After
"Charlie!" Morgan called out, sweet and cheerful as ever. "Late night?"
"Sure," Kit answered distractedly. "Pretty late, yeah."
"Want to hang out with me today? I was going to go to the arcade down in Manitou Springs with Justin this weekend, but his paper's due, so... Do you want to come with me?" he asked, glancing shyly at Kit through his bangs.
"Manitou Springs has this really big old arcade with lots of games and you can get saltwater toffee there and retro-style milkshakes and - "
"Why not?" Kit replied, latching on to anything that might take his mind off the look on Dan's face when he had seen him with Darren.
"I'm down. Just let me grab a quick shower and get changed."
Dan told himself it was not because he'd found Charlie in his brother's house. He should have done this long ago, for his pack's safety. He had been blinded. This was the responsible thing to do.
And he wanted answers. If Charlie wasn't going to give them, Dan would find them for himself.
He had gone straight home after their encounter, then made up his mind and drove right back. Striding in though the still open door, he refused to look at his brother, on the couch with his head in his hands. Charlie was nowhere to be seen.
Dan walked up to the coffee table where - among the general debris littering every surface in the house - stood two half empty glasses of water.
"Which one is his?" Dan asked gruffly.
Darren twitched and looked up. Dan wondered briefly if he would pick a fight - and today, Dan did not feel up to being generous. He would show his little brother why he was the one with the higher rank between the two of them, beta or no.
"That one," Darren croaked, pointing at the closer glass. Dan picked it up carefully and eased it into a clear plastic bag. His brother watched him.
"What are you doing?"
"What I should have done from the start."
He left without looking back and got into his car.
The concealed weapon, the way he had appeared - injured and destitute - out of the mountains, the scars, the hints of a troubled past. Dan should have checked up on it from the start. He had focused too much on helping Charlie and getting to know him.
On falling for him, his unhelpful brain supplied.
What if, instead of being just a kid down on his luck, Charlie was dangerous? What if Darren had been right from the start?
Dan's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel and he pressed down on the gas pedal, driving towards the police station in Manitou Springs.
"Oh, man! I haven't done this shit since... I haven't ever done this shit!"
Morgan laughed. "Yeah, this is fun. Let's get some soda. You've got so many tickets!"
"You've got more. Is it enough for a prize, though?"
"Hm...maybe if we pool them. I know one game that gives you lots of tickets, come on..."
This was just the distraction Kit had longed for. Fun, without harmful consequences. Manitou Springs was a quaint little town at the foot of the Rockies, full of colourful tourist traps and old buildings.
Rivers Crossing, with it's one diner and gas station, seemed little more than a bleak pit stop in comparison.
They had already played skee ball, thrown basketballs into hoops, raced in plastic cars, and played countless other games. Now they headed over to an old game depicting a black and white flat maze on a square screen. They traced the maze with their fingers, racing each other and giggling more than really seemed justified.
"I don't know if Dan is working today," Morgan said while they were collecting their little pink tickets. "If you want, we could drop by the station and find out."
He's not.
"The police station? Pass."
"Why?"
"Those places give me the creeps. C'mon, let's get a prize."
Kit avoided looking at him. For all his innocence, Morgan was plenty smart, and he didn't like the searching glance the younger man shot him.
They walked out and got milkshakes - Rocky Road for Kit and Chocolate Malt for Morgan - and wandered around the chilly town, stopping to look at one of the famous springs. It didn't look like much in Kit's opinion - just an pale orange sandstone well.
Kit stretched his neck - the bite seemed to be healing as quickly as his other scrapes and bruises, and no longer hurt. Maybe there had been nothing to the rumours Ronan had heard about Alphas and Omegas. He hadn't seemed sure of them, himself.
This late in the season it was almost frosty. Kit stopped to rub his hands together and tuck them into his sleeves, running a glance over his surroundings in a habit he had picked up while working for Devlin.
His milkshake hit the ground with a splat.
Malicious pale eyes met his from only a few feet away and a sour stench wafted into his nostrils.
Kit turned to run, grabbing Morgan's arm.
Strong hands grabbed his hoodie and they were both shoved into an alley and against a red brick wall, bouncing off it to land on asphalt littered with trash and broken glass.
Ilya. Ilya had found him.
Kit was on his feet in a second but it was no use - click - Ilya had flicked off the safety on his Ruger SR9 and was pressing it into Kit's breastbone. His hand fisted in Kit's shirt and he shoved him further into the alley.
Morgan sat on the ground, dazed, while Kit tried to will him to run, crawl away, anything - without taking his eyes of the psychopath griping his throat.
He met Ilya's eyes squarely and growled.
Ilya backhanded him hard enough to slam his head into the brick wall and split his lip, never moving the gun pressed into his sternum.
With anyone else Kit would shove it away and fight - but he knew Ilya would pull the trigger, and then shoot Morgan. He wouldn't even blink - and he could get away with it, too.
He grabbed Kit's chin and pressed his thumb into his split lip. Kit winced.
"You thought you could get away, huh?" Ilya hissed. "Thought you could walk the streets without a care? Thought he wouldn't be looking?"
He's right, Kit thought. I was careless. Stupid, stupid.
Now Morgan was at risk, because of him.
"For months I've been stuck in these shitty mountains - Now I'm going to kill your little friend as a lesson, and you're going to come back, like a good little pet - "
Kit couldn't go back. He wouldn't.
And I'll die before I let you touch Morgan.
In that moment it became clear that Dan wasn't the only person who had managed to worm his way into Kit's treacherous heart.
"Okay," he said softly, casting his eyes down.
Slowly he stuck his tongue out and licked the thumb pressing into his bleeding bottom lip. Ilya flinched back, but he kept his grip.
Kit looked back at him, up through his long, curved eyelashes. "Okay," he repeated.
"But you don't have to kill him, right?"
He moved his hands from where they had been clutching Ilya's wrist and put them on either side of his own head, palms bared. Slowly, he slid to his knees in front of Ilya, glass shards cutting through his jeans, digging into his skin.
"You could teach me a lesson some other way, couldn't you, Ilya?" he murmured, ignoring the barrel now digging into his collarbone.
"It's the only chance you'll get. Once I'm back with Devlin, he'll never share..."
The mobster chewed his lip. Kit forced down a swell of triumph - Ilya was no werewolf, and pheromones wouldn't work on him - but that also meant that Kit was stronger than him. If he could get the upper hand. If he could get Morgan away.
Come on, run, he thought silently to Morgan but the other werewolf was still slumped against the wall staring, trembling.
Kit leaned forward and made to reach for Ilya's fly.
"Keep your hands up," the larger man grunted from above. "Use your mouth." He popped the button on his trousers.
A rank smell of stale sweat and urine wafted against his face as Ilya pulled down his fly. He was already half-hard from anticipation.
"Don't watch," Kit risked croaking to Morgan, but he couldn't see if the other obeyed.
He pulled down Ilya's dirty underwear with his teeth and took him into his mouth.
Ilya started fucking his face almost immediately, growing fully erect, pressing Kit's head back against the bricks and forcing his cock down his throat. Kit tensed his lips around his teeth and tried to fight his gag reflex and hold still, breathing through his nose.
The older man was just using his mouth, thrusting into it without expecting him to even try and use his tongue. Kit held on, glaring at him, hands up by his face, helpless but defiant. He hoped it would be over soon, tears rising in his eyes from the strain.
The mobster thrust in harder, grabbing the back of Kit's head with one hand, forcing him to deepthroat, his hips snapping forward, stuttering.
Ilya came, hot white liquid spraying across Kit's face, dripping from his hair.
The hand holding the gun quivered - faltered for the merest microsecond - and Kit shot forward, driving his knee into Ilya's exposed groin and the heel of his hand up into the mobster's nose, breaking the bone with a crack like a whip.
He pinned the arm holding the gun between them, pointing it into the brick wall. Ilya jerked back, trying to punch Kit and twist free, but the werewolf was faster. He dived under his arm and kicked in the side of his knee, hard, explosive.
With a yelp the large man pitched forward, knee buckling, bending the wrong way - and Kit followed, grabbing his hair and driving his knee into Ilya's face once, twice, three times. He let him fall onto his knees and twisted his arm up and back, wrenching the handgun out of his grasp.
It was over in seconds. One moment Kit was kneeling on the ground, covered in cum, and in the next he was standing, Ilya pinned to the ground at his feet with blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
His arm stuck out, straight and bent forward at a painful angle, Kit putting pressure on it so that he could not twist free without dislocating his own shoulder.
Kit raised the gun and pointed it at the back of Ilya's head.
"No!" Morgan gasped. "Don't kill him!"
He had finally snapped out of his frozen state but was staring at them in horror, trembling violently.
"If I don't, he'll be back."
"I don't care - please don't kill him, Charlie. Please don't..."
Kit's hazel eyes were flat and expressionless - hard like glass marbles, regarding Morgan. Then life seemed to flood back into them.
"Ilya... Don't fucking come after us."
He shoved the man's twisted arm forward and ripped it out of it's socket with a sickening "Pop!"
Ilya howled and rolled onto his side, clutching at his shoulder - and Kit ran up to Morgan, grabbing at his shoulder.
"C'mon, move it!"
Morgan stumbled up and followed blindly, running. Kit pulled him along, heedless of their direction, completely disoriented.
"Shit."
Spunk dripped from his hair into his eyes and he went to wipe it on his sleeve only to see that the fabric was spattered with blood.
"Shit!"
"Ch-Charlie?"
Kit spun around and looked at Morgan, his breath hissing out. The teenager looked bad. He was pale and trembling, his eyes unfocused. Was he going into shock?
He glanced around, spotting another alley behind them. They had put a few blocks between themselves and Ilya, right? Either way, he had to deal with Morgan first.
"C'mere."
Hastily, Kit prodded Morgan into the alley and pressed him against the grey concrete wall, turning to face him.
"Morgan. Morgan, it's okay. I'm gonna get you home, okay?"
The younger werewolf's eyes were still unfocused. He didn't seem to hear Kit's voice.
On an impulse Kit put his arms around him and hugged him, leaning into his tall, lanky frame. He stroked his lower back and stood on tip-toe to press little comforting, close-mouthed kisses into his shoulder and collarbone.
This is the only comfort I have to offer you...
Unbidden, almost on their own, his pheromones started leaking out into the air.
But there was something different about them, Kit registered at the back of his mind. Instead of being heady and pungent, they were a faint, savoury-sweet fragrance of lavender, milk, and honey drifting in the air around them, wrapping them both in a calming miasma.
Morgan's body relaxed and his knees buckled. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground.
His hands were clutching Kit's hoodie so the short werewolf followed him down and ended up on his knees, straddling Morgan's lap. He took the young, shaking wolf's face between his hands.
"No-one will hurt you, Morgan," he said almost tenderly. "Because I'm here with you."
As he said the words, it dawned on Kit that he had no desire to hurt Morgan. Or to see him hurt, in pain at all. He wanted to protect him.
"If anyone wants you, they'll have to go through me. Do you understand?"
Kit kissed Morgan's cold face gently, leaving little traces of that new, calming scent. He kissed his eyelids, his cheekbones, his forehead.
After a while Morgan's hands loosened their cramp-like hold on his hoodie and came down to encircle his waist, and he buried his face in the crook of Kit's neck, breathing.
"You've...you've got to find Dan, Morgan. You said he was working today, here, right? Go to the station."
"You..." Morgan hiccuped. "Wait. Aren't you coming?"
Kit hesitated and Morgan froze, breath catching.
"You're running," he whispered, and it was not a question.
Kit considered lying. "I've got to. Ilya will be back."
Morgan's arms around him clung tighter. "N-No."
Kit moved to pry them loose, and Morgan whimpered.
"Please, no. Don't leave me alone," he pleaded.
Kit remembered what Dan had told him about his pack. Recalled a story about Morgan, 15 years old, alone and forced to watch his pack slaughtered around him. Trapped with the people that had done it.
He relaxed into Morgan's embrace, swallowing. Damn it, he thought. Damn my soft heart.
"Shh, it's okay. We'll go home together. We'll call Dan, and...and Justin. It's okay. I'm here. I've got you."
Dan had finished scanning the fingerprints he had lifted off the glass - good quality - and put them through NGI and AFIS databases, just waiting for the results, when he got the call.
Charlie, on the phone, telling him that Morgan had been in an accident and could he come and pick them up near the arcade?
He asked his sergeant to please keep an eye on the search and give him a call if anything came up, hurrying out.
"Dan," Charlie greeted him, one arm around Morgan, who was cowed, eyes wet.
Charlie had his hood up and Dan could see blood staining his ripped knees - what had happened to them? A robbery? A fight?
"How about you take Morgan home and I'll drive his car back? You guys just go on -" Charlie started.
"You don't have a Colorado state driver's licence, Charlie. Why don't you just come along and tell me what happened? We can pick up his car later."
"Don't go, Charlie," Morgan whispered.
Charlie chewed his bottom lip but complied, getting into the back seat with Morgan, who kept a hold on his arm, hood still covering his face.
"Call Justin and then I'll tell you, okay?" he said gruffly.
Dan called.
"Justin is at school - in the college library - but he's on his way now. I've asked Ronan to meet us instead."
Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath.
"You don't have to tell me yet," Dan offered softly. "Let's wait 'til we get home, okay?"
When they got to the house Ronan and Darren were already there, waiting. Dan's phone rang just as he was getting out of the car.
"What happened?!" Darren exclaimed, rushing over to Morgan.
His brother had always been very protective of their nephew. This time Dan feared it might be called for. He didn't know what had happened but Morgan looked like he might be going into shock, and Charlie was being very quiet.
If they hadn't been werewolves, pack, he would have brought them straight to the station - or to the hospital.
Dan put his phone up to his ear.
"Hi, Rivers - Martinez here. You said to give you a call 'bout the prints you were running? Something came up."
Dan shifted the phone against his ear, turning to look at Charlie. His heart twisted. Still so beautiful. Still everything Dan wanted, even if he was out of reach.
"Yeah?"
"I got a rap sheet, and I checked the name in a few other databases. They belong to someone named Christopher Callaghan. There is a sizeable private bounty on his head, a juvenile record, and a folder from child protective services in New Orleans. And one more thing."
"What?"
"There's a warrant out for his arrest. On suspicion of murder."