Chapter 2 : New York Werewolf

Alan Fox didn''t sleep.

Moon too close.

Three days from full. Felt it in bones. In blood. Silver hairs prickled. Senses dialed to eleven.

New York window. Twenty floors up. City below—light and shadow.

Heard whispered argument four blocks over. Smelled rain west. Tasted copper.

Blood heating.

"Alan."

Michael''s voice. Behind. Warm. Familiar.

Alan didn''t turn. Didn''t need to. Smelled the coffee. Colombian. Fresh. Heard Michael''s heartbeat. Steady. Calm. Human.

"Can''t sleep?" Michael beside him. Mug in hand.

Alan took it. Fingers brushed.

Electricity.

Breath caught. Senses flared. Michael''s scent—soap, skin, uniquely Michael—flooded awareness. World narrowed to that touch. That scent.

Pulled back. Controlled. Beast settled. For now.

"Moon''s close." Voice rough.

"I know." Michael leaned against window frame. "You''re different."

Different. One word for it.

Coffee sip. Too hot for humans. Just right for him. "Sean called."

Michael stilled. "And?"

"San Francisco. Jennifer Yang. Trouble."

Silence. Michael''s heartbeat quickened. Fraction. Alan heard it. Felt it.

"Desert iris?" Michael quiet.

Alan nodded. "Fifteen found her. Westin. Under my name."

"Fifteen." Michael''s jaw tightened. "Trust him?"

"Trust he wants Robert Lee dead. Enough for now."

Alan turned. Looked at Michael. Really looked.

Michael Black. Six feet solid. Dark hair. Darker eyes. Former Marine. Stayed when others would run.

When Alan told truth—what he was, what moon did—Michael didn''t flinch. Didn''t run. Just asked, "What do you need?"

What did he need?

Control. Always.

But with Michael... control harder. Beast recognized something. Called to it. Made it want to...

Cut thought off. Dangerous.

"Need to go. Today."

Michael nodded. No hesitation. "I''ll pack."

As Michael turned, Alan''s hand shot out. Caught wrist.

Stop. Don''t touch. Control.

Didn''t let go.

Michael froze. Pulse under fingers. Fast. Steady. Human. So human.

Alan''s senses wanted more. Map that pulse. That skin. That scent.

"Michael." Voice low. Rough. "This could be bad. Robert Lee... what he wants..."

"Know what he wants." Michael didn''t pull away. Eyes met Alan''s. Held. "Your blood. ''Godfather''s'' experiments. Immortality."

Grip tightened. Fraction. "If he gets it—"

"He won''t." Michael''s free hand came up. Covered Alan''s. Warm. Solid. "We won''t let him."

Moment like that. Connected. Alan''s senses drinking contact. Warmth of skin. Steady beat of heart. Trust in eyes.

Let go. Stepped back. Beast growled disappointment.

Control.

"Pack light. Weapons. Cash. IDs."

Michael nodded. Started to leave. Stopped. Looked back.

"Alan?"

"Yeah?"

"Moon. Three days. What happens if we''re still in San Francisco?"

Alan met gaze. Let him see truth. Gold bleeding into irises. Canines sharpening.

"Then hope hotel has soundproof walls."

---

Phone rang. Alan checking weapons. Sean again.

"Alan. Worse than thought."

Silver knife into boot. "How worse?"

"Robert Lee has men. Watching Westin. Waiting for her to come out. Or you to go in."

"How many?"

"Six counted. Maybe more." Sean tense. "And Alan... they''re not normal. Lee experimenting. On himself. On others."

Experiments. Word chilled. Alan knew experiments. Knew what they could do.

"What kind?"

"Enhanced strength. Speed. Other things." Pause. "Contact saw man tear car door off bare hands. Then lick blood off knuckles."

Jaw tightened. Robert Lee getting closer. Closer to whatever "Godfather" searched for.

"Keep watching. On our way."

Hung up. Looked at weapons. Silver. Steel. Things that could hurt what he was. Things that could hurt what Lee made.

Michael back in. Dressed travel. Black jeans. Black jacket. Shoulder holster visible.

"Ready?"

Alan looked at him. Man who knew what he was. Stayed anyway. Man whose touch sent lightning through senses already on fire.

"Almost."

Picked up last item. Small silver case. Opened.

Two syringes. Clear liquid.

"Inhibitors. For moon. If need them."

Michael''s eyes narrowed. "Said they hurt."

"Do." Closed case. "But work. Mostly."

Mostly. Problem. Moon getting stronger. Beast harder to control. Inhibitors worked less each time.

But all he had.

Slipped case into jacket. Looked at Michael. Really looked.

Three days. Moon full. Would change. Become something else. Something that scared even him.

And Michael there. Watching. Helping. Touching.

Thought sent shiver through him. Not fear. Something else. Deeper.

"Let''s go."

Left apartment. Elevator down. City swallowed them.

Cab to airport. Michael sat close. Shoulders touching. Alan''s senses flared again. Drinking contact. Warmth. Trust.

Closed eyes. Felt it. Just moment.

Beast stirred. Not angry. Not threatening.

Anticipating.

Breath caught. Held. Released.

Moon coming.

And with it—everything.

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