2. Eli

Isquint up at the sun as I step out into the parking lot outside of the courthouse, blinking a little. It's bright for a fall day, and I fish in my pocket for my motorcycle keys, considering the prospect of going for a nice, long drive. Pointedly, a nice long drive directly out of Seattle.

After days of being caged up and wondering if this was finally going to be the thing that got me in trouble for a good long time, I'm ready to get the fuck out now that I've caught a break. And I have an idea of exactly where my next stop might be.

I slip my phone out of my pocket as I walk to my bike, grimacing at the crack on the upper part of the screen–bastards at the jail didn't bother being kind to my few possessions–and look for a contact I haven't talked to in a while.

"Eli? Hang on just a second." There's the sound of something being moved around in the background, a muttered whisper, and then I hear a door close. "I didn't think I was going to hear from you again."

"Yeah, well–I rethought your offer." I clear my throat, swinging one leg over my bike and settling onto the leather seat. "Thought maybe I'd head over to Bayton."

There's a chuckle on the other end. "Last job didn't work out so well, hm?"

"You don't have to rub it in." I frown. "Look, is the offer still good or not? I'm about to leave Seattle, so I need to know in which direction to point myself. I'll head off somewhere else, if it's not."

"Oh, don't get yourself in a knot. Just head this way and we'll talk. I'll be at the bar until closing, so whenever you get here is fine."

"Alright." I clear my throat, feeling a waver of uneasiness in my gut. "See you later, then."

"Later, man."

Fuck! Is this a good idea?I start the bike, the familiar rumbling of the engine soothing me a little, but it doesn't completely get rid of that feeling that this might not be my best bet. Bayton Heights isn't the type of place a man like me typically goes, in one sense, anyway. In another, it's the perfect place to lay low for a bit.

Not knowing what my last job consisted of wasn't my fault, exactly, but the law didn't see it that way. I'd thought I was fucked for sure when they pinged me as being not only an off-and-on criminal, but a shifter too. Any excuse the mundane world has to put something half-animal behind bars, they're more than happy to.

Just my good luck I got a public defender who was still wet behind the ears and excited to do his job.

I try to shrug off the lingering weight of it as I pull out of the parking lot, looking forward to the ride ahead. The open highway and the feeling of the wind through my hair is exactly what I need to reset after days of a small, dank cell, and I make a mental note to stop at the first place I see where I might be able to get a burger and a beer. That ends up being about two hours into the ride, a roadside bar with a sign out front and an open door that reveals a shadowy interior–exactly the kind of place I'd like to be for a little while.

The waitress is a pretty blonde with her hair up in a jaunty ponytail and a skirt just this side of short, and I consider whether or not I ought to see if she's taking a break in a little while. It's been weeks since I've been with anyone, and especially this close to a full moon, I can feel a steadily building ache in my groin that makes me feel restless and on edge.

I think she picks up on it, too, from the way she looks at me when she comes to the corner table where I took a seat. "Something I can get you?" she asks, tilting her head a little as her gaze drags downwards, starting with my face and ending where my hips are hidden just below the table. "You look like you might need something sweet."

"I'll start with whatever's on tap, the venison burger with everythin', and fries. But I might be convinced to try dessert later." I flash her the smile that makes every woman weak in the knees, knowing the five-day-old growth of beard on my chin and the road-weary look on my face probably only adds to the charm. Women love a man who looks like he needs saving, and I'm pretty sure I've never looked rougher.

I get the impression from this particular girl that if she knew there was an even rougher wolf underneath, she'd be even more interested.

"We'll just have to see what's on the menu then, won't we?" She flashes me another smile, swaying away from the table as she goes to put in my order, and I consider as I watch what I'm pretty certain is a sure thing walk away.

I'm not really sure what stops me, when my meal is finished and I see her hovering behind the bar, her crystal blue eyes continuously darting my way. I'm horny as hell and she's definitely interested, and nothing has ever stopped me in the past from enjoying a quick fuck in a bar bathroom. But there's something about it that feels like it's getting old–repetitive, even. Like there's a deeper itch that a quick, casual fuck won't scratch.

The idea that I might actually want something more than sex from someone feels about as terrifying as the prospect of being locked up. I leave an extra-good tip for her in cash, grabbing my keys and heading out of the bar before I can think too much more about that feeling. I have bigger problems than that, and one of them can be solved by getting to Bayton sooner rather than later.

It's early evening and past dark by the time I get into Bayton Heights and pull up in front of my destination, a rustic-looking bar called the Howler's Moon. The name is a bit on the nose for my taste, but the tourists like it, and Bayton's lifeblood is the mundane folks who come through here looking for a little excitement and a taste of a world that they'll never really belong to. It's necessary to cater to them, but it rubs me the wrong way, and it's yet another reason why I'm not at all sure that I've made the right choice in coming here.

Adam is at the bar when I walk in. It's been a few years since I've seen him, but he doesn't seem to have changed a bit–still tan with shaggy, dirty blond hair and bright green eyes that always look as if he's just about to make a joke. I've always found him a little too light-hearted and he's always found me a little too serious, but we've both had each other's back in the past, and I trust him.

"Eli!" He pushes a beer over to a waiting customer and walks around the bar, striding towards me and enveloping me immediately in that shoulder-slapping bro-hug that guys tend to do. I return it with slightly less enthusiasm, and Adam pulls back, chuckling. "Still as prickly as ever, I see. Come on back to the office, and we'll talk."

The bar smells of good food and the soft, yeasty scent of beer, and my stomach rumbles a little, this afternoon's venison burger long since gone. There's a sort of comforting, homey feeling about the bar that I feel myself push back against a little–I've long thought that it doesn't do to get too comfortable anywhere, and everything about the Howling Moon suggests that anyone here should sit back and stay awhile. I pass under the wrought-iron chandelier, past a group of girls that look barely college-aged that are eyeing both Adam and I, and head back to his office with him. They're clearly tourists–not a whiff of the paranormal on them–here to sample a taste of what they'll never be themselves.

He settles into the chair at his desk that's seen better days, turning to face me as I lean up against the closed door. "So, you finally decided to come and take me up on the offer to help run the place. What changed your mind? You knock up a girl somewhere and decide to run out on her?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Adam." I scowl at him. "I'm not that much of a piece of shit. I got into a little trouble with the law, that's all. Job gone wrong. Figured I should probably keep my nose clean for a little while."

Adam smirks. "Someone double-cross you?"

My scowl deepens. "I trusted the wrong guy. A rare slip of insight. Call it not listenin' to a gut feeling, because I really fuckin' needed the money–although in hindsight, they were payin' far too much for me to be moving weed instead of something harder. Happy? Do you wanna rub it in some more?"

"Nah." Adam rubs his hand over his mouth, scratching lightly at the blond stubble on his chin. He's a catalog-perfect Pacific Northwestern specimen–blond, jacked, and fond of flannel shirts and jeans. He alone brings in most of the women who cross the threshold of the Howling Moon–both supernaturals of every flavor and the mundane tourists–and he's banked on it for a long time. Witches, shifters, vampires–they're all susceptible to his particular charm, and from what I can tell, he's always enjoyed the attention.

"Look, we all make some bad decisions from time to time. I'd argue you've made more than most. But you're not here to run down that list, and I'm not your judge. What I need is someone to help me run this bar, because while I'm grateful for the success, it's been hard to find good help, and I can't do it on my own. And I also need you to keep your hands off the waitresses," he says pointedly, narrowing his eyes at me. "Make a buffet out of the tourists if you want–figuratively–but leave my staff alone. Last bartender I brought in broke Marley's heart, and I had to juggle both their schedules until he finally took off."

"What a shame," I murmur dryly. "Your life truly is an exercise in patience."

"You have no idea." Adam gestures towards the schedule thumbtacked to the wall. "I have one part-time bartender now–and believe me, he is part-time–and two servers. That's not enough. Bayton's lucky enough to do business most of the year–beachgoers in the summer and the Halloween enthusiasts as soon as it starts getting the slightest bit chilly. And then there's the tourists who want to shack up in the cabins and enjoy our picture-perfect town in the winter, and in spring–"

He makes a face, and I know exactly why. Spring has no real bearing on the mating cycles of shifters and other paranormals, aside from a few exceptions–but humans seem to think it does. Spring often brings the tourists who are looking for an exotic hookup, and there's plenty of locals who enjoy that particular bounty, and are happy to indulge them. It also means a rowdier business for places like this.

"Year-round patronage isn't somethin' most tourist towns can hope for." I shrug. "Sounds like it's not somethin' to complain about."

"What I'm complaining about is the lack of help." Adam sits back, letting out a breath. "I'd like to have you here for exactly that, Eli. But I gotta know that you really are going to keep your nose clean. No drugs, no sketchy dealing, no fucking my waitresses."

"You know I don't do–"

"No, but you sell them," Adam says bluntly. "You'll take just about any job that'll make you a buck. I know the reasons why, and like I said–I'm not judging you. But if you want to use this as a place to lay low and straighten yourself out for a bit, I gotta trust you're going to do exactly that. Most folks coming through Bayton aren't looking for the shadier side of things, but it happens from time to time. I need to know you're not going to indulge that."

"Hand over my heart." I press my palm to my chest, and Adam narrows his eyes at me.

"I swear to God, Eli, if you can't take this seriously–"

"I am." I let out a breath, folding my arms over my chest. "You have my word. I'll help out with the place, do what you need me to do, show up when you need me to. I won't cause a ruckus."

"Alright then." Adam sits up, fishing around in a pile of papers for a business card. "Here. I know the lady that owns these apartments–she can get you a place to stay and won't charge you an arm and a leg."

"Thanks." I took the card, slipping it into my pocket. "I can't promise how long I'll be stayin', but probably for a few months, at least."

"Get me to January, and you can fuck off wherever you like after that," Adam says with a chuckle. "And who knows? Maybe you'll find out this place suits you better than you think."

"I wouldn't bet on it." I straighten, running a hand through my hair. "I'm gonna go find a place to crash for the night, I think. I'll check in on these apartments in the morning. Guessin' you'll want me to start tomorrow."

"Ideally." Adam stands up, flashing me a grin. "See you tomorrow night, then."

I get some food to-go before I leave, stashing the container in one of the saddlebags on my bike before heading over to the lodge where I can get a room for the night. There's a couple of hotels closer to the beach, but this is situated nearer to the woods, which suits me better. I pay cash for a room and drag myself up the stairs, considering whether I want a shower or a meal first.

This is gonna be home, for a little while.It's an odd thought. Even a few months is longer than I've stayed in one place for quite some time. My residences for a while now have been measured in days or weeks–usually not even long enough to do more than rent a motel room for a few nights. It's not ideal, but I've gotten so used to it that the opposite feels uncomfortable now, too.

Living alone, without a pack, isn't a good place for a wolf shifter to be. Lone wolves don't do well, especially not out in the mundane world, and even though Adam is a different sort of shifter, I know he knows that. I know it's his reasoning for trying to encourage me to stay here, even as I'm already thinking about where it is that I'll go next when I've had a chance to gather myself.

Even if I wanted a pack, I don't think I'd find it here.I've always avoided Bayton, and places like it. I don't plan on making this a home. I think, deep down, that I'm long past the point where I'll find a home anywhere.

But for tonight, I have a clean soft bed, a good meal, and a hot shower waiting for me. And whatever the future holds, for tonight, that's enough.

As for tomorrow–that's a problem to deal with then.