The study is too quiet. Suffocatingly quiet.
Tanner sits behind his desk, surrounded by paperwork he hasn't read.
Even if he doesn't admit it, the fact remains that he just shoved in front of himself to stay distracted.
But focus slips through his fingers like water. It has for the past hours since morning.
His eyes blur over the same line for the fourth time, thoughts pounding at his skull, dragging him back to the same thing.
He blinks. Hard. Grabs the pen. Tries to sign.
The stroke jerks mid-line, warping into a jagged scratch.
"Damn it."
He balls the paper, throws it with unnecessary force.
The bin's already full.
He kicks back the chair. It scrapes the floor too loud, too sharp.
He stands. Paces. Fast. Agitated. Trapped in his own skin.
One, two, three steps. Pivot. Again.
He grips the edge of the desk like it might anchor him.
Breathing shallow. Jaw tight. The silence presses in...
But louder than that is the storm in his head.
He presses his hands hard to his face, drags them down. Think of something else. Anything else.
But his mind just circles the same thought. Relentless. Heavy. Uninvited.
He touched a man.
Not just touched, but made love to a man.
And not just any man.
Jess.
The same man he once demanded be punished for kissing another male wolf.
The same man whose very existence ignited cold disgust in him. That man is the one he had beneath him, skin to skin, lips tangled, breath shared.
And worst of all... he marked him.
The memory slices through him like a hot blade, shame pulsing under his skin. He jerks upright suddenly.
Unconsciously, he sweeps everything off his desk, Shredded paper rains around him like snow, until he's panting, fists clenched at his sides.
"What did I do?!" he mutters to himself, pacing. "No! No! It meant nothing. Stupid mate bond!" he yells, his fist landing on his desk yet again.
He breathes in deeply. Breathes out. Again. Eyes shut. But Jess is still there. He's there, beneath him. His face, his voice, his mouth. His body. The way it responded. The way he responded.
It happened.
Tanner storms out of the study.
Outside, he summons the young wolves from everywhere in his pack, and it doesn't take more than an hour before they all stand before him in the training field, bowing.
He barks orders without explanation.
They line up, ready for drills, but Tanner doesn't hold back. Every move is sharper, harsher. Some of them fall, panting, but no one dares complain.
"Again!" he roars.
He drives them through sparring, defense, tracking, pushing them far beyond what's needed.
Sweat drips from his temples. His claws threaten to break through his skin, rage clawing from the inside.
And still, the fact of what he did last night won't leave him alone.
Jess's face won't leave him alone. It haunts him between strikes. Underneath him. Moaning for him. Marked by him.
When one of the trainees staggers to his knees, Tanner snaps.
"Get up!" he snarls, his voice cracked and dangerous. "You think the enemy cares if you're tired? You think you know who you will meet tomorrow wether you want or not?! What you will do with them?! When you are not thinking and doing things like a maniac?!"
Only after he speaks, is when he realizes what he just said doesn't make any sense, and it doesn't align with what he's teaching.
He realizes that he's not yelling at them. He's yelling at himself.
He dismisses the group and heads back into the pack house, his shirt soaked through, boots dragging dirt across polished floors.
In his study again, he doesn't last more than a few seconds before his mother walks in.
"Where's Luna?" she asks gently, approaching with a small frown. "I was expecting to see her today, I would like to spent some time with her. Besides, she needs to learn her duties as soon as possible."
"Not feeling well," he says stiffly, eyes on the desk, not on her.
"Where did you take her? Do you own some place?" Tanner doesn't answer, "You look... Tanner, are you..."
"I'm fine." He grabs his jacket off the chair and pushes past her. "I have something to take care of."
She calls after him, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even hear her.
The car is the next escape. He slams the door shut, engine brought to life. He drives. Nowhere specific. Trees blur past. Roads wind and narrow. His knuckles turn white around the steering wheel, muscles locked with tension.
"Why won't you leave my head alone?!" he roars, slamming his fist into the steering wheel.
The tires swerve as he loses control for a moment, just a moment but enough to jerk the car into the brush.
He slams the brakes, chest heaving, heart pounding against his ribs. Silence falls, suffocating him.
He stares out the windshield, but all he sees is Jess.
Every time he remembers, it feels like his insides are on fire. Like Jess's scent is still wrapped around him. Like his body remembers what his mind is trying so hard to forget. The heat, the tremble, the need—it disgusts him.
It tortures him.
He feels insane. Like he's peeling apart from the inside out. No matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he works, Jess is there.
That night plays over in loops, flesh on flesh, breathless gasps, the bite of the mark.
He marked him.
He marked a man. He made love to a man. Not just any other man.
That thought breaks him more than anything else.
His hands tremble as he reaches for the keys again. A single, desperate thought cuts through the chaos like a sharp blade:
He needs a woman.
That's what will fix this. He needs proof that whatever happened was nothing but a one night nightmare, some heat-induced madness. Something he can drown with soft skin, curves, moans that don't belong to him.
He grips the wheel tighter, jaw clenched.
"I need a woman," he whispers.