Categories > Celebrities > Def Leppard > Moonlight #2: In the Still of the Night
Chapter One
In the still of the night
I hear the wolf howl honey
Sniffing around your door
In the still of the night
I feel my heart beating heavy
Telling me I gotta have more
In the shadow of the night
I see the full moon rise
Telling me what's in store
My heart started aching
My body start a-shaking
And I can't take no more
No, no . . .
Joe Elliott, the lead singer in British hard rock band Def Leppard, fought to open his eyes when he heard music. Then he realized what song was playing and sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes quickly scanning the beds where his bandmates were sleeping. Steve Clark, Phil Collen, and Rick Allen were still out cold, so that just left . . .
"Sav." The name of the bushy-haired brunette bass guitarist came out as a snarl. Joe's pale-green eyes glowed bright blue for a second as his irritation stirred the wolf sleeping inside him. Then the bright blue color faded to its normal light-green, almost blue shade. In a flash, he was on his feet and striding into the living room of the penthouse condo.
"Really, Sav? Whitesnake? I know you like Queen, but I never figured you liked them."
Rick Savage, his beta, shrugged. "What can I say? This song has a wicked guitar solo."
Sav turned away from Joe and headed into the kitchenette, searching the cupboards. He pulled out a skillet and set it on the stove. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Bacon," Joe replied instantly, "and eggs." His mouth was already starting to water.
It wasn't long before the sounds and smells of cooking eggs and frying bacon saturated the air. Minuets later, crisp bacon and scrambled eggs were ready for both of them with plenty left over for the rest of the band if they so chose. (Right now though, Joe was the only one eating bacon. Sav wasn't much of a meat person.)
Joe was vaguely aware that the song had changed—was that really the Scorpions' "Rock You Like a Hurricane"?—but at the moment, he didn't care. He was too busy eating to care about Sav's music choices. That is, until the lines "The night is calling, I have to go. The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He's licking his lips, he's ready to win on the hunt tonight for love at first sting." The lupine scowled. "You better not have 'Bark at the Moon' up next, Sav."
"The Ozzy Osbourne song?"
"Is there any other version?"
"Good point. It's funny you should mention that . . ."
Joe growled. "It is, isn't it? Do you love torturing me or something?"
He wished he could take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. For the past two days, his relationship with Sav had taken somewhat of a more intimate turn, one he wasn't sure he was comfortable with. Correction: his wolf, being an alpha, was perfectly okay with the idea of Sav being more than just a friend. His wolf had already claimed Sav as part of his pack, but Joe suspected it wanted more than that—wanted Sav as its mate. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about that, because wolf or not, the human side of him was there, too.
The sudden tension between him and Sav was palpable, and Joe really did not want to think too hard on what kind of tension it was, exactly. Thankfully, Sav broke it by clearing his throat. "You never answered my question from last night."
"I thought I'd made it clear after I bit you. You're part of my pack. Even if another werewolf turns you, you won't be able to join their pack. I'm your alpha."
"Why just me? I mean, you didn't do that to the others, right?"
"No, I haven't done this to the rest of the band, and I don't know why it was you first, Sav." He wanted to pin it on instinct, the full moon, his wolf, or a combination of all three, but that wasn't quite right. If he thought about it too much, he was afraid of what he might discover—and what it said about himself.
"Aside from making me part of your pack, what else did you do?" Sav asked. "Last night, when those guys attacked us, I could feel your emotions as if they were my own." Sav's eyes met Joe's briefly, then quickly darted away. Eye contact meant a challenge, and he didn't like challenging Joe's authority like that—like a wolf. He was okay with mouthing off and messing around because those were human things, but Joe's animalistic nature brought out something vulnerable, submissive, in him—and Sav hated himself for it. Yet at the same time, that submissive part of him knew he should be at Joe's feet, because at least there he felt protected, could simply be. What he felt, though, wasn't quite any of that. It was all of it, and actually, he liked knowing Joe was his alpha, would be there for him—could even control him, like the way he'd made him slide down the brick wall outside that club the night before. He'd felt owned, and he never wanted the feeling to go away.
"Well," Joe's voice said, snapping Sav back to the man sitting across from him, "that would be one side effect. Since you're mine"—his inner wolf practically howled with satisfaction—"we have a connection. I can tell where you're at anytime, anyplace, and you can do the same. As you've noticed, there's an empathy link."
A short laugh escaped Sav. "Well, this is awkward."
"You're telling me," Joe muttered.
"No kidding," came Phil's voice. Both vocalist and bassist turned their heads in his direction and saw the rhythm guitarist leaning casually against the doorway, Steve and Rick flanking him, all three of them looking half asleep. Then, as one, their eyes landed on the skillets still three-quarters full with eggs and bacon (Joe saw their eyes light up from halfway across the room). Within seconds, the other three Leppards were loading their plates and settling down beside Joe and Sav to dig in.
"So, what's the schedule for today?" Rick asked in between bites of toast.
All five of them looked toward the refrigerator, where they'd pinned the tour schedule. Sav, who was closest, went and took in down, then brought it back. "Looks like we don't have to report until nine this morning. It's, what, seven thirty now?"
"Yeah," Joe answered, checking his watch. "Might as well head down when we're finished here."
"'Kay," Steve mumbled through a mouthful of bacon.
There was silence as the band settled into the serious business of eating, though Joe sent a glowering look at Sav's smirk when Ozzy Osbourne's "Bark at the Moon" started playing.
*
All five members of Def Leppard were at the World Arena in Denver by nine that morning. The guys were in their dressing room hanging out, talking, with Phil, Steve, and Sav messing around on guitars, when a familiar voice said, "Well, fancy meeting you guys here."
Joe's head, along with Sav's, swiveled toward the dressing room door. Standing there, slumped against the doorway, hands in his pockets, was Jon Bon Jovi. His lead guitarist, Richie Sambora, was right behind him. Joe couldn't see Tico Torres or David Bryan, but he knew they were around here somewhere since he'd caught their scent. The lupine also knew Jon and David weren't human. They weren't werewolves—he didn't know what they were—but they fed on energy. Other people's energy. And to be honest, that wigged Joe out a little. He could deal with his own lycanthropy—had been ever since he was about six—but other supernatural creatures made his wolf edgy. In spite of that, he liked Jon and his bandmates. So did the rest of Def Leppard, even if none of them knew Jon and David's secret—except Sav, of course.
Presently, Joe smiled at Jon. "Yeah, 'specially since we're touring together. Who would've thought?"
Richie laughed and clapped a hand on Jon's left shoulder. "He's got you there," the guitarist said with a grin.
Jon swiftly flipped him the bird, which only made Richie's grin widen.
"Do you guys want to hang with us?" Phil asked.
Jon and Richie glanced at each other. Richie just shrugged, while Jon said, "Sure. Might as well."
The two of them made themselves comfortable on the small couch tucked away in a corner. Richie picked up one of Phil's guitars that was lying around, checked to make sure it was in tune, and started messing around with a particular riff, one everybody in the room recognized.
"Seriously, Rich?" Jon said incredulously. "'Pour Some Sugar on Me'?"
"What, would you rather it be . . ." Richie instantly started another riff, and the other six guys made various sounds of disbelief.
"'Talk Dirty to Me'?" Joe all but snarled. "I'm starting to think you're worse than Sav here."
"Hey!" his bandmate protested.
Richie just shrugged, smirked, and switched songs yet again, singing along this time. "In the still of the night, I hear the wolf howl, honey, sniffing around your door. In the still of the night I feel my heart beating heavy, telling me I gotta have more.
"In the shadow of the night I see the full moon rise, telling me what's in store. My heart started aching, my body started shaking, and I can't take no more. No, no.
"Now I just wanna get close to you and taste your love so sweet—"
"That's enough," Joe growled, his green eyes flashing bright blue.
Jon's own pale-blue eyes locked on Richie's. "Whitesnake? Really?"
Richie smirked. "Hey, this song has a pretty cool guitar solo."
"That's what I told Joe," Sav said, "but he didn't believe me." He playfully messed up the singer's hair by running a splayed hand through it and quickly flicking it left to right. Joe sent him a dirty look, but Sav ignored it.
The lead guitar player in Bon Jovi gave an exaggerated sigh. Then he started playing yet another song, one very familiar to him. Jon sang softly, "No one heard a single word you said. They should have seen it in your eyes what was going around your head. Ooh, she's a little runaway. Daddy's girl learned fast all those things he couldn't say. Ooh, she's a little runaway . . ."
Joe noticed that his three guitarists were eyeing their guitars, fingers twitching, tapping out a familiar rhythm. He caught Rick's eye and grinned when he saw the drummer was shaking with silent laughter. The werewolf gave a short nod to Sav and the Terror Twins, and all three assumed their playing positions. After checking to make sure they were in tune, the three Leppards began the mournful intro to "Bringin' on the Heartbreak" with Joe singing the lyrics.
"Not bad," Jon said when they'd finished. "That was off of, what, High 'N' Dry?"
"Yeah," Steve answered. With a guitar in his hand, he was different from the sullen and jumpy Steve his bandmates knew when he lost himself in a bottle, setting sail with Captain Morgan, never to leave dry land.
"What else do you guys have?" Phil asked Jon and Richie.
They glanced at each other; then Richie's fingers began moving over the fretboard once more, playing the intro to "You Give Love a Bad Name." Then Sav and the Terror Twins cut in with "Stagefright." Before long, the four guitarists were battling each other—or rather, the three Leppards were ganging up on Richie. Joe saw his own amusement reflected in Rick's eyes, but when he glanced at Jon, the man's pale-blue eyes were like ice, and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. The lupine suppressed a shudder as he wondered if Jon felt anything at all. As much as he liked Jon, all of his instincts were shrieking at him to keep his band—his pack—away from any threat of danger. Joe had no doubt that Jon—whatever he was—was feeding on the energy coming from their bandmates. Although it didn't seem to be hurting them, all his instincts were protesting against it.
Joe's green eyes held Jon's ice-blue ones, the lycanthrope's eyes slowly turning turquoise-blue. His canines itched as they elongated, so his fangs were visible when he curled his upper lip in a warning snarl.
Take it easy, Joe, he heard Sav's voice say over the pack bond.
You know I can hear you, right?
Really? Cool, this does work! I can choose which thoughts to send to you, right?
Yes. Now shut up and play.
A tiny smile flickered on Sav's lips, then was gone before Jon or the others noticed. Joe wondered if he'd even seen it, but he was careful not to send the thought to Sav. Besides, the way Jon was eyeing him wasn't making his wolf go away; if anything, the urge to shift was dangerously close. If he let the wolf go, he wasn't sure exactly how Jon, Richie, Steve, Phil, or Rick would take it. Sav had known about his lycanthropy for five years, but the rest of Def Leppard had only found out about his animalistic nature the night before, and only Sav had seen him turn 'wolf. Joe wasn't sure how much Jon and Richie knew about him: his wolf had been the one to detect that Jon fed on the energy he stole from humans. If the lupine had to name what Jon and David were, he'd call them psychic vampires—and even that was a tentative label at best. Pseudo-vampires, maybe. In any case, Joe was going to lose it if he stayed in the dressing room for too long.
As casually as he could, he excused himself and walked out of the dressing room. In the men's restroom, he made a beeline for the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. Joe couldn't help glancing in the mirror as he reached for a paper towel. His eyes were slowly returning to their normal color, and his fangs were receding, too. The danger of the change taking hold was fading. For now.
His ears caught the whisper of air and the scrape against the floor as the bathroom door opened. A familiar scent reached his nose even before Sav asked, "Are you okay, Joe?"
Joe didn't answer. Glancing down at the sink, he saw his knuckles were gripping the counter so tightly they were as white as the porcelain. His entire body was tense, though he had no idea why.
Sav's scent wreathed around him, and familiar, long, calloused fingers gently touched his shoulder. Joe's thin line of control snapped. He whirled, grabbed Sav by the shirt collar, and had the bassist up against the tiled wall. The lycanthrope leaned in close, his warm mouth hovering over the skin where neck met shoulder. His right hand began playing with Sav's long brown curls, while his left hand was braced on the wall in front of him.
"Um, Joe, have you lost it?"
When he finally spoke, Joe's voice was low, dark, and six shades of ragged: "Yeah. Half my human side, a long time ago." Was that really his voice? It sure didn't sound like it. "What is it my wolf sees in you?" Now his voice had a questioning lilt, still rough, but curious, too. "There's something vulnerable, submissive, and he finds that amusing. At first, I wondered if that was all, but now . . ." His sharpened canines scraped the soft skin of Sav's throat, then traveled upward, tugging at Sav's left earlobe before tracing his jawline.
During all this, Sav had gone completely still, though Joe sensed his muscles quivering, heard the breath hitch in Sav's throat. Sav's pulse was racing, and the werewolf could smell the musk that belied desire. He was pretty sure REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling" was playing over the sound system throughout the building—cheesy as all get-out, especially considering the position he was currently in—but at the moment, Joe didn't care. His focus was entirely on the man in front of him—and the beast inside threatening to take him over.
"Now, what?" Sav rasped, bringing Joe out of his dazed explorations.
"Huh?"
"You were saying," Sav prompted, voice thick.
"My wolf . . . he wants you."
"How? I'm already in your pack."
Joe leaned in even closer, so close their shirts brushed. His right hand tightened its grip on Sav's hair, and his lips grazed the spot where he'd bitten Sav the night before. "What do you think?" he growled low.
Before the beta could reply, the door opened and in walked Jon and Richie. Both Joe and Sav sprang apart, but neither Richie nor Jon seemed fazed. If anything, Richie's expression was of the cat-swallowed-the-canary variety, and Jon . . . well, his expression was hard to read, but Joe thought the other singer looked amused. A low growl rumbled in his chest before he could stop it and he stepped in front of Sav, claws sprouting from his fingertips.
Instantly the cat-swallowed-the-canary look vanished from Richie's face, while calm stole across Jon's. Bon Jovi's lead singer stepped forward, hands open where Joe could see them. "Take it easy," he said in a soothing tone, as if he were talking to a cornered animal. "We're not trying to move in on your territory."
The werewolf's only reply was to bare his fangs and step forward. Joe's wolf was very close to the surface—too close. Then cool hands were on his back, his shoulders, and the touch—the effect—of the anchor brought his human side back in control. Joe's claws and fangs retracted, and he breathed in, sent Sav a mental message over the pack bond that he was okay now. The bassist's hands lingered on his shoulders for a couple seconds, then lifted.
Joe's eyes fixed on Jon and Richie. "Sorry about that."
"What was that?" Richie asked, looking from Jon to Joe to Sav and back to Jon. "I know about you, but what is he?"
"I'm a werewolf," Joe answered before Jon could, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He had to bite back the "isn't it obvious," but it was in there. "Did you guys come in here for some other reason than to use the loo?"
"Yeah, your bandmates sent us to look for you. Said something about lunch later on, and, well, I got the impression they were scared of you," Jon said. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now we know why, although I've suspected that since I first met you. I'm guessing your wolf picked up on my and David's secret."
"Uh-huh," Joe said shortly. Sav shifted his weight behind him, and the lupine took that as his cue. "Looks like you've found us. See you later tonight, eh?"
He brushed past Jon and Richie without waiting for their response, Sav on his heels. Once the door was shut behind them, he glanced at his beta, knowing he had a lot of explaining to do—and wondering exactly how he was going to do it.
A smile flickered across Sav's face as blue eyes met pale-green ones.
Each could see the need in the other's.
In the still of the night
I hear the wolf howl honey
Sniffing around your door
In the still of the night
I feel my heart beating heavy
Telling me I gotta have more
In the shadow of the night
I see the full moon rise
Telling me what's in store
My heart started aching
My body start a-shaking
And I can't take no more
No, no . . .
Joe Elliott, the lead singer in British hard rock band Def Leppard, fought to open his eyes when he heard music. Then he realized what song was playing and sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes quickly scanning the beds where his bandmates were sleeping. Steve Clark, Phil Collen, and Rick Allen were still out cold, so that just left . . .
"Sav." The name of the bushy-haired brunette bass guitarist came out as a snarl. Joe's pale-green eyes glowed bright blue for a second as his irritation stirred the wolf sleeping inside him. Then the bright blue color faded to its normal light-green, almost blue shade. In a flash, he was on his feet and striding into the living room of the penthouse condo.
"Really, Sav? Whitesnake? I know you like Queen, but I never figured you liked them."
Rick Savage, his beta, shrugged. "What can I say? This song has a wicked guitar solo."
Sav turned away from Joe and headed into the kitchenette, searching the cupboards. He pulled out a skillet and set it on the stove. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Bacon," Joe replied instantly, "and eggs." His mouth was already starting to water.
It wasn't long before the sounds and smells of cooking eggs and frying bacon saturated the air. Minuets later, crisp bacon and scrambled eggs were ready for both of them with plenty left over for the rest of the band if they so chose. (Right now though, Joe was the only one eating bacon. Sav wasn't much of a meat person.)
Joe was vaguely aware that the song had changed—was that really the Scorpions' "Rock You Like a Hurricane"?—but at the moment, he didn't care. He was too busy eating to care about Sav's music choices. That is, until the lines "The night is calling, I have to go. The wolf is hungry, he runs the show. He's licking his lips, he's ready to win on the hunt tonight for love at first sting." The lupine scowled. "You better not have 'Bark at the Moon' up next, Sav."
"The Ozzy Osbourne song?"
"Is there any other version?"
"Good point. It's funny you should mention that . . ."
Joe growled. "It is, isn't it? Do you love torturing me or something?"
He wished he could take the words back as soon as they were out of his mouth. For the past two days, his relationship with Sav had taken somewhat of a more intimate turn, one he wasn't sure he was comfortable with. Correction: his wolf, being an alpha, was perfectly okay with the idea of Sav being more than just a friend. His wolf had already claimed Sav as part of his pack, but Joe suspected it wanted more than that—wanted Sav as its mate. He wasn't at all sure how he felt about that, because wolf or not, the human side of him was there, too.
The sudden tension between him and Sav was palpable, and Joe really did not want to think too hard on what kind of tension it was, exactly. Thankfully, Sav broke it by clearing his throat. "You never answered my question from last night."
"I thought I'd made it clear after I bit you. You're part of my pack. Even if another werewolf turns you, you won't be able to join their pack. I'm your alpha."
"Why just me? I mean, you didn't do that to the others, right?"
"No, I haven't done this to the rest of the band, and I don't know why it was you first, Sav." He wanted to pin it on instinct, the full moon, his wolf, or a combination of all three, but that wasn't quite right. If he thought about it too much, he was afraid of what he might discover—and what it said about himself.
"Aside from making me part of your pack, what else did you do?" Sav asked. "Last night, when those guys attacked us, I could feel your emotions as if they were my own." Sav's eyes met Joe's briefly, then quickly darted away. Eye contact meant a challenge, and he didn't like challenging Joe's authority like that—like a wolf. He was okay with mouthing off and messing around because those were human things, but Joe's animalistic nature brought out something vulnerable, submissive, in him—and Sav hated himself for it. Yet at the same time, that submissive part of him knew he should be at Joe's feet, because at least there he felt protected, could simply be. What he felt, though, wasn't quite any of that. It was all of it, and actually, he liked knowing Joe was his alpha, would be there for him—could even control him, like the way he'd made him slide down the brick wall outside that club the night before. He'd felt owned, and he never wanted the feeling to go away.
"Well," Joe's voice said, snapping Sav back to the man sitting across from him, "that would be one side effect. Since you're mine"—his inner wolf practically howled with satisfaction—"we have a connection. I can tell where you're at anytime, anyplace, and you can do the same. As you've noticed, there's an empathy link."
A short laugh escaped Sav. "Well, this is awkward."
"You're telling me," Joe muttered.
"No kidding," came Phil's voice. Both vocalist and bassist turned their heads in his direction and saw the rhythm guitarist leaning casually against the doorway, Steve and Rick flanking him, all three of them looking half asleep. Then, as one, their eyes landed on the skillets still three-quarters full with eggs and bacon (Joe saw their eyes light up from halfway across the room). Within seconds, the other three Leppards were loading their plates and settling down beside Joe and Sav to dig in.
"So, what's the schedule for today?" Rick asked in between bites of toast.
All five of them looked toward the refrigerator, where they'd pinned the tour schedule. Sav, who was closest, went and took in down, then brought it back. "Looks like we don't have to report until nine this morning. It's, what, seven thirty now?"
"Yeah," Joe answered, checking his watch. "Might as well head down when we're finished here."
"'Kay," Steve mumbled through a mouthful of bacon.
There was silence as the band settled into the serious business of eating, though Joe sent a glowering look at Sav's smirk when Ozzy Osbourne's "Bark at the Moon" started playing.
*
All five members of Def Leppard were at the World Arena in Denver by nine that morning. The guys were in their dressing room hanging out, talking, with Phil, Steve, and Sav messing around on guitars, when a familiar voice said, "Well, fancy meeting you guys here."
Joe's head, along with Sav's, swiveled toward the dressing room door. Standing there, slumped against the doorway, hands in his pockets, was Jon Bon Jovi. His lead guitarist, Richie Sambora, was right behind him. Joe couldn't see Tico Torres or David Bryan, but he knew they were around here somewhere since he'd caught their scent. The lupine also knew Jon and David weren't human. They weren't werewolves—he didn't know what they were—but they fed on energy. Other people's energy. And to be honest, that wigged Joe out a little. He could deal with his own lycanthropy—had been ever since he was about six—but other supernatural creatures made his wolf edgy. In spite of that, he liked Jon and his bandmates. So did the rest of Def Leppard, even if none of them knew Jon and David's secret—except Sav, of course.
Presently, Joe smiled at Jon. "Yeah, 'specially since we're touring together. Who would've thought?"
Richie laughed and clapped a hand on Jon's left shoulder. "He's got you there," the guitarist said with a grin.
Jon swiftly flipped him the bird, which only made Richie's grin widen.
"Do you guys want to hang with us?" Phil asked.
Jon and Richie glanced at each other. Richie just shrugged, while Jon said, "Sure. Might as well."
The two of them made themselves comfortable on the small couch tucked away in a corner. Richie picked up one of Phil's guitars that was lying around, checked to make sure it was in tune, and started messing around with a particular riff, one everybody in the room recognized.
"Seriously, Rich?" Jon said incredulously. "'Pour Some Sugar on Me'?"
"What, would you rather it be . . ." Richie instantly started another riff, and the other six guys made various sounds of disbelief.
"'Talk Dirty to Me'?" Joe all but snarled. "I'm starting to think you're worse than Sav here."
"Hey!" his bandmate protested.
Richie just shrugged, smirked, and switched songs yet again, singing along this time. "In the still of the night, I hear the wolf howl, honey, sniffing around your door. In the still of the night I feel my heart beating heavy, telling me I gotta have more.
"In the shadow of the night I see the full moon rise, telling me what's in store. My heart started aching, my body started shaking, and I can't take no more. No, no.
"Now I just wanna get close to you and taste your love so sweet—"
"That's enough," Joe growled, his green eyes flashing bright blue.
Jon's own pale-blue eyes locked on Richie's. "Whitesnake? Really?"
Richie smirked. "Hey, this song has a pretty cool guitar solo."
"That's what I told Joe," Sav said, "but he didn't believe me." He playfully messed up the singer's hair by running a splayed hand through it and quickly flicking it left to right. Joe sent him a dirty look, but Sav ignored it.
The lead guitar player in Bon Jovi gave an exaggerated sigh. Then he started playing yet another song, one very familiar to him. Jon sang softly, "No one heard a single word you said. They should have seen it in your eyes what was going around your head. Ooh, she's a little runaway. Daddy's girl learned fast all those things he couldn't say. Ooh, she's a little runaway . . ."
Joe noticed that his three guitarists were eyeing their guitars, fingers twitching, tapping out a familiar rhythm. He caught Rick's eye and grinned when he saw the drummer was shaking with silent laughter. The werewolf gave a short nod to Sav and the Terror Twins, and all three assumed their playing positions. After checking to make sure they were in tune, the three Leppards began the mournful intro to "Bringin' on the Heartbreak" with Joe singing the lyrics.
"Not bad," Jon said when they'd finished. "That was off of, what, High 'N' Dry?"
"Yeah," Steve answered. With a guitar in his hand, he was different from the sullen and jumpy Steve his bandmates knew when he lost himself in a bottle, setting sail with Captain Morgan, never to leave dry land.
"What else do you guys have?" Phil asked Jon and Richie.
They glanced at each other; then Richie's fingers began moving over the fretboard once more, playing the intro to "You Give Love a Bad Name." Then Sav and the Terror Twins cut in with "Stagefright." Before long, the four guitarists were battling each other—or rather, the three Leppards were ganging up on Richie. Joe saw his own amusement reflected in Rick's eyes, but when he glanced at Jon, the man's pale-blue eyes were like ice, and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. The lupine suppressed a shudder as he wondered if Jon felt anything at all. As much as he liked Jon, all of his instincts were shrieking at him to keep his band—his pack—away from any threat of danger. Joe had no doubt that Jon—whatever he was—was feeding on the energy coming from their bandmates. Although it didn't seem to be hurting them, all his instincts were protesting against it.
Joe's green eyes held Jon's ice-blue ones, the lycanthrope's eyes slowly turning turquoise-blue. His canines itched as they elongated, so his fangs were visible when he curled his upper lip in a warning snarl.
Take it easy, Joe, he heard Sav's voice say over the pack bond.
You know I can hear you, right?
Really? Cool, this does work! I can choose which thoughts to send to you, right?
Yes. Now shut up and play.
A tiny smile flickered on Sav's lips, then was gone before Jon or the others noticed. Joe wondered if he'd even seen it, but he was careful not to send the thought to Sav. Besides, the way Jon was eyeing him wasn't making his wolf go away; if anything, the urge to shift was dangerously close. If he let the wolf go, he wasn't sure exactly how Jon, Richie, Steve, Phil, or Rick would take it. Sav had known about his lycanthropy for five years, but the rest of Def Leppard had only found out about his animalistic nature the night before, and only Sav had seen him turn 'wolf. Joe wasn't sure how much Jon and Richie knew about him: his wolf had been the one to detect that Jon fed on the energy he stole from humans. If the lupine had to name what Jon and David were, he'd call them psychic vampires—and even that was a tentative label at best. Pseudo-vampires, maybe. In any case, Joe was going to lose it if he stayed in the dressing room for too long.
As casually as he could, he excused himself and walked out of the dressing room. In the men's restroom, he made a beeline for the sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. Joe couldn't help glancing in the mirror as he reached for a paper towel. His eyes were slowly returning to their normal color, and his fangs were receding, too. The danger of the change taking hold was fading. For now.
His ears caught the whisper of air and the scrape against the floor as the bathroom door opened. A familiar scent reached his nose even before Sav asked, "Are you okay, Joe?"
Joe didn't answer. Glancing down at the sink, he saw his knuckles were gripping the counter so tightly they were as white as the porcelain. His entire body was tense, though he had no idea why.
Sav's scent wreathed around him, and familiar, long, calloused fingers gently touched his shoulder. Joe's thin line of control snapped. He whirled, grabbed Sav by the shirt collar, and had the bassist up against the tiled wall. The lycanthrope leaned in close, his warm mouth hovering over the skin where neck met shoulder. His right hand began playing with Sav's long brown curls, while his left hand was braced on the wall in front of him.
"Um, Joe, have you lost it?"
When he finally spoke, Joe's voice was low, dark, and six shades of ragged: "Yeah. Half my human side, a long time ago." Was that really his voice? It sure didn't sound like it. "What is it my wolf sees in you?" Now his voice had a questioning lilt, still rough, but curious, too. "There's something vulnerable, submissive, and he finds that amusing. At first, I wondered if that was all, but now . . ." His sharpened canines scraped the soft skin of Sav's throat, then traveled upward, tugging at Sav's left earlobe before tracing his jawline.
During all this, Sav had gone completely still, though Joe sensed his muscles quivering, heard the breath hitch in Sav's throat. Sav's pulse was racing, and the werewolf could smell the musk that belied desire. He was pretty sure REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling" was playing over the sound system throughout the building—cheesy as all get-out, especially considering the position he was currently in—but at the moment, Joe didn't care. His focus was entirely on the man in front of him—and the beast inside threatening to take him over.
"Now, what?" Sav rasped, bringing Joe out of his dazed explorations.
"Huh?"
"You were saying," Sav prompted, voice thick.
"My wolf . . . he wants you."
"How? I'm already in your pack."
Joe leaned in even closer, so close their shirts brushed. His right hand tightened its grip on Sav's hair, and his lips grazed the spot where he'd bitten Sav the night before. "What do you think?" he growled low.
Before the beta could reply, the door opened and in walked Jon and Richie. Both Joe and Sav sprang apart, but neither Richie nor Jon seemed fazed. If anything, Richie's expression was of the cat-swallowed-the-canary variety, and Jon . . . well, his expression was hard to read, but Joe thought the other singer looked amused. A low growl rumbled in his chest before he could stop it and he stepped in front of Sav, claws sprouting from his fingertips.
Instantly the cat-swallowed-the-canary look vanished from Richie's face, while calm stole across Jon's. Bon Jovi's lead singer stepped forward, hands open where Joe could see them. "Take it easy," he said in a soothing tone, as if he were talking to a cornered animal. "We're not trying to move in on your territory."
The werewolf's only reply was to bare his fangs and step forward. Joe's wolf was very close to the surface—too close. Then cool hands were on his back, his shoulders, and the touch—the effect—of the anchor brought his human side back in control. Joe's claws and fangs retracted, and he breathed in, sent Sav a mental message over the pack bond that he was okay now. The bassist's hands lingered on his shoulders for a couple seconds, then lifted.
Joe's eyes fixed on Jon and Richie. "Sorry about that."
"What was that?" Richie asked, looking from Jon to Joe to Sav and back to Jon. "I know about you, but what is he?"
"I'm a werewolf," Joe answered before Jon could, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He had to bite back the "isn't it obvious," but it was in there. "Did you guys come in here for some other reason than to use the loo?"
"Yeah, your bandmates sent us to look for you. Said something about lunch later on, and, well, I got the impression they were scared of you," Jon said. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now we know why, although I've suspected that since I first met you. I'm guessing your wolf picked up on my and David's secret."
"Uh-huh," Joe said shortly. Sav shifted his weight behind him, and the lupine took that as his cue. "Looks like you've found us. See you later tonight, eh?"
He brushed past Jon and Richie without waiting for their response, Sav on his heels. Once the door was shut behind them, he glanced at his beta, knowing he had a lot of explaining to do—and wondering exactly how he was going to do it.
A smile flickered across Sav's face as blue eyes met pale-green ones.
Each could see the need in the other's.
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