4. Chapter 4 #3
“Rome, you never broke any. I know that. But this is...” He looked at Roman’s profile and his chest went tight. They’d been close as kids, but maybe the pack had seen something else in it, because the air between them now carried a different charge. Something he’d never have dared dream about.
“This is what?” Roman snapped, turning to him.
Their eyes met.
“Dangerous.”
“Dangerous like they’ll hunt us down?”
“Dangerous like fire,” Lance said, barely above a whisper. He licked his lips. “You know?”
Eyes back on the road, Roman gave a quiet “Yeah. I know.”
***
Crisp pine-scented air tossed Lance’s hair as he watched the trees roll past. Who knew what Bedlam would smell like, be like.
By the whispers he’d caught, it was a lawless prison colony, a dumping ground for the worst non-human criminals and for unwanted half-bloods like him.
Some were forced through the gate. Others ran for it to escape something worse.
If he’d been fae instead of wolf, he’d have made for Bedlam years ago.
The fae were even more vicious with their half-bloods, killing them on no proof of madness at all.
As a wolf he’d taken his beatings from his own kind, but it was only now that he was older, that the Venators kept jumping him.
Every run-in risked something going wrong.
Somebody ending up dead. And sure, they’d happily ship him off to Bedlam, but he meant to go on his own terms.
A flash of tawny brown caught his eye and he snapped upright. A young doe, thrashing.
“Roman, stop the car!”
Roman hit the brakes, tires skidding on the gravel shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Lance was already out and running for a stretch of barbed-wire fence along the road. A young deer was caught in the twisted barbs, bleating, legs kicking as she fought to get loose, fresh blood matting her dappled fur.
“Shhh, easy, girl. I’ve got you.” Lance dropped to her side.
Roman caught up and slowed so he wouldn’t spook her worse. “You doing your horse-whisperer thing?”
“Come on, girl, let me get it. Shh.” Deft-fingered, Lance worked the wire free, ignoring the bite of the metal into his own skin.
“Lance.” Roman’s voice held a warning.
“Roman,” he mimicked, and shot him a look.
Sighing, Roman shoved his sleeves up and took hold of the tangled threads Lance had separated.
“Just another minute,” he murmured to the trembling animal, her dark liquid eyes on him. The last barb came free, and the doe stumbled back, found her feet, lingered a moment with her nose twitching at Lance’s open palm, then bounded off into the trees.
“You did it.” Roman flashed him a grin.
“We did it. You know the true measure of an alpha isn’t his strength. It’s how he treats the vulnerable.”
“Aw, shucks. Was that a compliment?”
“Dude, you’re a prince of the Leitner pack. You don’t need compliments. You were born with a big enough head.”
“Yeah, that about covers it,” Roman said with a wicked grin and a look down at his zipper.
With an exaggerated huff, Lance stalked back to the jeep, refusing to laugh along.
***
The drinks were cheap, the glasses dirty, the food greasy as hell, and over the racket of an old jukebox Roman couldn’t remember a better night.
Yacht clubs, rooftop restaurants, live bands, none of it had ever come close.
Places didn’t matter. People did. And Lance Dominic mattered a whole lot more than he should.
He dropped a few bills on the bar, waited for Lance, and followed him out under the flickering neon. “You alright?”
“Yup.” Lance swayed a little.
“Stumble again and I’m carrying you,” Roman said, curling an arm around his waist as they crossed to the run-down motel on the edge of town. Tomorrow they’d reach the roaming gate, and he’d have to let go. Not a moment before then.
“I didn’t stumble. The sidewalk moved.” Lance was tipsy, but he was having too much fun winding Roman up, so he played it heavier than it was. “Carry me and you’ll make a real spectacle of us both, dear Romeo.”
“What did you call me?”
“You heard me. Romeo.”
“Guess that makes you Juliet.” Without warning he swept Lance up into a bridal carry. “Go on, bat your Juliet lashes at me,” he taunted, jogging for the outside stairs.
The guy at reception came to the window to watch.
“Romy, the receptionist!” Lance hissed.
The metal stairs groaned under them as Roman climbed. “Don’t worry, I told them at check-in you’re mine.” Mine. The word rang through him and settled like a warm weight he didn’t want to put down.
“Jules. Call me Ju...els,” Lance said, hanging on as the jog rattled him like a rag doll. “You know, like diamonds and sapphires, since I’m worth more than a full moon in a clear sky.”
“All that and more.” He was still laughing when they reached the room.
He didn’t put Lance down, just juggled him until the lock gave, and the door swung in on a space nearly all king-sized bed.
He kicked it shut, the sound ringing down the walkway, pinned Lance against it chest to chest, and then Roman wasn’t laughing anymore.