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She hadn’t asked Mathias’ permission, not that he would have given it, seeing the turning as a curse instead of a boon. In any case, by the next night, Rolf had been locked into their restraint room at the house they were occupying, clawing his wrath and pain into the wood of the door, splintering the surface and his nails. By the third night, he’d finished becoming, and Gina begged for his release. He’d been her thrall for months, finally developing into a whelp with his own mind. It had been a good move on Gina’s part, and Mathias understood now how close she’d been to embracing the sun, because she was traveling on that path again.

Something nudged at his memories, and he cocked his head, trying to pull it closer as, with his lips to Rolf’s ear, he gave a promise he hoped he could deliver.

“No, I wouldn’t turn him.” He hesitated, then pushed further than he’d dared think before. “I will not give him up. I can’t. But I won’t turn him.”

Chapter Four

Carson

Carson carefully retraced his steps for a third time, counting paces between the parking lot and the entrance of what was now an abandoned warehouse. He shoved between the sagging doors and stood, aiming the feeble light of his phone around the space, trying to pierce the shadows beyond where the setting sun reached.

No way this was a club last weekend.

All around him he could see discarded pieces of machinery scattered on the floor, broken chains leading upwards to rafters and winches, looking like they were playing the oddest game of stalactite and stalagmite he’d ever considered. The floor held a thick layer of undisturbed dust in the corners, but far less grime resided in the middle of the room where he remembered watching the huge crowd dance and writhe.

Even the central bar itself was gone, revealed in the gloom to be only suggestively stacked tables and barrels.

What the hell?

Turning in disbelieving circles, Carson wandered towards the wall where he’d spent hours leaning. He attempted to find the exact spot, finally deciding he was close and recreating the pose he’d held. He drew a breath and froze at the unexpected smell. Home. And sex. He leaned to the side, sniffing, pulling in the dying vestiges of Mathias’ scent. He was here—had been here. Carson hadn’t imagined it. Hadn’t imagined him.

He reached out and flattened his palm against the wall. I stood just here. Mathias had been close enough beside him to share breath.

There was a deep clunk from deeper in the warehouse. A metallic rattle, as if something had fallen and then moved. Or been moved. Carson shivered and drew a deep breath, finding no remnants of Mathias left on the air. The buzzing that had been plaguing him all week faded somewhat, muting itself slightly. It had been growing, had burgeoned into a bone-deep tremor that caused gooseflesh to crawl along his skin and felt like a sonic vibration rattling his teeth. Like tinnitus buzzing in his ears after a loud concert, at times he could ignore it and move on through the day, working and going about his life. But there had been times this week when it was no longer able to be ignored. When the trembling tore through him, seeking something he couldn’t identify. On his back in bed last night, the shudders had felt more like convulsions, quakes of sensation that racked his body for minutes at a time.

Another sound from the dark—the echoes of footsteps. Slow at first, then quickening, and with a thrill of terror, Carson realized they were keeping pace with his racing heart.

He bolted from the wall, angling towards the doorway and the light beyond, dimmed now as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Outside, he turned in a circle, still unable to reconcile what he saw with the overlay of his memories. He shivered in the early-evening heat, skin crawling with sudden fear.

Carson reached up and placed two fingers to the previously sensitive patch of skin below his jaw, pressing hard, feeling the reassuring thud of his heartbeat under his touch. Inexplicably, Mathias’ scent came to him again, calming and soothing the irritation that seemed to live inside him now. Carson’s mouth opened and his lungs worked to pull in great drafts of air, his body attempting to get more of whatever it was. There was a fleeting sensation of something crawling all along his body, under his clothing and over every inch of skin. It was terrifying and familiar all at once, and then gone, taking with it the final fragments of his fear.

It was a club, he reminded himself, bringing forth an image of the massive line of people waiting to get inside. Tim and Joe might profess no memory of the night; their only real recollection seemed to be the three of them leaving work together. Each said they’d woken the next morning in their respective beds, feeling fine, as if they’d slept all night.

It was a club, dammit.

He was staring fixedly into the shadows beyond the doors, his attention intently focused or he would have missed it. Movement and a flash of white, as if a face peeked at him from the darkness.

“Hello?” His call rang through the air before he knew he was going to speak and he winced, then, wondering at himself, waited.

“He’s not here.” Another flash, this one close enough to the entrance that Carson could see white-blond hair. Rolf. “You should go.” Movement again, from the other edge of the doorway, and Rolf’s voice carried a sense of urgency when he said, “Now. You really should go now.”

“What is this place?” Carson looked around at the façade again, still not believing it could be the same building. “It was a club, wasn’t it? I was here, right? You were here?”

“It was, and now it’s not.” White-blonde hair shining in the dimness, Rolf stepped into full view, still hugging the edge of the shadows.

“You said he’s not here. Who isn’t here? Who do you think I’m looking for?” Another face swam into focus behind Rolf, a woman Carson remembered from that night. Unlike his friends, she hadn’t cradled his hand to stamp it, asking that he hold it suspended instead, her fingers never coming near his skin.

A man inched in from the other side of the doorway. Shoulders rolling, he took mincing steps, one after another, following the line of sunshine that stretched into the building. His movements were somehow menacing, like the beginning strides of a lion before it burst into chase.

“Rolf?” Carson struggled to keep his voice steady. “Who isn’t here?”

“He knows your name?” Rich and deep, the timbre of the woman’s voice was surprising. “That’s uncharacteristically reckless of you, brother.”

With an impatient gesture, the man across from Rolf swung an arm out, hissing when his fingers grazed the edge of sunlight with a flare like the arc of a welder. That’s unreal.

Rolf sighed noisily, then tipped his head to the side and said, “He’s looking for Mathias.”

Carson found himself involuntarily advancing towards the building at the utterance of that name, his traitorous feet carrying him closer to the dark, uncaring of what lurked there.