After

Dan laid him out flat on his stomach, gagged and bound, next to Darren's truck. Then he proceeded to pat him down, starting with removing his battered sneakers and circling his fingers around Kit's slim ankles.

His large hands, firm and brisk, burned though Kit's clothes. They moved up over his calves and thighs, felt his back pockets, his hips.

Was he the only one thinking about the last time Dan had touched him like this? Then they had both been flushed and eager. Dan's warm hands had been gentle and teasing.

Now, Officer Rivers squeezed the bunched-up fabric around Kit's waist and ribcage, checking the pockets of his hoodie, running his hands down his arms and then - though his hair.

When Dan flipped him over Kit was flushed and breathing hard, and not from the struggle.

After searching his front, Dan picked him up and dumped him in the back seat, on the floor. He got in and started driving back.

Kit's face was behind the driver's seat, but if Dan looked back he would be able to see his duct taped legs at any time. He knew he had several hours before they got back and Dan would have to stop for gas at least once. If he was going to get away...that would be the best time.

Dan had taken his shoes while patting him down - Damn him. Kit had hid a scalpel blade in a slit in the rubber sole of one of his sneakers, but thanks to Dan that was out of his reach.

Now he only had one option left, and he really wasn't keen on it.

As Dan kept driving, truck rumbling and vibrating along the motorway, Kit swept his tongue around the cavern of his mouth behind the duct tape. He ran the tip of it along the inside of his lower incisors, premolars, and back to his first molar - where he stopped.

There he could feel the sharp edge of a small, flat scalpel blade, tied down with a bit of dental floss. He had know Devlin would come after him, and he had prepared this before stopping at the self-storage.

Kit nudged the floss up, careful to catch the sharp little blade between his teeth . It could easily cut through his cheek if the car jolted him, or slice up his esophagus if he were to swallow it accidentally.

Slowly, deliberately, he used his tongue and teeth to shift the blade to the front of his mouth and position it so that the tip poked at the duct tape just where his upper and lower lips met. He clamped his incisors down on the flat steel and closed his eyes.

Just get it done.

He smiled as wide as he could, pulling his lips taut against his teeth and felt the razor-sharp edge pierce through the tape and slice through his lower lip.

Kit winced, suppressing a muffled groan.

Okay, now what?

Dan had wrapped the tape around his torso to keep his arms in place against his chest. But it he bent over just so... he could reach the bindings at his shoulders and upper arms with his lips, with the little blade poking out of his mouth.

Kit started to chip away at the duct tape, moving his arms back and forth as much as he could and tugging when the tape started to rip.

He managed the raise his hands enough to pluck the blade from his lips and quickly cut through the silver tape around his wrists - but he left it on.

Instead of removing the cut bindings he sliced another cut - hardly caring if he caught the skin as well - so that he could move freely. It was too risky to reach down to his legs where Dan could see, so he left them bound. He also left the tape over his mouth, reaching up to wipe away the blood smeared there from his cut lip.

Now he just had to wait.

Dan's phone started ringing. He put it on speaker, keeping both hands on the wheel. The early morning had bled into golden evening, and he was running low on gas. They still had most of the night to go, even if he pushed the speed limit.

"Ronan."

"Dan. How did it go?"

"I've got him. On our way back now. How did you find out about the address you sent me to?"

"Callaghan inherited a prosperous business when his uncle passed. It was transferred over to a company with connections to a criminal organisation also tied to the man who was identified as the shooter on the security footage, a man named Sabdova, who might have been Callaghan's accomplice. He also inherited an apartment."

"Apartment?"

"It's been sold. The money was transferred into an account, then into a different one, and the first one closed down. But that second account has been making a monthly payment to the same recipient for the last 18 months."

"Aha."

"Yeah, a storage unit outside of San Fransisco. That's the address I texted you."

"Right. We should be back sometime after midnight. Where should we meet you?"

"Marvin's. I've talked to him, and it'll be empty. I don't want that Rouge in any of our homes right now."

"...Right. We'll see you there."

Soon after, Dan pulled into a gas station to fuel up. He glanced down into the back seat. Charlie had been suspiciously docile during the drive... He had expected more tricks, more pheromones perhaps. But he could see him lying there, still wrapped in duct tape, refusing to look at Dan.

A pang went through his chest. He had found the tape in the back of Darren's car after arriving at the self-storage and realising that he had been in such a hurry that he had forgot to stop by his house for his Glock 19, handcuffs, and stun-gun.

Dan had paused, staring down into Darren's toolbox. There were plenty of things in there - wrenches, hammer, crowbar - that he could have used against Charlie. Dan was unarmed and Charlie had already shot him once.

He had to make sure he didn't get a chance to do it again.

But the thought of hurting Charlie had made his stomach turn. No, Dan had thought, no matter what he wouldn't hurt him. He would bring him back to face trial. But he could never hurt him.

Now Charlie was lying in the back of the car, trussed up with his beautiful face pressed into the rubber floor mat, and Dan hated himself for having done it.

But he had as much as admitted to his crimes, hadn't he? And even with his healing abilities Dan still felt the sting from where Charlie had shot him, wincing as the wound throbbed. He had to get to the bottom of this.

Walking around the car, he flipped open the lid to the fuel tank, then turned to face the self-service gas station. It was deserted, surrounded by woods. Dan pursed his lips and started filling up the tank.

Suddenly the door on the other side of the truck clicked open and a small, furry form shot out, making a beeline for the edge of trees.

"Wha - Damn!"

Dan dropped the tube he was holding and ran, gasoline spraying out over the concrete behind him. He ripped his shirt over his head and shifted, a howl ripping from his throat as he pursued the tiny, lithe wolf.

They crashed into the undergrowth, thorns scratching Dan's sides as he snarled, strong legs pumping, lunging for his quick quarry.

Charlie dodged him, but Dan saw it coming - he turned sharply and bowled him over, jaws around his neck, fangs at his throat.

The little wolf twisted to get free and Dan bit down, pressing him into the ground.

He growled. Change, pup.

An image flashed before his eyes, of a wounded, small wolf in the woods, throwing himself down before Dan and looking up at him as if... As if he was daring him to strike.

Was Charlie recalling their first meeting too? He was in better condition now, but not in a better position.

The little werewolf shimmered, shivering, bones twisting and popping, sliding under his skin as the fur retracted and his limbs elongated, turning into a skinny, naked young man. Dan still had him between his jaws and now he could taste his skin, lovely and velvety smooth.

Dan started shifting before it occurred to him why it was such a bad idea. Suddenly he was on top of Charlie, mouth on his neck, butt-naked in the woods.

Charlie immediately wound his arms around Dan's neck and pulled their bodies flush. He nuzzled into Dan's neck, tongue hot and bold and tasting him.

Snarling, Dan shoved him down and flipped him over so that he couldn't keep rubbing their skin together.

But that was - if possible - even worse. Now he could see the S-line of Charlie's bare spine down to the curve of his round buttocks, marred by the long, dark pink scars running diagonally across his back. Dan's gut clenched.

"Don't do that," he said, surprised to find his voice so low and harsh. "Don't use that. Don't - pretend."

"I never pretended. I lied - but I -"

With a growl, Dan stood up and slung Charlie - who yelped - over his shoulder, carrying him back to the empty gas station and dropping him next to the car.

"Kneel, and put your hands on your head," He told him.

Charlie slowly sank to his knees on the asphalt and wove his fingers together behind his head.

"Dan," he said. "The people I was working for will be coming to look for me. You can't take me back, don't you see - "

"Not a word, or I'll gag you again. Stay there."

He grabbed the duct tape from the car, as well as the young man's jeans, still covered in cut-up silver-grey tape.

This time he twisted Charlie's arms up behind his back before taping them from wrist to elbow.

Dan pulled on his own scattered clothes before helping Charlie into his underwear and jeans, heat rushing to his cheeks as he stood behind the shorter man, arms wrapped around him. He supported his weight - light as a feather - as Dan did up Charlie's jeans, his bound arms trapped between them.

He grabbed Charlie's elbow and dragged him over to the car, shoving him into the passenger seat this time, where he could watch him.

Kit was in deep shit.

Dan was stronger and more determined than he could have anticipated, and now they were almost back at Rivers Crossing, the Rockies looming in the distance, just an outline in the darkness. It was late at night.

Twice more he had tried to warn Dan but had stopped when Dan only brought out that damn duct tape and held it up before him, raising an eyebrow. Kit had taken the hint.

He drew his knees up under his chin and slipped one bare foot over the gearstick, running his toes lightly along Dan's upper thigh. The worst thing was that he didn't want to run from Dan - even though he knew going back was too dangerous for them all.

Dan turned his brown eyes on Kit and now they looked more sad than angry.

"Please don't," was all he said.

"C'mon, Dan..."

"No, Charlie - is that even your name? What's your real name?"

"...Kit," he answered softly. He pulled his toes back, turning towards the window.

When they finally pulled into the parking lot at Marvin's it was empty except for three cars that he recognized. So the whole pack had gathered...

"Hey. My shoes. Please."

He hesitated, but Kit saw him soften in response to his quiet request. It left a sour taste in Kit's mouth to exploit his kindness - but needs must.

Dan knelt and slipped the worn sneakers onto Kit's feet before picking him up and carrying him in his arms towards the restaurant where the rest of his pack were, presumably, waiting.

"I can walk."

"You might run."

Kit could hardly argue with that. Dan kicked the door open and Kit glimpsed the grim faces of the pack before Dan carried him into the spartan staff room between the kitchen and toilets and dumped him in a chair.

"Justin," he called over his shoulder, "Would you mind watching him? Don't let him out of your sight."

Justin stepped inside the door but refused to look at Kit, standing as stiff as a soldier.

He could hear voices from the restaurant, but not enough to make out the words. After a while Morgan's voice rose above the other's, shrill, upset. Justin glanced at Kit and then at the door, clearly torn.

Kit said nothing, wiggling to draw attention to the duct tape wound securely around his ankles, knees, and arms.

Morgan's voice rose again, then stopped. With one last look at Kit, Justin left to go and check on his mate, closing the door behind him and leaving Kit alone.

Within one minute Kit had lurched forward off the chair and fallen flat on his face. Rolling onto his side, he curled his legs up until he could reach one of his bound hands down to his right shoe and pry at the cut he had made in the rubber sole long ago, digging out a rusty scalpel blade.

He slit the duct tape between his forearms and ripped free, quickly cutting though the binds on his legs and getting to his feet as quietly as possible. What were they arguing about out there?

Whatever it was, he wasn't about to stick around to find out.

There was one small square window at the back of the staff room and Kit had used to smoke out of it during his break, so he shoved it open with practiced ease, throwing one leg over the ledge.

Then he paused.

It might be too late to draw Devlin away from Rivers Crossing now, and Dan had already caught him once. Would it still work...running away?

What if he stayed and, and... Told the truth? At least then they would know what the danger was. If Dan knew about Kit's past, he would let him go, right? He would never want to see him again.

No, I couldn't. Could I?

No one could possibly love him, knowing the things that he had done. And Devlin would have no reason to stay here even if he came looking.

Kit glanced once more out the window, one foot dangling in the cold night air. Last chance.

Stay, or go?

Dan took Charlie's - Kit's? - shoulder bag and upended it on the bartop.

At a corner booth, Ronan and Morgan sat with papers spread out before them - probably Charlie's files that Martinez printed. They talked over the papers, but now and then Morgan's voice would rise in a shrill exclamation.

Whatever was in those papers, it must be bad.

First he took the Smith & Wesson 9mm and switchblade out of the bag's outer pocket and then he emptied out the medical supplies from the main compartment.

He unzipped a smaller inner pocket and took out the documents Charlie had shown him weeks ago as well as a toothbrush and spare underwear in separate plastic bags.

Then he searched it properly, feeling through the canvas fabric. He took a knife out of his belt and split the lining. Out fell a pile of identification papers. They spilled out over the wooden tabletop - passports, driver's licences, credit cards, photo ID:s. The same picture was on each one.

"Oh, shit," Darren said.

Dan swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

"Which one is real?" he asked himself softly.

"Are any of them?" Darren shot back.

There were three battered ID:s from the States: a passport from NYC, a driver's licence from New Mexico, and a state ID card from San Fransisco. Issued to one Christopher Callaghan. It looked worn.

"Christopher Callaghan," Dan muttered.

"Sniff it," He told Darren and for once, his little brother obeyed. He prodded the bag and drew in a deep breath, eyes closed.

"Seems clean," he said after a moment. "Just traces."

"Ronan?" Dan asked.

His Alpha looked up from the papers spread out in front of him, and nodded. "I'm pretty much finished. Do you want a summary?"

Dan nodded, looking up and spotting Justin watching them.

The rest of the pack were already in the room. He felt his insides freeze, ice rushing though his veins all at once.

"You left him?"

He swore Justin paled, even though his skin was the colour of ground coffee.

"But he's tied up..."

"That doesn't matter!"

Dan was already limping across the room but his stomach had dropped and he knew it was too late. Charlie had only needed one minute alone at the gas station - by now he would be halfway through the woods in wolf shape, disappeared back into the Rockies.

The first thing he saw when he shoved the door to the staff room out of the way was the open window, empty and gaping.

"Shit," Darren breathed behind him.

The second thing Dan saw was Charlie, unbound, blood trickling down his chin, shirtless, standing still as a statue in the middle of the room. His hands were at his sides, empty.

His big hazel eyes were fixed on Dan.

"No more running," he said. "I want to come clean."