FicWad

Chapter One

"C'mon, Joe!" Rick Savage, better known as Sav, yelled to his bandmate and alpha. "Run!"

Joe Elliott flashed him a dirty look but took off, trying to keep ahead of the rabid fangirls. The rest of Def Leppard—drummer Rick Allen and guitarists Phil Collen and Steve Clark—had decided to be smart and stay behind in the house they were renting. Sav and Joe had wanted to explore the town of Cripple Creek, Colorado, and naturally they were seen by a horde of female fans. Joe couldn't really remember why they were near the gambling town in the first place. Well, they were in the state anyway because they were finishing up a tour in Colorado Springs and Denver—and then they'd been asked to perform at some huge local event in a town called Pueblo. Joe, in a moment of weakness (or so he later claimed) had accepted the invitation. At least the few weeks of waiting gave the band some downtime to relax and have fun. Besides, Colorado was a beautiful state—until you reached the eastern part of it and had left the Rocky Mountains behind. The eastern bit was semi-desert, full of cacti and sagebrush. As Steve had so bluntly put it: "You've seen one sagebrush, you've seen them all." On the bright side, it was full of potential prey for two hungry werewolves.

Sav was finding out one of the perks of being a werewolf right now: their preternatural speed. He'd only been turned two days before, so he was still figuring out how to cope with his new life. Joe, on the other paw, had received the bite when he was very young, so he'd dealt with lycanthropy almost his whole life. He had an advantage that Sav could never have, since he was almost like a pureblood 'wolf.

The alpha and beta 'wolves made it for at least three blocks before Sav pulled Joe around the corner of a brick building. Joe found he was pressed up against the bassist, but he didn't move until he was sure the crowd had thundered past. Even then, it was only to trace his fangs along his mate's throat. Sav's scent filled all of his senses; soon, he felt like they were the only two people alive.

Sav had gone completely still, his breathing ragged. "Joe . . ." The desire coming off him was growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. His eyes were slowly glowing electric-blue, a sign that his 'wolf was close to the surface. Joe wasn't sure why his eyes and Sav's were blue: most of the werewolves he'd met had yellow eyes when they turned. And Sav was a wereling, so he retained his human eyes in the lupine state. The electric-blue only showed when his 'wolf was fighting for control or at the beginning of the transformation.

The singer's only response was a low growl. He nipped lightly at Sav's neck, his fingers slipping under the bassist's shirt to stroke the smooth skin.

Sav's claws slid from their sheaths, digging through clothing into the hard muscles of Joe's back. The human part of him was gone, the 'wolf completely in control. But he was a wereling, wasn't he? So, why—

Joe suddenly stepped back, tension in every line of his body. His features were entirely human, so that alerted Sav right away to the fact something was wrong. The beta asked, "What is it?"

"They're coming," was Joe's cryptic answer.

Sav rolled his eyes. "You know, you're really killing the whole werewolf mystique, here. Who's coming? Fans? Other 'wolves? Some other supernatural creature that I have no idea exists?"

"The fangirls. Now get your 'wolf under control, wereling, or I might have to do it for you."

The bassist grinned. "I wonder how that'll happen."

"Yeah, I bet," Joe growled. He tugged on Sav's jacket, jerking his head in the direction of the street they were now on. "Run, and don't stop until I say so."

"Yes, alpha." Sav was a little annoyed that the traditional answer slipped from his mouth but he bolted anyway. Joe was sprinting along beside him, his hand occasionally brushing his. The singer groaned, "Why did we have to become so famous?"

"Would you prefer we be back in Sheffield working in the spoon factory?" Sav shot back. "At least now we're rock stars and get all our chicks for free."

"I think you've been hanging around Jon too much. Watch it, Savage. You're in my pack, not his."

"He's not even lupine!"

"Doesn't matter."

They turned left, heading back the way they'd come on the street parallel to the one they'd been on moments before. Sav couldn't hide the grin in his voice when he replied, "I love it when you get territorial on me."

"Shut it, beta. Where the bloody hell did we park?"

Sav couldn't have answered even if he'd wanted to: he'd poured on the speed, resisting the urge to run on all fours. Sure, that way was faster, but it just looked weird when he and Joe were in human form. When they turned werewolf, however, it was completely natural, since they resembled real wolves.

It wasn't until they'd made it back to the rental that they allowed themselves to relax. Joe reached out for the steering wheel before he realized there was nothing in front of him but the glove compartment and dashboard. Sav, seated on Joe's left, grinned at him and said, "We're in America." The bassist promptly set the car in reverse and backed out of their parking space, Joe scrabbling for a hold on anything when Sav turned the car sharply and sped out of Cripple Creek as if hellhounds were on their tail. Well, considering they could be viewed as hellhounds, it wasn't a very fair analogy. Really, though, if Sav didn't slow down on these windy mountain roads, Joe might very well end up with a broken neck—or at least whiplash.

After another narrow turn, Joe lost it. He snapped, "Blimey, Sav, are you trying to kill us?! Who taught you how to drive?!"

"My mum."

"That explains a lot."

Sav's only response was a snarl, and Joe smirked. He liked—okay, enjoyed—teasing Sav like this. Doing so reminded him that he didn't have to be the alpha all the time and it was okay to have fun.

The car's speed dropped from sixty mph to something like thirty miles per hour. Joe relaxed instantly, loosening his death grip on the sides of the leather seat. In doing so, he realized his claws had gouged holes in the leather.

Not one scratch, he remembered Phil saying. Oops.

Sav snickered. Clearly, the beta had heard him through their bond.

"Just shut up and drive."

"Got it."

*

Forty-five minutes later Sav pulled up at the house the band was renting. Joe's ears were ringing from all the rock songs he'd heard on the radio during the drive, ranging from Heart to Poison to Journey, the Scorpions, Queen, and even his own band, Def Leppard. It was a little scary how "Talk Dirty to Me" was so much like "Pour Some Sugar on Me," or maybe "Armageddon It."

"I still think Poison and Bon Jovi copied us," Joe grumbled as he exited the car.

"So do I," Sav said, "but what can we do about that? 'Sides, Jon's a friend."

"Have I ever told you that I hate it when you're right?"

"Only all the time. What are we doing standing around here for? It's freezing!" Sav started walking toward the front door. The singer watched him for a moment, and then followed the beta, deciding it was best not to point out it was only sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

When they entered, they found the rest of the band waiting for them in the living room. That was rarely a good sign.

Phil was sitting on the couch, messing with something in his hands. Without looking up, he asked, "How'd it go?"

"Fine, until we were spotted by a whole crowd of teenage girls," Joe replied.

Steve, over in the kitchen drinking a bottle of Jack, choked on the drink when he started laughing. Rick pounded him hard on the back until he recovered. The guitarist gasped out, "Thanks, mate."

"No problem," the drummer said.

A small smile curled at Phil's mouth. "I can imagine how that went. Let me guess: You decided on Run Like Hell."

"Uh-huh."

Phil still didn't look up from the Rubik's cube as he asked casually, "So, how long have you and Sav been shagging each other?"

This time Steve's drink spewed over the kitchen counter. Joe sensed Sav's flash of panic through their empathy link. He sent the beta a silent command to calm down. The singer said, "What are you talking about?"

"We heard the two of you a couple nights ago at the hotel. Don't even try denying it, Joe."

Joe had to remind himself that Jon had wiped his bandmates' minds so that they knew nothing of his and Sav's lycanthropic conditions. Even so, he curled his hands into fist to try and hide his claws. When he unfurled them, they were normal—and thank goodness for that, because he did not want to have to explain the whole lycanthropy thing to his bandmates for a second time. They hadn't handled it very well on the first go-round. So he admitted, "We haven't been for long. What's it to you, Phil?"

"Just worried, that's all."

"And curious," Steve called from the kitchen.

Sav smirked, coming up behind Joe and resting his head on the alpha's shoulder. "You do realize how that ended for the cat, don't you?"

"Oh, bugger off, Sav," Phil grumbled.

"Gladly." Sav tugged gently at Joe's earlobe with his teeth; the alpha had to suppress a groan of desire. Why did Sav have to tease him like this? Well, Joe teased the beta all the time, so he figured this was some sort of payback. Then Sav was gone, while Steve, Phil, and Rick were staring at him with their mouths hanging open.

The 'wolf met their gazes innocently. "What?"

*

A gentle breeze swept across the countryside, rustling the leaves in the aspen trees. Silver moonlight illuminated two figures—one stocky and blonde, one lean and brunette—as they walked across the fields. The moon was no longer full, but Joe and Sav could still feel its influence. Sav was actually looking feverish. His skin was pale and clammy, and when Joe felt his forehead, it was very warm.

"Joe, why do I feel so ill? It's not even the full moon," Sav whined.

"Your body's probably still fighting the 'wolf infection. It's a common reaction in newbloods—even more common in werelings."

"What is a wereling?" Sav asked. "You've called me that before, but I don't know what it means."

"They're very rare," Joe informed him, quoting from some ancient text. "A wereling is a silverblood—a resister—whose humanity and compassion prevail in the 'wolf."

Sav took that to mean that when the change was on him, he could hold on to the screaming human part of him that loathed what he'd become.

Joe wasn't quite finished. "Pureblood hardliners see them as a threat to the pack, while others see werelings as the perfect synthesis between man and wolf. Personally, I don't give a damn. All my 'wolf cares about is that you're pack and my mate."

"Right. Can we run through the whole mate thing again? I'm still not sure I follow."

"It's fairly self-explanatory, don't you think?"

"Uh, well—"

"Oh, just shut up," Joe growled. Then his mouth was covering Sav's, and the beta's mind went blank. His alpha filled his senses: touch, sight, smell, taste, even hearing (he could hear Joe's heartbeat, his breathing).

Joe's mouth left his to trace his jawline, then taste his neck. A small groan escaped Sav as he tilted his head back to grant the singer better access. The groan turned into a growl of need when Joe added his tongue to the mix, and his hips jerked forward reflexively.

"Please, Joe . . ." Was that his voice sounding so raw and desperate?

Suddenly Joe pulled away from him, leaving a hot, sweaty, sticky mess of a bassist behind. Glancing back over his shoulder at Sav, he began to run.

And as he ran, he changed.

The transformation was quicker than normal—or at least, it took Joe far less time to shift than Sav did—and in Joe's place was a large wolf with glowing blue eyes and golden fur.

C'mon, Sav, Joe said using thought-speak. Run with me.

"Do I have to?"

Don't make me force you to shift. If I do, it'll be extremely painful. Neither of us wants that.

"Good point."

Joe's upper lip crinkled in a silent 'wolf laugh.

"Shut up."

The 'wolf's teeth were soon covered. When he was sure it was safe, Sav called on his 'wolf, now enjoying the heady mix of pleasure and pain that came with the transformation. He was sure that after shifting a few more times, caught in its addictive thrall, he would find it hard to remember his reasons for resistance.

Why fight? the alpha 'wolf said in his head. You're pack, my mate.

I know, Sav's 'wolf growled. 'Course, with it being a submissive beta, he averted his eyes. In 'wolf form—or even human form—looking Joe in the eyes just felt wrong, as if he was challenging the alpha. And to be honest, he liked when Joe's 'wolf crept inside him like that, owning him, forcing him to obey. Maybe it was the fact the pack mentality was stronger in the lupine state, but—

Sav, you coming?

Wha—? Oh, yeah. Sorry. The beta padded forward, surprised at how natural the four-legged gait was. This was only the second time he'd shifted since he'd been turned, so he had a lot to learn.

Joe took off at a lope and Sav, not wanting his alpha to leave him, followed. Then Joe was gone from sight, having veered off into the trees. Confused, Sav skidded to a halt, sniffing the air for his alpha's scent.

The next thing he knew, something heavy had bowled him over. Sav yelped, startled, and tried to heave himself to his paws. Only then did he realize that Joe was the thing that had attacked him.

What are you doing? he snarled, hackles raised.

Playing. What's it look like?

Oh, well, in that case . . . Sav pounced, teasingly, lightly. They rolled, jostled, nipped playfully at each other. The beta 'wolf was vaguely aware that Joe was herding him back to the house, but he didn't care.

Next thing he knew, his human self had gained dominance over the 'wolf. Glancing over at Joe, Sav saw that the singer had shifted back as well.

"C'mon," Joe said softly, resting a hand on Sav's shoulder. "Let's head inside. You need some sleep."

Suddenly, the bassist was barely able to keep his eyes open. It took everything he had just to step inside the doorway. Of course, he collapsed right afterward, barely aware of the fact that Joe had caught him. He was already asleep—shifting at will took a lot out of him.

"Easy there," Joe murmured, slinging Sav over his shoulder in the fireman's carry. The bassist was surprisingly light, or maybe he just seemed that way because of the strength Joe's 'wolf gave him. In any case, Sav was out cold when Joe carried him upstairs to their room, laid him on the bed. Considering they lost most of their clothes when they transformed, there wasn't much to take off of the bassist. Both of them would have to find new shoes and clothes, but that was for the morning.

Without really thinking about it, Joe slid in next to Sav. He was finding it hard to believe how he could have resisted this at first, of giving in to his feelings and letting the 'wolf have its way. Holding Sav close felt so natural, and maybe it was the wildness in him that made him feel like this, but Joe didn't mind, not really. He knew Sav was his anchor, but he was worried on what Sav's would be. If he didn't have control over his 'wolf on Change Nights—even if he was a wereling—he would probably try to escape and kill someone. Joe might not be able to stop him if that happened, although he was the pack leader.

In an effort to clear his mind, he breathed in Sav's scent. His breathing gradually slowed, deepened . . . and it was as if someone had flipped a switch and turned the world off.

Apparently, even alphas needed sleep.