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Fucking hell, Sascha hasn’t even heard his voice yet and he’s already worthless for this guy. Maybe that’s why he stops by the gas station to pick up condoms and wine coolers on his way to the hotel. Just in case.

When Sascha pulls into the parking lot, his hands are almost as sweaty as the cold surface of the wine coolers, condensation dampening the bag and withering the box of condoms. He parks, takes a moment to brace himself, then grabs the slippery plastic handles in his too-warm fingers and marches bravely forward to the hotel entrance. He continuesthrough the doors, still bravely, until his eyes do a reflexive sweep of the lobby, and one dark figure stops him dead in his tracks.

Avery is shorter than Sascha envisioned. His build is slender, black cutoff shorts revealing muscular calves. The overstuffed chair he’s propped his butt against is behind a column that casts shadow over the man’s face, but Sascha couldn’t mistake those wild bicolored curls.

As if sensing Sascha’s stare, Avery turns his head, then pushes off the chair. One step and the overly bright lights scouring the lobby carve his blue-green eyes into fluorescent relief.

Sascha swallows hard, takes a step toward him, then pauses to shake his head. Best he get the room key first, so he tries to look casual as he approaches the desk, even though his heart is doing flips inside his chest. Fortunately, the bored concierge is human. He’s not sure what he’d do if there were shifters around to witness him going into a hotel room with a werecreature.

Humans, of course, can’t tell shifters or werecreatures from any other person. Not unless they have magic. However, shifters can smell a werecreature. The magic fueling shifters is different from the twisted virus lurking in the werecreature’s cells, and its scent is sharp and bitter.

That’s what he’s been told, anyway. Sascha has been sheltered all his life, homeschooled and kept on pack lands for as long as his father could justify. He doesn’t care to listen when Sascha explains, so patiently, that being chronically ill doesn’t mean he can’t work a job or go to college, but it has never landed. As a result, Sascha has not, to the best of his knowledge, ever met a werecreature.

Will Avery smell bitter? Sascha doesn’t smell anything odd from where he stands, but maybe it’ll be more obvious closer-up.

The plastic key card feels weighted, like he might fumbleand drop it at any second. Sascha squeezes it in his fist until the rounded corners are pressing into his skin, then makes eye contact with Avery again and tilts his head toward the hallway leading to their room. He walks several paces alone, but when the air shifts and faded Converse squeak on the linoleum floor, a shiver runs down his spine.

Sascha is being followed by a werecreature. A man capable of turning into a mutant bear monster who could rip Sascha limb-from-limb if he made the wrong move. And Sascha is leading him to a private room, carrying a box of condoms.

At least if he dies, his dad won’t be able to kill him for his stupidity.

The walk is silent except for Sascha’s breathing. He reaches the correct number, swipes the key card without acknowledging the red divots in his skin, and opens the door, before freezing. He looks down the hall with wide eyes, watching Avery amble along like he’s not in any hurry at all. Every nerve in Sascha’s body is alert, and when Avery is finally standing in front of him, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck have raised into irritating little prickles.

“Um. Hi,” Sascha says, forcing sound from his dry throat.

A funny curve tilts the corner of Avery’s mouth. He’s looking at Sascha through those damn curls, which in the dim vestibule completely shadow his eyes. Should Sascha want to kiss him so soon? Because he does.

“I’m Sascha,” he says when Avery doesn’t move or reply.

“Okay,” Avery says. “I’mgetting out of the hallway.”

As Avery squeezes past him, Sascha can’t help but notice the care Avery takes to keep their bodies from brushing. His thigh disturbs the bag in Sascha’s hand, crinkling the filmy plastic, and though it’s brief, Avery’s shoulders tighten, and he cringes against the wall, dragging his arm against the off-white paint until he pops into the main space. SaschafeelsAvery’s sigh, not quite covered by the sound of the door squeaking shut.

In the middle of the small room there is a single king-sized bed.

There is also a chair, a small round table, and a nightstand on either side of the bed, which is across from a chipped wardrobe with an ancient flat-screen TV atop it. Standard hotel fare. But that bed—the way it both beckons and threatens—leaves Sascha standing where the mouth of the vestibule hangs open.

He stares until Avery shifts with visible discomfort. “You didn’t have to come, y’know.”

The defensiveness in his voice breaks the spell. Sascha cracks through the invisible barrier, moving to set his bag on the wardrobe with more enthusiasm than necessary. “It’s fine,” he says, not looking at Avery at first. Then, just to make sure his decision is clear, he issues his next words directly to the slender man in front of him: “Iwantedto come.” Experiencing nervousness over an app hookup is normal, even if that’s not the decision they're dancing around.

Avery raises one dark eyebrow in a perfect arch. Sascha can’t raise just one eyebrow, though he’s tried in the mirror before. The CGI characters posing on DreamWorks ads make it look so easy.

“You want tocome?” Avery repeats, putting the emphasis on a different word.

Instantly, heat rushes to Sascha’s cheeks. He’s pale, and his blond, upswept hair offers nothing to hide his blush, not like Avery’s curtain of dark curls. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Avery laughs. Scratchy, quiet, and brief. “I know.” He scopes out the room from behind those nose-length curls, giving Sascha only peeks of his light green eyes as he moves. “How do you want this to start?”

Sascha inhales sharply. “I don’t— I, uh.” He turns toward the bag. “I brought wine coolers?”

“Is that a question?”

“No,” he says, tugging the flimsy cardboard four-pack out of the bag. Unfortunately, Sascha pulls with such enthusiasm, he sends the box of condoms tumbling onto the floor. He doesn’t have to turn around to sense how rigid Avery goes.

Fuck.

Abandoning the wine coolers, Sascha jerks his hands up, palms out in a gentling motion. “I got them just in case! I’m not demanding anything. Or expecting anything. To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. Still don’t.”