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his eyes. He certainly wasn’t rubbing his hands together like he was hatching some sinister plot.

He’d also stopped staring at Storm like he wanted to jump his bones, but that had been earlier when he’d opened the pizza box and started filling up his paper plate with food.

Even then, it had seemed as though he’d been forcing himself to not look at Storm as much as Storm had been forcing himself not to look at him.

He’d been torturing himself with this while he’d showered. And did other things.

He’d only just been set free from another life-debt not even four 32

Marcy Jacks

months ago, and now he was about to admit to owing another one, knowing the sort of power it would give to the werewolf.

He’d gone for as long as possible without telling the man, but he couldn’t do it anymore. His conscience demanded that he pay back the life that John had given him.

John had saved his life from those hunters, and then spared the one Storm asked him to, so that mean that Storm owed him twice over.

He would be in debt to John, his servant, until the day when one of them died.

John looked as though he was still thinking over what it could possibly mean. It took him a few seconds before he finally spoke.

“Considering what it’s called, I can guess what it means. Because of the hunters?”

Storm nodded.

“Oh, well, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to think that I only did that because―”

“You do not understand. This is a life-debt. You cannot simply release me from it. I have to pay you back in full.”

John’s brows rose. “How do you do that?”

Storm inhaled deeply through his nose, and then went back to staring down at his pizza and spicy wings. “Until I save your life, twice, or until one of use dies.”

“Why twice?”

“Because of the hunter I asked you to spare. You did, because of me, even after what he’d done.”

“Oh.”

They were both silent for a little longer, and then John spoke again. “What else do you have to do?”

Storm stiffened, shifting his one eye over to look at him. He was young and had a crass sense of humor, but clearly he was smart.

“Whatever you desire.”

Again, John’s eyes widened, and then they shifted down to look at Hunted and on the Run

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the rest of Storm’s body from where he sat.

Storm went back to staring at the far wall, his hands, and then his pizza, anything but the man sitting beside him.

He knew what sort of ammunition he was giving John by saying that, but, like with Tony, he had no choice.

At least John, unlike Tony, was not a hunter. He might request sex, and Storm would be a fool if he did not admit that he was as interested as John clearly was, so he could hardly complain about that.

Storm would be treated better in this situation, at the very least, and not be expected to perform acts of violence on others.

“Was this what happened when you were with the hunters?”

The question was softly spoken, but it had all the strength of a coming fist striking Storm in the throat.

“Yes,” he admitted, swallowing around the pain.

His lust instantly vanished. Now more than ever he feared the other shifter. Storm was still weakened, and though John had been gentle with him when he’d helped him change his bandages, there was no telling what he would do now.

Storm was still trying to figure out just what it was that the other man wanted with him to begin with.

John sat back in his chair and eyed Storm speculatively. “I’ll bet that’s at least half the reason why you haven’t tried to run yet or fought me when I decided where we were going.”

Half the reason, he’d said. Not the reason. He knew that Storm was in lust with him as much as John was with Storm.

Storm clenched his jaw. “I apologize for any and all inconveniences I might have…that I have taken part in when it came to your pack. You may do with me as you wish until you feel that a proper punishment has been served.”

“Jesus Christ! I’m not planning on punishing you,” John said. His eyes were wide again, but there was a sort of shocked horror on his face that hadn’t been there before.

“Is that what you think this is?”

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Marcy Jacks

“What else could it be?”

John’s face became red again, but not in anger. Storm was shocked―and could it be he was also a little thrilled?―to see that John was blushing.

“Are you certain you’re an alpha?” Storm asked.

Now the red on his face had the unmistakable look of anger. “Of course I am!” he snapped.

Storm raised his hands for peace. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve just always imagined alpha werewolves as being, well, sort of above their emotions.”

John grumbled something so low that, even sitting beside him with his excellent hearing, Storm couldn’t make it out.

Then he picked up his voice. “You and I are mates.”

Storm jerked back. No, he had to have misheard that. “Excuse me? Can you say that again?”

“We’re mated.” John stared at him, his serious expression somewhat frightening for Storm to look at.

“That’s…” Storm shook his head. “No. That’s impossible. We’re men.”

“Yes, and we’re also mates.”

Storm refused to believe it. He shook his head as though that would somehow protect him from the truth of what John was saying.

“Don’t try and tell me you don’t feel it either,” John said. “For God’s sake, you and I were speaking telepathically out there when we were both in animal form.”

“I thought all werewolves could do that,” Storm said.

Now John was the one to jerk his head a little in surprise.

“Werecats don’t speak telepathically?”

Storm shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, well, werewolves can’t all do it either. Only the alpha of a pack can do it with the wolves he leads, and only two mated werewolves can do it with each other. I wouldn’t be able