Darren Rivers wasn't usually one to overthink things - but hadn't those college kids at the other end of the shooting range been staring at him for quite some time now?
Instinctively he sniffed the air, but they were downwind, and he couldn't catch their scents.
He pushed another eight rounds into the magazine, shifting the 11mm bolt-action rifle up to his shoulder and taking aim.
Darren rarely left his pack's territory and his hometown - Rivers Crossing - and yet here he was, at an old field turned shooting range south of Colorado Springs, visiting an old friend of his late father's and going to a local auto show.
Well, the show had been yesterday, and today the old man had offered to let Darren try out this rifle at the range before heading back home.
It was a beautiful old Mauser, and he hadn't been able to refuse.
He tried not to let the back of his neck prickle from their stares, scowling. What could be so damn interesting about him, anyway?
Darren fired in quick succession, pulling the bolt back, click, and shoving back again, empty smoking shells popping out and falling into the dry, cracked mud at his feet. The summer heat was scorching, the sky almost piercingly blue.
After this next shot he would leave. They were creeping him out.
He holstered the weapon and walked up to his target, snatching down the bullseye paper without looking at his score and folding it, sticking it into his back pocket as he walked towards the parking lot.
The only way to his truck was past them.
Which was fine. A group of frat boys, young, in clean mismatched clothes (mostly neon trainers, grey sweat pants, shorts, pastel hoodies), messing around and laughing.
They nudged each other with their elbows and quieted as he approached, his worn leather boots loud against the hard packed earth, calloused hands swinging by his hips.
Damn this wind - he couldn't smell a thing from them. Darren scowled.
He was an alpha werewolf and had always relied on his instincts, ever since he first shifted in his teens.
Now, nearing twenty-six, those instincts were as much a part of him as the grease underneath his nails, scent of ponderosa pine in his clothes, or the 1980s rock music he played in his truck.
It wasn't until he was almost level with them that it hit him, a sudden gust stirring up the dust around his feet and blowing their mixed scents straight into his nostrils.
Darren staggered.
Stunned, numb and stinging as if someone had just slapped him in the face , he stumbled and failed to catch himself, landing flat on his arse in the dirt, staring dumbly.
Fuck. Scent. Mate.
That was the most coherent thought his addled mind could muster. With every breath his nose and mouth filled again, so strong his eyes watered, head reeling.
Warm, spicy, tasty - sweat and cologne and cotton and chilli - and wolf.
Werewolf.
Only two of them were wolves, Darren registered dimly from his position on the ground.
He was sure he hadn't crossed any territory scent markings, so they must be visiting or passing through, like him...
What are the freaking odds?
He heard snickers from the group but was too dizzy to care. That fucking scent.
My fucking mate.
Which one of them was it?
One of the young men stepped forward.
He was well dressed in an colourful way, wearing a tailored, patterned shirt and tan chinos instead of shorts or jeans. His smooth caramel skin gleamed and his black hair was cut and styled like something you'd see on a billboard.
Tall (not as tall as Darren, but then again few people were) and a bit stocky, with long dark eyelashes and a wide plump mouth.
Alpha, his senses shrieked at him, but at that moment Darren couldn't have cared less.
His mouth fell open and the man, who looked to be in his early 20's like the rest of the group, smirked down at him.
He crouched in front of Darren, still splayed out in the dust, and tucked a folded piece of paper into the front of his old, worn flannel button-up.
"Call me," he said.
Then he turned around and walked away without a second glance, his group of friends whooping and whistling around him.
Call me.
"Call me," Darren muttered under his breath. "Call him."
One word had been scrawled beneath the number.
Spencer.
"This is Spencer Flores."
"Eh. Yeah. Darren Rivers calling. From the, eh, range?" Smooth.
"Right."
There was a long pause. Was it too long? Was he supposed to say something?
"So do you want to come meet my pack?"
"Huh?"
Shouldn't we meet each other first?
"Or I could come meet yours?"
Well, he was supposed to meet up with the guys for Sunday dinner at Ronan's...
"Sure. I mean - I guess, yeah."
What do I know about it anyway? If this is what he wants...
So he invited him to dinner.
"You invited him for dinner?" Kit asked incredulously, dart half-raised in his hand, forgotten.
They were at Marvin's, hanging out and waiting for the pool table to become free. It was a Friday night, and fairly busy. Dan was working late and Kit had come straight from his shift, dark blue scrubs spilling out of his old shoulder bag.
Darren had just told him about the events of the weekend.
"You tell me that you met you mate - after going on for twenty minutes about a damn car show - and then you just - ?"
He threw the dart with a disgusted growl, hitting the board dead-centre.
"You invite him to Sunday dinner! With your entire family! With two days notice!"
"Keep your panties on. He wanted to."
"Then that's even fucking weirder. Who chooses that for a first date? What's his name?"
"Spencer."
"Twat name."
"Watch it."
Darren growled, and Kit threw up his hands in a 'I surrender' gesture.
"I'm not racking down on him - just his name. I'm sure he's a wonderful twat. Do you want help to go serenade him? I hear that can work wonders."
He picked up another dart, balancing it between thumb and forefinger, tongue tip sticking out between his teeth.
"Is he a beta?"
"Alpha, I'd bet."
"Another alpha?! I've got my hands full with you lot already!"
And Darren hadn't been able to resist grinning and muttering under his breath,
"Hands - and other things," and then he'd had to catch the dart out out the air, hurled with perfect aim at his face.
So now here he was in front of Ronan's house on a bright Sunday afternoon, sat awkwardly in the car, side by side with Spencer.
The strength of his attraction surprised him a bit, since he had never really thought of himself as gay before. Or been drawn to guys.
Sure, he had slept with Kit, but that guy looked feminine at the worst of times, and besides, Darren had been pent up and pumped full of pheromones at the time. Not what you'd call typical circumstances.
His new mate was much more... masculine. Still, Darren wasn't worried about his own sexuality. Maybe he was bi - so what. People could be bi these days, he'd heard.
No, Darren had more pressing problems. And at the very top of the list was:
How do I get him into bed?
Darren knew that Morgan and Justin had waited a looong time, dating and getting to know each other, and he had an inkling that Dan had danced around Kit a fair bit.
That whole 'date me first' bullshit... well, they were both adults, weren't they?
He could always ask, couldn't he?
Darren's head was so filled with his alluring scent that he'd spent the entire drive struggling to keep his eyes on the road, and also on not getting an erection.
The collar of this clean striped shirt felt suffocating, and Spencer hadn't said a single word to him since he had picked him up.
Some people looked good dressed up in a suit and shirt. Darren knew he wasn't one of them - he was far more comfortable in something worn and casual, something he could move in without worrying it would rip or stain.
His mate faced away from him, arms crossed, looking out the window.
How could it be going to shit already, when it had only just begun?
What have I done wrong?
Spencer was also...out.
Not that Dan, Morgan, or Justin were in the closet or anything, but they dressed like any ordinary guys, Darren thought.
Even Kit - who looked like a chick, not that Darren would say it to his face - never acted anything like one.
Spencer did. Well, not like a girl precisely, but like a feminine guy. Wearing a pink shirt, fancy shoes, styled hair. Bit of eyeliner, maybe.
He was OUT in capital letters.
And Darren had no idea how to act around him.
What to do with the way his mouth went bone dry and his eyes stuck like glue to that shapely butt in it's spotless trousers. How his stomach flipped over in a way he hadn't felt since high school and had hoped never to feel again, the damned thing.
How he couldn't stop staring at his mouth when he talked, unable to hear the words over the static in his ears whenever Spencer wet his lips or grazed them with his teeth.
And while he was staring like an idiot... his new mate was doing his best to antagonise Darren's entire pack.
He had started by complimenting the house and the food in a monotone voice without looking at anything, then muttering short, passive-aggressive replies every time someone spoke to him.
Almost as bad as me, Darren belatedly realised.
When the pack attempted to include Spencer in their conversation he just sat glaring down into his plate, not even rising to Kit's teasing, increasingly probing questions.
"So...you're in college. Doing what?" Kit slung across the table.
"Liberal arts."
"Ouch. Youngest child?"
Spencer glared down at his plate.
"Yes. How'd you know?"
"Lucky guess. Happy to have found your mate?"
"Ecstatic."
"Uh-huh..."
Darren watched Spencer, and didn't see the looks his family exchanged.
By the time they were ready for desert, he was being rude even to Morgan.
"I'm glad you could come today, Spencer," Darren's nephew said.
"Not like I had much of a choice."
Justin glared at him, arm around his mates waist, looking like he was about to open his mouth.
At that moment, Ronan stood up and leaned forward over the table, smiling kindly. His chair scraped back and he pressed his palm against the lacquered wooden table top. The room immediately fell silent, eyes turning to their Alpha.
His smile turned rueful.
"Guys. I wanted to tell you all today... Maeve and I are expecting."
They all stared at Ronan for a second. Then the room erupted in shouts and cheers and scraping as chairs were knocked back and everyone threw themselves at him at once, thumping his back, hugging, shouting well-wishes.
"Fuck!!!"
"Congrats!"
"Another packmate!"
"Fuck, a toast! Jesus Christ, a baby!"
"Damn, Ronan, you're going to be a father..."
"Congratulations, Alpha."
Slowly, they sat back to their food, atmosphere much more relaxed and joyful, open now. Manners forgotten, the pack dug in, piling their plates high, ignoring Spencer.
"Where's Maeve, then?"
"Out with her friends. She says we always make such a mess - she expects the place spotless by the time she gets back."
"Cleanliness is in the eye of the beholder."
"My wife has keen eyes."
"I reckon we'll have a little hellion on our hands. Maeve's of werewolf stock too, isn't she?"
"Yep."
"Are there female werewolves?" Kit asked, around a mouthful of mash potatoes. "I've never met one."
Spencer glanced up, looking surprised, but Ronan answered the question calmly, as if it were perfectly normal that his own omega didn't know something like that.
"There are, in a sense. But unless they grown up in a pack, they might never know their own nature, because they don't shape-shift, like male werewolves do. Instead, they just have some wolf senses bleed into their human form, like a strong sense of smell, quick reflexes, certain instincts, healing maybe... Things like that. Like us - except they don't shift."
"Why not?"
"Because of the pups, we think," Justin answered. "No-one knows for sure, but it makes sense, right? Kids can't shape-shift. If a pregnant lady was forced to turn into a wolf at every full moon, her pup would die, and she might too."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Can't really research werewolves without revealing that we exist."
"True."
"How can you possibly not know that?!" Spencer burst out.
"Not everyone grew up in a pack, princess," Kit shot back without looking up from his meal.
"Don't call him - " Darren said.
"I don't need you to defend me! It's bad enough you found me - now I have to leave my family and live here?!"
"Have to - Why would you have to?!"
"Because now - now we have to get married!"