Zayden woke with a start, wondering what had caused him to wake up in the first place. He was inside the house, in his room, in bed.

How did I get here? he wondered. The last thing he remembered was shifting back from the ’wolf, and Killian . . .

Where was Killian, anyway?

Zayden turned over, only to find the singer was right in his face.

“Yaahh!” he yelped, scrabbling backwards. His efforts just caused him to land unceremoniously on the floor, taking several layers of sheets with him. (Why they were staying in Vail during the spring season—hence the layers of sheets—he wasn’t entirely sure, nor could he remember who had suggested the ski resort town in the first place.) The resulting crash had Killian’s eyes snapping open, his facial features and fingernails wolfed out. Killian leaned over the side of the bed, saw Zayden, and his features returned to normal.

“Blimey, Zayden, were you scared that badly?”

Zayden just glared at him, eyes flashing bright blue. He was on his feet in an instant, crawling back into bed. “Maybe. What time is it, anyway?”

Killian looked at the glowing red numbers on the digital alarm clock and groaned. “The hour of the wolf.”

“Translation?”

“Three in the morning.”

“Oh, great. Well, I guess since both of us are awake, there’s no use in going back to sleep.”

“And what do you suggest we do, huh?”

Zayden just smirked and gave him the once-over, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Is that all you ever think about?”

“No. Get your mind out of the gutter, Finnegan.”

“It’s a bit late for that.” A corner of Killian’s mouth quirked upward. “My mind’s always in the gutter.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised.” Zayden started to say something else, but the hungry look in Killian’s eyes stopped him. “Uh, Killian?”

That was all he could say before the singer was kissing him—with tongue. Killian’s weight pressed him down on the mattress, and Zayden, submissive beta that he was, went with the gentle pressure, his hands trailing down Killian’s sides, then resting on his back, claws unsheathed.

Killian pulled back from the kiss enough for Zayden to see that his alpha’s eyes were phosphorescent. He couldn’t tell if any other features were wolfing out, because Killian was nuzzling at his neck even while those skilled hands of his were exploring the bassist’s lean frame. Then Killian’s head went lower, lower . . .

Ohmigod! Zayden arched upward, a low, needy whine spilling from his throat.

Killian’s now-yellow eyes, flickering from the color of his ’wolf to their natural green, glanced upwards from the apex of Zayden’s thighs. “You like that, huh?” he rasped, voice low and ragged.

Did he? Yeah, if it was a girl, but . . . With Killian, it was different. Zayden’s ’wolf knew the singer as pack, belonging, mate, Alpha while the human half of him wasn’t sure how to define their relationship. Not that he should be thinking about this now—he’d just earn a headache. So Zayden licked his lips and said the first word that came to mind: “Yeah.”

Then Killian was rising above him, his face inches away from Zayden’s. “I don’t want to do this to you, Zayden, I want to do it with you.” Wasn’t the bassist the one who had suggested this anyway?

The beta’s only response was a low growl right before he flipped their positions. Now Killian was the one underneath him, green eyes grazed with lust, and Zayden’s own eyes were completely lupine.

Time dissolved into sensations: skin on skin; heavy breathing; the mingled smells of sweat, desire, and ’wolf as both their lupines came out to play. Zayden, when they’d switched positions, yelped in surprise at one point. The yelp quickly became an actual howl, cut off when Killian slapped his hand over the bassist’s mouth. Both werewolves froze, listening hard to see if any of their bandmates had woken up. Sure, Team Rocket were in their own room downstairs and Ryan was a few doors down across the hall, but it was unknown what stage of sleep they were in: light, REM, or deep. If the guys were in the easily-awakened stage, Killian and Zayden were dead meat.

“I think we’re safe,” Killian whispered after the silence had stretched into a minute.

Zayden responded by flicking out his tongue to taste the skin on Killian’s palm. Of course, the singer, startled, snatched his hand back.

“What’d ya do that for?”

The grin Zayden gave Killian rivaled that of the Cheshire cat. “Couldn’t resist.” His canines itched as they lengthened, sharpened. Wiry, coarse hairs pushed against Zayden’s skin as Killian’s ’wolf took over. Claws dug into him, drew blood, but Zayden barely noticed: the darkness in him was answering the call of Killian’s sweat, his saliva, his hands on his body.

Footsteps sounded outside in the hallway, stopping just outside the door. Both newblood and alpha dove off the bed and slunk into shadowy corners. Zayden’s darker pelt would help him hide; Killian’s lighter coat gave him a disadvantage. And if the door opened, how would they explain in the morning that there were two wolves in their room while they had apparently vanished?

Zayden swore inside his head, muscles tense, ready to pounce on whoever opened the door.

<Easy, Zayden,> Killian said, but his voice was tense.

The bassist’s hackles rose and he bared his fangs. He knew Killian was on the opposite side of the room and could probably stop him if he tried anything. So he forced himself to stay still.

Seconds slowly ticked by. The footsteps started up again, heading toward the bathroom. Neither werewolf relaxed until the door to Ryan’s bedroom clicked shut. Then they both shifted back, Zayden’s skin itching like crazy as the hairs in his pelt burrowed back under. His pelvis and spine cracked like a gunshot as they clicked into an upright position. When he was completely in human form, Zayden shuddered. Demorphing always creeped him out, no matter how many times he did it. The ’wolf change was a whole other story.

Killian climbed back into bed; Zayden instantly joined him without the alpha saying a word. The mood from earlier was broken, and right now, Zayden just wanted to sleep. He wasn’t sure if Killian would let him, though: the singer was so incredibly dominant that Zayden couldn’t fight him. Even when he’d been human and Killian was as human as he could ever be there was no denying the singer. Now that their more bestial natures were involved, though . . .

He was Killian’s slave.

And he was so messed up, because he wouldn’t want it any other way.

It wasn’t like Zayden was never dominant. Whenever they were onstage playing their songs and he was surrounded by weak prey hunt kill humans, it felt good, natural even, that their eyes were on both him and Killian. And that was definitely his wolf talking, but Zayden didn’t care. He didn’t like struggling to contain his ’wolf side, but there were times he wondered how he’d stood being human for so long when he now had all this power. The bassist could understand how Killian felt during their concerts, when he was struggling to keep control on Change Nights—he’d even witnessed it firsthand.

Speaking of Change Nights, how would he keep control, even if he was a wereling? Zayden knew he was Killian’s anchor, but . . .

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Killian grumbled. “Your mind’s running so fast it’s giving me a headache—and ’wolves don’t even get headaches! Or any other illness, come to think of it, unless it’s wolfsbane poisoning.”

“Wolfsbane? I thought it was silver.”

“Nope. We spread that around ourselves to make humans think reaching for the shotgun was a waste of time. Hunters are the only ones who know about wolfsbane.”

“Hunters?”

Killian growled into his pillow. “I’ll tell you in the morning. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then: “Killian?”

“Oh, what have I ever done to you?” Killian whined to nobody in particular. “WHAT?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“So you decide to keep me up? Why are you this bloody annoying all of a sudden?”

“Like I told you: I can’t sleep. Besides, it is morning, so maybe you can tell me about the hunters.”

“No. You’re only just adjusting to being lupine. ’Course, the fact we’re in a highly successful rock band doesn’t help much.”

“But—”

Killian snarled and rolled over so he was above Zayden, bared fangs centimeters away from the newblood’s throat. “I’m not letting anyone near you, or close enough to hurt you. As far as hunters are concerned, they suspect I’m the only ’wolf in the band. Get it?”

Zayden nodded, the intensity in Killian’s voice, expression, and eyes scaring him a little. “Got it.”

“Good. Since you’re obviously not going to let me sleep—for the second time tonight, I might add—now what?”

Zayden smirked. “Pour some sugar on me—ooh, in the name of love. Pour some sugar on me—c’mon, fire me up. Pour your sugar on me—ooh, I can’t get enough,” he sang softly. “I’m hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, yeah.”

Killian glared. “You did not just quote one of our own songs back at me.”

“I think I just did.”

“If you say anything else—”

“Like what?” Zayden’s smirk had morphed into a wicked grin. “Do you take sugar, one lump or two? Take a bottle, shake it up—”

The singer growled a “shut up” right before his mouth covered Zayden’s. Just like that, the bassist’s human mind was gone even as his body was going up in flames. As far as being silenced went, this was probably the best way.

His wolf agreed, lost in the contentment of being warm, safe, pack, mate. And Zayden found there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be.