1
Diesel
"It's the next exit." Quinlan sat straight, peering through the cracked windshield of the beat-up pack truck.
"What is, kiddo?"
He crossed his arms and dropped his chin in a deep frown. "I'm not a kid, Diesel. Not anymore."
"Oh, you aren't, huh?"
Quin's floppy blond hair hung low over his eyes. One blue, the other the same shade as his pupil. His gaze was yin and yang.
Unhappy yin and yang.
My heart felt like it was lined with thumbtacks that tore holes into me with each beat. The sour taste of Quin's sadness never failed to send me into a tailspin, doing whatever I could to make him happy again. I took the exit, still unsure where he wanted to go. This close to pack lands, there wasn't anything out here but trees and more trees, not that I was above looking at a tree if that was what Quin wanted.
When he didn't offer any directions, I had to be the one to break the silence. "Where now, kid—Quinlan?"
His red lips still curved down, but he looked up long enough to say, "There, at the scorched stump."
Taken over as I was with making him happy, I didn't notice where he'd directed us until we were already there. "Kiddo, this is Suckaface Creek." Teenaged shifters had been coming here to make out—and hope for more—for decades.
Quin turned his dichromatic gaze on me, and it felt like he'd punched me in the face. That was desire in his eyes. Not just in his eyes, but swirling in the air around him. Quin was aroused, and the taste of it made my tongue dry. "I'm not a kid, Diesel, and I think we've both known that for a while."
"I don't need you telling me what I know, Quinlan." I never spoke so roughly with him, but the rebellion in his tone brought out my alpha's dominance. Remorse came immediately.
Before I could rush to apologize, Quinlan's wide eyes narrowed, and he shivered.
Alarms went off in my head, a little too fucking late to stop my dick from taking a sudden, inappropriate interest. "Quinlan—"
"You're my Alpha, right, Diesel?"
Damn right I was, which meant I was smart enough to spot a trap. "You know I am. I know I am. Where's this going, Quinlan?"
At least now maybe he'd tell me whatever it was that had made him so quiet around me recently. I'd noticed the change in him a couple of months ago. His smiles didn't come quite so easily, but his blushes did. I figured it had something to do with him continuing to grow up. Life was confusing enough when you weren't the only human living among wolves.
Puberty was a whole different experience when everyone around you could smell what you were going through, but so far, Quinlan had remained the same, my shadow, companion, friend, and ward.
"Rebecca said—"
"Rebecca? What happened to Mom?"
"She isn't my real mother. We aren't blood-related."
I frowned at the distance Quinlan put between himself and members of his pack family. Rebecca wasn't the woman who'd given birth to Quinlan—we didn't know who those people were—but she was the woman who had raised him. She was also the woman Quinlan had called Mother until right this moment.
I needed to scent Quinlan, bury my nose behind his ear and breathe deeply until I was confident this was all regular teenage rebellion and he was happy and didn't want for anything.
Except he did. He clearly did.
Quinlan turned to me and licked his lips.
The gesture brought my eyes to his mouth and my hand to the door. Shame warred with arousal. This was Quinlan. He was gentle and innocent, in need of protection, not an object of desire. "You aren't related by blood, no. Do you not consider her your mother?"
I'd have the best outcome if I steered the conversation away from the way my wolf responded to Quinlan's new attitude.
"Yes, Diesel," he groaned, sounding appropriately like an annoyed teenager. "She's my mother. But I can call her Rebecca. It's her name, isn't it? Just like I can call you Diesel. Or…Alpha."
Quin didn't know what that title did to a shifter when said from certain lips. He should. He'd lived among shifters since he'd been a small child, and now, he was still small, but not a child.
"Do you like that? When I call you Alpha?" Maybe I underestimated what he knew.
My fingers tightened over the steering wheel. Instead of doing something unforgivable, like reaching over and yanking Quinlan into my lap, I gripped the gearshift, throwing the truck