After
Dan swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "He could have a concealed carry permit."
Darren threw up his hands. "No way he has one. We should throw him out."
"That's pretty harsh, Darren," Dan said. "He's a kid, and alone."
"You don't know that. Even after what happened three years ago, you're still going to - "
"That's enough."
At Ronan's words Darren shut his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest. But Ronan wasn't looking at Darren; his eyes were trained on Morgan, who had gone pale.
"That's it. I'm going through his bag." Darren reached for it and Dan snarled, eyes flashing. Everyone froze.
"No, Darren. I've seen enough people harassing the homeless or taking advantage of runaways. We are not searching his possessions without a warrant, his permission, or a damn good reason. Tomorrow we'll ask him for his ID and concealed carry permit. That's final."
Darren's lips pulled back in a silent snarl, but he obeyed his Beta. "Whatever you say, Officer."
Dan picked up a thin blanket and covered Charlie's slim body. He glanced again at the wide, pink, shiny scar on the outside of his upper arm. It looked like a bullet wound to Dan.
He glanced over at Ronan and saw that his eyes were also fixed on it.
His fingers brushed across the curls at Charlie's shoulders, and Dan had to struggle to pull his hand away. Just as soft as they looked. That was when he noticed another scar, thin and raised and white, peeking out from underneath the hair.
Before he realized what he was doing Dan pushed the dark curls to the side to get a better look at his neck. He heard Morgan gasp.
Charlie's entire neck and shoulders were peppered with scars. Some small and sunken like puncture wounds, some white, thin, and raised and some dark pink, fresher. Dan wanted to touch them, run his fingers over them, sooth the skin. But he restrained himself.
Ronan looked at the bite marks on Charlie's neck and Dan could tell there was something he wasn't saying, but he didn't like to pressure his Alpha.
"Could you smell it too, Dan? Before?" Ronan said finally, lips pursed.
He didn't need to ask what Ronan meant. "Some of it. What was that?"
Ronan brushed the hair away from Charlie's neck carefully. One fingertip traced the small, sunken scars.
"I think he might be... an Omega werewolf."
Justin's head snapped up; the others looked puzzled.
"An omega? What does that mean?" Morgan asked. Dan himself was nonplussed.
"I have never met one, but I have heard of them. There are alpha, beta, and omega type werewolves. That's different from titles that show your rank in the pack, like Alpha or Beta. Most wolves are betas, some are alphas, and as far as omegas go - " Ronan said.
"My birth pack had one, but I always avoided him," Justin whispered. "We were a huge pack, and there was only one omega. They are really rare... I can't believe there would be a rogue omega..."
"From what I have heard they can strengthen a pack. And they pair up with an alpha werewolf, giving them something."
"Something?"
"The wolf who told me about it refused to go into much more detail. But from what I've seen it seems true that packs with an Omega -" he stressed the word, turning it into a title, "Fare better. Have greater unity and numbers." He left unsaid that both those things were something they needed badly.
"He's still a rouge werewolf!" Darren snarled. "I don't know about this omega shit but - "
"That's enough, Darren."
"He's dangerous!"
"Dangerous? Look at him!"
"He looks like an angel. So small and hurt..." Morgan mused, and Justin made a face as if he had just swallowed a fly.
"An angel?! He's got a gun!"
"Darren, please." Ronan asked nicely, but it was clearly not a request. Darren shut his mouth.
"How do we know for sure? That he's an omega, I mean." Justin interjected.
"Theoretically we could just ask him. But if he's never been around other werewolves then he might not know, himself. And naturally, he might know, and lie about it. Those scars and the scent from before are hints, but the only way we can make sure...is to keep him around until the next full moon."
Dan let the words sink in. He picked up the handgun and examined it. After that, he placed it back into Charlie's bag and put that on the coffee table. Then he settled on the other end of the couch.
"What are you doing?" Darren asked with an incredulous look on his face.
"Staying the night." He couldn't say that he felt reluctant to leave the small werewolf's side.
"Like you said, we don't know who he is, and I don't want to leave him alone with the youngsters." He smiled at Morgan and Justin. "And Ronan needs to get home to his family."
He did not say that Darren could stay instead. And his brother didn't offer.
One by one they left, Ronan and Darren through the front door looking thoughtful and furious respectively, and Justin and Morgan down the hall to where the bedrooms lay.
Dan could have taken the guest room but he felt sure he would not be able to sleep without having Charlie under his nose.
He doubted the small wolf would be getting up anytime soon, but it didn't feel right leaving him alone. What if his fever went up? Charlie barely took up a third of the large, L-shaped couch, so Dan grabbed a pillow and a duvet from the spare room and stretched out on the unoccupied space, his feet almost reaching Charlie's.
Sighing, he got comfortable.
Never disobey me, Kitty.
Kit's eyes flew open and he pressed his palms against his mouth to keep from screaming.
Instead he pressed his eyes shut and gasped for air, focusing on his breathing. He could still see the dark eyes from his dream on the inside of his eyelids, their gaze boring into him.
After a minute the trembling in his body started to fade and he could look around. He realized that he felt much better. His back seared with every small movement but the pain was sharp and stinging, not pounding, and his fever had broken. He even felt hungry, which he had not done since the accident.
Carefully he pushed himself up to seating, glancing around the room. Maybe he could snatch some food and slip out before they woke up?
"Hey there. How are you feeling, Charlie?"
Hearing that name was like a punch in Kit's gut. Of all the names... He cursed himself for blurting it out the night before. Kit had told this man way too much.
His name was Dan, he recalled.
Now that his fever was gone Kit felt more clearheaded. He looked Dan over properly, noticing his warm brown eyes, short stubble, and tan. His nose looked a bit crooked and flattened, like it had been broken, and there were a few thin, faded scars around his mouth.
Despite that, Dan looked way too good for someone who had just woken up. His thick brown hair was disheveled and his T-shirt had run up his torso and twisted, showing a hint of abs as he threw his blanket off.
He had kept his jeans on but unbuttoned them, and Kit could see a trail of fine hairs disappearing into his boxers... He tore his gaze away, shaking his head to clear the image away. The action hurt, and he groaned.
"I'm great. Feeling much better, thanks."
"Morgan did a good job, then?"
"The best. Well, I should get going."
He half rolled off the couch, wincing, and grabbed his bag off of the coffee table. His body was so stiff.
Dan's brow knit together. "You ca - "
"You can't." Morgan spoke from the hallway behind them, voice firm. He was dressed in a checkered flannel pyjamas and holding an empty coffee cup.
"Not in your condition. And you need help to change your dressings, twice a day until it heals. Which will be at least two weeks, werewolf or no."
Kit ignored him, moving gingerly towards the front door.
"Thank you for patching me up, really. But I've got no choice. I've got to get where I'm going and find a job, or else I won't have food to eat or a a bed to sleep in. I have nothing to pay you back with... so it's better if I just go," he finished.
"You don't have to pay me back - at least stay for breakfast!"
"Marvin's looking to hire, isn't he, Morgan?" Dan said.
"What?"
"Marvin's looking for a new part-timer. That college kid quit." Turning to Kit, he went on.
"Marvin is an uncle of mine. Morgan's grandfather. Owns the local bar and grill. His wife and daughter run the diner next door. And he was saying the other day how he could use some help in the evenings and on weekends."
"So?"
"So apply. You need a job, right? Pay Morgan back, heal up. Stick around for a while."
The look on his face said 'What have you got to lose?'
Kit had his doubts, but he was also low on options. And not having to move right now seemed pretty tempting.
"Where would I stay?"
Dan grinned. "I can talk to Marvin about that. Otherwise, I've got extra rooms."
"So do we," Morgan said. "Stay in the guest room here. That way I can help you with the dressings. Please. Justin and I discussed it, and we are away at school most days anyway. We wouldn't bother you."
Kit blinked. He almost didn't know what to say to Morgan's eager, sincere expression.
"Why would you do that?"
"Just accept that we want to help you, alright?" Dan said. "Come on, have some breakfast. Then I'll drive you over to Marvin's."
After that he had eaten his first warm meal in months - coffee and toast - and found himself in Dan's car, being driven the short distance over to Main Street.
The whole town seemed to be just one street of broad, cracked tarmac with a couple of shops and townhouses on each side. Gravel roads veered off from it in sharp turns here and there, presumably leading to houses like the one Kit had just spent the night in.
Marvin's Bar and Grill stood opposite the gas station and next to a pastel-coloured diner. Kit could spot a supermarket with a combined drug store next to the gas station and a liquor store that also advertised firearms further up the road.
"People mostly just pass through here," Dan explained. "We get the occasional hikers, but the tourists all continue on to Manitou Springs."
"Huh."
"They say this town was built on an old crossroads," he continued as he pulled into the parking lot. "That's why it's called Rivers Crossing."
"No river though," Kit observed, unbuckling.
"There are a few around," Dan mused, cracking a lopsided smile and holding up the door for him.
Marvin looked a bit like a grizzled old hyena. Tall and skinny like his grandson, with a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard and skin like tanned leather, he only looked friendly when he smiled. And he wasn't smiling.
He gave Kit a once over and set him to making a few drinks while he asked him a set of short questions about his previous jobs. Then he asked to see his ID.
Kit pulled a battered driver's license out of his pocket and offered it.
"This here says your name is Richard Caraway."
"I don't go by Richard, 'cause everyone kept calling me Dick. Charlie's my middle name."
Marvin looked suspicious, but he shrugged anyway.
"Come in for a trial shift on Thursday. If you do alright, you can work Friday and Saturday. We're closed Sundays."
Dan drove him back and Kit was already so tired from the exertion that he just wanted to lie down and sleep. He showed Dan his concealed carry permit (a real one, except he had been forced to quickly tweak the name on it) and told him that his real last name was Caraway.
"I just said Carr yesterday because, well, I didn't know if I could trust you. We had just met."
Then Morgan showed him the guest room and added,
"Charlie? Um, if you want - I mean, I know Marvin's is closed on Sundays. And most Sundays, we meet up here. The pack, I mean. We just hang out and grill, or watch a game, or play cards and have a few beers. And you'd be - erm, you'd be welcome to join us. If you want."
Kit stared at him with raised eyebrows. Free booze?
"Sure, I suppose I'll...be here anyway."
"Great!" Morgan smiled and bounced from the room.
"You're still not drinking, Morgan?" Darren asked, knocking back his fifth beer. Cards were spread out on the table in front of him.
"I'm still not over the drinking age, Darren. I'm only eighteen."
"In Europe you would be. And there are no cops here - well, except the one. No cops that matter." He grinned at his brother.
"You a cop, Dan?" Kit said. "I'm so disappointed."
"What about you, devil's advocate?" Darren went on, gesturing with his beer can towards Justin. "Drinking yet?"
"I'm only nineteen."
"So?"
"So, no. Thank you."
"Devil's advocate?" Kit asked the air.
"He's a law student," Dan's rumbling voice answered.
"Oh, goody." A police officer and a law student? What were the freaking odds?
In addition to that, Ronan had already mentioned that he worked as a drill sergeant at the air force base outside of Colorado Springs.
"So whatcha gonna be? A lawyer?"
Justin looked at him levelly. "A public prosecutor."
Well fuck me. "Great. Awesome. We need more of those."
"So Charlie," Ronan said, leaning forward in his armchair with his own cards held in one hand, "What do you say to running with us next week? At the full moon?"
"Why are you guys so focused on getting me to stick around?"
"Can't we just like you?"
Allow me to doubt.
"Sure you can. Buuut... Why should I trust you?"
"Well, you've already let us help you, get you a job and a place to stay... Seems pretty trusting to me."
Kit snorted. "You think? 'Cause I wouldn't say I'm trusting. But you know, I look young, pretty, and vulnerable, right? So in my experience most people want to either help me or use me.
"I had you guys pegged as the former, but on the off chance I was wrong... what other choice did I have? Die in the woods? Let's just say it was a risk I was willing to take.
"And as for the help you've given me since then, well, I'm not quite clear on your reasons - but I'm sure you have them."
"Let me put my cards on the table, then." Ronan dropped the cards he was holding, revealing a very good hand.
"You're not the only one who is vulnerable. If you will excuse my turn of phrase, we could use some fresh blood. Our pack is small. And you seem like you could use a pack, if you don't mind me saying."
"I don't mind. Look, I'm sorry to disappoint you...but I have no plans to stick around. Like I said, I don't want a pack."
"Fair enough... Come hunt with us anyway. While you're here. We won't pressure you."
"Alright, fine." He drained his glass and scrunched up his nose. Vodka. Not even the apple juice he had added could distract from the taste, but it was cheap and strong.
He filled his glass up again, and they kept playing, drinking.
"Hey. Maybe you should slow down a little?" Dan's voice was soft in his ear. They were all on the couch and in the armchairs, beer cans and shot glasses littering the coffee table.
"Fuck no." Kit reached over and filled his glass again. Dan looked surprised that he could still hold it steady.
"I drink with only one purpose, gents. To get ab-so-lute-ly smashed. If you're not blacking out, you're not drinking enough."
"Hear, hear," said Darren.
"So says the 21 year-old," Ronan added dryly.
"Eight months sober! Never again, guys. God I missed you, vodka."
Ronan raised an eyebrow. He was nursing a lager, and seemed just slightly tipsy.
"Eight months? I though you only recently turned 21?" he asked.
"Never said recently," Kit retorted. "And you're never too young to drink vodka. That has been my firm stance stance since I was eleven. Can't go wrong with vodka and nicotine."
"That's really bad for you, you know," Morgan said, glancing up at Kit and the cigarette he was busy slipping between his lips.
"Yeah, I'm sure it'll kill me."
"It could. It's been linked to all sorts of deadly conditions, and - "
"Yeah I know. My mom died of lung cancer. Well, that and an OD."
"Whoa, for real?" Darren said. "And you still smoke?"
"Like a chimney. As you can see." He fumbled for his lighter.
Dan shook his head. Smiling at Kit, he reached up and plucked the cigarette gently from his lips. "Don't smoke inside."
Kit frowned, but didn't push it. His first shifts at Marvin's had been overwhelming. He had been away long enough to forget what it was like. The press of bodies, the smell of them all in an enclosed space, the rush of working at a high pace. To his surprise he found that he had missed it.
His back still hurt and he couldn't lift anything heavy, but he could move around with ease again. Closer to the full moon his healing was speeding up.
After Marvin had paid him for the weekend he had bought a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka and given the rest to Morgan.
He laid down his cards, smirking.
"What the fuck?! Are you cheating?!" Darren shouted, throwing down his cards. Kit had won nearly every round.
"I'm counting. It's not against the rules, just frowned upon." He swept the cards towards himself, slurring the words slightly, southern accent slipping out.
"I did warn you that you wouldn't like playing with me - that I would win."
Darren lunged at him across the coffee table and Kit growled, lurching to his feet -
Ronan grabbed Darren's collar and Dan stood up, steadying Kit with a hand under each of his elbows. His Alpha shot Dan a look so he started nudging Kit towards the door to the porch.
"Let's get some air, Charlie," he said.
"Sure. I could use a smoke anyway." He grabbed his glass and the vodka bottle.
Kit forced himself to walk straight despite the spinning room, the nauseous churning in his stomach. When he reached the porch and felt the cold air outside, he sighed, stumbling.
"Easy now, Charlie." Dan sighed. "Don't you have any sense of self-preservation? Getting drunk and baiting Darren? Aren't you at all worried - "
"So what? What do you think is gonna happen? What's the worst you can imagine, Dan? You think I can't take a beating?"
He drained the glass in three deep gulps, shuddering.
"There is nothing you can do to me... Nothing anyone can do to me worse than what I've already survived. 'Cept maybe kill me. Do I look like I'm afraid to die, Dan?"
He grabbed the bottle with both hands and chugged it until he started coughing, spitting vodka and apple juice across the wooden decking. Dan caught his shoulder with one hand and steadied the bottle with the other, pulling it gently from his grasp and placing it on the ground.
"Whoa there. You sure you're okay?"
Dan. Dan with his melted chocolate eyes and kind smile, with his large, warm hands and comforting smell of sweat and laundry detergent... Kit laughed quietly, leaning against the railing and looking up (and up) at Dan.
"Maybe not. I think I'm blacking out. I probably won't remember any of this tomorrow. I feel great."
"You do?"
Dan moved closer almost as if he didn't realise it himself, almost close enough to touch.
"No. Not really."
"You lie a lot, Charlie."
He was looking at Kit now, really looking, still not touching.
"I rarely lie. I just don't say what I mean."
His head felt pleasantly fuzzy, edges blurry, nausea gone now that he was breathing in the cold, biting air. Dan's face was clear before him in the semi-darkness, looking at him with something like pity and fondness.
"Don't look at me like that."
He grabbed Dan's face and kissed him.
The heat between them was immediate, an electrical current so strong he was almost surprised they didn't give off sparks.
Dan's lips were warm and soft, his kiss slow and gentle. Kit nipped at his lower lip, asking for more, and Dan's tongue slid over his, once , twice. He tasted of beer and Doritos and Kit licked into his mouth hungrily.
For several long minutes they kissed, Kits hands resting on Dan's shoulders, thumbs pressing into the depressions where they met his neck, and Dan's hands sliding carefully around Kit's slim waist.
Finally Dan pulled back, resting his head against Kit's shoulder and sighing.
"Take me home with you, Dan."
Dan's body tensed. For one long moment he said nothing.
"No, Charlie."
"You don't want me?" He could clearly feel evidence to the contrary pressing against him in the dark, but he knew better than to point that out.
"It's not that I don't. But I don't do these things, any more. Casual flings. And if I do end up bringing you home one day... I want you to remember it, Charlie. Every second."