Vivian Arend - Black Gold

“I expected you would conduct your research somewhere in Georgia, not in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of miles from home.”

Gem tucked her phone into the crook of her neck and awkwardly held it in place. She’d even surprised herself with the radical idea. Finding a research topic that forced her to go to the Yukon?

She’d anticipated he’d be upset.

“I know you’ll miss me, but everything will be fine. It’s three weeks, four at the tops, and I’ll have the information needed to finish my paper. Plus, this project should give me a good shot at getting that job with the company you approved of.”

“You don’t need to work.” His change of tack was a resumption of the oldest argument they’d ever had, starting well before her mother had passed away.

Gem hopped on one foot as she pulled on new silk stockings. “I’m not having that discussion, Daddy, so stop. I’ll be home within the month. If you want to contact me, use email. Otherwise, please, let me do this? I am capable, of this and more.”

The alternative was to admit she was nothing but a piece of spoiled fluff like she’d overheard her fellow students declare. It wasn’t true—there was so much they didn’t know about her, things that she chose to go along with simply to keep the peace. But now? She had to see this project through to the end.

Her father sighed, long suffering in his tone. “Yes, Gemmita, I’ll let you go. I want you to phone me the instant you need anything, you understand? Anything. What the hell good is having money if I can’t use it to make sure you’re comfortable and happy?”

She forced a laugh. “I love you. I’m going to enjoy every minute of the adventure, okay? And I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”

She blew him a kiss then scrambled to tuck the phone away and finish getting dressed. Only, what should she wear? At home, meeting an Alpha was a formal event, with all the highest-level pack in attendance. Not to mention she had broken protocol—groveling could be a messy business if she didn’t set the right tone from the start.

Gem eyed the clothes she’d purchased for her upcoming fieldwork and wrinkled her nose. Nope. Sturdy canvas and baggy cotton would not do. She dug deeper into the suitcase and went for the high-powered artillery, fingers crossed the Alpha was single and at least remotely interested in females.

Wrapping dazzled males around her little finger and making sure they weren’t aware of it was one area in which she had some experience.

After half an hour in Evan’s office, Shaun was feeling better than he had in weeks. Months even. The liquor in the dusty bottle had been poured into teeny tiny glasses, and he’d shot back the first round in one toss. Evan’s brows hit the ceiling right about the time Shaun’s brain lit on fire.

“Most people sip it, dude.”

“Shit.” His throat was melting, his tonsils had incinerated. They might be able to figure out how old he was if there was anything left of his teeth to carbon date.

But now that it seemed a good ninety-five percent of his blood was pumping with that same fiery fluid, Shaun didn’t have a care in the world, or a discreet tongue in his head.

“I mean, life sucks. All my friends got mates, man. And I’m alone in the dark hangar with nothing but flipping my helicopter to keep me warm.”

Evan frowned. He started to speak a couple of times, stopping as if confused.

“Wassup?” Shaun’s tongue had grown thicker, and his words weren’t flowing so good. The windows wiggled in the walls.

Cool. He’d never seen windows do that before.

“You’re doing what to your helicopter?”

Shaun paused in confusion. It had to be the liquor. Evan had clearly lost his mind. “What?”

“You were flipping your helicopter.”

Was his Alpha going deaf? Such a sad thing to happen to such a young man. Shaun spoke slower, and trifle louder—just in case that would help. “I hit and fuck chopper, and fly hangars in the dark.”

Evan nodded. One of those go along with the crazy person—let’s not agitate him nods. The fact Shaun had seen that kind of response so many times it was instantly recognizable kinda burned.

“I’m trying to imagine how the hell you’re masturbating that you call it a helicopter. Sounds painful.”

What in the world? Shaun rushed to explain, even as his tongue tangled further. “No, no, I’m flying my hangar. Wait, I mean, I’m shitting in my hanging, ducking my flapping heli.” He slammed a hand over his mouth. Damn . His brain cells had melted into a lump of jelly. Or Jell-O. Wiggling neon Jell-O with raspberries floating in the middle layer…

He shook his head and attempted to focus both eyes on the same point. Nope—not happening. The room did one slow revolution counterclockwise, and he stared upward, expecting to spot a disco ball or something dangling from the ceiling to explain the sparkling lights flashing on the walls. Wolf metabolism usually dealt with alcohol in a quick and efficient manner. His didn’t seem to be working tonight. Shaun snatched the bottle off the table, the blue glass swelling and shrinking before his eyes. “What. The hell. Is this shit?”

Evan sprawled in his La-Z-Boy and took another sip. Every muscle relaxed, contentment oozed out from him like a cat that had fallen into a bucket of cream after tormenting the dog. “Moonshine, from my old pack. Doubles as rocket fuel.”

“ Fuckit .” The room spun quicker. “Freak me out. I mean, get me drinked?”

“You may as well sit and be quiet for a bit.” Evan peered at him, shaking his head in disgust. “Here I thought you could hold your liquor. Sad. Sad state of affairs.”

Shaun would have argued, but right now there was this super interesting crack in the ceiling that grew, sprouting mosaic arms of purple and chartreuse. He leaned back in his chair to get a better view, reaching down to tug the recliner arm and raise the footrest, like he’d seen Evan do.

The next minute these really cool glowing lights were dancing in front of his eyes.

“Shaun, that’s not a recliner.”

Shaun reached to his side and tapped. Solid wood boards met his fingers. His back was well supported, legs stretched out. The room now spun in the opposite direction. “Did I fall down?”

“And you can’t get up again.”

“Cool. I’ll just…you know, hang out for a bit. Okay with you?”

Evan laughed. “Sure. Only next time? Sip the ’shine, got it?”

“No prob.”

It was kind of comfy on the floor. Evan rose and lit the fire, warmth pouring from the hearth to pool past where Shaun lay.

“Hey, did you…” Shaun lost track of the words. Why was he here again?

It wasn’t because he was bored. No, he was sure there were plenty of things he was supposed to do. He had Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, the aviation company he co-owned with a buddy. A full summer schedule approaching where he’d be busy providing helicopter trips over the most beautiful part of the world. Sightseeing and supply dumps, and the occasional medical emergency—he did them all. So why did he feel like crap?

Oh. Right. His friends were deserting him.

“You ever get lonely, Evan?” Shaun scrambled to his feet then held out his glass to his Alpha who carefully poured him another two fingers’ worth. Shaun eyed his chair, the one on the floor, and decided the couch appeared a trifle more sturdy.

“I find it fascinating what topics I hear when I serve the good stuff. No, Shaun, I’m never lonely. I have all the pack around. And friends, like you. Although, I’m not sure why I’m trying to talk to you anymore. You’re so pissed right now I could tell you anything I want and you’ll never remember a word in the morning.”