The Omega Objection Read online

  Since Heavy Lifting started, Tank had acted security to VIPs often enough to know the drill at any nightclub. The first few hours were boring and slow, open for one or two regulars, and waiting for the beautiful creatures to show up.

  However, Saucebox quickly proved itself aberrant. It had an unusually steady stream of visitors, mostly shifters, coming in after work to grab a drink and a snack before heading home. Oscar explained that Saucebox’s food was actually pretty good and that the head honcho, Xavier, made sure his kitchen catered to the varied tastes of the local supernatural community.

  “Especially these days.” Oscar nodded at a pretty bakeneko paying the cover charge. She skulked past Tank, giving him a wary look.

  “Just here for the door, darling,” Tank tried to reassure her. But his voice was low and growly and if you’re six foot plus it’s impossible not to loom.

  She winced and moved faster.

  Cat shifters.

  Oscar said, “The boss is pretty savvy. When your kind started coming more and more, he saw a niche in the market that no one else was stepping in to fill.”

  Tank nodded. “He’s trying to turn this place into a shifter hangout? Hence this evening’s festivities. Smart.”

  Oscar nodded.

  Tank sniffed. The club smelled good enough but nothing so that it’d tempt his kind in such numbers. There must be some other appeal. Outside of DURPS (the Department of Unnatural Registry and Processing of Shifters), he’d never seen so many supernatural creatures of different species in one place.

  “Why’d it start, then? What was the original draw?” Tank nodded to a couple of familiar faces, Gladiola and Chrysanthemum, as they trotted up. He wasn’t even slightly surprised to see them. They always knew the latest hot spot. The two kitsune and their respective leash of lovers were friendly with his pack. There was mutual barbecuing on occasion.

  Gladdy pounced on him. “You!”

  He hugged her back, careful not to squeeze, she was such a tiny thing. Chrys pounced after and dared to give his neck a little lick.

  “Hey, now!”

  The two kitsune grinned at him while they forked over the door fee.

  Gladdy had her hair green with black stripes for the evening and was wearing layers of black in different weights and textures, with thigh-high lace stockings and a very short skirt. She took fashion seriously. Chrys was similarly dressed, standing slightly taller than his mate and with more leather than lace. His hair was plain glossy black, although he was wearing about as much make-up as Gladdy. Tank thought it looked better on him.

  “Looking fine as fuck, you two.” Kitsune liked to have their hard work appreciated and Tank never skimped on a compliment when one was due.

  “Aw, thank you, darling! You sure you don’t wanna play?” Gladdy pursed her pretty lips at him.

  They’d been trying to seduce him (well, to be honest, they’d been trying to seduce most of the San Andreas Pack, on and off since they met). With kitsune this was more general compliment than actual intent, especially when flirting with werewolves. But it was flattering.

  Tank waved them inside with a smile. “Don’t you two ever stop?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Gladdy wanted to know.

  “Aren’t you going to check our IDs?” Chrys grinned, pertly.

  Tank laughed. Gladdy was rumored to be in her nineties and Chrys was probably around sixty or so. Both older than he was. “Oh, go on in, you troublemakers.”

  The kitsune flounced past him, both of them with far more sway to their hips than necessary.

  Oscar coughed. “You handled that better than I usually do.”

  “They get tetchy with you?”

  He nodded. “I try to be professional, you know?”

  “There’s your problem. You gotta flirt a little with kitsune, even if it’s only with Gladdy.”

  “But isn’t he her husband or mate or whatever?”

  “Yeah, but flirting for fox shifters is like shaking hands, common courtesy. I mean, they understand sexual preferences, so Chrys wouldn’t expect it from you, but ignoring all outreach entirely comes off as a douche move. Like you can’t see any value in either of them. Were they seriously courting you, there’d be a whole series of negotiations, for safety reasons alone, given how big you are.” Tank shook his head. “You probably took it too seriously. Just smile back, throw one of them the occasional wink. Doesn’t take much.”

  Oscar squinted at him. “One of them going to lick me?”

  Tank laughed. “No, he did that because we’re friends.”

  “This the same with all dog shifters?”

  “Foxes aren’t dogs.”

  Oscar grunted.

  Tank shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much. You don’t have my instincts. They’ll give you a pass.”

  “Apparently.” Oscar looked a tad insulted.

  “Wasn’t meant to criticize, you can’t help being human.”

  “Charming.”

  Tank winced. All too often he put his foot in it. I’m a big blundering fool who ought to keep his head down and just do my job. “Sorry, dude, no insult intended.”

  “Are all werewolves as arrogant as you?”

  Tank considered that seriously. “Most are worse. Except Betas.”

  “Maybe next time we need shifter muscle, I’ll ask Xavier to request your pack’s Beta then.”

  Tank hid a smile. “Trust me, that’s way more than you need. I promise to behave myself from here on out. Keep my mouth shut.”

  Oscar seemed to shrug off Tank’s blunder at that. “So, you want to know why all these shifters started coming into Saucebox all of a sudden?”

  “Was it all of a sudden?”

  Oscar jerked his head in a nod.

  “So why?”

  “Watch the bar and you’ll see pretty quick.”

  Tank shifted position so he could still stand sentry at the door but had a clear view of the bar at the back of the club. The place was still pretty quiet. Just a few early birds (well, early cats and dogs and foxes).

  Isaac was behind the bar. Smooth movements under that tight shirt with sudden jerks of the head as his attention was caught or when he slapped down a shot glass. His face was animated, his generous mouth often smiling, his pretty pale eyes flickering about to see what was needed.

  Clara was working food mainly, pulling it out of the old dumbwaiter and setting it in front of those who chose a nightclub for dinner.

  Even though Oscar said the food was good, it struck Tank as an odd choice. After all, the Mission was stuffed with amazing restaurants. Why eat at Saucebox when there was killer Korean next door? He shook his head. Takes all sorts.

  Gladdy and Chrys made a beeline for Isaac. The bartender waved them to take seats, and poured them each a shot glass of the Omnivore Special. Tank recognized the color from when he’d had the tour. It was hot sake mixed with tuna water and wheat grass. Tank swore he could smell it from where he stood. Oscar swore it was beyond nasty but that the kitsune went bonkers for the stuff.

  “Isaac invented it,” Oscar explained.

  “’Course he did,” said Tank.

  Isaac tapped in a food order on the special screen, without asking the kitsune what they wanted. They were clearly regulars. Then he leaned forward on his elbows, chin in hand, and gave them his full attention.

  How glorious that must be, to have Isaac’s full attention.

  The foxes proceeded to talk nonstop in a focused manner that reminded Tank of a job interview. It all seemed very intense.

  Oscar said, “And there it is. That’s why they come.”

  Tank considered this revelation. “To talk to a bartender?”

  “To talk to that bartender.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Counseling Kitsune

  Isaac leaned back from the counter, indicating that the session had ended. Across from him, the kitsune couple he’d been counseling wore relaxed smiles
. Nice to see them happy.

  “You staying for the mixer?” Isaac asked.

  They shook their heads. They were one of his regular pairs, came every Thursday after work to see him and check in. They’d found him early on and adopted him right away. Or, better put, insisted that he adopt them.

  Isaac straightened, gathered up their shot glasses and empty plates, and then gave the countertop a perfunctory wipe with his cloth. Sure, he’d been talking to them and not serving, but Clara had his back. It was quiet, not yet seven, and everyone knew to leave him alone when he was sympathizing.

  Xavier had learned real quick that the early crowd came to his club, drank his stock, and ordered his food with lucrative regularity for one reason, and one reason only, to talk to Isaac.

  Xavier was a savvy businessman. He knew that while most clubs made big money on the weekends, a man earned his true living off his midweek regulars. So he’d given Isaac a raise, as many early shifts as he would take, and steady hours. Word spread from there.

  “We should get home. The kits are waiting on us.” Gladdy smiled fondly. She was thinking of their cadre of co-habitating friends and lovers, not her actual children. Of which, Isaac once learned to his amazement, she had nine, all long since grown and fled the den.

  He took a deep breath. “You two are doing so much better. Don’t you feel it’s time you took a break from me?”

  Gladiola looked crestfallen. “You’re breaking up with us? But you’re our favorite bartender.”

  “You two don’t really need me anymore.” They’d been going through a rough patch in their mating – drama drama drama – some cheating, some lying, mostly semantics. He’d helped them sort it out easily enough. Now they kept coming back to him out of habit. And possibly affection. But not necessity.

  “But we like you.” Chrysanthemum give him a big-eyed look of pathetic fox cub left out in the rain. Blink blink blink.

  Gladdy got onto her knees on the bar stool so she could reach and grab Isaac’s hand. “We like you, like you. I mean, if you don’t want to be our bartender-meets-shrink anymore, we’d love to take you out to dinner.”

  Chrys added, “Or just to bed. Bed’s good too.” He gave Isaac’s long form an appreciative once over.

  Isaac’s smile did not waver. Here we go again. Curse of my birth, everyone wants me, except that they actually don’t. Not me, not really. They want the way I make them feel. They want the wolf I bury inside. Social addiction.

  Gladdy had put it best when they’d first discovered him. “Being around you is like swimming in warm comforting pudding.”

  Isaac reached gently down to extract his hand and petted each kitsune on the head, knowing they needed the physical reassurance of his undemanding affection alongside sexual rejection.

  “I’m honored and complimented, but I must decline.” He was careful with his sincerity, although they were both so small, such an encounter would no doubt be fraught with technical difficulties.

  “Monogamous?” wondered Gladdy.

  Isaac didn’t respond to that. It was natural to be interested in the private lives of authority figures, he supposed. Even if that authority figure was only the bartender you’d adopted as psychiatrist because he listened really well and helped you with your weird marriage without judgment.

  Isaac was much more sympathetic to shifter problems than any human ought to be. He could tell them truths without flinching. After all, he’d moved to the Bay Area and started this new life so that he could be honest about his sexuality. Honest about his shifter identity, never, but honest about who he slept with? Sure. Funny that I traded one for the other.

  “Gay,” he said, by way of explanation.

  Gladdy nodded, face a little sad. Not too much. It was no ego hit to her and didn’t affect her sense of self. She wasn’t threatened by his admission.

  Chrys said, “Well, I’m game. Gladdy won’t mind, so long as she can watch. Isn’t that one of the things we just took weeks with you to figure out?”

  “He’s right. I’d enjoy the show.” Gladdy gave her mate positive reinforcement, just as Isaac had coached her.

  Kitsune, thought Isaac, ever the optimists. He tried to come up with a polite way to let down the two foxes. “Thank you, but no, that’s not what I’m looking for.”

  Chrys said, “Well, we sure hope you find whatever it is you are looking for. And if you ever want to talk about it, we’re all ears.”

  Gladdy gave herself the illusion of two large fox ears for a split second to illustrate her mate’s point.

  Isaac smiled.

  Chrys continued. “Thanks for everything. I think you might have given us forty more years together, if not more.”

  Gladdy was equally gracious. “You’re so good with us. For us. I never knew a human could do that.”

  Isaac played his human role well. Never let his wolf out. He’d gotten the reputation for some latent savage mage ability as a result. New clients always assumed, whenever they came up to his bar, that that’s what made Isaac so good with shifters. Savage quintessence, smoothing the world around him, making him easy to talk to.

  It was a good enough explanation. Utterly wrong, but it kept them from questioning him too closely. His wolf growled. He wanted to be given credit for something. Isaac growled at his wolf.

  Gladdy shook her head in wonder. “The way you are, the way you comfort, it’s amazing.”

  It’s instinct. Nothing but fucking instinct. “I’m just a really good… bartender.”

  The kitsune gave him a toothy smile. “It’s more than that. But you keep your secrets, honey. Have a fab evening. We’ll be back, if only for kisses.”

  Isaac chuckled. “I never doubted it for a moment.”

  He watched the two fox shifters wend their way out through the evening crowd. The club had filled up while they talked.

  Saucebox had the general feel of an upmarket gallery, although more mellow lighting. White walls, big art, black dance floor that was a bitch to clean, and mirrors everywhere. No disco balls for Saucebox. Xavier didn’t do kitsch, or cheap, or corny. The lighting was recessed and subtle, except over the bar where the bottles glowed in backlit glory. And everything that needed lighting had it, especially the till, because money and alcohol were taken seriously.

  The kitsune paused at the door to have a long conversation with the new bouncer. They clearly didn’t mind that he was a werewolf. Isaac narrowed his eyes. In fact, Chrys was all over the man mountain. The little kitsune looked like he wanted to climb Tank, licking him all the way up and then nibbling all the way back down again.

  Isaac’s wolf didn’t like that idea at all. Isaac didn’t like it. Agreement for a change. Then Isaac didn’t like that, and he didn’t like that he didn’t like it. Argh!

  He hated that his well-constructed little world now included a werewolf. One who, if he wasn’t gay, sure was tolerant.

  Warm chocolate regard met Isaac’s frown over the glossy black heads of the two kitsune. Tank looked somewhat sheepish – trying to extract himself as politely as possible. It was as if he were reacting to Isaac’s inadvertent jealousy.

  Which made Isaac feel a little better, and hate himself a little more.

  * * *

  Tank watched in awe as, over the course of about three hours, Isaac chatted with a stream of troubled shifters. Many of them left before the mixer even started. All of them looked a great deal better, emotionally, on their way back out.

  “Nice chat?” he asked Gladdy and Chrys when they paused to say goodbye.

  “He’s sooooo good,” enthused Gladdy. She patted Tank’s cheek. “Not that you need him, sweetie.”

  Tank shifted uncomfortably. Seems I need him rather badly, just not like the rest of you. “What’s that mean?”

  “You’re so stable, big guy. Nothing ruffles you.”

  Good old Tank, boring and dependable.

  Chrys grinned. “Hey now, Glads, maybe Tank’s got troubl
es. Still waters run deep and all.”

  Gladdy glared at her mate. “No need to trot out a cliché.” She turned back to Tank. “Didn’t mean to insult you, sweetie. Figured it was kind of your thing. All solid and,” she floundered, “big and firm.”

  Tank nodded, resigned. At least he was doing his family proud, even on the other side of the country. “That’s my heritage, big and firm. So, Isaac helped you guys?”

  “Always. I was thinking of suggesting that maybe...” She stopped herself. “Hum. I better talk to Alec first.”

  Tank was curious about any possible intersection between Isaac and pack, but if it was something worth his Alpha’s attention he could only say, “Yeah, always best to start with him.”

  Gladdy nodded. “I’ll talk to him on Sunday. We’re coming over to yours for roast venison.” She licked her lips. Tank could see the flash of fox there, behind her lovely face, vulpine sharp and full of mirth.

  Saturday was full moon, which meant his pack would be hunting. They’d special dispensation from the park service to cull the local deer population on full moon. Afterward they always did a spit roast. It was Marvin’s idea to get the community invested in having a pack through food and socialization. (Marvin was a merman with a head for marketing.) At first, just Max’s ex-co-workers from DURPS showed up, which included Gladdy, but once the kitsune spread the word it basically became a thing. Now a handful of local shifters and their assorted friends and lovers all followed the phases of the moon closely, and started salivating just after full.

  “See you in a few days, then.” Tank grinned at them.

  Gladdy and Chrys bounded off into the city, tiny forms with mighty strides and angry clothes. Tank envied them their confidence in such an urban forest with all its acrid smells and forgotten folk. San Francisco was a pack without cohesion or Alpha, a stressful place for a wolf. The kitsune, however, were comfortable as only scavengers can be around so much risk and opportunity.

  Tank couldn’t help it, his gaze was drawn back to the bar inside the club.