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  “God no. I don’t have any family left. Forget him for now.” Grant impatiently brushed Marshall’s existence aside -- and as for what he said next, the devil must have made Grant do it. He added, in a low voice meant for Zane alone, “What if I held you to that working hard thing? What then?”

  Zane’s jaw dropped, as loose as Grant’s was tight. “Did you just…”

  Grant shrugged, feeling oddly light and free, enjoying himself. “Maybe. Not sure. What do you think?” He turned his back then and strolled back to his corner of the junk pile, whistling under his breath. He could feel Zane’s gaze on him, intent and just a little bit delighted, and heard the Omega murmur something indistinguishable but approving under his breath.

  Zane one, Grant one. Grant grinned to himself, fierce and pleased. Let the good times roll.

  Chapter Three

  Another day, another dollar. First day, first dollar? Not bad for line-jumping past the usual hiring process. While his Alpha’s pain in the ass buddy trailed out of the shop, filthy from tip to toe and cheerfully dishing out one final helping of shit to Grant as he went, Zane raised his arms over his head for a good hard stretch of satisfaction. He arched his back for more of the same, then twisted his hips for the piece de resistance. Joints popped, clicked and stretched with a deep, delicious ache that made him sigh in relief.

  He sensed a curious gaze fixed on him from the side, and cocked his head that way. “See something you like, Alpha?”

  Grant snorted quietly. He’d washed his hands and was drying them with an old but clean cloth. Idly curious, idly satisfied, Zane watched him in the light of the storm lanterns that had to serve until the shop’s power was connected. He wouldn’t have thought Grant was the type to dry his hands on his T-shirt or hips, and it was always nice to be proved right.

  “You’re staring.”

  “Am I?” Zane asked, innocent. “Tsk, tsk. Shame on me.”

  He felt a spark of pride when Grant rolled his eyes and laughed, even if it was a quiet, gruff sort of laugh. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you? And by the way, you still don’t work here.”

  “Oh no?” Zane thought Grant was teasing -- he’d better be. He knew hard work when he saw it, knew how to do it, and he’d be damned if he gave up either the paycheck or the man who would write it. “What do you call what I did today, then?”

  “Making trouble. Am I wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Zane then bent his head and looked up through his eyelashes, a handy trick he’d learned long ago. A wicked look, a come hither, and…”Oh no. You’re not wrong.”

  “Good lord.” Grant tossed the towel at him. “Stop trying so hard, Omega. You’ve got the job, for as long as it lasts. Which might not be that long if you keep working at the pace you were running today. You always go this hard after what you want?”

  Grant made tracks for a stack of newer-looking boxes behind the front counter while Zane stayed back and gawked at him -- a gawk that faded to a brilliant grin. Things were coming up roses, now. Zane liked it when that happened.

  Even if he did have to remember to be careful around this time of his cycle. “I might,” he said. “I’ve been known to.”

  “Color me surprised,” Grant murmured, shaking his head. He flipped open the lid of two boxes. From one, he brought out a sheaf of plastic-sheathed papers. From the other, a matched set of longneck beers, one of which he slid across the table. “Reward for a job well done.”

  Zane cackled, took the offering and gulped, savoring the bitter yeastiness and the round earthiness of hops. Delicious. The deep, warm ache drifted from the small of his back to his groin, slippery and musky-sweet. Zane breathed deep -- he’d never been one to be put off by the scent of his own kind -- and quirked an eyebrow as, across the shop, Grant’s nostrils flared. Probably unconsciously. Alpha responded to Omega, always. It was the way they’d been made, and that was no bad way at all.

  He wasn’t immune, himself. Zane rolled the neck of the beer across his lower lip and enjoyed the view. It was, to his mind, unique to the man before him. The short, tough Alpha didn’t seem to know when to quit any more than Zane did.

  Case in point, Zane opening his mouth. “You really don’t have any family? No one?”

  “It’s just me,” Grant said shortly. He still missed his grandfather so much it hurt sometimes, and family was a sore point with him -- for more than one reason. One of which he hoped Zane wouldn’t bring up.

  Which, of course, Zane immediately did, looking deeply invested in his potential answer as he spoke. “No siblings? No kids? No one?”

  “No siblings. No parents or grandparents left,” Grant said. “And God no, no kids. Not now. Probably not ever.”

  Silence.

  Grant glanced up at Zane to find him looking -- perturbed? He scowled at the Omega. “It’s not unnatural. Lots of Alphas are childless by choice.”

  “Yeah, but…” Zane still seemed troubled. Weirdly so. He shook his head. “Why? A man like you, there’s got to be a reason.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Zane snorted. “I’ve known you right about 24 hours now, Grant, and I can already tell you’re the kind of man who lives or dies by a mission. So it’s a mission of yours not to bear fruit. How come?”

  “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

  Zane only grinned toothily in answer, but that was better than his worried look.

  Grant sighed. He took his armload of laminated papers and started tacking them to the cleanest of the walls. “I don’t have kids or want kids because what I already have -- this place, Legacy Tattoo, is all the family I’m going to have time and energy for, for months. Maybe years.”

  “So you’re not ever going to have a family of your own? Would it be the worst thing in the world if you had a kid?”

  Grant’s temper flared. “You’re not getting it, Zane. This place is my family. It’s what I’ve got from family. It’s my responsibility to make it live again -- no, make it thrive. That’s my mission. I don’t have time for anything else. I can’t.”

  Zane frowned, but whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. Grant trained a watchful eye on him until he was sure Zane was keeping mum for the moment, then shrugged and got back to work. When he finished, he’d tacked up all the laminated designs, not haphazardly, but in a cascading pattern. He nodded in satisfaction at the result.

  Fascinated, Zane drifted closer. “What are they?”

  Grant glanced up as if surprised to be asked. Or maybe surprised at Zane’s tone, bereft for once of teasing. He hesitated a beat before answering. “Flash.”

  “And that means…”

  “McInk, the fast food of this world,” Grant said with another quick, wry quirk of the lips. “Love hearts, barbed wire, dolphins and innocent cartoons engaged in nasty business. Quick and dirty, walk in off the street and get it done on a whim. I mean, some people love them. Nothing wrong with that. Artists just like a little more chance to exercise their creativity.”

  Zane wrinkled his nose. “So why put them up?”

  Grant shrugged. “When you’re saving every penny you can, you get the job that’s in front of you done and you learn how to do it with a smile.”

  Fair point. “Or at least not with a glare?” Zane asked. “What do you like to do, then, when you’re given the choice?”

  Again, the curious stare. Zane stood still and let Grant scan him, though he did wonder what the Alpha was looking for and whether he was finding it there. He must have passed some kind of test. The bare hint of Alpha pheromones, which Grant kept mostly tamped down, expanded to tease at Zane with its spiciness, and he saw Grant’s pupils dilate slightly.

  Note to self: you can turn an artist on just by asking to see their etchings. Zane curled his tongue around the neck of his beer, enjoying the moment.

  Grant held up a finger. He dug deeper in the box and unearthed a heavy three-ring binder which he laid on the table. Zane came closer and touched the cover. Battered, edges curling. It’d seen so
me hard use over the years, and it was stuffed with pages to the point of bursting.

  Why not get a new one? he might have asked. If he’d needed to. Grant liked things with history. Look at this shop. Anyone sane would wash their hands of the tumbledown old disaster, but not this Alpha.

  Zane liked that too.

  He lifted the cover carefully, and oh yeah. This wasn’t bread and butter. This was heart and soul. Page after page after page of photos and sketches -- fantastical and fascinating designs with dragons and weird, wonderful beasts with eyes of flame. Knots so intricate they made him momentarily dizzy, and Viking designs so bold he could almost smell the sea. Portraits as real as life, and cartoons that almost popped off the pages, and the colors -- He drew in a breath to break the spell over himself. “These are amazing, Grant.”

  That got him a sharp look that wasn’t hard to interpret.

  Zane drew an X over his heart. “For real, Alpha, no joke. I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I’ve been known to doodle, but this, this is art. You are an artist.”

  The faintest hint of color showed on Grant’s cheeks. He looked… pleased. “Doodle, huh?”

  “Nothing like this.” Zane turned a careful page, his attention divided between Alpha and art. Felt like something interesting, something important, something good was about to happen, and he wanted to make sure he was on top of it. “Just scribbles when I’m bored.”

  “Got any I could see?”

  “Not on me, Alpha.” Zane grinned at him. “And as it happens, I don’t have a single drop of ink on me. Or anything pierced.”

  “Hmm. Might be we could do something about that,” Grant murmured -- and if that wasn’t enough of a delicious jolt, the notion of being marked by this man -- he kept going. One more rummage in the box brought out a set of markers that looked pricier than a month’s rent. “Ever thought about a tattoo? Giving or receiving?”

  “It’s crossed my mind,” Zane said. Since he’d met Grant, that was.

  Grant nodded as if satisfied. “Good.” He offered the pack of markers to Zane, and as nonchalantly as if he were in a massage parlor, hopped his tight little ass up onto the counter.

  Zane looked from the markers to Grant and back again, confused. Turned on, but confused. “You lost me, Alpha.”

  Grant laughed. Still sitting upright, he skinned off his shirt and tossed it into a corner. Underneath he had a barrel chest that tapered to a narrow waist, liberally furred with dark blond. He leaned back on his hands, and the spicy scent of aroused Alpha rose stronger than before. He met Zane’s gaze without pretense. “Bring those over here, and let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Oh, that was an invitation. When Grant gave in, he did it with style. Zane’s scent mingled with his, equally strong, and he knew his pupils had gone wide and dark. “And if you like what I’ve got?”

  “Then you’ll like what I’ve got.” Grant slipped back off the table and held out his arms half in challenge, half in a dare. “Well?”

  Zane could resist anything but temptation, and he never had been able to say no to a dare. He licked his lips. “Or I could skip the markers.”

  Grant’s lips parted over a fierce grin. “Or that.” He crooked his fingers, beckoning Zane on. And -- what was a horny Omega to do? How was Zane to say no? He wasn’t, that’s what. And how. And oh boy, oh boy, oh man.

  Zane bared his teeth in reply to Grant’s display, wicked and wanton. He rolled his hips and strolled toward Grant pelvis first, showing off his loose Omega joints and long, slender legs that wrapped so nicely around a man’s back. He ran his palms up his chest and cupped his pecs as if they were sore and swollen, full of milk, and moaned. Oh, that might have been a step too far even in the name of temptation. Hot, hard, almost too tender to touch, electrified, wired to his cock. He jerked, thrusting against the air without meaning to, and groaned at the lack of friction.

  Grant’s beckoning hands fell as his pupils dilated, but the Alpha had mighty self-control. “Clothes off,” was all he rasped, not taking one step closer. “Now.”

  Zane held back, eyes half open, drinking him in. “And?”

  “And get your ass over here.”

  Zane’s lips parted on a long purr. Yes, yes, yes. He wrestled his way free of his shirt, let his jeans fall off his hips, stepped out of the rest and stood naked in the middle of the shop floor. They hadn’t locked the door or drawn the blinds, if there were even blinds to draw anymore. Marshall could have walked back in any second. Anyone walking past would have gotten a hell of a view.

  So let them.

  Zane got his ass over to Grant, buttery between his thighs, Omega scent strong even to his nose. He could see Grant expected to be plastered with an armful of man, maybe even tipped over backward in a playful pounce -- and that would be fun, so noted for future adventures -- but even more fun would be keeping him wide awake.

  He went to his knees and pressed his open mouth to Grant’s denim-covered cock with a groan.

  Grant loosed a rough, strangled shout and thrust his fingers through Zane’s hair. He canted forward and back, half smothering Zane with cock that hadn’t even made it past the zipper, and gasped when Zane followed him and scraped against the hardness inside with the edge of his teeth. “Like it rough, do you?”

  “Rougher the better,” Zane said between playful bites, firm enough to feel, sharp enough to invite retribution. He caught Grant’s zipper between his teeth and, carefully, drew it down a couple clicks. Nosing into the opening, he breathed deep. “You want me.”

  “You think I was pretending up till now?”

  “Nope.” He let go and leaned back on his heels, looking up, drinking Grant in. Could he resist a dare? Zane had to find out. “You want me, and I want you. Do something about it, Alpha.”

  And Grant did.

  He lifted one foot and rested it against Zane’s breastbone. Careful, sure, but unyielding as steel, he pushed so that Zane had no choice but to lean back, then to lie down, and not even when his shoulder blades kissed the hardwood floor did Grant ease up. He leaned over, staring at Zane, pinning him fast. “Rules,” he said. “Not negotiable. You have protection?”

  Wordless, Zane shook his head. “Didn’t figure on getting this lucky this early. You?”

  “No.”

  “As much as you talk about not wanting kids, you don’t carry a Johnson cover in your pocket?”

  “Fuck off, I wasn’t planning on getting lucky today. Just working.” Grant considered him a moment, then nodded decisively. “I can work around what we’ve got. What we don’t have. Whatever. I won’t fuck you without a condom, but I’ve got a mouth and I’ve got hands, and I know how to grind a man until he begs for mercy.”

  Zane couldn’t help it -- he arched up, moaning.

  “You like that,” Grant murmured. “Say please.”

  “Oh, you bastard,” Zane said on another moan. “You’re serious?”

  Grant’s gaze went dark and proud and dangerous. “As I can be. Say it, Zane. Say please.”

  Giving in was almost as sweet as dancing with the devil, sometimes. Zane grinned up at Grant, and let him have it. “Please, Alpha. Have me.”

  Grant growled, the same growl Zane had heard when they were teasing him, and fell on him as if he were a meal and Grant hadn’t eaten in years. Zane let his arms and legs fall open to welcome Grant as he came down, wrapping around him to hold him tight and give him a foundation to work with. Open-mouthed kisses came sharp against his neck, his collarbone and his shoulder, making Zane cry out -- but not as loudly as he did when Grant shoved a hand between his legs and squeezed.

  He tried to grab back, but Grant took hold of his arms and pushed them against the floor. “No. My show. Keep them there.”

  Zane writhed beneath him, but managed -- just -- to do as he’d been told, and only because of how much he wanted to. “Yes, fuck yes.”

  Grant brought his mouth down to graze over Zane’s chest, his hand still busy between Zane’s legs. He cupped
Zane’s balls and rolled them just the wrong side of gently, wrapped his fingers around Zane’s cock and squeezed just the right side of too hard. Artist’s fingers, long and nimble and utterly knowing, found his hot spots and worked them without a drop of mercy, not stopping until Zane was a mess of writhing frustration. Not without a drop of exertion, though. Grant’s skin glowed with sweat, salty drops falling off him, and his eyes were nearly all pupil.

  As Zane watched, Grant backed off far enough to give Zane a good view. Bastard. Zane loved it.

  Clearly fully focused on his audience, Grant moved his narrow hips as sinuously as a snake. His jeans fell off in a careless slide of denim that he stepped easily out of. Next went a pair of black boxer briefs that clung like a second skin with the sweat of the day’s work. Those took more work, but the reward was worth the effort. This skinny little Alpha had a cock like the most ripped of all bodybuilders would envy, thick and long and hard as a cudgel. He took himself in hand to display his goods to Zane. “You like?”

  Was he kidding? Fucking hell, Zane’s mouth watered at the sight of that monster. He disobeyed orders to wrap his arms around Grant’s back, and his legs around Grant’s waist, but Grant didn’t complain. He put his mouth against Zane’s ear and breathed. “Use your nails.”

  Oh fuck. Zane drew his nails down Grant’s back once, just once, and came in a great shuddering rush. His thighs squeezed Grant’s so hard he felt the same happen to the Alpha, his muscles seizing and locking as he drove down against Zane. His spunk mingled with Zane’s, hot and messy and nasty and fan-fucking-tastic, and cords of muscle stood out on his tight chest as he rode it through.

  Pleased, fucked-out, Zane arched his neck up and bit the blade of Grant’s jaw, marking him just so with his teeth.

  Grant bit back. “Knew you were trouble,” he murmured, sounding equally pleased. “I was right.”

  Chapter Four