Fic: tearing my seams - Part One

[freakykat]

Title: tearing my seams
Author(s): freakykat
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Jake Silbermann/Van Hansis

Summary: It's getting dark, darling. Too dark to see.





part one




It only takes a moment for your life to change completely.

That fact he knew better than anyone.

So this...wasn't as unexpected as it should be.

Really.

The gun trembles in his hand. Van's heart beats so hard in his chest he was afraid it would burst through.

“Don't. Don't make me, please.”

It came at him, claws and teeth aimed to kill.

Van closes his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

The sound of the gun echoes around him.





Midnight, Santa Monica Mountains


Jake rubs his eyes, stifling a yawn before shaking his head clear and steering the car around another bend down the mountain road. He thinks accepting Nate's invitation to “the best party ever, man, come on” was, as he'd originally thought, a stupid idea. Coming off a four week filming schedule and two days of non-stop editing, what Jake should have done was go home and sleep for a week.

Or at least eight hours.

He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket, finger hovering, out of habit, on the first spot of his speed dial. He remembers before he actually touches the screen and moves down to the second number, sweeps over it and scrambles to get his headphone into his ear.

“This had better be good, Silbermann. Like reconciled-with-the-love-of-your-life-getting-married-I-need-bail-money-for-my-stalker-ways good.”

Billy sounds just like he always does except rougher, a little worn around the edges and Jake frowns. It's been a week since he's called. He hopes that if there's something wrong, Billy would have told him. He can't force him. He knows that much.

He holds back, hiding the worry he feels and says as lightly as he can, “Is about-to-fall-asleep-and-fall-off-a-mountain-road good enough?”

“What the fuck are you doing on a mountain road at,” he pauses, Jake assumes to look at his clock, then snorts, finishing with, “fucking two in the morning? Seriously, Jake? Tell me you're at least sober.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Of course I am.”

Billy says nothing and Jake sighs. “I swear Billy, not a drop of alcohol has passed these lips.”

“Pretty lips that they are.”

Jake laughs loud and shakes his head. “Are you sure you're straight, man?”

“For you, I could bend that a little.”

Jake grins, bites back the Bending is one way to go on his lips and glances in his rear view mirror, watches the darkness swallow up the road behind him. He shivers a little and is glad he can always count on Billy to be awake at ungodly hours.

“Besides, I'm sure I'm not the one you'd like to bend...”

Jake freezes at what's left unsaid, knows better than to deny anything to Billy.

Billy – whose apartment Jake had shown up drunk at when Van had -

He really doesn't want to think about that.

“Billy.”

The warning is evident in the edge of his voice. He waits to see if Billy will take the easy road, will let it go, or...

“I just think this is stupid.”

Or not.

It's not like Jake doesn't agree.

But you can't force people to feel the way you want them to, he thinks.

Billy is still talking, “- and maybe you could try again, man. I think it was mostly the surprise that made him -”

Jake cuts him off. “No, Billy. That's not happening. So drop it, okay? Tell me about your audition. How did it go?”

He senses Billy mulling over whether it was worth it to push Jake about the Van situation (and he honestly can't believe there even is a situation) but gratefully he seems to decide that now is not the time. He launches into the story about going to the CBS studios in New York for a possible guest spot on one of their sitcoms and being mistaken for a delivery man. Jake finds himself laughing the way he only does with a handful of people in his life.

“Okay. How high is that goddamn mountain? We've been on the phone for like twenty minutes.”

“Pretty fucking high.” Jake's headlights flash over the elevation post that reads 300 feet. “Not that far down from here, I think.” He hears Billy yawn into the phone and chuckles. “All right, all right. I think I'll be fine until I get home.”

Billy laughs, asks through another yawn, “You sure, man?”

“I'm sure.”

The clouds that had been covering most of the night sky seem to part and Jake can see the moon, full and high. It brightens the road in front of him and he's a little in awe of that, wishes he had a camera to record it. Billy brings him back to the moment.

“Okay. Listen, just call me when you get home.”

“Won't that wake you and defeat the purpose of hanging up right now?”

Billy snorts. “Dude, I wasn't asleep yet when you called and you know it. Once I'm out, I'm out. But if I don't answer, leave me a message. Just let me know you got to your place safe and sound, in one piece.”

“You got it.”

“Don't forget, Jake, or I'm calling you up at the ass crack of dawn to make sure.”

“Yes, yes, Mom.”

“Shut up. Later, home fry.”

“Night, Billy.”

He lets the call drop, takes the ear piece out and sets it aside, keeps his eyes on the winding road. He can make it home now. Jake thinks of his soft bed, hopes that the cleaning service he'd paid for while he was away had changed the sheets so he wouldn't have to.

Sleep for a week, he wasn't even kidding.

He presses down a little on the gas after the next curve and sees the last sign indicating the decline.

It's going to be good -

Something dark and fast and strong hits the left side of his car, sends it veering towards the right and the gaping darkness there. Jake's hearts thumps against his ribcage. He can't think through the panic. All he can do is grip onto the steering wheel, hands clenching as it jerks out of his grasp.

Van's face flashes across his mind and he wishes that things were different. He thinks if he dies, this is the last image he wants.

He remembers to keep his foot off the brake, eases the car into a crawl as best he can. It's been a dry season and the road underneath him is rocky, dusty. Traction is for shit on these narrow paths they call roads in California. He doesn't close his eyes even though he really doesn't want to see if he goes careening off the mountainside. The car starts to steady under him and he slows into a stop at the very edge of the railing.

Jake sits, unblinking, for a long moment, flexing his hands on the steering wheel and then puffs out, through his constricted chest, a hysterical sounding laugh. He trembles, the adrenaline still rushing through his blood, making him feel a giddiness he shouldn't. He leans his head against the hard surface of the steering wheel, breathes steady until he feels it subside.

He isn't surprised that the last image in his head, before the fear had made him stop thinking altogether, was Van's face.

It's not the time or place, really, to try to sort out those feelings. Once he's gotten home, called Billy, drunk half the alcohol in his house, numbed himself until he can't see anymore, then he can decide what to do when he sobers up. That seems like an appropriate plan.

Jake opens his car door, steps onto the ground on shaky legs. He needs to check the damage to the car. Maybe call Triple A if it's necessary. They pride themselves on sending help anywhere. Mountains in the canyon shouldn't be a problem. When he can move without tripping, he surveys the damage. His driver's side is completely bent inward, the bumper half off and there's a smear, dark and wet that makes him panic.

He knew that he'd hit something, or more like something had hit him, but he thought it might have been a falling rock.

Jake bends to look, the glare from his headlights not quite reaching his line of sight. He brushes fingers over the stain, swallows when they come back wet and sticky. He smells them and the coppery scent is unmistakable.

Blood.

He glances behind him toward the road. The moon remains high in the night sky, illuminates the path. There's nothing in the road as far as he can see. No injured animal. Jake supposes whatever had hit him could have run off into the forest. Making his way slowly to the railing, he takes a look down, a little surprised that he can make out the bottom of the mountain.

He doesn't remember what the last sign said anymore but he figures he's only about one hundred feet up. There's a slight incline but he can see paths through the trees.

There's a rustling to his left and it takes him a second to notice the dark, slumped figure hobbling down the road. He can't make out anything from this distance but his heart jumps into his throat.

Something is very wrong.

It takes him less than a second to realize what he's looking at and even though his brain tries to reject - because no fucking way he's seeing what he thinks he is – it's like every movie, book, comic he's ever read or seen trained him without his knowledge.

Jake figures even if he's gone crazy, he's better off running the fuck away from a hallucination than learning it's actually his reality.

That's the last coherent thought he has because suddenly this – thing, he thinks, because it's not human – comes hurtling toward him, almost a blur and he feels the swipe of its claws as he moves toward the railing. He doesn't think before jumping over and down the stretch of nothing. Jake's back hits the ground and he groans, rolls to his side and keeps going. The pain shoots through his leg. It's probably sprained, broken even, but that doesn't matter. It's right behind him and he knows it's fast – faster than he'll ever be.

There's cover in the surrounding forest so he heads toward the thick gathering of trees. He can't tell what direction the sound of breaking twigs are coming from. His mind is going a thousand miles a second. This isn't in Jake's list of outcomes for his life.

The thought makes him sprint, leg throbbing, and then it's blinding pain down his side, sharp claws ripping at his skin. Jake screams and it echoes around him, like an unending loop of his voice. He doesn't look directly at it because he can't make it real. This is a dream, he thinks. He fell asleep at the wheel, hit a tree and this is what happened.

There's another drag of what feels like knives across his chest. It's like he's being split open and fuck, Jesus, that's his blood he can feel at the back of his throat. The thing – he still can't say it in his mind – breathes on him, rank odor of rotten meat and blood makes Jake retch, lose his balance.

It hovers over him and he opens his mouth to scream again – then it's teeth dig into Jake's flesh, crunch of bones -

He hears gunshots, watches the creature convulse and turn, roar in pain, he thinks, hopes. There another shot and it falls, slowly to his stunned senses, leaving behind a blanket of deep silence. Jake wants to get up, run now that he has the chance but he can't move. He turns his head slightly, his glance meeting the frozen green of blank eyes. The face shifts, the woman not staring at him, pale and beautiful even in death.

The edge of his vision starts to fade as he hears arguing in the background. There's a warm hand on his head, tilting it up, a blurred outline in his peripheral.

“Hang in there, man.”

Words whispered to him as the darkness folds him in its embrace.





Billy isn't prone to freaking out.

Out of the small group of friends that survived the cancellation of the show, the distance of different cities on different ends of the continent and the hectic way life can keep you away, he was the last one of them to jump to conclusions or have any kind of meltdown. If he didn't hear from Cole for more than a month, it was fine. If Van never returned his calls, nothing new or surprising. Sometimes Alex would disappear for weeks on end. That was all fine.

Jake, on the other hand, was the one out of their group to go out of his way to keep them all connected. He planned get-togethers, dinners, email conversation threads, whatever he needed to so they kept in contact.

He also keeps his promises, so when Billy doesn't see a missed call in his log the morning after he'd spoken to Jake, he calls him back. It doesn't occur to him to panic when Jake doesn't answer.

Probably hungover, had been Billy's thought.

It's not until he remembers that Jake had specifically mentioned not having drunk much that Billy begins to worry. He calls twice in the early afternoon, three times in the late evening and by the time he calls at midnight, he is seriously in the freak out zone. All his calls have gone directly to voice mail. There's a fluttering of nerves in his stomach.

It's just not like Jake.

He decides to stop by Jake's apartment in the morning. He shows up with two coffees and bagels from the bakery on the corner. He rings the bell for ten minutes until one of Jake's neighbors, Mrs. Grady – the older lady that lives across the hall and adores Jake – comes out and says, worriedly, that she hadn't seen Jake in a couple of days.

“He was supposed to come over yesterday for lunch. When he didn't show up, I tried to call but I couldn't get him.”

Billy nods, “I did the same.” He frowns down at the coffee and pastries in his hands. “It's not like him not to call if he couldn't make it.”

She nods at him and invites him to wait inside to see if Jake shows up at some point. It's Monday and he has two meetings but he accepts her offer, taking the time to call his manager to reschedule. She yells but he really doesn't give a damn. The nervousness is now a knot that's moving up to his chest.

Something is wrong.

When eight o'clock hits and Jake hasn't shown up, Billy gives up the pretense of calm and calls the police. He expects to be told they can't do anything, because apparently Billy watches too much television, but he's transferred to an Officer Davis, who asks Billy to come down to the station and file a report.

He thanks Mrs. Grady, who now looks more scared than worried, and heads down to his car. He doesn't think about what this could mean. It's in the back of his mind that he has no idea what he would say to Jake's parents...to his brothers and sister...to Van if – he cuts the thought of. He takes the turns automatically. His mind filled with all kinds of scenarios and he has to take a calming breath.

There has to be a logical explanation.

The police department is busy, which, it being Los Angeles, doesn't come as much of a surprise. He heads to the front desk and asks for Officer Davis. It only takes a few minutes before he's escorted to a quiet room and in walks who he assumes is Officer Davis. He is tall, built like a linebacker, dark skin and eyes but he smiles kindly and Billy relaxes a little.

He tells Officer Davis everything he can remember about his last conversation with Jake, details of where he knew Jake had been and the last people who probably saw him, his address, where he works. He thinks of Nate, gives Officer Davis the number he has for him and then waits while the older man writes it all down. He seems intent, serious, his movements steady. It makes Billy feel better and worse all at once.

Billy waits while the report is made, signs it and takes the copy Officer Davis gives him. As he walks Billy out, he speaks quietly, “Your friend isn't the type to pull a disappearing act like this, correct?”

“No.”

Officer Davis nods in return, like he knew that was a fact already, and stops when they reach the doors of the station. “We'll start making phone calls to his co-workers in the morning. Right now, we'll stop by his apartment and see if we can find any answers there. I'll also make sure to take a car and retrace the last place you think he was at.” He pats Billy once and smiles reassuringly, “It's possible he had an emergency and hasn't checked in. We'll check with his family. If he calls you, though, contact us immediately.”

Billy nods.

He turns to leave then stops to say, “If you find anything, can you make-”

“You'll be the first to know.”

He shakes hands with Officer Davis, gets back in his car and heads home. Jake will be fine.

Billy keeps repeating that thought all the way home.





When his doorbell rings at two in the morning, Billy stares hard at the door from where he's sitting on the couch.

This can't be good.

He pushes to his feet, forces them to walk to the door, takes a deep breath and opens it fast.

Officer Davis is standing on his front stoop.

His face is grim and hard.

Billy's heart falls to his stomach.





He rides with Officer Davis, half-listening as he explains that they found a car not far from where Jake would have been. There were no plates on the car. No information anywhere in it to let them know who it belonged to. Even the VIN number for the vehicle had been scratched off. Officer Davis says they could have figured it out but it might take them a couple of days.

Billy understands that he'll be able to help them faster.

The drive up the mountain road is quiet, the darkness almost suffocating though Billy suspects this could be the panic attack he's staving off by the skin of his teeth. They round a bend and as the car comes into view, Billy clutches at the patrol car's front panel, sharp intake of breath when he sees it clearly.

He swallows hard, feels Officer Davis looking at him.

“That's Jake's car.”





The car is dented on the driver's side, blood smeared on the bumper.

The police canvass the area, focusing all their efforts in the surrounding forest.

They find evidence of a struggle at the foot of the small ravine right off the accident site.

Blood pooled in the ground, shotgun casings and a silver ring are found.

Billy runs to the side of the road and throws up his dinner.

Van gave Jake that ring.

Billy closes his eyes, pushes the tears away, and runs a shaky hand through his hair.

Officer Davis is calling Jake's parents to tell them their son is missing and that it doesn't look good.

He takes a few steps to the patrol car, leans on the side and pulls out his phone. The sun is starting to come up over the horizon, shining through the trees and lighting up the previously gloomy atmosphere. Billy thinks it shouldn't be such a beautiful day. Not when –

He doesn't finish the thought.

Pulling out his phone, he scrolls through his contact list until he finds the one he wants, finger hovering over the name.

He really doesn't want to make this call.

He presses it, puts the phone to his ear and waits for the ringing to stop, wonders how you tell someone that their best friend might be dead.





Los Angeles, McKinley Road


There's a buzzing growing in his mind. Like the sound of a saw that reverberates in empty spaces. He wants it to stop.

He likes the silence.

Images assault him now. Raging, bloody pictures, struggling with the anger that claws its way through his veins. Van's face crosses through it all, alleviates the pain for that second. He wants out. Jumbles of memories zoom by. His dad teaching him guitar. His mother and sister cooking and laughing in the red toned kitchen of their house. Dylan rolling his eyes at whatever Jon was saying. Jesse sitting quietly with his book. There's moments blended together of Billy and Alex. The way he started looking at Elena. Van... and then he's in the woods, that creature coming at him, claws digging into skin, agony...

Jake's eyes fly open.

His breathing is loud in the empty room, gaze searching around to find something familiar. There's nothing he recognizes. He glances down at himself, finds that he's in one piece, frowns at the bandages covering his chest.

That means it wasn't just a dream, he thinks.

He tries to steady his breathing, calmly takes in the details of the room. The walls are a pretty blue, solid color that matches the two chairs he can make out sitting in front of the fireplace. There's a replica of Starry Night above it and Jake stares at it for a long time before settling on the large dresser just to his right. There are a few picture frames but he can't make out the images there.

He sits up, grimaces when there's a slight twinge in his left arm and he looks down, studies the long line of red marks. He traces them with his other hand, running fingers over the raised skin and shudders. His heart is beating fast.

“It's not as bad as it looks.”

Jake jumps, head turning so quick his neck protests but he doesn't pay that any mind.

He doesn't know the brown-haired man – medium-build, stocky - standing in the doorway, a silver tray loaded with food – is that coffee, oh fuck, please let that be coffee – and a friendly smile playing at his lips.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

Jake shakes his head, voice rough when he uses it. “No, it's fine. I don't know if anything will ever be able to scare me the same again.”

That smile grows exponentially as he walks toward Jake, sets the tray down at the bedside table then places one hand on Jake's forehead. He feels a thrill run down his spine. It's not exactly desire, Jake knows what that feels like, but it's like a current of connection and he wonders what the hell is going on.

He's never been one to keep his thought to himself.

“What the hell is going on?”

He receives an amused eyebrow raise in return.

Jake closes his eyes. “Okay. Let's start with an easier question to answer. Who are you?”

Sharp green eyes focus on him and Jake thinks that maybe he's not supposed to tell him anything.

“My name's Drake.” He shakes Jake's hand, turns it over in his to study the marks around his wrist then lets go to pick up the other one and does the same. He nods to himself, muttering words Jake doesn't understand and then places that hand on Jake's lap. “You're healing well. That's good. You'll need all strength you can get.”

Oh, that didn't sound good at all.

The thought must be on Jake's face because Drake stops and then laughs quietly. “We're not going to hurt you, Jake.”

The door opens and Jake follows Drake's gaze to the door, freezes when he sees the person standing there. He knows that face but he's not sure from where. He's handsome, in that movie star way that most people in Hollywood are, with the features melding together to make the camera love you. It's actually his eyes that get Jake, that make him remember having seen his face on a head shot once or twice. They’re a deep violet you don't see often.

“I know you.”

He smiles, teeth bared a little dangerously, not in any way comforting like Drake's.

“We've run into each other a few times, Silbermann. You could say we have friends in common.”

Jake glances at Drake, sees the annoyed flash of frustration cross his face, and his voice has an angry tilt to it when he says, “Stop being an ass, Gabe.”

They have a silent conversation over his head that he thinks by the way Gabe's stance relaxes, Drake wins. His glare is still pretty scary, but if Jake has learned anything in Hollywood, is that you never let them see your fear. He meets it with one of his own, raises an eyebrow in question.

Gabe smirks, claps his hands, making Jake twitch slightly before he motions for him to eat. “You're going to need your strength.”

Jake sighs.

He really doesn't like this at all.





He's starving.

Jake bites into the chicken with a vigor he doesn't think he's ever had for food before. It tastes...more. He ignores the looks exchanged by Drake and Gabe, takes another forkful into his mouth and swallows. He feels weak. All through his body, his limbs, even his face seems to be struggling to work.

It's not surprising, really, after what happened.

The images aren't as fuzzy as Jake would like. He remembers running, the agony of claws, the drag of fire on his skin. That metallic taste of his blood, teeth biting into his flesh.

His appetite is gone suddenly.

He takes a drink from the water, hand shaking when he places the glass back down on the tray. He can't quite look up.

“It's exactly what you think it was, Jake.”

Drake's voice is soft, kind and that makes him raise his eyes, meet the steady stare aimed at him. His gaze flicks over to Gabe, catches the concerned creases around his eyes before he has time to hide them. It hits him finally.

“You auditioned for Nate.”

Gabe isn't surprised at that, only nods once. “I did.”

Jake remembers thinking he was really good but the part hadn't been intense enough for what Gabe could portray. He had seen him in a few guest spots since, thought that he could make it if he kept going.

“You were good.”

He sees the flicker of a smile on Drake's face – proud – but Gabe shrugs, his face stony as he nods. “Thanks.”

Jake wants to avoid this because if he doesn't actually say it out loud than it isn't true.

He's never been big on denial.

“It was a werewolf.”

Gabe pins him with a hard look before glancing at Drake. They have that silent conversation he's had a million times with Van, the one where no one else will or can understand. Whatever conclusion they come to is quick and Gabe’s stare swings back to Jake.

He gives another curt nod.

“It was a werewolf.”

Jake doesn't know what to think or what to do.

His stomach does.

He leans over the side of the bed and throws up.





“That was a very dramatic reaction.”

“Messy, too.”

Jake glares up, wipes his hand over his mouth. “Sorry. I don't know the proper etiquette to learning that – Jesus fucking Christ. Why the hell was she after me?”

“Probably because you hit her with your car.”

“She hit me!”

Gabe waves a hand at him. “It wouldn't have mattered. She was pissed. Probably hungry. You were there. End of story.” He stops to look at Jake, his eyes soften and Jake feels his heart jump to his throat. He doesn't know Gabe at all but that expression on his face can't mean anything good.

“She bit you.”

Jake blinks, his mind stopping on that thought. The wound on his shoulder throbs, a constant reminder so telling him that little fact wasn't necessary. He flicks his gaze from Gabe to Drake, who moves closer, places one hand on his arm. He ignores the way Gabe tenses and keeps his eyes glued to Drake's.

“Jake. Most of what people know about werewolves comes from movies, books...what Hollywood has shown us over the last eighty years. Most of it is bullshit.”

Jake takes a deep breath. Okay. That sounded hopeful. That could be a good thing.

“The whole silver bullet thing? Only works if you can manage to blow a canon sized hole in one of the motherfuckers. Wimpy .35? Not going do anything except piss it off. You need a semi-automatic. Cut off its head. Make sure it’s mulch.”

Jake swallows, his response stuck in his throat. They take his silence as permission to continue.

“Full moon. True. The animal is most powerful at that time of the lunar cycle,” Drake pauses, glances at Gabe who gives him a quick nod. He turns back to Jake. “But those that have been...infected...some can change at whim. It takes time to learn how to rein in the wolf but it can be done.”

Jake sees the way Gabe looks away and he feels his heart drop to his stomach. He doesn't look back when Drake starts talking again. “I think I need to start at the beginning...”

Gabe glowers, stands and runs a hand over his head. “We don't have time for this shit.”

“Gabriel.”

“No. Drake, we don't. He's out there. Looking for him.” Gabe points a finger at Jake. “We need to keep him alive long enough to give him the choice to learn to live with it. So, the gentle way isn't gonna cut it.”

He looks Jake directly in the eye, that same soft expression back and he sighs. “You already know what I'm going to say.”

Jake licks his dry lips, shakes his head because no...it just...this isn't supposed to be the way. His mind flashes to his parents, his siblings, Billy. Van, always, Van. They can't end like this.

“I'm sorry, Jake, I am.”

He starts to panic, pulls at the bandages on his chest. He shouldn't be in one piece. His insides were on the outside. His shoulder had been torn. Drake makes a move toward him but stops when Gabe grabs his elbow.

“Let him see.”

It hurts a little when he rips at the dressings, not nearly as much as it should for the wounds he thinks he should have.

He knows what he's going to see before he does but it's still too much and he can't breathe.

His skin is red, swollen around scars that look like they've been healing for more than three days. That's how long Drake said he'd been here. Three days. He runs his shaking fingers over the them, shudders. They don't look good but considering he knows his chest had been torn open...

He trails his fingers over his shoulder, touches the indents of teeth marks.

He meets Gabe's steady gaze.

“They didn't get everything wrong, did they?”

Gabe shakes his head.

Jake closes his eyes and breathes deep.

He wants to scream, punch something hard. There's a tremor of rage under his skin he doesn't recognize and it scares him.

“There's more you need to understand.”

Jake looks up, lets out a hysterical puff of laughter because. No shit. There's a lot he needs to understand. Like how the fuck he lives with this now.

“Your life is in danger.”

Drake speaks up. “We need to get you as far away from here as we can.”

He doesn't know where to begin, only nods and buries his face in his hands.





They walk him through the rooms of what he guesses is a mansion. He doesn't know whose and doesn't ask.

Gabe is explaining everything as they gather whatever they pulled from his car. It wasn't much. His wallet, laptop, cell phone.

The jeans and shirt Drake loaned him are tight and he keeps pulling the long sleeves down, tries to cover the bruises on his hands. They are turning purple and yellow, it's a color he doesn't like on him. He passes a mirror and startles when he sees his reflection. Those same bruises mar his neck and part of his face. He must have had a black eye but it's healing, the blue of it peeking through the swollen lid. His nose looks broken and his lip has a large cut.

“It'll heal faster than you think,” Drake says kindly, hands him a bottle of water and Jake drinks it in three large gulps.

“Yeah. That's what freaks me out.”

He isn't thinking about what any of this means. He watches Gabe argue with a tall, dark-skinned man. He's dressed in silk and Jake wonders who he is.

“That's Orion. He's the head of security.”

Jake glances at him and Drake motions for him to come closer.

“Listen to me carefully, Jake. We don't have time to tell you everything at the moment. We will. Once we've made sure you’re safe, that his not looking for you, then we'll come to you. Give you the details. All you need to know is that the clan always takes care of their own.”

He doesn't even know what to say to that but he's sure his next question is on the money.

“Gabe is a werewolf?”

Drake's gaze flits over, affection and possession passing over his face as he nods. “Yes.”

“Are you?”

Drake looks back at him. “No.”

Jake runs a hand down his face. “And this place – is what?”

He gets a smile at that. “Home. For me and Gabe. A few others. We work like everyone else, Jake. You know that since you know Gabe. It's not a curse. At least not the way it used to be. There are ways to control it, live with it, suppress most of the rage. Outlets that don't let the animal in you win.” He takes Jake's hand and squeezes. “It's not easy and it takes a lot of time. We give you the choice.”

“And if someone doesn't take it? If I said no?” He wasn't going to. It was too much right now but once he could think, breathe, he knows he'll do anything to stay himself.

Drake's eyes darken. “We make sure you can't hurt anyone. Ever.”

“The choice is always there.”

Jake turns to look at Gabe, raises an eyebrow. “How – I don't even know – why do you do it?”

“Because everyone should get the chance to live how they want. It wasn't your choice to get bitten. You didn't do anything wrong.”

There's so much more he can tell Gabe wants to say but he shakes his head, grabs Jake's hand and heads for the exit. There's a car waiting. He barely gets a look at the huge, red-bricked house as they peel out into the curving driveway.

Gabe is behind the wheel, eyes flick between the rear-view mirror and the road.

“Here's the deal: That one that bit you? She'd been around for a long time. About fifty years now.”

“She was powerful, Jake. We – weren't supposed to do what we did.”

Jake furrows his brow. “What do mean?”

“We try to stay below radar, okay? There are some out there that enjoy what they are. They thrive on it. Take advantage to excuse any horrific deeds they commit on the animal.” Gabe glances at Jake, smirk ugly. “You really think bears attack people that often? Or that hikers and backpackers really ‘fall’ down all these trails?”

Jake feels sick.

“Oh, they don't do it often. They live off other animals like we all do. They hunt that way. But every so often, they go on a spree. It's their way.” His hands clench on the steering wheel. “Sometimes they kill the people they attack. Sometimes, they don't.”

Drake speaks up. “Those are the ones we try to help, Jake.”

He's starting to understand. It doesn't explain about him.

“Why me, then?”

Gabe is silent for several moments. He checks the mirrors, pushes the speed on the car up, meets Jake's eyes. “Because we were there and none of us could have lived with letting her kill you.”

The thought that it might have been better flits through his mind.

Drake clears his throat. “She belonged to someone, Jake. He won‘t stop until he finds whoever killed her.”

“Her husband…can destroy you. Won’t stop until he does. She was his mate.” Gabe gives him a hard look and Jake doesn't even know what that means.

Drake must sense that because he squeezes Jake's good shoulder, explains.
“Mating, in packs, is a huge deal, Jake. For the most part, it's done for life. One wolf for one wolf. Those who choose to mate only do it once.” He glances at Gabe, the look in his eyes telling Jake everything Drake isn't saying out loud. He turns his gaze back to Jake. “It's forever.”

“Losing your mate... that can do some pretty ugly things to you. Unfortunately, our boy was already a demented psycho before he was turned decades ago. This? Us killing her? He and his clan will consider that the first act in a war.”

“It's why we need to get you out of here. Do you understand? You can't be found. Gabe thinks he might be able to figure some way that this won't end up in a battle nobody will win. But you're what he wants.”

Jake swallows hard, tries to breathe through the fear.

Gabe flicks a glare at Jake. “It won't just be about you either. If he finds out who you are, he'll go after everyone and everything you love. Your parents, sisters, brothers, friends, lovers, co-workers... it doesn't matter to him.”

“I need to warn them!”

“We will. You will. But for now we need to make sure he doesn't even know who they are. Understand? And it's worked so far, but your disappearance isn't going to be kept under wraps forever. Once that's out, it'll take him only a few days to put two and two together.”

Jake sees the sign for Los Angeles International Airport as they speed by, exiting the off ramp at a rate he knows isn't safe at all. They pull into the short term parking and Jake gingerly stands out of the car. Now that he starting moving again, the pain is building. Drake holds on to his arm, guides him into the elevator. Gabe follows behind and Jake catches the concerned look he gives him.

“Once you decide where you’re going, I'll make sure to contact one of our doctors there and have them come check up on you.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “You have doctors everywhere?”

Gabe mirrors his action. “You wouldn't?”

That's a good point.

Once inside the airport, they stop in front of the ticket kiosk and Gabe turns Jake to look at him. “Listen to me.” They stop when Drake's phone rings, Jake's heart beating faster when he frowns at it. He moves away to answer it and Jake feels a shake to his shoulders. Gabe rolls his eyes. “Hey.” Jake focuses all his attention on him. Whatever Gabe may think of him, Jake gets that he is trying to help the only way he knows or can.

“The moment you land – and I mean the very moment – you call your parents. Nobody's reported you missing yet but I'm sure in the next day or two, it's going to hit the media and we'll be screwed. So, your parents. Tell them you're fine. That you can't explain anything yet but promise that you will. Ask them to cut off any search they started for you.” Gabe glances at Drake, nods when he receives an okay sign. “We'll do what we can on our end to put out any fires. The longer we can go without any of them knowing anything about you the better it'll be.” He sighs, shakes his head, “I wish I could say that we could keep him from finding you. Period. But he'll figure it out eventually. We just need enough time to formulate a plan.”

Jake nods. He can't think about that right now. He just wants to be somewhere else.

Drake joins them, says, “There was a missing person's report filed for you yesterday. This morning they found your car.”

Gabe nods, turns to address him. “Okay, Jake. This is the most important part. You need to go to someone who will help you. No questions asked. Someone you can trust with your life and harder still, someone who will believe you when you tell them what happened.”

Drake gives him a sympathetic look. “I know it might be hard to -”

Jake shakes his head. “I have someone.”

They both look surprised but say nothing else.

Gabe hands Jake his wallet. He takes a deep breath and walks up to the desk. “Hi. One ticket for your next flight to New York, please.”





New York


“Is that what you tell everyone, Harold? That I did this to you? Made you – oh for fuck – Eleanor, he has gum in his mouth!”

Van lets his head fall forward onto the stage, counts to ten before looking over at his director. Eleanor rolls her eyes as she walks up toward the edge where Van has been sitting for the last half hour. Ricky and Dave – their leads – hate each other. The nit picking, arguing, and general snarkiness make rehearsals a bitch to deal with. If they weren't such good actors, Van thinks Eleanor would have told them both to shove it. But she doesn't play that game. She's better at handling actors’ egos then a lot of directors he's worked with.

“Ricky, honey. Please. The gum is distracting.”

Van watches Ricky's face. He's a lot smarter than Dave gives him credit for. He likes Ricky. The kid is funny and his stage presence is off the charts.

Alex sits down next to him, nudges his arm and Van flicks his gaze over to catch his scrunched up face, stifling a laugh.

Yeah, it was getting to be a little much to deal with those two on a daily basis.

He doesn't even want to think about what it'll be like when the fucking show actually opens.

He brings his attention back to the stage just in time to hear Ricky say, flashing him and Alex a quick wicked smile. “Chewing gum helps me think.”

Alex chokes on his laugh and Van grins, hears Jake's voice in his head as he mutters, “Sweetie, you're wasting your gum.” He remembers Jake saying that for weeks after they'd watched that movie.

Dave makes a frustrated noise and Eleanor calls for lunch. They've been there since nine and Van thinks the break is called for. Dave stomps off and Van rolls his eyes.

Fucking diva.

His thoughts turn back to Jake, like they always do once they've been there. He misses him so much it hurts sometimes. Like an ache he isn't aware of, until he is. Which just means it's there all the time so he's used to it.

But it's better this way; the distance they have.

“Where did you want to go eat?” Alex steps up to Van, hands him his pack as he throws his own over his shoulder. “Ricky said his boyfriend is taking him out and Dave grunted a laugh when I asked. I think Eleanor probably needs to not be near actors for the next hour.”

Van laughs because that's an understatement if he's ever heard one.

The rest of their small cast and crew had filed out of the stage door so he follows Alex's lead, blinks at the bright sunlight. It's muggy, the near hundred degree heat making his vision blurry. “Holy shit.”

Alex pulls at his T-shirt, fanning himself. “What you said, man.” He points across the street. “Corner Bakery. I don't care if they charge an arm and a leg. Air conditioned. Worth it.”

Van smiles, nods as he pulls out his phone to check messages. He's surprised to see five missed calls from Billy. One every hour since nine. Van slows, his mouth pulling down into a frown. He can hear Alex asking him a question but it's distant.

His gut clenches as he starts to retrieve his voice mail. He tries to calm down.

Everything is fine. He'd know if it wasn't.

He freezes at the rough edge of Billy's voice when he starts talking:

Hey, man, it's me. Billy. I don't – fuck – I didn't want to leave this on your voice mail. It's not – Van, it's Jake. Something's happened to him. We can't – nobody's heard from him for three days and his car – shit. Just. Please call me.

Van's clutching his cell so tight that his knuckles are white. He can't breathe. Alex's hands are on his shoulders and he's being hauled to a bus stop, pushed down on the bench. Alex is calling his name, asking him what was wrong.

“Jake – he's -”

“Silbermann? Your best friend, that Jake?”

Van nods. His best friend. The one he loves too much to think straight half the time. The one he said no to when he wanted more because he's a chicken shit.

“What happened?” Alex sounds as scared as Van feels.

“I don't know. I mean. They aren't – he's missing?” He can't wrap his mind around that. He presses on the missed calls options, calls Billy back immediately.

When Billy answers, the silence is like a solid wall that Van hits at a hundred miles an hour.

“What happened?”

Billy clears his throat. Van can hear the bustle of crowds in the background but the only thing he can focus on is his friend's trembling voice. “He called me Saturday night. He was coming back from some party. I told him to go home to sleep – he'd been on a shoot but his agent thought he needed to be seen there so he went. It was late. He was driving down this mountain road.”

Van bends forward, his gut feels like it's been punched. “Ohfuckohfuck...” He closes his eyes, tear welling in them.

This wasn't happening.

“No! Van, listen. Breathe, okay. I talked to him until he was almost down the mountain, then we hung up. He promised to call when he got home and when I didn't hear from him the next day, I passed by his house. His neighbors hadn't seen him either. So, I went to the police. Filed a report.”

Van opens his mouth, wheezes, his chest tight, burning.

“The police found his car on the road I told them he was on. Just his car, though. No Jake. The plates where missing, none of his stuff was in it. But there was –”

“What?” The question is soft and Van braces for the impact.

“There was an accident, they think. The front of Jake's car was bent out of shape and there was...there was some blood on it.” Billy keeps talking through the sound of Van's whimper. “There was more of it on the floor of the mountainside, and some bullet casings and...”

Van waits.

“And the ring you gave him for his birthday.”

Van lets go of the phone, hears it clatter to the ground, but he hides his face in his hands. He knows that Alex is talking to Billy, feels him sit with a soft thud in the space next to him.

There's a rush of everything going through his mind. The first time he'd met Jake, his nervous smile, how all Van could think beyond the he's tall was fucking pretty. Those major moments at events and shows. Their first talk in his dressing room: comics, films, music. Their apartment dates where they would stay up late watching some stupidity one of them was raving about. Their hug when Jake had left for L.A. He can see Jake the last time they spoke. His face when Van gave his answer, the flush on his skin as he looked down at the floor and his understanding broken smile in return.

That can't be it.

That can't be the last time.

Alex is waving the phone at him and Van grabs it back. “I'll be there tonight.”

“I'm on my way to you, Van. We'll talk to his parents and then you come back with me.”

Van nods at that even though he knows Billy can't see him. “When are you here? I can meet you –“

“I'll meet you at your apartment. I won't be getting in until later tonight.” Billy sounds annoyed and it makes the pressure in Van's chest loosen a little.

“We'll find him.”

“Count on it, man.”

He hands the phone back to Alex, stares at his clenched hands.

Jake wasn't dead.

He would find him.

When he did, he'd tell him the truth.




|Part Two|