake had never been like this. He wasn’t handsy, he wasn’t a grabber. He’d seen enough of that

when his sister Francine turned from a tomboy into a bombshell, so suddenly that it felt like it
happened overnight.

All the guys in school had been after her, and others, too—older men, neighbors, even Mr Ladd

the grocer. Some of them would just bump into her, trying to find any flimsy excuse for a quick grab at
her amazing breasts. Jake had ended up in a lot of fights over Francine.

He rubbed roughly at his chin, feeling the bristles there. He needed a shave and a shower, and a

hot breakfast. But he didn’t want to leave Conrad alone.

“Hey,” Jake said. “When did you last eat?”
There was a silence that went on long enough that Jake began to wonder if Conrad had fallen

asleep.

He risked a look over his shoulder, up at Conrad, only to find the blond staring down at him, his

dark green eyes full of some emotion Jake couldn’t name.

That look sent a thrill of longing up Jake’s spine. He looked away quickly, down at the floor, as

if Conrad’s attention burned him.

“Lunch,” Conrad said softly. “Yesterday. I think. I—didn’t really have dinner.”
“Right,” Jake said, swallowing hard at the soft, vulnerable look in Conrad’s eyes. “Do you eat

eggs?” Vegetarian, he remembered, and tried to ignore the memory of delicious food fed to him by
Conrad’s hand.

Conrad nodded. “Yes.” Then, after a long pause, “Where am I?”
Jake clamped his arms hard around his knees so he wouldn’t reach out to Conrad and hug him.

“You’re at my place,” he said gruffly.

Don’t ask questions. Just let him tell you, when he’s ready. Why was it so hard to just have a

simple conversation? He’d never felt like this before, not about anyone, and it was scaring him.

Conrad looked around slowly, his eyes wandering over his surroundings.
Jake looked too, trying to see it with Conrad’s eyes.
He saw the rough cement floor, the huge factory windows with their black metal frames and

shutters, and the rack of steel industrial shelves against one wall that held boxes of Jake’s clothes and
his other few possessions. There wasn’t much furniture, just the couch Conrad was sitting on and the
big futon bed below the left window. And against one rough brick wall, there was the kitchen, which
was a grand word for a bunch of castoff restaurant units that Jake had salvaged.

Jake waited to see if Conrad had more questions, obscurely relieved that Conrad didn’t say

anything negative about his place. It might be a little rough on the edges, but it was home to him. Then,
slowly, he unfolded himself from his seated position and stretched.

“I’ll make us some breakfast,” he promised.
Conrad smiled at him, and it was like the sun coming out. “Thank you.”
Jake felt a wave of heat wash through him, and it wasn’t because of the hot stove at his back. He

grunted something inaudible and turned away quickly, stomping over to the kitchen area.

Breakfast. Food. He needed to do something with his hands. That would help him get back to his

normal self.

There were eggs in the fridge, and milk. He cracked six eggs into a bowl, whisked them with a

splash of milk, and rummaged around for butter.

Scrambled eggs would not make a very substantial breakfast, not without bread. Did he have any

bread? Suddenly his empty shelves seemed to be accusing him of neglect. You bring someone home
and can’t even make them a good breakfast.

In the small freezer compartment, behind a pack of hamburgers, half a loaf of bread was hiding,

frozen rock-hard. Jake tugged it out, shedding icy crystals all over, and hammered at the loaf with his
fist until it fell apart into frozen slices.

“Can I help?” a voice said behind him.
Jake jumped nearly a foot in the air.
For a little span of time, his attention focused on mundane food details, he’d completely

forgotten that Conrad was there, awake and alert and…standing behind him, now. God. He could feel
the other man’s presence.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on what his hands were doing.
He stuffed two of the frozen slices into his ancient toaster and turned it on, then switched on the

gas and reached up for one of the big sheet-metal pans hanging over the kitchen counter.

Then he turned around, pan in hand, and whatever he was going to say disappeared from his

mind.

Conrad was standing there dressed in Jake’s old sweatshirt, which fit him oddly, and Jake’s old

hiking pants, and nothing else. His long, narrow feet were bare and looked as delicate as porcelain
against the cement floor.

Jake was suddenly, viscerally reminded that Conrad wasn’t wearing underwear. That Conrad

had been naked when Jake found him. Jake had tried hard not to look too closely, not to invade his
privacy, but now even the sight of those bare feet was almost too much.

“Go sit down,” he said, knowing it sounded too gruff, but unable to help himself. “You need to

warm up.”

“Your toast is burning,” Conrad said with a faint smile.
He was right. A curl of smoke was drifting up from the old toaster.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” Jake grabbed the toast, then yelped as he burned his fingers. God, he

was being such an idiot. He couldn’t even make breakfast like a normal person.

“Sit down,” Jake barked. “Stop distracting me.”
Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
But it worked. Conrad turned on his heel and went back to the couch without another word.
Jake stared after him, breathing a little faster than usual.
A pang of worry smote him. Damn it, had he hurt Conrad’s feelings?
Jake was used to yelling at people, even people he was very fond of. Maybe especially people

he was very fond of.

In his family, the louder you yelled, the more you cared. It wasn’t a sign of anger. In fact, when

Jake was angry, he tended to get quiet, just like his dad used to. But he knew that wasn’t how
everyone operated. And Conrad— soft-spoken, sweetly smiling, elegant Conrad—no, Conrad
probably hadn’t been raised like that.

Cursing under his breath, he stirred up the eggs with a vengeance, almost slopping them out of

the bowl. The big pan was already hot, and he turned down the gas before slipping a pat of butter into
the pan. No point in burning the eggs, too. The toast was salvageable, at least; burned eggs wouldn’t

be.

He picked up a wooden fork and poured the eggs into the pan, then milled pepper and salt into

them. This, at least, he could do. It was incredibly basic cooking, but it was comforting food, better
than cold yoghurt or cereal. And though Conrad seemed to have recovered a little, he could definitely
use a hot meal.

Jake snorted as he realized he was treading on his mother’s territory. That boy is too thin, you

should feed him! He could hear her saying it as clear as day.

God, she would love Conrad. So well-mannered! she would say, marveling. Where on earth did

you find him?

Well, mom, there was this empty house in the woods…
The wooden fork scraped over the bottom of the pan, turning the eggs, while Jake lost himself

for a moment in a pleasant fantasy of introducing Conrad to his mother.

She wouldn’t blink an eye at Jake introducing another man to her. She’d known that that was a

likely event since Jake was six. But she would be horrified at Conrad being a vegetarian.

You can’t survive on greens! she would say, and she would probably poke Conrad in the ribs to

accentuate her point. Look at you, you need a good steak dinner! Jake, you need to feed this boy
right, you hear me?

Yes, mom, Jake answered in the privacy of his own mind, and kept scrambling the eggs.
Then he sighed. It was probably wrong to keep thinking of his mom as though she was still alive,

just in the next room somewhere, but he couldn’t help it. It was better than thinking of never seeing her
again.

“What is it?” Conrad said softly.
Jake started. He looked around to see Conrad leaning over the back of the couch, watching him

from beneath the disorderly fall of his long blond hair.

“You look sad,” Conrad added earnestly. He wasn’t looking so sleepy now, though he was

clearly still a litlte out of it. His dark green eyes were focused on Jake.

If this was Garcia, Jake would have yelled at him, told him to mind his own business. If it had

been any of Jake’s other friends—well, acquaintances, he didn’t have that many real friends—Jake
would have ignored him completely, writing him off as a noseyparker.

But because it was Conrad, he couldn’t do any of those things.
Conrad was…different.
Jake turned back to his eggs, which were just about done. He turned off the heat and added

another pat of butter, letting it melt into the eggs.

“I was just thinking about my mom,” he muttered. Then he could have smacked himself in the

face for saying something so stupid. Why would he want Conrad to think of him as a momma’s boy?

There was a pause, in which Jake scraped the burnt bits off the toast with a sharp knife.
Then Conrad said, “My parents are divorced. I haven’t seen my mother in a long time.”
Jake was tempted to say, Me either. That was almost funny in a black sort of way.
Instead, he found some plates and forks, and carried them back to the couch. There was an

upturned crate to serve as a table, and he put the plates down on that.

“My mom died three years ago,” Jake told Conrad. “I miss her.” The words sounded so simple,

so basic. They were such an inadequate means to convey what he felt, but they were all he had.

Conrad nodded gravely. “I’m sorry.”
Jake had a feeling that Conrad wasn’t faking it. He nodded back brusquely, then served up the

eggs and toast.

He snuck a bite first, to test if he’d done a good job. The eggs were rich, meltingly soft, with just

enough pepper and salt to keep them from being bland.

Jake smeared a good layer of butter on a slice of toast and ladled the scrambled eggs on top, then

handed it to Conrad.

“Thank you,” Conrad said, taking the plate with both hands.
To Jake’s secret delight, Conrad’s eyes went wide when he inhaled the scent of the eggs. He

began to eat eagerly, and Jake filled another plate for himself and followed suit. Then he went back to
toast more bread, keeping a careful eye on the toaster this time.

“This is delicious,” Conrad said. “I—” he hesitated, and there was a silence.
Jake kept his attention firmly on the toaster.
Conrad took a deep breath. “Jake. I don’t know if you want to hear it, but I’m very grateful for

all you’ve done for me. I just don’t understand how you found me.”

The toast popped out of the toaster, and Jake slipped it onto a plate and turned around. “Neither

do I,” he said. “I don’t understand any of this.”

Conrad was leaning over the back of the couch, his beautiful eyes fixed on Jake. “How did you

know I needed help?”

Jake gave him another slice of toast, then sat down on the other end of the couch. It felt weird to

be this close, but he was drawn to Conrad’s presence, and he couldn’t have this conversation while
standing over him.

“Your brother,” he told Conrad. “He came looking for you.” No need to tell him just how badly

that conversation had gone.

Conrad’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He looked surprised, then thoughtful. “But that still—how did

you find me?”

Jake shrugged. He was uncomfortably aware that he didn’t have any answers, and he didn’t like

the feeling. “I just…went looking, I guess.”

Conrad stared at him, clearly baffled.
Jake looked away and pretended to be so busy chewing toast that he couldn’t talk. He didn’t

know what else to say.

“And did—did Erick tell you anything?” Conrad asked cautiously.
“About what?”
Conrad sighed, and now he looked frustrated. “About—our common problem.” He hesitated,

tilting his fork to catch the light. “If he didn’t, I don’t know if I—I’m not supposed to—”

It was very unlike Conrad to let his sentences trail off like this, Jake thought, and it was

worrying. He watched Conrad fiddle with his fork.

“I asked him if you were on drugs,” Jake offered. “He laughed.”
Conrad nearly choked. “On drugs! Good grief, is that what you think of me?” He was flushing,

his fair skin slowly turning rosy.

Jake shook his head. “I didn’t think that was very like you. But nothing Erick said made sense,

otherwise. He said you would need help, in the condition you were in. And you certainly were out of
it when I found you.”

You were also naked. And where the hell did you leave your clothes? Jake wanted to say, but

he kept the words behind his teeth. The conversation was tense enough already.

“I’m sorry,” Conrad said softly. “I’ve been nothing but a burden to you.”
Jake waved that away with one broad sweep of his hand. “Look, I know I got pissed off earlier,

and I’m the one should apologize,” he said.

The words didn’t come easy, but he felt better as soon as he said them. “I’m sorry about that,

okay? I just—yeah, I hate the Reds, they’ve done some damage to people I care about. But I don’t hate
you. And I’m not sorry about getting you out of that empty house. Whatever you were doing there.”

“I—appreciate your help,” Conrad murmured. He was still flushed, and he seemed to have some

trouble meeting Jake’s eyes. As if he was ashamed.

“Are you sick?” Jake asked then, worry making him bold. “What is this condition?”
Unpleasant possibilities flooded his mind, things he’d read about in magazines or seen on TV.
Mental illness. Psychotic episodes. Fugue states. Sleepwalking. Paranoia. Persecution

complex.

But none of them seemed to fit the slightly flushed, startlingly beautiful man sitting on his couch.
Conrad was staring down at the floor. “I’m—Jake, I’m in your debt, and I’m grateful. Can we

leave it at that?”

Watching Conrad’s unhappy expression, Jake was very tempted to give in. But something told

him that if he gave in now and allowed Conrad to retreat, he would never get this far again. He would
never understand what Conrad was hiding. And then he’d never be able to get any closer to him than
he was now.

“I can’t,” Jake said bluntly. “Tell me.” And after a moment he added, “Please.”

***

Conrad took some time to compose himself. He needed it before he could even try to answer

Jake.

He ran a hand through his hair, which felt sticky and matted. He needed a shower. He needed—

god, he needed time. And yet, at the same time, he hoped Jake would understand.

But he was so afraid. He’d never done this before, never told anyone from the outside world his

secret.

It could be so wonderful, if it brought them closer.
If it brought Conrad some understanding, from someone who was not a wolf. Not a pack

member, not living a life of hierarchy and pack order and endless jockeying for power. Someone who
was just himself.

And he’d never met anyone who was so intensely himself as Jake.
Jake was looking at him so intently. He was so quiet, just waiting and giving Conrad the time he

needed.

It was impossible to refuse him the truth. Conrad couldn’t be that callous, that cruel, not after

Jake had rescued him. And how it was possible that Jake had found him before any of Erick’s pack
had, Conrad couldn’t even begin to figure out. It wasn’t like Jake had the ability to track anyone by
scent.

Finally, Conrad dragged air into his lungs and began to speak. “My parents are werewolves.”
Jake’s face was blank, his expression impossible to read. He sat quietly on the couch, watching

Conrad, but he was giving nothing away with his face or posture or even his scent.

“And since my parents are—” Conrad tried to remember how to string words together, but it

was the most difficult thing in the world right now, “—well, so am I. A werewolf, I mean. Every full
moon, three days every month, I change. I changed last night.”

He paused, but still Jake’s expression was unreadable. Closed-off. Blank.
“Last night, I ran away from the pack. I went into unknown territory,” Conrad continued

desperately, fighting to get the words out in order. “That’s—not the best idea. I was upset, and I tried
to find shelter. That house was easy to get into, even for a wolf. But then of course when I woke up, I
didn’t know where I was, or how to get back to town. And I had no cache of clothes nearby—”

Conrad wanted to throw a pillow at Jake for staying so quiet. “Is this getting through to you?” he

asked, gripping the couch cushion with unnecessary force.

Jake slowly shook his head. “No,” he said in a perfectly calm voice, “I don’t think so. Unless

you’re seriously telling me that you turned into a wolf last night.”

“But that’s what I am telling you,” Conrad cried. “I did turn into a wolf. And I’d only just turned

back when you found me, don’t you see?”

God, this was such hard going, even harder than he’d feared.
Jake was still looking so closed-off, so contained, his powerful shoulders bunched tight. And he

wasn’t reacting at all. It was like talking to a statue.

“Jake,” Conrad pleaded. “I’ve never told anyone this before. Please say something.”
“I just don’t get it,” Jake said at last. “I didn’t think you were on drugs, and I still don’t. But this

—why are you making up this story? It makes no sense. If you don’t want to tell me what happened,
then just…don’t tell me, okay? Don’t—don’t do this.”

Conrad felt himself flush. “You think—what, you think I’m lying?”
Jake was so quiet, so still, but he met Conrad’s eyes without hesitation. “I don’t know what to

think. But I—what you’re telling me—that’s nuts. Werewolves don’t exist. That’s like—I don’t know,
like saying you can fly. Or move things with your mind, or something.” He took a deep, slow breath.
“I can’t accept that.”

Conrad shook his head, trying to get rid of the hot sting of unshed tears in the corners of his eyes.
This was a nightmare.
His father often said, Don’t tell the humans anything. They won’t understand.
Conrad had always thought that his father was a pessimist.
Maybe not.
“It’s what happened,” Conrad insisted, one last heartfelt effort.
Jake shook his head, and now he was looking as frustrated as Conrad felt. “It can’t be. Conrad,

that’s just—that makes no sense.”

Conrad realized that he’d never heard Jake say his name before.
It was bittersweet to hear it now. It sounded so intimate, even though Jake was busy shutting out

everything Conrad was. Everything Conrad had hoped to share with him.

Conrad stood up, slowly. He swung his dignity around himself like a cape, concealing just how

hurt he was.

“Do you have a phone?” he heard himself say in a distant, cold voice.
Jake blinked. “Over by the window. Why?”
Conrad padded over to the window, the cement floor cold against his bare feet. “I’ll call myself

a cab.”

Jake shook his head again. “No,” he said, “Just—don’t, okay? Don’t leave here like this.”
But Conrad was already dialing Marshall’s number, and he turned his back so that Jake wouldn’t

see his hands shaking.

***

“No, wait,” Jake was saying.
Conrad tried to tune him out. There were tears in his eyes, and he didn’t want to let them fall

where Jake could see. He had to get out of here, get back to the pack, and forget about ever trying to
share himself with normal humans again.

Forget about seeing Jake again.
“Conrad, damn it!”
The phone in his hand suddenly went dead. Not even a buzz tone.
Conrad looked up to see Jake standing by the wall, with a length of wire in his hands. He’d

ripped the telephone plug out of the wall.

“Look,” Jake said, his dark eyes boring into Conrad’s, “You want to leave, leave. But not like

this. Talk to me first, okay?”

“I talked to you already,” Conrad said bitterly. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m lying. Again.”
Jake dug both hands into his wild hair and fisted them, making his hair stand up in crazy tufts. It

was clearly an expression of frustration. And it really, really shouldn’t make Conrad want to smile.
Not now.

“I’m sorry,” Jake said then.
The words fell into the silence like stones into a pond. Conrad just stood there, the dead phone

in his hand, watching Jake.

“I’m—not good at this,” Jake continued. He squared his shoulders and took a deep, harsh breath.
Conrad bit back some acid comment along the lines of No, really?
He would let Jake talk himself out, and then he would go. But Jake deserved to be heard, after

what he’d done for Conrad.

Jake took one careful step closer, his heavy workboots thunking on the cement floor. “I—,” he

began, and then scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know how to deal with what you told me. But
I don’t think you’re lying. I want to understand.” He took another deep breath. “Please don’t leave.”

The naked, raw honesty in his expression made Conrad’s insides do backflips.
Jake was so closed-off, so prickly most of the time, unless you got him talking about

motorcycles. But he was opening up now, making himself do it, just to apologize to Conrad.

The way he stood there, his feet firmly planted on the floor, his wild curly hair standing up on

his head, his massive arms crossed as if he was trying to shield himself—it made Conrad’s heart
ache. He wanted to walk into those powerful arms and kiss him.

Oh, for pity’s sake, Conrad sighed inwardly. Why did this have to get so complicated?
He put the phone down on the table with a small thud.
He might as well resign himself to his fate.
He wasn’t leaving. Not with Jake looking at him like that.
“I could use a shower,” Conrad said at last, grasping at straws. Anything that would take up a

little time, give them both some breathing space.

Jake’s heavy stare softened a little. “I have a shower. A good one. I built it myself. Want to

see?”

“Lead me to it,” Conrad said.

***

Jake led Conrad across the loft and to the walled-off space where he’d built his shower. He

didn’t look around, but he listened hard for the soft sound of Conrad’s bare feet on the floor.

Have to find him some better clothes.
Not that Jake had anything that would fit Conrad properly, but he could at least find him some

socks.

It was easier to think about that than to try and process what Conrad had told him.
It was just—insane. Impossible. Ludicrous.
Elegant, beautiful, long-limbed Conrad, who was so cultured and soft-spoken, who moved with

the grace of a deer…was a werewolf. A man who turned into a wolf at night.

Ridiculous. Right?
Jake knew a lot of bikers who would have been proud to claim a savage nature. Those guys

talked about ‘the beast inside’ and got into fights to prove it. They would love to call themselves
werewolves, if they thought anyone would believe them.

Conrad wasn’t like them at all. He seemed almost ashamed of what he’d told Jake.
I’ve never told anyone this before, Conrad’s soft voice said in his mind, and the words were

weighted with intense feeling. Whatever this was, it was real to him.

Jake wanted to shrug that off, wanted to deny that Conrad meant what he’d said.
But he couldn’t.
And he couldn’t believe that Conrad was lying, either.
Caught between two impossibilities, Jake tried to focus on simple things.
Show Conrad the shower.
Find him some clothes.
Maybe make some coffee. He could at least try to be a good host.
Jake opened the shower door. Behind the dividing wall—old red bricks that Jake had laid

himself—the shower room was all gleaming glass and dark smooth soapstone, with a giant rain
shower head hanging from the ceiling. It wasn’t so much a walk-in shower as a stroll-in shower; Jake
liked to have room.

Jake turned around, trying for a tone of casual hospitality. “Here it is. Left tap’s hot, right is

cold. Towels on the shelf there. This okay?”

He tried not to look too closely at Conrad, and he tried to make himself sound all business.
Don’t let this be weird.
Even though Jake was feeling a little shaky at the idea of Conrad taking a shower here—naked,

god, Conrad would be naked again—he could at least try and not act like a creep.

But Conrad was smiling, a softly curving smile that did strange things to Jake’s heart rate.
“This is beautiful,” Conrad said. “You built this yourself?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, scuffing his foot against the floor. “I got a deal, some hotel that had leftover

materials. Took about a weekend to fix this up.”

“It’s like a spa,” Conrad said, marveling. “And those tiles, good lord. I haven’t seen a shower

room this well-designed since the Burj al Arab in Dubai.”

Jake tried to keep his expression neutral, but it was hard not to smile and show how much he

loved the praise. It was his weakness, and he knew it. Jake loved everything that he built, and when
anyone else appreciated it, he was putty in their hands.

“Well,” Jake said at last. “I’ll, um. Leave you to it.”
He locked his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch Conrad.
Then he turned and left the shower without looking back.
He stood there in the middle of his loft, his hands gripping each other so tightly that his nails

were leaving dents, and barely breathed until he heard the familiar sound of the hot water tap being
turned on.

How the hell did I get myself into this?
Jake couldn’t stop the images that were playing in his head like a blue movie.
Conrad undressing.
Conrad naked, long and lean and fucking gorgeous.
Conrad in the shower, leisurely soaping himself, his hands gliding over bare skin.
Conrad turning his head, long blond hair falling elegantly over one shoulder, and saying, Won’t

you come in with me?

Jake clenched his fists tighter. Conrad felt safe with him, safe enough to tell him his bizarre

secret. Safe enough that he trusted Jake not to molest him while he was in the shower, for god’s sake.

Jake could at least keep that trust, even if he couldn’t keep his imagination in check.

***

Someone was hammering on Jake’s door. Not the workshop door, the actual door to his

apartment. That meant it was someone who had the key to the workshop.

Jake sighed, because he already knew who it was before opening the door.
He unlocked the door anyway.
Garcia could be relentless, and there was no point in arousing his curiosity.
“Jake!” Garcia bellowed. He strode in, carrying a big box. “I know, it’s early, whatever. I

brought donuts.”

“Hi,” Jake said reluctantly.
He had to admit the donuts smelled damn good, and his stomach growled. The scrambled eggs

he’d made for Conrad seemed like hours ago.

“C’mon,” Garcia prodded him. “Go make some coffee, you look half awake. And we need

coffee with those donuts, am I right?”

Jake turned toward the kitchen. Maybe he could make that coffee to go.
Garcia put the box of donuts down, then pivoted to look at the apartment. “Hey, how come you

have the stove on, this late in the spring? And—what the hell is that noise?”

Jake sighed. He’d known this was coming, but now he still didn’t know how to deal with it.

“The shower,” he said quietly.

Garcia took two strides toward him, grinning from ear to ear. “Whoaaa, you should’ve said you

had company!” He reached out a hand to slap Jake on the back, but Jake moved out of his reach. “So,
is it the hot lady tourist you were talking about, huh? Did you drag her to your lair?”

“What the fuck, Garcia, you think I’m a Neanderthal?” Jake said, his hands busy with the coffee

machine. He was stalling, and he knew it.

“Of course I do,” Garcia said. “Prime Neanderthal material, all you need is a club. So, how did

it go? Tell me she’s hot. She’s hot, right?”

The shower cut off, and there was a sudden silence.
To Jake’s ears, the silence had a waiting quality to it. And suddenly, all his careful evasions

seemed like cowardice. Like lies.

He squared his shoulders and turned around to look Garcia in the eye. “Not a lady tourist,” he

said with careful emphasis.

Garcia blinked. “No? Some buddy of yours taking a shower? Well, fuck, I was hoping to catch

some foxy girl in the buff.”

Jake sighed. “Catch a clue, Garcia.”
Garcia glared. “What? Jesus, are we playing twenty questions here? Spit it out already.”
“It’s not a girl,” Jake said. A small smile curled his lips. “But I never said he wasn’t hot.”
Garcia’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Jake, his mouth opening and closing like a landed

fish.

“What the hell?” he erupted at last. “Are you seriously—oh, I get it, you’re messing with me. Is

that a way to treat the guy who brings you donuts?”

Jake looked over his shoulder, and saw a bare foot just beyond the edge of the shower door.
“Come say hi to Garcia, Conrad,” he called, making it sound very casual. We’re all friends

here. Get that, Garcia?

Smoothly, Conrad walked out from behind the dividing wall.
Jake’s jaw dropped.
Fuck.
He’d thought Conrad would be dressed by now.
Apparently not.
Conrad wore a white terrycloth towel slung around his hips, and nothing else.
His long blond hair was wet and trailed over his shoulders, and he looked sleek and glowing

and beautiful. He walked closer to them, slowly, obviously aware that Garcia was gaping at him as if
he was a ghost.

Jake was staring at him too, but he really, really couldn’t help himself. God, he was so

gorgeous, and the way he moved, like a model on the catwalk, sliding across the floor almost as if he
were floating—

“What. The. Fuck,” Garcia said very slowly. “Jake. You drive stick shift now?”
Jake cracked up.
He couldn’t help that, either, not for all the gathering storm of angry disbelief he saw in Garcia’s

face. “What a way to say it,” he wheezed, while Garcia glowered at him.

“For the love of—you have a Pirelli calendar!” Garcia said, sounding as if this was the worst

of all Jake’s sins. “With girls on it! Naked girls!”

Jake couldn’t stop laughing, and it felt so good. It felt like a weight was lifting off his shoulders,

a weight he’d never known was there.

“Pirelli makes good tires,” he said at last, still laughing.
Garcia’s face got redder and redder behind the bushy forest of his beard. “You are fucking

kidding me. I’ve known you for what, ten years now? And you let me think—”

“You never asked, though,” Jake said, looking Garcia straight in the face. “You’ve never even

seen me with a girl, Garcia, and you know it. You just didn’t want to think about—other
possibilities.”

Garcia let loose a stream of obscenities. He kept looking from Conrad to Jake and back again,

and shaking his head like a mad bull.

Then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the apartment, with a last, bellowed “Fuck!” as

the door slammed shut behind him.

***

“Huh,” Jake said, scratching the stubble on his chin. “That…actually went better than I would’ve

thought. Sorry about the ruckus. Garcia has a mouth on him, but he’s not a bad guy.”

“He cares about you,” Conrad said softly, watching him.
“Maybe,” Jake said, reluctant to admit anything of the kind. “He’s damn nosy about my business.

I don’t know if I would call that caring, exactly.”

“And he came to some erroneous conclusions, evidently,” Conrad said. “Yet you didn’t disabuse

him of those.”

Jake stared at him, his eyebrows lifting. “Conrad, you have to learn to speak normal English,

okay? At least when you’re around me.”

Conrad laughed, a silvery sound that Jake couldn’t help wanting to hear more of. “I’ll keep that

in mind. What I meant was, you didn’t seem to mind Garcia thinking that we were…an item.”

Even the second time around, Conrad phrased it so delicately that it took Jake a second to get his

meaning. Then he flushed. “Well. No. I—fuck, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I know Garcia
would be happy for me, if only you were a woman. I don’t like—I don’t like lies. And you—I would
be proud to—if only—”

Jake raked his hands through his hair, struggling for words. Then he realized how close he’d

come to saying I would be proud to be with you, and abruptly reversed course.

“You know what, never mind. I’m sorry I dragged you into that. I—maybe you should just—I’ll

find you some clothes—”

While Jake babbled, Conrad took a step closer, then another. His left hand still loosely clasped

the towel around his hips, but his right hand reached out to Jake.

Jake lost track of what he’d been saying. His breath stuttered in his throat.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Conrad’s slim, long-fingered hand lay against Jake’s face, warm and gentle. And Conrad was

close, so close, close enough that Jake could smell the familiar scent of citrus soap and the less
familiar, faint scent of Conrad’s body. Male, freshly-washed, deliciously fragrant.

Jake breathed him in.
They were standing so close, almost pressed together, Conrad clad only in his towel and Jake

still in jeans, workboots and shirt.

That strange, tightly wound feeling inside Jake gave a twang.
Closer. He wanted to be even closer. He needed to be as close as he could get.
Jake couldn’t stop himself from opening his arms, carefully, cautiously, afraid Conrad would

move away—but instead, Conrad stepped into the circle of his arms with a little sigh of satisfaction.

Then Conrad bent his head and kissed him.
Jake fell into the kiss like a man hurtling down a cliff, disbelief and arousal and utter joy making

his head spin.

Then he wrapped his arms tighter around Conrad’s slim shoulders and practically climbed him,

hungry and eager, deepening the kiss until they were both gasping for breath and had to pull away for

a moment just to get some air back into their lungs.

“I’ve been thinking about this for days,” Conrad confessed, sounding breathless.
Jake said nothing. He just pulled Conrad to him again, even tighter than before.
He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t even want to think.
He just wanted Conrad as close to him as possible, more than anything else in the world.

***

Conrad swayed on his feet, pulled off balance by the force of Jake’s embrace.
By the force of his kisses.
God almighty, the man could kiss. It was overwhelming: the heat of his mouth, the strong clasp of

his arms, and the sheer physical presence of him.

Closing his eyes, Conrad lost himself in another kiss.
Then he dropped the towel.
It wasn’t even on purpose, not really.
It was just that it was too much effort to keep holding the towel closed, when what he wanted

was to let his hands travel over Jake’s broad shoulders, down the sturdy ridge of his spine…like
so…

The towel fell in a little heap on the floor.
Jake made a noise, something like “Mmff!” and then groaned, loudly, when Conrad pressed

against him.

Oh, that felt good. Conrad could feel the swell of Jake’s strong thighs against his own, and

Jake’s shirt was soft against Conrad’s bare chest.

Conrad rolled his hips. Just a little, just enough to push his hardness against the taut ridges of

Jake’s stomach.

That felt good, oh yes, but it would be better if Jake wasn’t wearing that shirt.
Conrad wanted to feel bare skin against his own. He wanted to see everything Jake had to offer.
Impatiently, Conrad began to pull at Jake’s shirt.
It was difficult, because his fingers felt clumsy. It would have been so much easier with the

wolf’s claws. Just rip the stupid thing.

No, he shouldn’t be thinking about wolf claws, not now. Jake didn’t even believe that Conrad

was a wolf. But that was all right, Conrad decided, his earlier hesitation lost in a haze of pleasure. He
would find a way to change Jake’s mind, somehow. Later.

Mmm, Jake smelled so good.
Conrad sighed with satisfaction, then lost himself in another kiss, and then another.
Why would these stupid buttons not work—
“Here,” Jake said, shaking his head as if he was feeling dazed, too. His broad fingers came up

over Conrad’s slender ones, and he began to unbutton his own shirt.

Conrad bent his head and kissed the top of Jake’s chest, then let his fingers follow as Jake undid

more of his shirt.

God, Jake was so muscular, and there was a tantalizing, incredibly alluring line of hair that went

down his flat stomach…

Conrad had to follow it with his fingers, until he reached Jake’s waistband and pulled away with

a small moan of frustration.

“I want you naked,” Conrad said in Jake’s ear, letting the words roll out softly. “I want to taste

all of you.”

“Jesus,” Jake breathed. He looked stunned, and it was a long moment before his hands began to

move again.

Slowly, so slowly, he undid his jeans, button by button.
Conrad watched his progress hungrily. He steadied Jake by the hips as he kicked off his boots,

then his jeans.

Oh, so much better to have Jake bare like this, all hard sturdy muscles and thick thighs and

delicious, tattooed skin.

Now there was only the white underwear that was in the way, and Conrad knew just how to get

rid of that.

With one supple movement, Conrad sank down to his knees and pressed his face against Jake’s

underwear.

Mmm, the scent of male musk—it was so promising, so alluring. So was the thick bulge he could

feel beneath the soft cotton.

“Are you hard for me?” Conrad murmured.
Jake made a soft sound like a groan, barely audible. His fists were clenched tight.
Conrad wanted him to make more noise, but he had a feeling he would have to work for it.
Jake was so contained, but he was like a banked fire. There was heat roaring away underneath,

and it was Conrad’s job—and pleasure—to bring it into the open.

“Let’s see,” Conrad said, and slipped his fingers beneath Jake’s underwear.
Oh, yes, there was heat all right.
Conrad sucked in a breath when the tips of his fingers touched the velvety head of Jake’s cock,

and he heard Jake gasp.

With a wicked smile, Conrad licked a broad stripe over Jake’s white underwear. Soft cotton

clung to his tongue, outlining the hot hard flesh beneath, and Jake’s breathing stuttered.

“You like that?” Conrad purred.
He couldn’t help feeling exuberant, triumphant. It had been so long, and he had never wanted

anyone as much as Jake.

Let me please you.
And the wolf was as enthusiastic as the rest of him. That had never happened before.
The wolf took no interest in human mating, Conrad had always thought.
Apparently he’d been wrong.
The wolf inside him was practically howling for him to touch Jake more, taste all of him, lick

him bite him mark him—

Conrad breathed in deeply, his mouth against cool cotton, and tried to keep the wolf from

overwhelming his judgment. No biting.

Then he slowly slipped Jake’s underwear down.
“Good god," Conrad said faintly while Jake kicked the cotton briefs away.
Conrad sat back on his heels, staring up at Jake—god, he was magnicifent. Conrad didn’t know

where to look first: at his thick, heavy cock standing up so proudly, his waist girded with muscle, his
strong thighs, the swell of his chest, the tattoos that coiled up his arms—

Jake looked down at him, and he smiled a little, looking embarrassed but pleased at the same

time. It was a look that sat oddly on his strong, masculine face, but it was so endearing that Conrad

felt something inside him melt into a puddle.

Conrad’s mouth was watering, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He leaned forward, steadying

himself with one hand curved around Jake’s hip, and took the head of that gorgeous cock into his
mouth.

Oh, the thick hot pressure of it—the salty taste—the heat—
Conrad closed his eyes for a moment and moaned.
Jake reached down and laid his hand against Conrad’s cheek, slowly tracing the lines of his

cheekbones, his jaw. It felt impossibly tender.

Conrad darted out his tongue, licking up a drop of pre-come, and then licked up Jake’s shaft,

glancing up at him to see how he was taking the teasing.

It wasn’t easy for him, that was obvious. Jake was staring down at him, brows furrowed, and his

mouth tightened a little when he saw Conrad looking back up at him.

“You taste so good,” Conrad said softly. “Do you want to come in my mouth?”
He knew he was pushing it, and he could tell his words were having an effect on Jake. But he

wanted that to happen.

Jake was still keeping such a tight rein on himself, and Conrad wanted him to let go.
I can take it, he told Jake wordlessly. I’m not going to break if you touch me.
As much as Jake’s tenderness moved him, he wanted to feel his strength, too.
Jake’s cock jumped a little against his cheek, and Conrad smiled.
He licked again, a long wet stripe against the underside of Jake’s cock until his skin glistened.
When Jake still didn’t make a sound, Conrad said, “You have to tell me, you know. Do you want

me to swallow you down? I’d like that. I’d like you to put your hands in my hair and fuck my mouth
and come down my throat.”

He looked up at Jake through his eyelashes, gauging the effect of his words, his deliberately

crude language.

Jake’s color was high. “Jesus,” he muttered again, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he

opened them again, he looked wild.

His hands came up into Conrad’s hair, curving against the back of his head, and Conrad gave a

little hopeful sigh.

“You’re—” Jake said, his voice sounding deeper than ever, before breaking off and shaking his

head. Clearly, words weren’t coming easy to him, not now. “Yes. If you want to, I—please—”

If I want to? Conrad wondered, looking up at him. It was hardly as if he was doing this under

duress. Couldn’t Jake see just how much Conrad wanted this, too?

He sucked Jake’s cock in again, slowly, wetly, savoring the taste of him.
Above him, Jake made a strangled noise, and his hands clutched the back of Conrad’s head, then

eased off again.

Conrad could make it fast, if he wanted to. He could tell Jake was ready enough, that Jake would

come like a firehose in a minute if Conrad let him.

But he didn’t want this to be over so soon.
So he went slow, sucking Jake’s cock in inch by inch, with just enough pressure to make him

moan.

God, Jake was hung. Conrad had never been a size queen, exactly, but he could certainly

appreciate the sheer size and heft of what he was handling now.

It made him think about having Jake inside him, letting Jake push that big heavy cock inside him,

stretching him—oh, lord, he should stop imagining that right now, or he’d come all over Jake before

the other man knew what was happening.

Conrad caressed the backs of Jake’s thighs, smoothing his hands over the lightly furred skin.
So strong, he thought. Like an oak tree.
It was comforting somehow, that strength. As well as a turn-on. Wolf strength was something

else; it was supernatural, effortless. This was human strength, built through hard effort and long hours
of physical labor.

Jake gave another half-stifled moan, and Conrad smiled.
He could feel Jake’s cock give a little jerk inside his mouth.
He’s so ready.
But Conrad didn’t want him to come, not yet.
He slowed the pace even further, letting his lips glide over Jake’s cock. He wanted Jake to use a

little of that strength on him. If he had to, he would force the issue.

Slow, so slow, his tongue dragging over the underside, his lips forming a perfect seal around

Jake’s cock. Maddening, soft caresses, enough to stimulate but not enough to make Jake come.

Under his hands, a small tremor began in Jake’s thighs, a shudder of need, and Jake’s hands

tangled in his hair just a little tighter.

Good.
Conrad dipped his head, let Jake thrust in a little deeper, and at the same time he slid his hands

up to cup Jake’s ass.

Ohh, that felt so good.
Jake was muscular here too, as he was everywhere, and Conrad squeezed his round ass with a

sigh of pleasure.

It’s like he was made to fit in my hands.
Jake seemed to be enjoying it too, if his ragged breathing was indication. But Conrad sensed

frustration there, too. His muscles were tense, even his ass was clenching a little too hard, and Jake
wasn’t thrusting in Conrad’s mouth.

He was just holding on, his hands heavy on Conrad’s head, and waiting for whatever Conrad

decided to do to him.

Conrad hadn’t thought that Jake would be so passive. But it wasn’t passivity, not really; there

was still that banked fire smouldering in Jake’s eyes, in the tight set of his broad shoulders.

Jake was just holding back, as if he thought he would break Conrad if he let go.
Conrad wasn’t having it. Jake might not believe he was a werewolf, and that was a problem. But

if Jake thought of Conrad as some kind of fragile flower, that was a whole other problem, and one that
needed solving right now.

Do your best, he challenged Jake silently. Break me.
And with that in mind, Conrad let his throat relax and slowly took Jake deeper.
This was something he’d always been able to do, almost effortlessly. Someone had told Conrad

once that his mouth was made for sucking cock.

Now Conrad did his best to prove it, taking Jake deep into the wet heat of his throat.
Then he squeezed his throat muscles, gently, oh so gently, as if he was trying to swallow him

whole.

Jake let out a tortured moan, and his hands clutched convulsively at Conrad’s head. His cock

throbbed against Conrad’s tongue, as hot as his blood.

Yes, Conrad thought at him. Take it. Take what I’m giving you.
He let his throat open, taking Jake a fraction deeper, then squeezed again.

Slowly, so slowly.
He could feel Jake’s struggle to control himself in the way his fingers kept tightening in Conrad’s

hair, then relaxing again.

Let go already, Conrad chanted in his head.
He wasn’t even sure why it mattered so much, but it did.
He wanted Jake to trust him. He wanted Jake to feel like he could let go with Conrad, and finally

drop that tight leash he kept over his own appetite and needs.

Jake had spent the entire morning taking care of Conrad’s needs, for god’s sake. Getting him

home to safety, getting him dry, warm, fed, and comforted.

Now it was Conrad’s turn.
And if he happened to be enjoying himself so much that he was on the verge of coming…well.
Let’s just call that a bonus.

***

Jake wound his fingers into Conrad’s hair, trying to distract himself with the slip and slide of

that soft silk against his fingers.

God damn it. It wasn’t working.
Not even a fire alarm could distract him from what Conrad was doing to him.
His hot, wet mouth was stretched around Jake’s cock so tightly, and he was slowly taking Jake

deeper, then pausing to—oh god—squeeze him somehow with his throat muscles, and it was so
fucking good.

Almost too good, too intense, on the verge of being too much. It was scary.
It was like Jake had no control over this at all.
Conrad was on his knees in front of him, sure, but Conrad was the one in control, Conrad knew

what he was doing.

Jake didn’t have a fucking clue. He didn’t know what was happening to him, why Conrad had

decided to do this.

It was beyond belief that Conrad could even want him.
Conrad was so beautiful. Still a fucking angel, even on his knees with a little drop of pre-cum

glistening in the corner of his mouth.

Everytime Conrad looked up at him, giving him that soft look from underneath his long

eyelashes, it felt like Jake’s heart was going to stop and stutter out of his chest.

Jake stroked Conrad’s hair again and bit back a wild groan.
Conrad gave a little half-sighing moan of his own, and the vibration of that sound against his

cock travelled all the way up Jake’s spine.

Jesus, you’re killing me.
Conrad’s warm hands gripped his ass, pulling him closer, pulling him down into Conrad’s

throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Jake breathed, and closed his eyes.
He could feel his balls drawing tight, and his whole body shuddered with need.
Conrad was sucking him in so slowly and delicately, drawing out the moment even longer.

Tormenting him.

Jake was so close—
With a low growling noise, he dug his hands into Conrad’s hair and began to thrust into his

mouth and down his throat, fast hard thrusts, his hips pumping with brutal force.

Jake had no control, he had no brakes, he had nothing but the need to come.
That need roared in him like a wild animal.
He was pulling Conrad’s hair. It had to hurt, and he was thrusting too hard into that soft mouth,

but he couldn’t stop himself.

A loud sound was in his ears. It was his own voice, growling and moaning.
And then Conrad looked up at him again, giving him that eager, hungry look.
He was infinitely seductive, impossibly beautiful, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on Jake’s

cock—

Jake threw his head back and came.
Stars burst in front of his eyes, and he swayed on his feet, lost in mindless pleasure.
Jake had his hands in Conrad’s hair, and he was coming in Conrad’s mouth, and he couldn’t even

find the will to pull out. The wet heat of Conrad’s mouth was too good, too perfect.

Conrad was swallowing his come, drinking him.
Jake could feel every tiny movement of his throat around his cock.
God, what had Jake ever, ever done to deserve this?
“Angel,” he breathed, the word just spilling out of him while the shocks of pure pleasure were

still shorting out his brain.

When Conrad finally pulled away, smiling and licking his lips, Jake just stood there for a

moment, his mind a blank, his body humming.

Then Jake fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Conrad, needing him close.
He kissed Conrad’s ear, then the soft delicate skin over his temple. “My angel,” he whispered,

too far gone to even care that he was saying this out loud. “You are so fucking beautiful, you know
that? I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

Conrad turned his head and kissed him full on the mouth, the taste of salt and bitter on his lips. It

was strange, but Jake didn’t mind—he couldn’t mind it, not when Conrad’s tongue was curling against
his, and Conrad was here in his arms, warm and safe.

“Listen,” Conrad said very softly, very gently.
Jake was already nodding, buzzed out on pleasure. He was listening, sure, he was ready to do

whatever Conrad wanted him to do.

“Jake,” Conrad said, and now there were teeth tugging at his earlobe.
Jake blinked, and his fuzzy world cleared a little.
Conrad was smiling at him, so close, so near that Jake could feel his breath on his face. “Listen,”

Conrad said. “I want to see you again.”

Jake blinked again. See me again? Was Conrad leaving?
“Seeing me now,” he protested, and kissed Conrad again, helplessly drawn to the soft curve of

his lips.

Conrad was smiling against his mouth, he could feel it.
“I need you to understand,” Conrad said then, and the tone of his voice gave Jake a jolt.
“What?” Jake said, and then he had to kiss Conrad again. He couldn’t help it.
“Oh,” Conrad sighed, leaning into him and smiling again, then pulling away a little. “I could get

drunk on your kisses.”

Jake smiled, too, probably looking like a love-struck idiot. “Let’s get drunk, then,” he suggested.

Conrad put a long, slender hand against his breastbone. “Jake, I’m trying to—please.”
Jake cocked his head. “Go on.”
“I know you don’t think what I told you is real,” Conrad said, and his voice was soft but deadly

serious. “It is, Jake. Tonight is the second night.”

Jake tried to get his head around what Conrad was telling him, but it was hard. Pleasure buzzed

all through his body, making him feel limp and relaxed, and his brain was on autopilot. “The second
night?”

“The second night I’ll change,” Conrad said patiently. “Into a wolf.”
Oh god, why did this nonsense keep coming up? Why, when everything else was perfect?
Jake shook his head violently. “No such thing.”
Conrad sighed, and a look of sadness stole into his face.
Jake could have kicked himself. You are a fucking idiot, how could you say that to him?
But on the other hand…how could he pretend to believe something so ludicrous? He had to be

honest, with Conrad of all people.

“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “It’s just—I can’t—”
“I know,” Conrad murmured, still wearing that sad look that made Jake feel like a scrub.
Jake kissed him again, to say sorry, and the sweetness of it melted straight into his bones.

Conrad was so warm against him, and he never wanted to let him go.

Then Conrad’s eyes brightened. “Oh,” he said, as if he was speaking to himself. “Yes, of

course.”

“What?” Suddenly, Jake felt wary.
“It’s simple enough,” Conrad said. “I’ll show you. I’ll bring you to the pack at moonrise, and

you can see for yourself.”

Jake blinked. “The pack?” What was this new madness?
Conrad gave him a tiny smile, as if every problem was now solved and everything was just fine.

“The werewolf pack, of course. Didn’t you realize?”

Jake was beginning to feel that he was two steps behind in every conversation he had with

Conrad. Or maybe three steps behind.

Maybe Conrad was crazy, after all. But he didn’t look crazy.
He looked clever, kind, patient and utterly beautiful, and Jake wanted to do whatever would

make him happy.

Even if that meant…this. Whatever this was.
“The Reds,” Conrad said in his soft, cultured voice. “They’re werewolves. Every one of them.”
Jake’s mouth dropped open. “You are fucking kidding me.”
He took a deep breath, trying to get a hold on himself. His world was reeling.
It would be so easy to just walk away. To ignore this crazy story.
But that would mean walking away from Conrad…and he couldn’t.
“You know I hate the Reds,” Jake said at last. “They’ve been bullying people here in town.

They’re everything that gives motorclubs a bad name.”

Conrad nodded. “I did get the impression you weren’t fond of them, yes.”
Jake snorted. That was one way of putting it. Then he sighed and rubbed his shoulder, feeling a

tension ache starting there. “And now you tell me they’re werewolves. Like you.”

It was crazy. It was so crazy that it might be true.
“Yes.”
“And you want me to—what? To see them actually turn into wolves?”

Conrad nodded. “And me, as well. Then you’ll understand.”
Jake laughed a little, though there was nothing funny about this. “And then what, you’ll have fun

tearing me to pieces?”

Conrad colored, a little flush appearing on his cheekbones. “No. I promise you, you’ll come to

no harm.”

God. Conrad was serious about this. He was watching Jake with such hope in his eyes.
How could Jake say no to him?
“I need my head examined,” Jake muttered.
Slowly, Conrad began to smile. “Is that a yes?”
Jake looked down at the floor, then finally back at Conrad. “Yeah. I’ll come.”
The gorgeous smile that bloomed on Conrad’s face was something of a consolation.
“I feel like Red fucking Riding Hood,” Jake muttered.
Conrad gave him a mischievous look, still smiling. “Do you want me to find you a basket to

carry?”

Jake had no comeback for that, so he did the only thing he could do.
He kissed Conrad again, long and deep, and hoped he wasn’t losing his mind.
I have a date with a werewolf, he thought, trying to get his mind around it.
A werewolf who told me he’s a vegetarian.
I hope he wasn’t kidding about that.

***

Thank you for reading! I’m currently working on a new book in the Mountain Wolves series.
If you’d like to know when it’s available, please sign up for my new release e-mail list at

eepurl.com/xNp1X

Legal Notice

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without written permission from the authors, except for the inclusion of brief
quotations in a review.

Every story in this book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the authors’ imagination or are being used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover
content is being used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

Document Outline

Title Page
Wolf Moon
Legal Notice

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
Mountain Wolves 3 Wolf Pack Isabel Dare
Mountain Wolves 1 Wolf Scent Isabel Dare
Mountain Wolves 5 Wolf Call Isabel Dare
Mountain Wolves 2 Wolf Howl Dare Isabel
Wolf Moon by Nora Roberts
Alicia Sparks Wolf Moon
Nora Roberts Wolf Moon
Eliza March [Menage & More Enchanted Mountain 02] The Moon, The Madness, and The Magic (pdf)
Amber Kell Moon Pack 04 Denying Dare
Sunny Day Silver Moon Wolves 3 Finding Ned
Granite Lake Wolves 02 Vivian Arend Wolf Flight 8
Arend Vivian Granite Lake Wolves 04 Wolf Tracks
Wolves of Stone Ridge 22 The Wolf s Healing Touch
Granite Lake Wolves 02 Vivian Arend Wolf Flight 6
Eliza March [Menage Amour 103 Enchanted Mountain 01] The Lion, the Leopard and the Wolf (pdf)(1)
Wolves of Stone Ridge 10 The Wolf Biker s Mate
Granite Lake Wolves 02 Vivian Arend Wolf Flight 4
Day Sunny Silver Moon Wolves 1 Finding Alpha
Granite Lake Wolves 03 Vivian Arend Wolf Games 1

więcej podobnych podstron

Mountain Wolves 4 Wolf Moon Isabel Dare

Document Outline