Page 2 of At Odds with the Gods

Well, that was it then. He was well and truly screwed. Broke and homeless, with no safety net. Because no way was he calling Tanner and asking him for money. He doubted Tanner would refuse him if he conjured up the balls to do it. Tanner wasn’t that kind of guy, and being the alpha—thesupremealpha—had never been his ambition. But after the way Finn had treated him all their lives, Tanner didn’t owe him squat, and no way was Finn putting Tanner in that kind of awkward position.

He’d done enough harm to his cousin already.

Finn tucked his phone away with probably more force than necessary, because he heard his pocket rip.Great. He only had one other change of clothes in his battered backpack, and it was in dire need of a wash, for which he didn’t have the money.

What now?While he’d made a couple of friends during his Howling, they all belonged to Idaho packs, andtheyknew about his father now too. And since Finn had boasted about his dad’s style and sophistication despite being the acting alpha of a pack whose financial roots were in the struggling timber industry, he couldn’t face them now that they knew the truth. Plus, they’d probably been victims of Hrodgar’s Syndrome too, so they weren’t likely to be rolling in sympathy.

He wrapped his arms across his belly, pressing hard, harder, hardest. Humans had systems, didn’t they? Ways for people to get help when they’d hit rock bottom? Although based on what he’d gleaned from some of the street kids he’d encountered, those systems often failed.

And anyway, he wasn’t human, so he didn’t really qualify.

Whatdidhe qualify for? It’s not like he’d amassed a ton of skills while he’d been swanning around the pack house growing up, trying—and failing—to earn his father’s approval by beingjust like him.

Without conscious thought, his feet had followed the same path he’d traveled since he’d gotten out of the hospital thefirsttime, after he’d been treated for gunshot wounds when his father had shot him.

Twice.

Because once wasn’t enough for dear old dad. Oh, no. Not when Finn threatened Patrick’s power grab.

Genetics dictated so much in werewolf society, just as it did with any supe, captive to the limitations of their natures as they were, but Finn was determinednotto be like his father. Maybe the first step was to suck it up and talk to Tanner. He wouldn’t accept money. He couldn’t. But after he apologized, maybe Tanner could point him in the direction of a job.

He didn’t really have a choice, did he? It was Tanner or somebody else in the supe community, and strangers had less reason to think well of him than people he actually knew.

The cheerful pink-and-white-striped awning of Nectar & Ambrosia came into view beyond the trees at the edge of the park, and the iron band around Finn’s chest eased.

He’d saved his meager cash everywhere else as he’d waited for the council’s decision, scrimping on everything from food to clothing to housing, just so he could havethis.

One cup of tea a day in a bright little shop scented with vanilla and cinnamon. One hour a day disconnected from his worries. One chance a day to bask in the blinding smile of the most gorgeous man Finn had ever seen.

One hour a day to be happy.

He paused outside the bakery, peering in through the gold lettering on the wide, sparkling clean window at the little round tables with their pink-and-white striped tops, the Fifties-era white heart-backed chairs, the brightly lit pastry case with its rows and rows of perfectly displayed treats—none of which Finn had ever been able to afford.

But he could smell them, and with his heightened werewolf senses, that was almost as good as tasting them.

The shop opened at six, but Finn had learned early on that Gary—the gorgeous owner and star of all Finn’s erotic dreams since the moment they’d met four months ago—was always busy in the kitchen until at least eight. Then, almost like clockwork, he’d emerge from behind the swinging door with a tray of the day’s special scones and give Melina, the barista, a break. Then he’d handle the register and beverage prep duties until Peyton, the other barista, arrived.

Andthencame the best part of Finn’s day, the times he lived for, when Gary would take a few minutes to circulate among the tables, chatting with customers, smiling that brilliant smile, and warming the place—and Finn’s heart—like a personal sun.

After the first few days, Gary always ended his rounds at Finn’s table, taking the chair across from him to chat for an hour. Finn had felt guilty for monopolizing Gary’s time at first, but Gary waved it off, claiming that it was his turn for a break and anyway he was the owner so he could take a little time away from the ovens if he wanted.

So Finn made sure he was at his table at precisely 8:15 every morning, and they’d been low-key flirting ever since. At leastFinnhad been flirting, although his game was definitely rusty. He’d never been certain Gary was flirting back, though, since he was just as cheerful and engaged when he talked to other customers. But they shared stories, jokes, likes and dislikes, and never seemed to run out of conversation.

From Finn’s perspective, at the moment, Gary was his only friend.

Finn’s fingers curled and he had to force himself to relax his fists. What if Tanner refused to give Finn a job recommendation? Or worse, what if he did, but it was away from Portland, away from easy access to Nectar & Ambrosia? Finn didn’t exactly have the gold to book a Fae Transportation Association trip every day, and the FTA drivers—since the fae had been affected by Hrodgar’s Syndrome too—always scowled at him like he’d turned their grandmothers to stone.

So today might be his last chance to stand at this window. His last chance to watch Gary step through the door in his pink-and-white striped apron with a tray and a smile. His last chance to confess how he felt.

His belly snarled tighter than one of Nectar & Ambrosia’s cinnamon twists. What would he do if thiswasthe last time? This was the only sun left in his life now. How could he survive without his daily dose of vitamin G?

Finn huffed out a breath. “Stop being such a drama llama,” he muttered. “Time to get over yourself and face your shit.”

But first… One last time.

“What the actual hades?” Ganymede muttered.

All the choux pastries for his eclairs were raw on the top and scorched on the bottom. He dropped the pan on the cooling rack in disgust. This was the third bake that had failed this morning, and they hadn’t all failed the same way and they weren’t all the same kind of pastry anyway.

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