HOWL 1.4

His head is spinning and he can’t decide why.

The entire world beyond the window is white. The pale-gray sky where it’s visible above the snow-capped trees is only barely distinguishable from the landscape. Not even the covered porch outside Adam’s window is safe. Snow has managed to drift almost a quarter up the glass. Eric’s mouth wants to drop open.

“Where the hell are we?” he demands. “Siberia?”

Adam chuckles. “Not quite. Howell’s mountains are known for getting pretty snowy this time of year. You just missed the tourist season, it’s too dangerous to ski now.”

“It’s almost spring,” Eric protests, suddenly feeling a little light-headed.

“Maybe elsewhere,” Adam says, and there’s almost a hint of local pride in it. “In Howell winter lasts the entire season.”

“Jesus shit.” Coming off the bar stool, Eric drifts forward until he’s close enough to touch the glass if he wanted. “Can’t we shovel out to the truck?”

“Well, I guess.” Adam gestures outside but Eric can’t decide what he’s pointing at. “But we’d have to shovel the entire road down to the highway, too, and that would take a few days just in itself. Until the plow can get up here we’re pretty much stuck.”

“My father is going to kill me,” Eric breathes, a sudden bolt of panic in the thought. His father absolutely, positively cannot ever know what he has spent the past few hours doing. Or who, his guilty conscious niggles.

Adam arches a brow. “Your father? Shit, how old are you?”

Eric shakes his head. “No, not like that. I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow.”

“So…you’re legal?” Adam asks.

“More than,” Eric says.

“Good.” Adam sighs. “That would be a headache I don’t need, a father convinced it’s my job to keep his kid’s pants on.”

“Trust me,” Eric says quietly, “that would be the least of your headache.”

“Just call him.”

“Can’t. He won’t accept calls from numbers he doesn’t know.”

“Your phone—”

“—Is in my truck,” Eric finished grimly. “At the bar.”

Adam tosses a careless shrug. “You’ll just have to be a few days late, then. Not like you can do anything about it.”

Actually, he can at least call Esperanza. She won’t be happy about being called from a civilian number, but there’s no help for it. If he doesn’t get word to his father, Evan St. John may come looking for his son, and that would be a complete disaster. There’s still some time. Eric will just have to steal a free moment and dial Espy.

“It doesn’t have to be a total loss.” Adam’s voice has deepened, and Eric looks at him sharply. “At least we can entertain ourselves until the snow plow arrives.”

The look in Adam’s strange eyes is unmistakable. He wants to fuck. He wants to fuck Eric.

Without meaning to, Eric takes a step backward. “Hey, man, I’m straight.

“So?” Adam says. “You were straight last night, and it didn’t stop you then.”

His face flames, but Eric replies, “I was drunk.”

“You had like three shots,” Adam points out. “Tipsy, maybe, but drunk is a little much.”

He takes a step towards Eric, and wildly the hunter realizes he still has the knife in his hand. Just in case.

“What’s the big deal, Eric?” Adam’s voice is low and intimate. “We’ve already fucked, dude. That genie is out of the bottle, can’t put it back.”

Don’t remind me, he thinks, but can’t make himself speak. He’s suddenly too warm, and can smell something familiar, like the woodsy aroma he picked up in the bar. But nothing around him would be making the smell, and when he breathes quickly through his nose the scent gets neither better nor worse. His head is spinning and he can’t decide why.

“And you don’t want to.” Somehow Adam has gotten right in close to Eric. “I can see it in your face.”

“Did you…did you drug me?” Eric mumbles, tongue awkward and heavy in his mouth.

“No, babe, that’s all you.” Adam leans in close, mouth brushing his ear. Eric shudders at the hot breath at his neck, his whole body trembling. With a dull clatter, the knife falls from his hand. “You’re a natural.”