Chapter 3
Some Things Don’t Shrink in Water
It wasn’t hard to find Yordan. The lingering stench of swamp muck led straight to the showers.
The guy probably was desperate for a long, hot soak.
He probably hadn’t eaten either, so Kit stopped off in the kitchen and reheated some of last night’s pot roast. He wasn’t supposed to encourage drinking during the workday, but he figured Yordan deserved a beer.
The man had driven solo up from the Everglades.
So Kit grabbed a local craft brew and wished he could justify taking one for himself.
He couldn’t. He never drank just one, and if he was going to repair an Oldsmobile tonight, he would need to be sober.
He settled into the bench area of the locker room, the meal tray resting beside him. As long as he was here, he threw a thick towel into the heater and waited. And by “waited,” he meant he let the steam wash over him as he imagined what Yordan looked like all wet and ripped underneath a hot spray.
What a joy to sit with his fantasy for a few minutes.
He rarely got this kind of time. He’d been yanked from his combat pack when his problem with shifting appeared.
They’d given him no choice in the matter, just threw him in an office and labeled it a promotion.
Fortunately, he was good at logistics and quickly earned his current role.
It helped that Wulf, Inc. was woefully understaffed.
Still, coordinating seven combat packs was an all-consuming job and one that no single soul could manage for long.
Thankfully, work was slowing down—finally—after more than a year of mop-up from Wisconsin’s black hole of oblivion.
And if he sat and dreamed about hot water, soap, and Yordan, then who would blame him except his own blue balls?
He’d had fantasies about the guy since the man had taken over training during Kit’s first class at Wulf ten years ago.
Back then, he’d been a horny teen, but some things never faded with time.
And Yordan looked as hot now as he had back then.
Kit was thick and achy when the shower shut off.
He let his eyes drift open to see Yordan step out through the steam in all his dripping, naked glory.
Broad shoulders, ripped abs, water droplets clinging to flat, tight nipples.
Yordan had relatively little body hair, but that only made the dark treasure trail more pronounced. What Kit wouldn’t give to lick—
“Luncheon peep show?” Yordan drawled without even bothering to reach for a towel. He knew how gorgeous he looked. Apparently, he didn’t care.
“Towel—” Kit had to clear his throat. “There are towels in the heated bin.”
The man frowned at him. “Heated towels?” Then he looked around. “What bin?”
“The denim one to your right.” Kit smiled while keeping his hands casually relaxed over his groin.
No point in advertising what he’d been thinking.
“Stratos was testing some old incantations. The only thing she accomplished besides some orange mist and shorting out half the electronics in the house was heating all the denim in the place to near scorching. Ladin suggested making them into towel bins since they’re too hot to wear.
” He grinned and let his brogue slip into his tone.
“I like them.” Though the seamstress had had to wear silicone gloves to stitch it.
“Denim pants?”
“Something about smokin’-hot cowboy pants. She hadn’t meant to get it into the incantation.”
“And why the fuck are werewolves doing incantations?”
Kit shrugged. “Why the fuck not? Who says we can’t use other magic just because we go hairy?
” Apparently, Yordan was one of those purists who thought their whole organization should be restricted to going wolf and beating up on bad guys.
“Wulf, Inc. has to adapt or die, Yordan. That means experimenting with new stuff.” He watched as the man gingerly pulled out a hot towel from the bin and wrapped it around his waist.
Pity that. Kit had enjoyed looking at the man’s long, thick cock. But right then, he was more interested in the way Yordan’s expression softened as the hot towel wrapped around his flesh. Sometimes the simple pleasures were the best.
“Not so bad, huh?” Kit taunted.
“How much did it cost to replace all the blown computers?” Yordan retorted. “All for hot towels.”
Too much, but sometimes shit happened. That was the nature of experimentation. Especially with magic, so Kit pulled out his canned answer. “They were learning things. It happens.”
Unfortunately, one of the things he liked about Yordan was that the man never settled for canned answers.
“What they learned is what we already knew. The incantation means nothing. It’s all about the power of her belief focused into a result.
In this case, we learned that Stratos really loves hot cowboys. As do a lot of other women.”
Kit couldn’t argue. Magic depended upon belief.
Increase the number of people who believed, and the power combined to create every kind of magic ever imagined, from glittery vampires to knife-wielding Chucky dolls.
Some, like him, came from ancient mythology.
The Scots loved their spooky monsters on the moors.
Others, like Yordan, came from way too many B-rated horror flicks.
Add in the peculiar random magics from Fairy creatures, and it was a wild, wacky world.
Instead, Kit pulled out another canned answer. “The geek pack follows its own rules. Nero’s got it under control.” He jerked his chin at Yordan. “You should know that better than anybody. You helped train them.”
“And not a damned soul listened to me.” He shook his head. “Look at you. What the fuck is that?”
“I thought you’d be hungry after your shower.”
He sauntered over, all that big flesh and rippling muscles as he picked up the bottle of beer and curled his lip.
“Craft beer. Of course.”
Kit snorted then let his brogue go full force. “What crawled up your ass and died? I was trying to do something nice.”
“Nice?” Yordan curled his lip. “You’re the combat coordinator for seven packs. You don’t do nice. You can’t do nice, or they’ll walk right over you.”
Damn, the guy was grumpy, and Kit wasn’t in the mood to keep coddling him. He was trying to be nice, but the gloves were coming off.
“You mean like you did?” he challenged. “Walking away when I specifically told you to wait?”
“Fuck yes,” he said as he started drying off. “You ought to assign me to shit work for a week for that.”
Grumpy and self-aware. Odd how that combo was really sexy.
“And what would that accomplish?” Kit returned. “I’ve got puppies for the shit work. You’re just spoiling for a fight.”
Yordan dropped his hands on his hips. “I’d fucking respect you, that’s what. Instead, you brought me lunch and a beer.”
Well, that was putting it bluntly. So much for his Yordan fantasy. Kit pushed to his feet. Time to be a hard-ass. But before he could slam the bastard across the room, Yordan kept talking. Apparently, he’d built a whole list of criticisms and was not going to be stopped from letting it fly.
“And what the fuck are you doing giving a guy in the motor pool the rest of the day off? Chess tournament?” He rubbed his face.
“Oil Slick runs a tight ship,” he said, referring to the motor pool alpha.
“I’m surprised you’re still standing after undermining his authority that way.
You see a problem, you let the alpha deal with it.
You don’t go around his back and undercut him. ”
Kit nodded, the heat in his gut rising to a dark simmer. “And did you see Oil Slick in there?”
“Doesn’t matter—”
“Oil Slick had a nervous breakdown two months ago. He retired from Wulf before he got out of the hospital. Now he’s working for mundanes in Florida, keeping all the old geezers’ cars running, and soaking in the sun.”
He could see the news caught Yordan by surprise. “Retired? He’s younger than I am.”
“Yeah, he is. And his hair turned gray one week into the black hole crisis.” He jerked his chin at Yordan’s short blond crew cut. “How much white you got in among the golden brown there?”
“None of your fucking business,” Yordan muttered, though Kit could tell it was reflex rather than attitude. “Who became alpha after Oil Slick?”
“We’ve had a couple, but it turns out, it’s not so easy managing werewolves and big, expensive machinery. Right now, it’s Stick.”
“Stick! As in Stick up his Ass? Aw, hell—”
“Yes, Stick because we needed the machinery fixed, and he can fix anything mechanical in this whole place.”
“He also couldn’t see a packmate melt down if he were standing in hot lava!”
Kit tilted his head back and arched a brow.
Yordan huffed. “Which is why he sucks as an alpha. The guy in charge has to understand his people. It’s not about getting the job done. It’s about getting the people to do the job!”
Kit felt a smirk slip into his expression. Yordan didn’t realize it, but he’d just sealed his own fate. And that smirk made Yordan’s color rise.
“Which is why you interfered and gave chess dad the weekend off.”
“Uh-huh,” Kit drawled.
“Why does the motor pool keep losing leaders?”
“A fairy accident a day keeps the leaders away. It’s brutal, waiting every day for the disaster hammer to drop.”
He heard his brogue seep into his phrasing.
Normally, he kept strict control over his accent at the predominately American company.
He couldn’t eradicate it completely, but he’d mostly gone Midwestern flat in his intonation.
Except around Yordan, apparently. Something about bantering with him had Kit relaxing his guard.
“There’s an accident every day?” Yordan said, shaking his head. “You oughta stop that.”
Kit pushed to his feet. Damn, he was close enough to Yordan that he felt the moist heat of the man roll into his nostrils and fog his brain.
Unfortunately, it didn’t look like Yordan was the kind of guy to want an illicit bump and grind in the shower, even if Kit could get past the ethical complications of that.
So, that meant he was going to have to go hard alpha on the man, which was so not his favorite thing to do.
“That’s a great idea, Yordan,” he drawled. “Make that your first task.”
“What?”
“You’re getting a promotion. I was going to go gentle on you.
” He gestured to the food. “Planned to ply you with a bonnie fine meal and a friendly beer. But that’s not how an alpha is supposed to work, is it?
Find the right guy, then force him to do the job.
” Kit’s whole stance was one of challenge and dominance.
Yordan didn’t take it well. He didn’t fight back, though; he evaded.
“I’m not the fucking right guy,” Yordan snapped, panic edging into his tone.
“You don’t even know what the job is,” he retorted. “We’ll talk about it as soon as you see Gelpack.”
“I don’t need a shrink!” More panic. Damn, the guy was on the ragged edge about something. Which made it even more important that he start talking to someone.
“So, you’re just fine?” he taunted. “Big macho man who’s been around long enough to know what’s what. You haven’t been affected by the last eighteen months of shit. And any weakling who is needs a good kick in the ass.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you’re thinking.” Kit reached up and poked the man hard in the chest. He wanted to spread his fingers and roll his palms down the gorgeous expanse of muscles.
Instead, he used his nail and shoved. “Well, big man, now you’ve got your chance to put your money where your mouth is.
You’ve got the age and the experience. You know the combat packs better than I do because you’ve served with or trained every single one.
” He lifted his hand and patted Yordan’s rough-hewn cheek.
“So go to it, laddie. Fix what’s ailing in Wulf, Inc. ”
He watched Yordan swallow, his breath short. But in an impressive display of control, he firmed his chin and glared down at Kit.
“Why aren’t you doing it? Missed too many golf games lately?”
Was that what Yordan thought of him? That he was hanging out waiting for a tee time?
“You’ve spent too much time in Florida, Swamp Thing.
It’s winter in Michigan. I’m going on a well-deserved vacation,” he lied.
“I haven’t been back home in a decade, and I need to see my nanna.
” That was true. She was the only one who might have a clue how to fix his current problem.
“So you’ll be in charge the minute I take off.
Everything you want to do to Wulf, Inc. is yours to command. ”
“When are you leaving?”
“As soon as you’re up to speed.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know.” He winced. “Got a problem that needs fixing before I can come back.”
“And you’re putting me in charge?”
“Sure am. Because an alpha doesn’t ask what his people want. He just puts ’em where he needs ’em. Right?” Instead of a brogue, he put on a bad Texas accent.
Yordan’s jaw worked furiously. He wanted to fight. He wanted to rail. He was a man who perennially avoided command, and Kit wanted to know why. But instead of talking, he just stood there and took it.
Which meant Kit had to push.
“Unless you want to sit down and eat your meal. Maybe drink that craft beer that is pretty damned good. Then you can stop bellyaching about all the things I’m doing wrong and talk to me about what the fuck is going on with you.”
Yordan’s gaze slid to the floor. “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with me, and I’ve got nothing to say to you or that alien plastic bag Gelpack.”
Kit sighed. For some people, taking on the hardest job in the entire organization was easier than facing their feelings. “Then congratulations. You’re now my understudy.”