Chapter Seven

M icah checked into a Super 8 Motel. It wasn't far from the cabins; in fact, he should probably have traveled a helluva lot further.

On the other hand, it wasn't far from Elwha either. Apparently, he needed to torture himself by staying within reach of Anders without actually touching him. Simply thinking about the man—the warmth of his skin, the rasp of his stubble against Micah's lips, his tongue and fingers and cock owning Micah's hole—got him hard. Things between them had cascaded farther and faster than Micah had ever meant them to.

But he would take to his grave that image of Anders standing naked in the night.

"I don't even need to ask if you like what you see, indeed," he muttered.

His hotel room was clean, contemporary, and comfortable enough. One wall was painted burnt orange, and the others were white. An oversized black-and-white print hung over the bed, not quite as large as the flat-screen TV on the dresser, and the floor was covered with dark brown carpeting.

He approved of the carpet color, because a white serpent would be easy to see.

That memory—whether real or part of a dream—raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He sat at the desk near the window, laptop open, and checked for footprints, breadcrumbs, any details he'd overlooked that had led Seth Damyan to him.

Seth Damyan, the demon, the one who'd wanted to make Micah his pet.

With his burner, Micah logged into his secure voicemail. One message from a couple days ago. Jessie's voice, familiar and slightly annoying.

Why the fuck is there a Porsche in my driveway?

Micah responded with a quick, "Sell it and put the money into Anna's college fund." He had no time to deal with his ex's drama.

Being a polymorph had always given Micah a fluid sense of himself, but months spent as Corbin Blande had left him with questions. Things like, who am I really?And, what kind of guy does the evil shit Corbin Blande had done?

Yeah, he'd had reasons, but if he , Micah Jenkins , had done those awful things, what else was he capable of doing?

He wasn't sure he'd ever come up with answers.

Sure as hell hoped he'd never have to find out what else he might have to do. Growing up, he'd been the skinny kid nobody seemed to like. His first real friend was his ex. In high school, they'd shared a sense of alienation, and the biggest gift they'd given each other was a place to fit in.

That, and Anna.

After Anna's birth, Micah had come into his powers as a polymorph, and his ex, Jessica, had transitioned. Now he went by the name Jessie, and he and his new wife were doing a fantastic job raising Anna.

Micah was only the sperm donor, peripheral to Anna's life. In fact, all he'd ever brought her was danger. The last time they'd talked in person, Jessie had said as much. Micah's ability to shift into any creature hadn't brought out anything noble in his personality. It had made him lazy and greedy, and he really couldn't blame Jessie for telling him to fuck right off.

He was doing his best.

The motel didn't have a restaurant, but he'd hit the market next door for a tube of Pringles and a six-pack of a local microbrew. "Breakfast of champions."

Or was it lunch? He knew it wasn't dinner yet, and he also knew he was hungry. Pringles weren't going to get him very far, but he needed to sleep after last night's shenanigans. "Flying, disarming gunmen, getting fucked to within an inch of my existence. Yeah, I'd say I need some sleep."

After another fistful of Pringles washed down with a swallow of beer, he checked the door again to make sure it was locked. He'd used the name Baron Strump at check-in, mainly to see if the clerk reacted. The guy hadn't batted an eye. Next time he'd try Eric.

He double-checked the windows to make sure they were locked. They were. Outside, the Juneuary overcast was starting to spit rain. Downing the rest of the beer, he pulled the bedspread off and crawled under the blanket.

Immediately, he had the sense he was being watched. He lay still, slowly scanning the space. Someone was talking down the hall, too far away for him to decipher the words. His limbs felt heavy. God, he needed to shut his eyes and let go.

But what if there really was someone here, someone watching? If that someone was a demon, Micah might not see him until it was too late.

"I need a fucking bodyguard."

Or, you know, a werewolf.

Anders might have invited him to stay, but no way could Micah take that chance. The creature Micah had crossed after Anna's birth, the one who'd threatened his child, would make short work of even the strongest werewolf.

On that unsettling note, Micah managed to fall asleep.

He woke to sunlight. "Sixteen hours? Is that all?"

Sometimes his body demanded more. "My body. Should I use the plural?"

He showered, trying not to think about Seth Damyan and how his unique nature had brought him to the demon's attention.

Seth Damyan wanted someone with Micah's powers. Which was Micah's own damned fault.

He stared that truth in the eye while he shaved and dressed. With no place to be and nothing to do, he listened to his stomach and went in search of something more substantial than Pringles. The market next door was all gray linoleum and standard brands, but they did have breakfast sandwiches and coffee. "Winning."

The clerk, an older woman who'd seen it all, barely raised an eyebrow. "That'll be eight forty-even."

Micah paid.

The day spread out like a big ol' blank stretch of nothing. Back in his room, he logged into his secure voicemail and refused to let himself feel disappointment when there was no message from Anders.

Anders. The guy who was probably a ten-minute drive away. The guy who'd invited him to stay.

"Knock it off."

He couldn't risk it. If Seth Damyan harmed Anders, he couldn't bear it. Only a really selfish man would expose a friend to something like that.

Though Micah was nothing if not selfish.

Chewing his greasy breakfast sandwich—scrambled eggs and sausage on a soggy English muffin—his mind decided to run back through how he'd gotten himself into this mess. Self-flagellation at its finest .

Back when Anna was only a couple months old, he'd kept them fed and housed through a haphazard career as a cat burglar. That career had hit a snag the day he'd broken into a decent-sized mansion on the shore of Lake Washington. He'd found the expected diamond tennis bracelet and some earrings that had to have been five karats each.

He'd also found a small box inlaid with rubies and emeralds, the enamel work of such fine detail that he couldn't stop stroking it. The box was locked, but Micah didn't care. He'd stashed it and the jewelry in his backpack and shifted, leaving the house as a different person than the one who'd broken in.

It was the box that had fucked him up.

"Should have walked away." He could still feel its smooth, glossy surface and see the glow of the inlaid gems. Chew. Swallow . The box wouldn't have been worth that much, but he'd wanted it.

So he took it.

The diamonds were an easy sell, and he'd put most of the money in Jessie's account. They were still living together at the time, though they had taken to sleeping in separate rooms. Jessie said it was so he could be closer to Anna.

Micah knew that was a lie, but he hadn't wanted to push it.

Later, with the box still in his carryall, he'd been stopped by the creepiest motherfucker he'd ever met.

"I'm Seth Damyan, and you have something of mine."

The guy had scared the crap out of Micah. The memory alone made him grit his teeth.

Yeah, he might have looked human, but he was a demon, a demon who offered him a deal. If Micah performed seven tasks for Seth Damyan, Anna would be safe.

Only an idiot would make a deal with a demon. "I was so fucking stupid."

Each task had been increasingly awful, acts he refused to revisit. Raising the wraith had been the seventh task. It wasn't Micah's fault that the authorities destroyed the thing before Seth Damyan could make much use of it.

Anxiety and exhaustion warred in Micah's head and curdled the grease-bomb in his stomach. He could no more expose Anders to Seth Damyan than he could have gone home to Jessie and Anna that first night.

Though an adult male werewolf had more skills and resources than a new mother and an infant .

"Don't even think that."

The battle drove him out of his chair to check the door, check the windows, look behind the curtains to make sure no one was hiding there. He ended up back at the desk, wondering whether the market next door carried those blue packages of salt or if there was some other magic he should be using or if he should just move on. To buy some time, he went through the steps to check his voicemail again. This time there was a message from Jessie thanking him for the deposit he'd made.

What deposit? Hadn't made any deposits. A wild stream of possibilities ran through his mind. None of them were good.

"Would the demon do that?" he asked the laptop.

No one answered him. Because you're alone and you're talking to yourself, asshole .

He called Jessie's number and left him a message, then stared at his phone, hoping Jessie would respond right away. He was never going to get any rest on his own.

You'd do better at Anders' house.

"But I'm not going to text Anders. If Seth Damyan sent money to Jessie, I'm fucked, and I don't want to bring anybody else down with me."

He said it out loud, and then he said it again in his head. If the demon sent money to Jessie, Micah would be back in his debt. Again. It wasn't fair, but then demons don't play fair. "Seth Damyan doesn't fuck around."

But no one else had both the skills and the motivation to make that deposit. The more Micah thought about it, the faster he eliminated other possibilities. His teeth started chattering, and it wasn't from the air conditioner.

"I'm so, so fucked."

Those words became his mantra, recited again and again over the next few days. He made it until Thursday, when he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a white serpent hiding in the room somewhere.

Eyes sandy with sleepiness, he packed up his stuff and left the motel. He needed to get on Highway 101 and head back to Seattle and do… something .

Turned out, that road took him right through Elwha.

Elwha, where Anders and his pack lived.

"Damn it."

Micah hit a spot where his phone had four bars and pulled over to the road's shoulder. It's not that he refused to text and drive, but signing into the secure mailbox took two hands, especially when those hands were tired. There was a reply from Jessie.

Two thousand on Saturday.

Wasn't me , he texted back. Don't spend it till I figure out who and why.

He just hoped he wasn't too late.

Still nothing from Anders. "Shit." Micah rocked his head against the seat, windshield wipers doing their best to keep up with the rain.

The last thing he should do is text the wolf, but whether because of the rain or the demon or too damned much thinking, he hit a wall.

"I can't do this alone."

There it was, the simplest of realizations. On his own, he was no match for the demon. Seth Damyan would own him again because now the demon had more ammunition. He could use Anders, too, the same way he used Anna, and he could make Micah do whatever he wanted.

Whatever sick, disgusting thing the demon could dream up.

But if Micah had an ally, maybe things would be different. Giving in, he told himself this wasn't only about selfishness and swiped the message Anders had sent from the cabin.

In case you need a place to crash, I'm right off Highway 101.

Hope the invite is still good, Micah sent back. Because I'm on my way.

"Fuck it." For maybe the first time ever, Micah would ask for help. He plugged the address into his map app and pulled onto the road. He figured he'd stop at the first grocery store he came to, make sure he'd heard back from Anders, and stock up on wine, cheese, and red meat.

There was more than one way to a werewolf's heart.

Was there a good chance he was bringing trouble to Anders' door? Yeah, but about the only attributes that traveled through all of Micah's shifts were selfishness and stupidity. He needed to break free of Seth Damyan, something he hadn't managed to do for almost five years. Anders might not be able to help much—and hell, Micah shouldn't ask him to help at all—but Micah needed someone on his side.

That made him snort-laugh. On his side . No one had been on Micah's side in a long time, not since he and Jessie broke up. All right, if he couldn't have Anders on his side, then in his ass would have to do.

" I hope the invite's still…" Anders let his voice trail off, caught between laughter and—

"You've got to be kidding me."

He sat in his old Ford truck in the parking lot of the Port Angeles Home Depot, where he'd picked up a load of trim to take to the jobsite. His crew had framed up a house near the Elwha River Casino on a piece of property that overlooked the Strait of Juan de Fuca. He'd left Willy and Simon mudding and taping sheetrock, with strict instructions regarding what to finish before he got back.

He glanced at the clock on the truck's dash. Nearly five p.m. He'd hit a weird patch of traffic on the way to Home Depot, so he was later than he'd intended. Those two would be firing up their AWJ about right now—an After Work Joint was a time-honored tradition on his crew. Laughing in spite of himself, he sent Simon a text saying he'd meet them in the morning.

Then he texted Micah some gibberish that roughly translated to see you later . Not that he was nervous or anything. His house was mostly clean; he'd washed the sheets after he got back from the cabins, at least, and he'd loaded the dishwasher before leaving for work that morning.

Nah, if he was nervous, it had to do with Micah himself. They barely knew each other, and Anders had no real idea why he'd offered the guy a place to stay.

Micah was hot, at least this version of him was, and there was a mystery to him that intrigued Anders. And even though he'd come out of the sky on the wings of a hawk and disarmed a guy with a shotgun, Micah seemed fragile in a way Anders couldn't understand.

Delilah would tell me I have some kind of savior syndrome.

If Anders were being honest, he'd admit his sister was right. He'd never be able to rescue Micah from himself. Shaking his head, Anders put the truck in gear and headed for home.

Like he'd told Micah, his house was on ten acres backing up to the Olympic National Park. Most of the land was covered with old growth pine and hemlock, except for a clearing about four acres in circumference. The house sat on a small rise near the center, overlooking a broad lawn with a narrow stream winding along one side. He'd chosen it because there was plenty of space for his wolf to run without bothering anybody and because the house was spacious enough that the whole pack could have dinner at his big cherrywood table.

There were two bedrooms on the main floor and four upstairs, along with a wrap-around porch and a media room in the basement. A single guy really didn't need six bedrooms, four baths, and a separate dining room, but Anders was the type to plan ahead. He had strong alpha tendencies and one day intended to be Alpha of the Elwha Pack.

Assuming he hadn't completely burned his bridge with Potter.

Turning off the main highway to the gravel road that led to his property, Anders did his best to sense if he had company. The air was quiet except for the steady rain. He cleared the trees, tapped the button on his visor to open the garage door, and pulled in.

It didn't look like Micah had beaten him there, but then, would he necessarily be in a vehicle? For all Anders knew, Micah had flown in the form of an eagle or swum down the stream as a fish.

Nah, not a fish. Could he take the form of a fish? Anders would have to ask him. He got out of the truck, breathing deeply so he'd relax—and to pick up any unusual scents.

Nothing. Just him and his Ford truck, the engine clicking as it cooled down. Letting himself into the house, he paused on the threshold. The air was still. Everything was just as he'd left it.

So why did he feel so uncomfortable?

He had the sense that he was about to take a step that might be irreversible.

Wolves were known to mate, to form a bond so deep and abiding it was as if it had been predetermined by fate. When it did happen, it was almost immediate, a connection that left two independent personalities with stars in their eyes and the challenge of building a forever with someone they barely knew.

For sure, that didn't apply to Anders' current situation. He'd only ever heard of it happening between wolves, for one thing, and Micah wasn't a wolf. Anders had also heard that the bond grabbed the unlucky pair in a way that was absolutely impossible to deny.

Anders liked Micah, liked his energy and the precision of his movements. Appreciated his bravery; it had taken balls of stone to attack a gunman in the form of a hawk. Their first glance hadn't rocked the foundation of his world, though, making it unlikely they were more than just… whatever they were. Besides, the Alpha of a pack couldn't have a non-wolf as a mate.

Which definitely disqualified Micah.

From the time he'd made his first shift, every decision Anders had made had set him up to become Alpha of his own pack, with Potter guiding each step. There was no way in hell he was giving up on that now.

Tires crunched on the gravel drive. Micah must be here. Anders gave himself a shake.

Showtime .

He went out onto the front porch, hands on his hips, waiting for his guest to get out of the older CR-V. Prior to 2010, for sure, based on the body type. Was this the real Micah's vehicle, or part of another facade?

Micah climbed out, his hair combed back rather than teased into a pompadour, his long bangs tucked behind his ears. Reaching into the back seat, he brought out a canvas bag, his only apparent possession. He must really travel light.

Anders inhaled and traces of Micah's spice teased him. Something deep in his chest relaxed, as if on some level he'd been worried about Micah since they parted ways on Sunday.

Oh, ffs .

"You changed your mind," he said. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Despite the rain, Micah stopped in the middle of the yard. His gaze traveled over the house, and he shook his head like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "I… yeah. Thanks again for the offer. You have, uh, rocking chairs."

Anders laughed because the matched set of wooden rocking chairs on the front porch had been a joke present from Delilah, her way of needling him for acting like everybody's grandpa. Stepping aside, Anders waved him toward the door. "Come on in, dude. Get out of the rain."

Micah glanced up, as if he'd just noticed the steady downpour. "Thanks." He paused, and Anders thought he might say something else. Micah's smile faded some. "Thanks."

Walking slowly, Micah approached the porch. He took the stone steps carefully, like he was about to enter a place he couldn't easily get out of. The weight in Anders' chest grew heavier, making him more certain that once Micah crossed the threshold, there'd be no turning back.

Enough with the drama queen nonsense .

Anders let Micah precede him into the house. "Damn," Micah said softly. "This place is huge."

The front door opened into a small foyer. To the left, a short hallway led to the bedrooms and directly ahead was the great room, a huge open space with a wall of windows along one side. The kitchen was at the far end of the great room, with a dining area defined by a pair of wooden screens.

The view through those big windows wasn't particularly impressive; a lawn surrounding a matched pair of vegetable beds and framed by a dense stand of evergreens. When Anders looked out, he saw the places that needed weeding and a lawn that needed to be mowed.

Micah's expression said he was more impressed than that.

A huge fireplace with a stone facade and mantle that took up most of one wall was the great room's focal point. Anders had been living with it for several years, so it was fun to see it through Micah's eyes.

And Micah's eyes were pretty damned big.

"My room is down the hall there." Anders pointed past the fireplace. "I know we… you know… but I was thinking you might like the room across the hall."

"Oh, uh, sure." Micah glanced in the direction Anders pointed. "Just tell me where to drop my stuff."

"The door on the right." Micah would have a view of the yard and the trees, and he'd be close in case they decided to make a change in their arrangement. "If you want to get settled, I'll start dinner."

"Sure. I hit a store a few miles back. Picked up a couple of steaks and some other stuff." He waved his hand in the direction of the front door. "Left the bag in the car."

He sounded so tentative that Anders responded with a little too much enthusiasm. "That's great."

"Should I take my shoes off?" Micah nodded at the mat by the door where Anders' work boots spent their off-hours.

"Your call."

Micah's smile grew strained as he slipped off his worn Chucks. "I'll just"—he took a few more steps down the hall—"be back in a minute."

The guest room door closed with a quiet click, and Anders stood there feeling like an idiot. He'd invited Micah to stay because inviting people to his house was second nature. He didn't think the place was intimidating, but Micah sure looked rattled. Anders had built this place, framed it with his crew, picked out and installed the trim package, even sanded the damned hardwood floors for the finisher. He loved it and he was proud of it.

Then a new thought hit him, something that would have been obvious to his sister. He'd fucked the guy, then sent him to the guest room. Dammit. He should have told Micah to put his stuff in the main bedroom. It's not like they weren't going to both end up there.

He hoped they would, anyway.

Shaking his head, Anders headed for the kitchen. He had a couple of big potatoes for baking and some veggies to make a salad. Maybe if he drank a beer while he chopped tomatoes, he'd calm the fuck down.

Otherwise, things were going to go from awkward to worse.