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Ryan. I want to be your submissive,” Bradley said. His clear words seemed more effective than any lustful admission.
    Ryan kissed the back of Bradley’s neck in the spot he would mark if given half a chance and lifted the kickstand. “You’re too clean for my dirty hands,” he promised against his skin. The human shuddered, and lust perfumed the air.
    “Aren’t you going to put on a helmet?” Bradley asked.
    Ryan laughed. “You’re living on the wild side now, Bradley. I didn’t bring a helmet with me.”
    By the time they pulled into Howler’s empty parking lot, Ryan was pretty sure that he was a living, breathing mansicle. His skin felt brittle and wind worn. His hands fumbled in his jean pocket for the shop keys, and he prayed that Regan had remembered to turn the temperature up to sixty-five before they’d closed up for the night. Mustang had done all that previously, but ever since he’d gotten mated to Grayson, he’d been leaving the shop a little early and leaving it to Ryan and Regan to close up.
    “Thank you for letting me use your jacket,” Bradley said, shrugging it off as Ryan struggled with the jangling keys. “You might want to put it on now though. It was cold on the highway.” Cold was an understatement. The lust that had sparked at the beginning of their trip was quickly chilled by the blast of cold air on Ryan’s exposed skin. Talk about a cold shower .
    Ryan took his jacket back and put it on. It was still warm from Bradley’s body heat. He finally managed to insert the correct key in the lock and stepped into the shop. Bliss . The temperature had been turned up to a reasonable degree. The alarm on the wall beside the door beeped in warning, and Ryan wasted no time in using the deactivation code on the pad. It wasn’t incredibly high-tech, but it was sufficient for their needs.
    “Have a seat, Bradley,” Ryan said, motioning to the front desk and chair where they did all the reception stuff. He grabbed a wheeling stool for himself because it was what he was most comfortable on. The paperwork for the admission into pack life was in the filing cabinet, but they’d get to signing his life away in a minute. “You are way more involved in this than you think you are.”
    “Well, why don’t you explain it to me?” Bradley asked, sitting down in the desk chair and tilting his back so that he looked like some kind of debauched angel sitting on a throne. The image did wonderful things for Ryan’s frozen libido.
    “First off, knowing about the pack means that you are now involved in it. As a human who knows about our kind you will have to be educated in the etiquette and laws regarding the pack. They have classes every Tuesday and Thursday night at the community center that you’ll have to attend until you have seven sessions under your belt. They teach everything from D/s to intricate international law. I’ve been told it’s pretty riveting stuff.” Ryan felt himself falling into the familiar role of lecturer. He’d given this speech to availables for years. “The big things you need to know off the bat are as follows. One, don’t tell anyone and I do mean anyone about what we are. If you do, you’re in violation of pack law and as such can be killed by any wolf on sight via the Alpha’s orders. Two, you’ll have to get a tat on you that designates your role for the pack. You’ve marked yourself as an available, but I think you should read the pamphlet”—he rolled over and grabbed one from under the desk before handing it to Bradley—“and then make a decision on which tat to keep. The ink on your skin will determine how other shifters in the pack treat you.”
    “Is that the preferred term?” Bradley interrupted. “Shifters?”
    Ryan shrugged. “Turned wolves are weres. Born wolves are shifters. Easy to remember. Most of the pack are shifters.” He opened his mouth to continue only to have Bradley interrupt him again.
    “So which are you? Shifter or