OZ

He could hear the muffled voices from the library. No one was yelling, yet, but if looks could kill he'd be a dead man right now. He thought Garret's coal black eyes would incinerate him on the way up in the elevator and he'd be a Kansas song by the time they reached the penthouse.

Milli's broad face scrunched in perplexity as she brought Oz a tall glass of soda choked with ice. "Goodness! What on earth traveled up his knickers and set up camp?"

"I think that would be me." Oz sipped at the cool fizzy drink.

"Piffle!" Milli scoffed as headed towards the kitchen with Oz in tow. "I haven't seen Mr. Devoncroix in so fine a mood since before the Mister and Missus died, and right worried about him we were. Blamed himself for it, thought he'd fade right away from grief. Your visit's done a world of good for 'im! Man of his importance needs his rest, and he's always worked himself practically to death, poor dear."

"What is his importance, exactly? I mean, I know he has the company but..."

"Why he's our leader, dearie!" Milli answered with wide blue eyes, as if that explained everything. Oz nodded once, slowly.

"Thought I got that."

"He's the head of all the packs in the world, the organized ones at least! When his mum and dad married, rest their souls, the two oldest and richest wolf families were joined in matrimony, and he fought his way to the head of the pack to be Alpha. Won over all his older littermates, goes the tale! And he the youngest cub!" Milli's plain features glowed with the excitement of an obviously favorite story. "I heard he not only brought down the biggest game, but stole each one of his litter mate's trophies as well! Brothers couldn't hold onto 'em! Mr. Devoncroix was but a cub of four then, me dad said. There's the sign of blue blood, I say." Milli nodded resolutely.

"Blue blood." Oz repeated, digesting the information as the cubes melted in his glass. But then he'd known that, right? He'd known something was different because Nicholas and Garret were like no wolves he'd ever known. They weren't like the odd wolfs he'd run across in his travels, scratching to survive and keep the secret intact, or even like the handful of wolf 'families' he'd run across, like Veruca's band that traveled in a pack and kept moving to dissuade linkage to any mysterious deaths by evisceration. Milli made it sound as if Nicholas was the werewolf version of Henry the VIII. "Like royalty?"

"Of course, luv! Whatever did you think?"

"Kind of thought he had a trust fund and great taste in cars."

Milli dissolved in laughter, throwing an arm around his shoulder so exuberantly his Coke sloshed. "Oh he's a far sight more than that, my boy! And he's a lovely wolf to work for besides, take my word for it." Her kind features sobered suddenly. "Worked for his oldest brother Gerard for a spell as a young wolf I did. There's a one cracked in the center good and proper."

Nicholas chose that moment to walk out of the library, followed by Garret, who looked like he'd been mollified for the time being.

"Is everyone ready for dinner? I'm ravenous."

"Coming right up Mr. Devoncroix!" The girl nodded and bustled off to the kitchen after a quick curtsey. Oz couldn't get used to her doing that in front of him, and didn't think he ever would.

Nicholas lay a hand on the small of his back and he let himself be guided to the enormous dining room once more.

He didn't know what Nicholas told Garret but the man was almost civil at the dinner table. Oz wasn't fooled, though. Beneath the liquid dark eyes he still kept a suspicious look on Oz, as if he didn't trust him very far at all, which made them even.

Nicholas turned to talk to both of them with ease, engaging Oz in conversations about parts of their day, and talking with Garret about some business deal in France. Oz had to hand it to Nick for trying to get them both to discuss something simultaneously, but all those tries cratered like a lead balloon.

He concentrated on eating his steak and lobster without grabbing the shellfish in both hands. He'd never had lobster and the delicate, tender taste danced on his tongue, buttery and mouthwatering. He was actually starting to miss vegetables, though. His mom had been a big balanced diet person, and even after he'd been bitten, it stuck with him.

".....xenophobia in Paris right now is very similar to the one in our own culture. Theirs is just to so with foreigners and ours has to do with humans." Garret finished and Oz's ears perked up at the conversation.

"True." Nicholas agreed with a reluctant nod. "And I accept that. I do not, however, accept that I must do business with such individuals. That I CAN control."

"You are being impractical and you know it. If we did no business with prejudiced people we would do no business at all."

"Why do weres hate humans?" Oz asked into the brief pause and both men exchanged glances.

"Not all weres hate humans, Oz." Nicholas said.

"I know. I don't. But from listening to you talk it sounds like a lot of others do. "

"Humans have been our enemy in some form or fashion for a long time." Garret said levelly.

"I don't think that's true." Oz said, just as level, and Garret gave him that superior look he reserved for making people feel idiotic.

"They are innately our enemy on several levels: they can expose us, bring unwanted exposure, and no amount of prestige or wealth would save us. They have hunted our brother wolves nearly to extinction in certain states of this country. They care little for the world's resources and systematically destroy habitats and ecosystems and each other..."

"And weres never do *that*." Oz interrupted mildly.

Garret's ink black eyes flickered. "I didn't intimate that. But I do believe our packs take care of our own before we destroy them."

"There are extremists factions to every culture, Garret. You know that." Nicholas said. "We learned that lesson bitterly well, did we not?"

Oz watched the interplay between the two wolves, noted the almost invisible nod Garret gave before leaning over the table to make a point. He's angry that Nick's on my side, he thought, and wished he could just cut through the complicated dance once and for all. Because he didn't think there were sides, and the conversation wasn't just about whether humans or werewolves were the most flawed.

"Of course we did. But the catalyst for the events that came to pass was Alexander's view on how the pack should treat humans. It is to were culture what religion is to humankind; each major conflict can be traced to that point."

"In a broad sense, yes." Nicholas agreed reaching for his red wine. Oz watched the long, graceful fingers curve around the crystal stem of the goblet, lifting with infinite elegance. "One could also argue that each major conflict had ignorance, intolerance and greed at its core, also attributes wolves are not immune to."

"Granted." Garret nodded. "But I maintain that of the two species we are more humane, despite not being human."

"On our better days." Nicholas smiled wistfully.

Oz pushed his plate away, suddenly not interested in finishing off his portion. An apprehensive weight had begun in the pit of his stomach, one he instinctively wanted to shy away from; bring on the ten-foot pole. He caught Nicholas watching him in concern, the small worry line furrowing between the smooth brows, and he smiled. Willow'd had the same line, in the same place. Sometimes it seemed his life was one long string of ironies.

"All good, Sir?" Milli asked with a beam as she swept in to lift away platters and cutlery.

"Yes, Milli, excellent. Give Cook our regards."

Garret excused himself after Milli cleared the table and Oz walked towards the bedroom, intending to clear the bed of his clothes while he thought of it. Pushing open the door he walked in, then stopped, staring.

Boxes, bags, and boxes in bags lay stacked in a neat pyramid on the low table in the room's living area. More sat on the bed and on two chairs. He felt Nicholas come up behind him and lay a warm palm on the base of his neck. "Surprise." He looked over his shoulder and the older wolf smiled and threw a shrug back at him. "They're for you." Oz shook his head but Nicholas had already pulled him in the room.

"You can't do this."

"I believe I already have."

"When-I mean, we didn't..."

"I had my personal shopper pick them up. She has impeccable taste." Nicholas overrode Oz's look of doubt. "You don't really think I have time to do my own shopping? I wish I did. Renee has been in charge of what I wear for years. She's seen you on the security cameras in the garage and I knew she'd get your style correct."

"Right." Oz looked back at the mountain of purchases. "Because urban destitute's so easy to get wrong."

Nicholas laughed then stopped when Oz didn't join him. Stepping closer he ran a thumb over Oz's forehead and Oz felt his head bend forward even as the litany began in his head: he knows what this does to me, he has to, it's not fair.

"It's not fair." The last part actually verbalized as he watched the perfect lips curve into a faint smile.

"What isn't?"

"You can't just touch me and make everything OK."

The cerulean blue eyes held his for a moment, then longer and again that feeling; sand shifting beneath his feet. "Pity. I was counting on that." the words were soft, the long fingers tracing all around his face leaving tingling trails behind. Desire began to color the air, invisible and heady, but Nicholas moved away with one last brush of thumbs over his lips.

"I have no defense, really." Nicholas walked over and began opening packages, leaving Oz in a puddle on the floor. "I know you needed clothes and I wanted to get them for you. Hence, I did."

"I don't know what to say."

"Yes?" Nicholas suggested over his shoulder, then held up a dark cable knit sweater with rolled sleeves and collar. When Oz still didn't respond Nicholas sighed and placed the sweater down, walking over to him again. Placing both hands at his neck he did one of the deep looks in Oz's eyes that seemed to reach right through him. "It would mean very much to me if you accepted this."

"I'm just not a Barbie. You know?"

The instant cloud of dismay that came over the beautiful features made him feel like an asshole. Ungrateful much, he thought wryly. "Oz, no. Of course not. I would never....in no way would I...." I made one of the most powerful werewolves in the world stutter, Oz thought. Yay me. Only he didn't feel very yay.

Nick suddenly drew himself up, a glint of resolve in the blue eyes. "Very well. These are not a gift, then. You will pay me back. I will hire you."

"To do what?" Oz did laugh then, unable to help himself. Nicholas smiled back and seemed encouraged at the response.

"You are a resourceful, intelligent young wolf. Surely we can find something you can do."

"I don't know...." Oz hedged, still not sure he could allow this at all. Nicholas smiled and drew him in, pressing his lips among the riot of his hair.

"It's settled then. Let's see if Renee has lived up to my word."

Whoever Renee was she had an eerily close grasp of what Oz would wear. There were soft cotton sweaters, all in earth tones, an assortment of jeans, chinos, and cargo pants, all loose enough to be comfortable but not enough to fall off his hips. A mountain of shirts in several styles and patterns, including casual knits from J. Crew and button downs with motifs eclectic enough not to be hokey. Sweatpants in his size, socks, plain white Hanes briefs, a new pair of Docs similar in style to the ones he wore, and a quarter length suit style leather jacket in weathered black. It was this he picked up from the box and held, inhaling the scent of the leather and the soft, supple feel of it. It's what he would have bought if he had money to blow, and slightly better taste.

"Ah, good. I told her a warm seasonal coat was a priority." Nicholas nodded in satisfaction and Oz looked around at the piles of clothes. There was no way he could keep all of this.

"You can set aside what you don't want." Nicholas continued and Oz looked over to see him pull the gray cashmere sweater out of his pants and draw it over his chest. "Renee won't be offended; not even her judgment is without fault."

"Uh...what are you doing?" Oz asked, watching the tapering pale fingers snapped open the clasp on the dark pants and pulled down the zipper.

"Disrobing." Nicholas said as if that made perfect sense.

"Don't take this wrong but-why?"

"I'm seducing you." Oz blinked as the Hugo Boss briefs he saw pulled on this morning were slipped slowly off long, smooth limbs. He felt his heart speed up as his eyes helplessly traveled over the taut stretch of creamy thighs, pink uncircumcised cock nestled in a dark blond thatch and those Michelangelo abs up to perfect nipples....and an amused face with bright laughing eyes.

"Shit." Oz let out a breath and Nicholas burst into deep, throaty laughter, wonderful in its exuberance. He'd never heard Nick laugh this way, loose and free, and he shook his head, looking away with a lopsided grin.

"I'm sorry. I am, but you the way you looked!" Nick held stomach and Oz began to chuckle at the sight of the mostly naked, laughing werewolf.

"You know, you should take off your socks if you're going for the whole suave effect." Oz pointed out. Nicholas bent over, face hidden by the long blond strands then looked up with such indignation Oz lost it. Their mirth lasted quite a while until they shushed each other and he ended up seated next to the taller, nude man, arms around the slim waist while Nick hugged him about the shoulders, hands linked.

"I didn't mean to shock you, truly. For some reason I just thought you'd know why I undressed."

"Why did you?" Oz looked into the still crinkled cerulean blue eyes.

"To run." Nicholas said simply. Oz felt a warm flush of anticipation at the two words. He hadn't Changed since he'd recovered after the beating, and he saw the same eagerness in Nicholas' face.

"Come." Nick let him go and stood, and Oz stepped out of his clothes in record time, sensing the crackling of electricity and blood in the air by the time he stood from taking off his shoes.

A huge silver blond wolf stood panting in the middle of the room, ice blue eyes fixed on him. The animal easily clocked in at almost five feet in length, it's coat lustrous and thick and Oz gave himself up to metamorphosis with more ease than he'd ever felt. He had never had this. Not even in the open desert, or the mountains of Tibet. Always there would be the worry of discovery, the need for forethought as to where to Change back, how to return to whatever place he was staying without alarming anyone. Now his body sensed the newfound facility and reveled in it.

The angle of the room became lower, the smells sharper and his hair lengthened into the reddish blond coat of his wolf form. He lie panting for a minute; it always took him a bit to get acclimated to how much his senses exploded every time. He smelt each person on the floor: Garret's earthen scent, the talc and rosewater Milli wore, others he didn't recognize, hints upon the breeze of his awareness, but mostly he sensed Nicholas.

He already knew the older wolf's precise essence like his own: musk, blood and spices, like cloves or coriander. Underlying salt of the sadness Nicholas never really seemed to shake, awareness of the presence that was he.

Next to the magnificent creature Oz felt dwarfed but the huge wolf gave a small yip and licked at his muzzle and Oz returned it, accepting the friendly push. Nicholas' wolf form had piercing ice blue eyes ringed in flawless black, striking against the white blond of his face. For a second the large wolf met Oz's eyes, then headed out the door to the veranda. He followed behind.

The night air bit into him like wine, and Oz lifted his nose in the air, swimming in the amazing kaleidoscope of smells: car exhaust, sprouting leaves and wet earth from the woods below, flashes of humans.

The huge wolf with him put his front paws on the veranda giving an encouraging bark to do the same. Oz complied, pads of his feet resting just on the marble while Nicholas lay half over it. Nicholas looked over the edge and back at Oz and Oz realized he meant for them to jump. The veranda dropped twenty-five feet onto a lower roof, then a mere ten to the ground.

An uneasy whine escaped his throat because he'd never jumped that far, anywhere, and the roof below seemed very far away. His companion gave him an affectionate nip, then nuzzled the scruff of his neck in reassurance, and Oz gave in, trusting the older wolf. Despite his trepidation he knew Nick would never put him in danger; he knew it on a level deeper than mere feeling. They crouched and tensed, ready to jump, the Italian marble cold on the pads of his feet. With a last glance they shot into the air and over the stone railing and Oz was flying.

He meant to be scared, and part of him was, but he found himself too enmeshed in the sensation to acknowledge it much. Too soon the roof sped up at them and they landed on the loose gravel, Oz rolling a bit with the impact in contrast to Nick's light set down. He lies there breathing hard, taking inventory of all his extremities and finding them intact. The large wolf approached him with soft sounds of concern, sniffing for injury, but Oz hopped up and barked in joy, head bursting with excitement. Nick returned the sound, large pink tongue hanging out, laughing at him. The next drop was child's play, and then, they ran.

The woods near the penthouse were city woods. Enough foliage and trees to give the idea of a forest without the vastness. They ran beneath the fingernail moon, rolling in wet grass and twigs and chasing squirrels up trees to have them scold and pace nervously on an upper branch, chattering in the dark. They drank from a small puddle and played chase, nipping at each other's tails, and rested, getting a second wind near a small clearing.

When they got to their feet and began to trot once more, Nicholas stilled so suddenly Oz bumped into his shoulder. The next second he smelt it: rancid and pervasive, the odor of a marking. The huge wolf that was Nicholas turned and started back to the Penthouse at a steady run, Oz close at his heels, both of them watching for the owners of that threatening scents. It wouldn't be just one; it would be a pack, probably dogs gone feral and wild, and Oz wholeheartedly agreed with booking while the booking was good.

They almost made it. The overwhelming scent of urine and droppings had faded almost completely, when the presence of another assaulted him and Oz whined, deep in his throat, edging closer to Nicholas, who had paused, powerful muscles tensed.

A gravelly growl reached them and Nick whirled with unreal speed, fangs bared, ice blue eyes murderous.

A large Rottweiler, scarred and filthy, emerged from a low bush. Oz felt around the air for more, but found none, to his relief. The flat black eyes fixed on Nick, ignoring Oz completely and the silver blond wolf placed himself between the advancing dog and himself, hair at attention all down between the shoulder blades to the lustrous tail. Nick was bigger, but the Rottweiler didn't seem to care and Oz crouched, ready to pounce, the low growl from the dog reaching his spine and making him thrum with tension. Nicholas had been doing his own warning sound, steady and lethal and the large dog bared yellowed teeth, not impressed one bit.

The next moment they flew at each other and Oz was thrown to the ground as the two large animals tangled in a blur of fur and guttural snarling. The tussle lasted a few minutes, with the dog retreating grudgingly, not willing to concede but needing some recovery time. Nicholas panted, still poised for battle. They circled each other slowly, Oz careful to stay near Nick, when the Rottweiler went for the blond wolf's neck. Oz saw the intent as if in slow motion and reacted, throwing himself at the large animal only to receive an efficient snap at his forepaw that felled him, but it had distracted the dog enough. Nick launched himself with a thunderous snarl, and Oz rolled away from the light and dark blurs. A high cry pierced the air and the Rottweiler retreated, trailing blood from a badly torn ear as Nicholas crouched, crimson fangs bared, ice blue eyes molten.

The next minute the hulking form ran over to him, licking and nosing with an inquisitive air, a faint whimper of worry at the surface scratch on Oz's foreleg. Oz licked at the wound, put weight on his paw and found it cooperative. Giving Nicholas a few licks of comfort to show he was cool, he'd live, they trotted more slowly towards the building, where he followed Nicholas around the service entrance through the strips of heavy plastic and into the freight elevator. Nick stood up and pressed the top button with his nose and in no time they walked through the kitchen into the penthouse.

Once in the room they Changed back within seconds, and Nicholas approached where he sat on the carpet, head resting against the bed with his eyes closed. Someone, probably Milli, had put away all the new clothes. His eyes lifted open when he sensed Nick drop next to him and gently take his arm to examine the long scratch that stretched from his elbow to his wrist.

"Does it hurt? Are you alright?" The older wolf's voice sounded deeper, richer.

"Mm." Oz grunted, letting his eyes slip shut again, fatigue seeping into his body. Barely realizing the action, he leaned into Nick's chest, breathing deep of the elixir that was fast becoming an addiction: musk and sweat, exotic residue from the Change, and blood from the one he'd fought. Nicholas' arm circled his shoulders, and he felt soft lips at his hairline, then the crook of an arm hooked under his knees and he was being lifted like a child.

"I'm OK." He mumbled, tried it again, going for enunciation this time. "I'm OK, Nick."

"Good. I'm drawing a bath and then we are going to sleep. I think the run might have been a bit much."

"No." Oz lifted his head as he was set down on the soft toilet cover, opened his eyes to see Nick adjusting the Jacuzzi's settings. "I've never run like that, relaxed like that. It was unreal."

Nicholas knelt next to him and gave him an incredibly sweet, pleased smile and his gut began that clenching that signified major trouble. "I'm so glad."

"I can do this myself, really." He said, getting to his feet and swallowing a face-splitting yawn.

"If you're certain."

"I'm good."

"Alright." With a last rub behind an ear, Nick left.

By the time Oz emerged Nicholas was already in bed beneath the satin sheets, hair a mixture of honey and champagne blond depending on how dry it was. He must have showered in another room. The nude wolf sat, back against the headboard, and read some kind of report in a slim red folder, but Oz saw him rub his eyes.

Slipping between the sheets he felt his body grab at sleep and struggled to stay awake a few minutes more.

"Tomorrow..." he said from the pillow and Nicholas set aside the folder to prop himself on an elbow, the fingers of his other hand traveling through Oz's still wet hair.

"Yes, what about it?"

"I don't know what happens." The fatigue was making him more up front than usual. The older wolf smiled faintly down at him, the blue shiny with tiredness.

"Don't worry. We'll talk about it in the morning. Sleep now." Fingertips, damp from his own hair, came over Oz's burning lids and he succumbed, drifting into slumber with his hand on Nicholas' thigh. He knew the light went out, and felt himself be turned, tucked in a curve of lap, and held, and a feeling of protection and peace stole over him from beneath the warm embrace. Before he lost all awareness he thought he felt warm kisses along his shoulder and in his hair, and a whispered phrase. It sounded like "Sleep well."

*****
Part 8:

NICHOLAS

Something had awakened him. Nicholas stirred, slumber unwilling to release it's hold, and he reached up a hand to his face, a fragment of thought: I AM getting older; I could do this day on my head ten years ago. Then the subconscious sense of wrongness gained form.

He no longer held Oz in his arms. Nicholas lay on his back, arms stretched wide on the custom made King sized bed, and the warmth of the small body usually pressed flush against his was gone. But that hadn't been what awoke him.

The spark in the air had pulled him out of sleep, like a low but persistent sound. He'd been dreaming of running beneath the full moon, somewhere lush and green, perhaps Lyons in the summer, the fragrance of a hundred Changes permeating the night air. Now he knew it was not in his head; there was a spark, faint but unmistakable, and wrong, somehow. Too much acidic fear in the Change making the fragrance sour.

"Oz." He muttered, feeling around the bed for the compact body he'd gone to sleep holding, cheek resting amidst damp hennaed strands, cool, smooth hips against his stomach. His questing fingers found nothing and he sat up, looking around, worried now, blinking away fuzziness from his eyes. Then a sound, so tiny human ears wouldn't have heard. But he wasn't human and the minute whimper reached his ears igniting bells of alarm.

"Oz?" Crawling across the expanse of bed, over silk sheets gone cold, he headed towards the sound, and finally found the boy, huddled in a ball at the edge of the mattress, about to fall off. Oz had pushed off both sheet and comforter and shivered in the dark, hugging himself, the skin clammy to the touch. Nicholas crawled over, concern obliterating the last vestiges of sleep.

The boy trembled and whimpered piteously, hands clenching and releasing convulsively, and Nicholas lay a gentle hand the icy shoulder. "Wake up, Oz. It's just a dream. Ssh...."

"No..." the word tore out in a pleading voice that cut his heart. Where was the boy inside his head? What had happened to cause such torment? He listened to more frightened mumbling to someone named William or Willy, asking to stay away, begging someone to stop.

"Oz." Nicholas shook harder, aware of the deepening odor of Change in the air; he could feel it on the boy's skin, just below the surface, wanting release. With some difficulty he managed to turn Oz towards him, rolling the freezing body over on a hunched back, limbs stiff with fear. "Sssh, it's alright...."

"Don't!" Jerking movement suddenly and a glancing blow struck his nose hard enough to make his eyes water. He shook hard and Oz's head flopped back like a rag doll, eyes still tightly shut.

"Now, Oz." Another hard shake. He could actually feel the gooseflesh sprout hair follicles beneath his fingers, when Oz began to shake alarmingly. For a terrifying moment Nicholas thought the boy was having a seizure, so intense was the trembling, but there was no sickness in the air, just abject terror the likes of which he hadn't smelt since that night in the alley. "Wake up, please." He whispered against an ear, his cheek stained with Oz's feverish sweat. He heard a gasping sob, and the air went abruptly flat. The skin beneath his hands smoothed instantly beneath a film of perspiration and only the lingering scent of Change in the dark and the quivering boy in his arms showed how close to transforming Oz had been.

"Sshh. Just a dream, you're safe." He whispered, attempting to release the frozen rictus the small body held on itself. Oz still tried to make himself as small as possible, his posture fetal and protective.

"Let go. I'm here. You're safe." He kept murmuring a mantra of appeasements until the muscles relaxed the slightest bit and Oz's lashes blinked; he felt them move, like butterfly wings against his cheek.

"Nick?" Weak whisper on his neck and he drew back, staring at the young wolf in his arms. The long lashed eyes blinked open slowly, peering at him in the dark.

"Yes. You had a bad dream." He said gently and Oz nodded then fell to trembling so intensely Nicholas immediately drew him in, prying the stiff arms away from the panting chest and forcing them around his back. Oz grasped at him like a life preserver, quick little breaths against his clavicle where the boy had buried his face.

"I'm okay. I'm sorry. I'm okay..." Nicholas realized the breaths had words and he shushed the quivering youth, bringing a leg over the cold hips and engulfing him as much as he could. "I'm okay, okay...."

"Yes, ssshh...." Nicholas soothed, holding tight the small, shaking body.

He heard the door to his bedroom open and made out Garret's nude form, dark hair cascading around his shoulders in a sleep mussed tangle.

"Nicholas? I heard a shout."

"I know." Nicholas said from his position on the bed, hands massaging the trembling back, leg running over the rash of gooseflesh on the pale skin. "He's had a bad nightmare."

"Do you need anything?" Garret sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, face composed and calm, and Nicholas sat up, shushing the murmur of protest from the boy he held.

"Could you bring some water? Thank you."

Garret nodded and rose, and Nicholas moved Oz on his lap, cradling him as the shivers slowly ceased and the warmth returned to the smooth skin. Rubbing his hands over the lax arms he kept a steady stream of reassuring words in a low, soothing tone, punctuated by a press of his lips along the damp hairline. He wanted to reach out with his senses, his instinct demanded it as it would with any hurt wolf, but he refrained, the words of their conversation about the girl at the tow lot heavy on his brain.

"Nick?" There, the voice sounded stronger, though still unsteady, and Oz brought both hands to his face, rubbing roughly. "I'm sorry...."

"Don't be ridiculous." He whispered.

"I hit you." It wasn't a question and Nick smiled a little.

"Slightly. No harm."

Garret returned with a tall glass of water, flicked on the light, and Oz covered his eyes with a little sound of surprise. The room plunged immediately back to darkness even before Nicholas gave his friend a small shake of his head.

"Forgive me." Garret said quietly. Giving the dark-haired wolf a grateful look of understanding he took the glass, still holding Oz steady on his lap.

"Drink." He whispered gently, bringing the water to the parted lips. The small hands closed around the smooth surface, holding, but Nicholas heard the boy's teeth rattle on the edge and a few drops sprinkled on the bedspread.

"Sorry. Klutz." Oz said, eyes closed but Nicholas just rubbed the now warm back and lifted the liquid once more. The water would settle the nerves and replenish a few electrolytes; the young wolf had been bathed in sweat.

"Nonsense. There's plenty of room, yes? We'll move over." The distressing quivering had almost ceased and he watched with approval as Oz drained the glass empty, then let Nicholas take it. As he handed it back to Garrett he the saw troubled cast to his friends face and a look passed between them. Oz lay his head against his shoulder, as if exhausted, and he should be. The stress of hovering so close to a Change with no fruition would in itself have been excruciating, and a waste of vast amounts of energy.

"I hope you feel better Oz." Garret said quietly, before getting to his feet.

"I'm not sick." The low voice had just a trace of peevishness and it heartened Nicholas immensely. Garrett gave the boy a lifted eyebrow but Nicholas smiled at the familiar smirk. He knew Garrett and knew the affronted air was more for Oz's benefit than anything else.

"I have to pee." Oz whispered against his neck and Nicholas prepared to move over and carry him to the bathroom but the young wolf struggled a little in his embrace. "I can do it."

He didn't think so but obligingly leaned back and let the boy scramble slowly to the edge of the mattress. Watching carefully for any wobble he observed as Oz swung his legs over the side and rose, hand across his middle as if in pain. Nicholas bit back the question that formed and forced himself to let the naked young wolf shuffle to the open door. Oz faltered only once and Garret reached out only to be stopped by a steady upheld hand and unblinking eyes, black in the dark. They watched the youth disappear behind the bathroom door, which shut with a soundless click.

He gave a sigh, surprised to find it's echo from his friend.

"What happened?" Garret whispered and he shook his head, throwing back his chin to stare at the ceiling. The fresco was indistinct in this light.

"Something did him damage." He let the tight anger and steel he'd been hiding color his voice. "I want to know what, or whom."

"As do I." Garret replied cynically and Nicholas looked over to see a frown of frustration across his friend's features. "I am finding it puzzlingly difficult to obtain information about our young friend. There was a Daniel Osbourne born in Sunnydale, but those records are 'temporarily unavailable' due to a computer glitch. He wasn't at the local university long enough to have any history of note, and his high school, usually a wealth of information, had a mysterious fire that destroyed all student records prior to 1998."

"What, they don't have a clue how the fire began?" Nicholas exclaimed in disbelief.

"My friends and I set it." Oz's voice startled them and they turned. Oz walked slowly to the bed, his step surer, but one hand still held gingerly to his side. "We had to kill the mayor. He turned into a snake demon."

A ticking silence followed, broken only by the rustling sounds of Oz climbing beneath the sheets. "Well." Garret finally said with a prudent lowering of his eyes. "On that note I'll take my leave. Good night."

"Thank you." Nicholas called softly and Garret's jet black eyes met his briefly. Nodding, the dark haired wolf left them alone.

Oz pulled the sheet over his shoulder and turned around, giving Nicholas his back. He could tell from the unnatural stillness the boy wasn't asleep and he ached to curve around the shoulder blades and slim waist, but there was a tension, almost tangible, and he wasn't sure how to cross it. Tentatively, he placed a hand on the patch of shoulder peeking over the sheet, and Oz sighed, a feathery sound in the dark. Taking that as a signal Nicholas slowly molded himself against the smaller body, and Oz shifted his hips into the cranny of lap until once again he held the pale boy fast in his embrace, cheek pillowed in the spiky hennaed strands.

"Where did you go, Oz?" He whispered, not expecting a reply. He didn't get one.

A rough calloused hand closed on his wrist and gripped tightly and he pressed his lips to the scalp of this boy that had invaded his life so effortlessly.

I can't let him go. The thought crystallized whole in his consciousness and, as if in response, he held tighter to the compact young wolf in his arms, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of him like brine.

"Addicted to breathing here." Oz whispered and Nicholas loosened his hold a bit, still needing to clutch, press, to know Oz was safe.

Something had been at him. Something strong enough to reduce the self-possessed youth with the most placid eyes he'd ever seen into a destroyed mass of fear. He would find out what, or who, it had been. He hoped for their sake they were already dead, because if not, he would bathe himself in the fountain of their blood.

It was a long time before Oz's breathing evened out and Nicholas relaxed his hold yet more. He went to sleep listening to the cadence of the boy's heart. His hand lay flat on Oz's breast bone, feeling each beat.

He stepped from the bath to find Oz fully dressed, not in any of the new clothes, he noted, and sitting at the foot of the bed. Damp red peaks still shone in the morning light, which were all he could see. Hands clasped loosely, Oz kept his gaze on the floor as Nicholas approached.

He'd warred with himself this morning on whether or not to remain in bed until the youth woke up. He wanted to, but it was not the custom they had fallen into, and something told him Oz would resent a break in routine. He would have been staying in bed to indulge his desires, not the young wolf's, and so he rose as usual.

"How are you?" He asked and the face that lifted at his voice had dark smudges insinuated beneath the apple green eyes.

"Good."

"Good."

He began to dress, one eye on the boy. There was trepidation in the air that hadn't been there before and he distrusted it immediately. Pulling on dark pants and a long sleeved raw silk pullover sweater he opened his mouth to invite Oz to start breakfast without him when the boy spoke.

"I'm gonna motor."

"Excuse me?" Nicholas said, but panic had begun in his chest, fluttering like captive doves.

"I'm gonna go."

He stared for a moment at the resolute, tired, apple green then nodded slowly as he sat next to Oz to put on his socks and boots.

"Where?"

"Philadelphia. I've got a friend there."

Nicholas forced himself to complete his morning ritual and when he'd fitted his feet in his leather boots he turned to the boy at his right, colliding with the watchful verdant orbs. "You don't need to leave."

"I know." Oz looked away but Nicholas caught his cheek with his palm and turned the stare back. What had this child done to him? The prospect of watching Oz drive off in that ridiculous van made him unable to catch his breath. He wanted to pull the warm body against him, keep him there, scuttle away with him and run beneath the full moon. He wanted that so much it ached.

"Don't." He said softly, eyes memorizing the somber, gamin face. The way Oz's reddish brows drew together when pensive, the features that only appeared expressionless when you didn't know what to look for.

"Don't what?" Oz asked, even as Nicholas ran thumbs down both sides of that serious face, over the slightly parted lips, down the curve neck to the hollow of throat, beating a quickened pulse.

The words began on their own. "Don't leave because of last night. If you are embarrassed or apprehensive...."

"You had Garret check me out."

"What?" He glanced back up at the unblinking eyes from where his gaze had followed his caressing fingers. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Security." He answered, honestly perplexed. "Nothing more. Truly...."

"You could have asked me."

"Oz." He said softly, splaying both hands on the fragile neck and lacing his fingers over the rise of vertebra. "I did."

"Some secrets are just mine." Calloused fingers pulled his wrists away and the very skin on his palms mourned the loss. The shamrock green was sad and tender. "You can't have them."

"I don't want them." Nicholas insisted. "I just want...." He stammered. "I need...."

"You don't." Oz shook his head. "I don't fit in your world, Nick. Garret knows that."

"Garret is paranoid and elitist."

"He's right."

"No." Nicholas whispered, shaking his head. A part of him wanted to shout and break things and demand this boy heed his wishes. He was Nicholas Antonov-Devoncroix, pack leader, King of the Werewolves, and all lower wolves bowed before him! He had reduced Heads of State and Chairmen of Boards to pale specters with one well-placed glance, and he could not make one badly dressed child listen to him? He could force him to stay. He could. Yet even as these thoughts shot through his mind, he knew he would do no such thing. He would not bid Garrett to follow the boy, either. Oz's independence and self-possession were what drew him, what made the boy like no other wolf he'd ever known. To pull rank at this point would be the worst sort of betrayal, and cost him Oz's respect and friendship, even if, as had become more and more clear, he had not had a platonic intention towards the youth for quite some time.

Closing his eyes, Nicholas bowed his head. Fingers began carding through his damp hair and he thought he might truly come undone. An enormous weight pushed down on his heart, and he had to talk around it. "When will you leave?"

"Pretty much now."

"At least have breakfast. Milli will be disappointed if you do not."

"Stalling?" A small tease struggled for presence in the one word and Nicholas opened his eyes to see such marked regret on the young face he almost pulled Oz to him, consequences be damned.

"Desperately."

"Breakfast would be cool."

"And take the clothes."

"I don't need them."

"Yes, you do." Nicholas replied rashly. "Not one thing you own is new. At least you won't have to worry about purchasing more for quite a while."

"Maybe."

Nodding as if Oz had agreed Nicholas rose and walked towards the dining room.

He didn't know why he thought breakfast would be better, that getting Oz to stay counted as a sort of triumph. Sitting across from him, watching him pick at his food was like some exquisite torture. Garrett kept glancing back and forth in concern, but would not mention anything. Nicholas knew it was only because he didn't know how.

Milli had no such misgivings.

"That can't be all you're eating lad! Off your food, you are and you look peaked as a ghost! Doesn't he, Mr. Devoncroix, Sir?"

"I'm alright, thanks." Oz smiled at the dubious look the young servant girl threw him.

"I think not! Wanting something special, is it? Cook can whip up anything your 'art desires in no time!"

"Thanks, really."

"Well, all right." Milli gave in grudgingly before fixing a keen eye on the boy. "I'll be watching you at dinner time, I will! You'll clean that plate for sure or I'll know the reason why."

"Actually." Nicholas said, pushing his own plate away. "Oz is leaving us this morning."

Garrett looked up sharply but Milli actually covered her mouth with both hands.

"Whatever for?"

"He has a friend we've been keeping him from in the city of brotherly love."

"But we'd just gotten used to you, luv! It'll be right empty with you gone. No disrespect to you, Mr. Gault." Milli added hastily and Garrett gave her a flat smile.

"None taken."

"Could you please make up a lunch for him, Milli?" Nicholas said and the girl bobbed her head, still looking unhappy.

Oz seemed unable to look up as the servant girl walked by but had no choice later when she handed him a large Tupperware container, then threw her arms around his neck.

"Whoa! Hey." Oz hugged her back around the bulky plastic box and Milli drew back, leaking around the eyes.

"Don't mind me, pet, don't mind. Just a silly Cockney I am, but, oh, youngster, what a joy it was to have you here!"

"I'll miss you, too." Oz whispered in her ear, and Milli dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her apron before walking away after a decidedly half-hearted curtsy.

Garrett had disappeared sometime during Milli's impassioned adieu and they stood there, he and the small werewolf, in the foyer of the apartment. Without a word Nicholas lay his hand at the base of Oz's neck and they headed for the elevator.

The van stood parked in the same place as yesterday and Oz shifted the food while he opened the back doors. Every inch of space had been packed with luggage, save for the leather jacket, which lay on top of an overnight bag. Oz looked at Nicholas, who shrugged, eyes on the purchases in the van.

"Surprise."

"You really don't take no for an answer, do you?"

"I wouldn't say that." Nicholas burrowed his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He hadn't done this particular gesture of apprehension since he'd been a teen-ager and taken a public speaking course in college. After watching himself on video as part of a class critique, he systematically trained the habit away. "I am letting you go, am I not?"

Oz didn't answer right away, placing the container on the floor of the van and shutting both doors. "So no top secret wolf mafia's going to follow my every move?"

"No." Nicholas said, smoothing the lapels of the ever-present jeans jacket. "None. I am arrogant enough to believe I can find you when I want."

"You think so, huh?" Oz's lips curved into one of his slow, sweet grins and Nicholas fisted his hands in the faded denim, stepping into the energy field of the russet haired boy. Oz tilted his face up, vulnerable column of neck and fringed red blond lashes and Nicholas bent down to brush the parted lips with his own.

The light contact seared into him and his body jumped. Oz lifted up on his toes, straining onto his mouth, and the touch became not tasting but knowing. Slight, small tip of tongue teased his own, warm hands on his waist inside his coat, clutching, and Nicholas broke away, realized he had tears in his eyes making Oz's features blurry. Breath coming in rapid pants, he stared at the intensity in the heavy lidded eyes gone emerald with desire.

"I know so." He whispered into moist sheened lips, breathed Oz in. "I'd find you. Do you believe me?"

"Yeah." Oz lay his head on Nicholas' chest, and he felt the heart clamoring in the boy's chest like his own raced in his. "I believe you."

"Be safe, my friend." Nicholas gathered the compact body into his arms in a rough hug, pressed his lips one last time to the tousled red spikes, then pulled away and walked to the stairwell, head held high, fists clenched, the scent of Oz still coursing through his senses. He didn't look back.

OZ

He couldn't walk. He'd been able to; he'd walked just fine from the elevator to the van, holding the huge plastic tub of food Milli packed for him, even. Then the kiss, the completely unexpected fire of emotion in his chest at the touch of Nicholas' lips, softer and stronger than he'd ever imagined, making him want to devour that mouth, making him hard. So now, not acing the walking, here.

Running a hand through his hair he realized his fingers were trembling and his eyes shut against the mind movies playing every ten seconds. After awhile he finally managed to unglue his feet from the asphalt and start moving, glancing around for some of the many muscled guys that always seemed to hover around Nick and Garret. Funny, though, they always did a disappearing act when the time was right.

Settling in the van felt wonderful, and his bearings began to slip into place, even as every nerve ending he owned howled in protest. His body wanted to race back into the long limbed, muscled arms and his mouth wanted more of the rich, spicy taste that was Nicholas Devoncroix. Oz staved them off by checking his dash and mirrors, the mantra that had carried him through so many hard times beginning sub-consciously in his head: keep moving and it will be all right, keep moving and it will be all right. Do the next thing, then the next, and the next, and the surreal three days will fade. It had to.

He drove to the exit of the garage receiving a friendly wave from one of the huge security wolves in black. Raising his hand in return, Oz paused and stepped on the break.

Garret stood to the side watching him with unreadable coal black eyes. Should be hiring the forty-piece band any minute now. The thought surprised him in its bitterness because bitterness wasn't an emotion Oz let himself have very often. It tended to poison all the other good, pure feelings, and fester like an open sore; he learned that the hard way after his last visit to Sunnydale. Definitely anti-bitterness. Yeah, him hitting the road was probably a good idea.

For long moments he held Garret's obsidian gaze, like a game of chicken neither one wanted to lose. The dark haired wolf moved, and for a second Oz thought he might walk over, but the man just nodded slowly, and he looked away, shifting into first to ease into the space left by oncoming traffic. I lose, he thought wryly, and again with the quasi-bitterness. The two words left him unsettled, somehow, and he glanced in the rear view mirror at the imposing building he'd spent three of his strangest days in. He could still feel Nicholas' lips on his, like a brand and with a grim set to his mouth, he continued driving. That, too, would pass.

He had a friend in Philly to look up.

*****
tbc