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“He works on the Dennings Farm, but you won’t lay a hand on him. I have an agreement with Howard Dennings, and interfering with his business won’t do if we want to keep the peace.”

“Since when have you cared about keeping peace, Celeste?” Samuel asks with a sigh.

At least he’s realistic about that part of her personality.

“I am familiar with Howard’s agreement with the werecreatures who work on his land, and while I don’t approve, I would hesitate to disrespect him and how he chooses to run his business. ”

“I think he’s brilliant,” Celeste says. Sascha can hear the shrug in her voice. “Try as we might, shifters won’t ever be able to stop the werevirus spread. Even if we could convince other shifters to stop reproducing with humans?—”

“That’s a myth,” Jakob protests. “Shifters aren’t responsible for the werevirus.”

Samuel says Jakob’s name quietly, silencing him.

Laughing, Celeste continues, “It’s a valid theory, whether you like it or not.

Shifters were not meant to procreate outside our species.

The mutation of our genes when introduced to human physiology is divine punishment for those of us who lack self-control.

The werevirus is an albatross around our neck, and it is our cosmic duty to invert the narrative. ”

“I didn’t know you were spiritual,” Samuel says dryly.

Celeste huffs. “The point is, werecreatures are not going away, so why not harness them? The only good werecreature is a controlled one. Howard Dennings has the right idea.”

“And do you have control over this new alpha who now lives on the cusp of our territory?”

There’s a pause before Celeste admits, “He walked away from my offer.”

The silence settles, then stretches so thin, Sascha can feel the tension through the wall.

“So he’s not a controlled werecreature,” Jakob says carefully.

“It sounds that way, yes,” agrees Samuel.

“Why aren’t we hunting him down and killing him, then? Fuck what that old farmer has to say about it.”

Sascha grits his teeth so hard, he almost misses Celeste saying, “I think he could be an asset. He just needs to be worn down until he sees what he’s missing by refusing to join my pack.”

“This is a matter of pride for you, isn’t it, Celeste?” Sascha can’t help but admire the calm in his father’s voice, when both Jakob and Sascha himself are growing frustrated with the alpha wolf’s arrogance. “What does he have that you lack?”

“I don’t lack anything,” snaps Celeste.

Sascha clearly pictures the scowl on his father’s face. “I’m getting tired of your games. Say what you want from me or go.”

“Did I say I wanted something from you? I came here to warn you and your pack to stay away from the alpha because I already have him in my sights.”

Samuel hums. “Consider me warned. Anything else? ”

In lieu of answering, Celeste stomps from the office, and with a few hissed words, she collects her enforcers, and is gone.

Sascha holds still for a handful of additional seconds, not wanting to expose his childish eavesdropping.

If his dad and Jakob leave the office he’ll be caught anyway—still in cat form, standing on his own wrinkled jeans—but mercifully, they don’t.

“Are you really going to listen to her, Uncle? An alpha werecreature in our city is a huge risk. What happens on the full moon? I don’t trust someone like Celeste to be realistic about what her wolves can control. What did she say his beast was, again?”

Clicking his tongue, Samuel says, “Some kind of bear. It doesn’t matter because we?—”

Sascha doesn’t hear what his father says next because sudden realization has his heart plummeting through the floor.

They were talking about Avery . If his brain was able to slow down, Sascha might have felt a bit embarrassed for not having noticed that Avery was also an alpha, but he’s already snapping up his clothes in his mouth and bounding down the corridor until he’s far enough away from the back hall that he can shift back to bipedal and pull his pants on.

Yeah, he did notice Avery had a particularly intense aura, but he was distracted by his smell and how small he felt pressed so closely?—

No, Sascha can’t get lost in those thoughts again. He needs to focus on getting his ass to Dennings Farm.

The drive to the farm is worse than the drive to the hotel where Sascha first met Avery.

This time, he doesn’t look at a picture to keep him moving—all Sascha needs is the memory of Avery’s narrow frame crushed in his embrace.

If he focuses hard enough, he can still feel the cool skin at the small of Avery’s back, but recalling the knobs of his spine nearly has Sascha missing his exit.

He pays attention to the road after that.

Pulling right up to the farm store would be too conspicuous, so Sascha follows the dirt road around the farmland until he finds a small drive with wood planks for parking blocks.

There’s a beat-up truck in one of the spaces, but Sascha can’t smell the owner nearby, so he takes the risk and parks on the other side of the lot.

Getting out of the car, Sascha studies the farm border. There’s a chained-up metal gate, large enough for livestock or a tractor to pass through, and the surrounding fence is strung with electric wire.

Sascha doesn’t shift more than once in the same day if he can help it.

Shifting back and forth takes a lot out of him, and over-exertion makes a vertigo episode much more likely.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see tromping along the farm in biped form going well if he’s caught, so he strips and shoves his clothing into a backpack, which he hides in the wheel-well of his car.

The evening sky is bruise-colored, purple and blue with the yellow hint of sun as it sinks below the horizon. It won’t be fully dark for a few hours still, but Sascha can’t wait. He lunges over the gate, naked and nervous, and when he lands, it’s on four paws.

It’s dangerous, risking discovery in cougar form.

Farm security might shoot a predator to keep them from harming the livestock.

That, or they might identify him as a shifter, but Sascha would prefer a bullet wound to getting caught trespassing and reported to his dad.

At least he has a chance of surviving the first one.

Once he’s sure he won’t be spotted immediately, Sascha trots along the boundary fence, trying to sniff out anything of use.

It won’t be easy to track Avery’s scent on a populated plot of land, but Avery has the greatest chance of being found among the other workers.

Sascha has never been to Dennings Farm before, so he’s relieved when he comes across a post with signage.

Labeled arrows of rough wood point down an intersection of dirt roads.

Sascha debates for a moment before heading toward the housing area.

Two large buildings that look like repurposed barns face each other across a wide, dusty expanse.

Faded red paint labels one as A, the other as B.

Sascha wonders if he should have kept his clothes and tried his luck joining the group milling between the two buildings because his only option for not being immediately spotted is a large crab-apple tree surrounded by thick bushes.

Sascha wiggles underneath the tree, flattening himself so he can watch from under the bushes.

Past-Sascha would never have believed he’d risk being so close to a huge group of werecreatures just to see a boy again, but in his defense, that boy is gorgeous , and Sascha wants him. Needs to warn him of the danger, too.

The werecreatures begin walking in a common direction, and the sour smell of canned vegetables in the distance has Sascha assuming it’s mealtime.

If he stays here, Avery should eventually come out of housing or return to it after eating.

Waiting that long sounds torturous, which is why he’s very lucky to spot a familiar mop of curls emerging from Building A, just barely visible behind a taller someone’s shoulder.

It takes all Sascha’s restraint not to spring up and run to him immediately. Avery follows the staggered crowd toward the gross vegetable smell, too close for Sascha to catch his attention without alerting anyone else.

Jagged twigs and branches scrape against Sascha’s fur as he scrambles from underneath the foliage, desperate to not lose sight of Avery. He runs behind Building B, hoping to catch the slender werecreature on the other side. He does see him, but not far enough away from the others. Damn it.

Sascha stalks Avery to a large, two-story barn. There are horses in stables visible through the wide-open wall, and everyone seems to be heading up a staircase, down which Sascha now smells cheap ground meat and sweet tomato sauce. It’s all he can do not to gag.

Just as Sascha begins to truly worry he’ll have to go back to his car to retrieve his clothes and hope he can make it back to the housing area in time to catch Avery before he returns, the man stops. He tilts his chin skyward and sniffs the air.

Sascha holds his breath.

So casually Sascha almost believes it’s incidental, Avery grabs his phone and puts it up to his ear, breaking from the others on their way up the staircase. He turns the corner of the barn, where there’s shadow and long grasses that nearly reach his knees. Yellow shoots fold under his boots.

By now, the werecreatures have slowed to a trickle. Avery scans his surroundings until his clever seaglass eyes stop right by the rusted pile of machinery where Sascha’s hiding. He says, phone still at his ear, “What the fuck are you doing?”

A thrill runs down Sascha’s spine. Avery recognizes him!

He hasn’t forgotten Sascha’s scent any more than Sascha has forgotten his.

Sascha leaves his hiding place to take a roundabout path to the patch of grass where Avery is tapping his foot, taking only a slight bit of care not to be seen.

What’s most important is getting to Avery.

Then he’s there, looking up at the werecreature as he frowns down at him. Sascha really should have brought clothes because he can’t explain a word in this form. Instead, Sascha purrs and rubs his cheek across Avery’s thigh, pressing his scent into the dirty jeans.

Avery blinks, then looks at his phone and sighs. “You’re gonna make me miss dinner. Lead the way.”

I’ll buy you dinner , Sascha tries to communicate telepathically. It doesn’t work, so he winds around the back of Avery’s calves, body leaning into him, then proceeds to guide him toward his car. Avery is quiet most of the way, only acknowledging him with long, silent stares.

They make it to the fence without incident, enrobed in the gauzy darkness of creeping night. Still not star-studded pitch black, but soon. It might be, by the time Sascha figures out how to get past the gate.

The bottom rung is too low for him to walk beneath; he’d have to get on his belly and creep, which is not a dignified look.

Less dignified would be the alternative: Shifting to biped and climbing over as he did before, this time with an audience.

Sascha glances at Avery, not wanting to take either option.

He doesn’t want to be embarrassed in front of Avery, whether that be by scrambling in the dirt or scaling a fence with his bits out.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Avery’s mouth.

He strides forward, takes the padlocked chain in his hand, and simply unclips it.

His smile grows wider when Sascha realizes the lock wasn’t actually engaged.

Whatever expression he’s wearing must be hilarious on the face of a cougar, because Avery laughs before pushing the gate open enough for Sascha to walk through.