bear bash 2 part 1.

Bear Bash – The Game of Influence

1 – The Den Comes Alive

Tank stood near the bar, swirling the ice in his whiskey glass, watching The Den pulse with life.

The monthly Bear Bash was already in full swing—a mass of thick, bearded men packed into the club, the scent of sweat, leather, and cologne filling the air.

This was his domain now.

Not officially.

But in ways that mattered more than ownership or titles.

He had spent the last few weeks honing his control, learning how to ride the edge of his power without losing himself.

Tonight, he wanted to test himself even further.

He took a slow sip of his drink, inhaling the energy around him—heat, hunger, excitement, need.

And then—

He pushed.

Not all the way.

Just a little.

A pulse of something deeper rippled through the room, something just below the surface, something felt but not quite understood.

The shift was immediate.

Men leaned in closer, hands lingered longer, conversations turned lazier, huskier, heavier with want.

Not a feeding frenzy.

Not like last time.

Just hunger without desperation.

Tank exhaled, satisfied.

This, he could control.

---

2 – Experimenting with Influence

Tank wasn’t just testing his restraint tonight.

He was also testing his aim.

It had always been easy to make men want him—that was natural now, instinctive, like breathing.

But what about making them want someone else?

His gaze flickered across the room, settling on Jason.

Jason, who was sitting at the bar, minding his own business, sipping a beer while scanning the crowd like the watchdog he always was.

Tank smirked.

Let’s see how this works.

He focused.

Not a full push.

Just a nudge, carefully directed, like adjusting the flow of a current.

And then—

The shortest cubs in the bar—the stocky, pocket-sized firecrackers—all started gravitating toward Jason.

It started with one—a short, built little guy with a thick red beard who slid up next to Jason, offering a drink and a flirty smirk.

Then another.

Then two more.

Until Jason was suddenly the center of attention, drowning in an overwhelming swarm of short, eager cubs.

Tank nearly choked on his drink, trying not to laugh.

Jason, at first, just went with it, nodding, chatting, humoring them.

But after the fourth or fifth one squeezed into his personal space, Jason paused.

His eyes narrowed, flickering across the room—

And landed on Tank.

Tank raised his glass in a mock toast, smirking.

Jason’s expression flattened immediately.

And just like that—

Tank cut the power.

The cubs, who had been hanging on Jason’s every word, suddenly seemed distracted, their attention breaking apart, their gazes drifting to other men.

Jason waited until they had fully dispersed before pushing off the bar and striding straight to Tank.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason muttered, setting his beer down next to Tank’s whiskey.

Tank grinned. “Oh, come on. You were popular for once.”

Jason scowled. “That was a weirdly specific crowd, and we both know it.”

Tank chuckled. “Okay, yeah. That was me.”

Jason exhaled, rubbing his temple. “You’re lucky I like cubs.”

Tank smirked. “You’re lucky I didn’t sic the twinks on you.”

Jason shot him a look of pure threat. “Never. Do that.”

Tank laughed, taking another sip of his drink. “Fine. No twinks.”

Jason shook his head, but a reluctant smirk tugged at his lips. “Your control is seriously impressive, though.”

Tank’s amusement faded slightly at the sincerity in Jason’s voice.

Because for all the shit Jason gave him—

Jason had been the only one who saw exactly how dangerous this could be.

Tank held his gaze. “Yeah?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. You actually controlled it. No one got out of hand, no one lost themselves. And you could stop it on command.”

Tank exhaled.

That was the real test tonight.

Not just spreading the influence—but making sure he could take it back whenever he wanted.

And he had.

For the first time, he felt like he was truly in control of himself.

He set his drink down, nodding. “Thanks, man.”

Jason hummed. “Now do me a favor and stop using me as your personal experiment dummy.”

Tank smirked. “No promises.”

Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t push it further.

Because at the end of the day—

This wasn’t a game anymore.

This was who Tank was now.

---

3 – The Moment Everything Changed

The night swelled and pulsed, a tide of heat, sweat, and bodies, the crowd at The Den moving in perfect rhythm.

Tank let himself coast on the energy, keeping the influence steady—enough to make the night incredible, but not enough to make it dangerous.

For the first time since Bear Bash, he felt like he was winning.

And then—

Everything shifted.

A new presence entered the room.

Tank felt it before he saw it.

A weight, a gravitational pull that was both familiar and otherworldly.

His skin prickled.

His breath caught for just a second.

And then—

Atlas stepped into the bar.

heath gives in to Daniel

The Price of Power

1 – Preparing for the Night

Heath stood in front of his mirror, breathing in deep, willing his nerves to settle.

Tonight was the night.

Bear Bash.

Atlas had been gone for a month, but something in Heath’s gut told him tonight was different.

Tonight, Atlas might return.

And if he did—

Heath would be ready.

His hands trembled as he smoothed his shirt over his chest. The fabric felt wrong somehow, like it barely clung to his skin. Or maybe it was just his nerves.

He’d spent weeks preparing for this. Weeks delving into darker rites, offering prayers, discarding his old self.

If kneeling before Atlas was what it took to gain power, then Heath would do it without hesitation.

He traced the sigil of Asmodeus on his chest, freshly inked that morning with a blade and ink mixed with his own blood.

He needed Atlas to see it.

To see him.

To know he was worthy.

But before he could leave, a voice slithered into his mind.

"Why are you waiting for him?"

Heath’s breath caught.

Daniel.

"You think he’s going to just walk into that bar, point at you, and hand you everything?"

Heath swallowed.

"He chose Tank, remember?" Daniel’s voice was smooth, sharp, pressing against the edges of Heath’s thoughts. "He’s already made his pick."

“No,” Heath muttered, shaking his head. “He just—he doesn’t know I’m ready.”

Daniel chuckled darkly. "Then make him see."

Heath clenched his fists. “That’s what I’m doing.”

"No," Daniel corrected. "You’re hoping. You’re waiting."

Heath turned to the mirror.

Daniel was there, standing behind him.

Faint, but watching.

"Let me in," Daniel whispered. "Together, we can be stronger than him. We can make Atlas see us."

Heath’s stomach clenched. “I—”

"You’re already his. His servant. His follower." Daniel’s voice was silk and steel, wrapping around Heath’s thoughts, tightening. "But if you let me in… we won’t have to beg."

Heath’s breath came shaky.

His pulse pounded.

This was it.

The moment he’d been teetering on the edge of for weeks.

He looked at his reflection—at Daniel’s reflection beside him—and the answer finally came.

“Yes.”

---

2 – Blackout

The second the word left his lips, something cracked open inside him.

A rush of cold air slammed into him.

His vision blurred.

His body felt like it was splitting apart and melting back together all at once.

Daniel's voice wasn't just a whisper anymore.

It was inside him, filling every corner of his skull.

"Good boy."

And then—

Blackness.

An endless, suffocating void.

Heath felt himself falling, felt the world spinning and folding around him.

But there was no ground.

No end.

No air.

Just Daniel.

Just his laughter, his presence, his will crushing Heath’s mind like a vice.

For a moment—just a brief moment—Heath felt a flicker of panic.

A whisper of oh god, what have I done?

And then—

Nothing.

heaths temptation

The Ghost of Ambition

1 – Whispers in the Dark

The first time Heath heard the voice, he dismissed it.

He was standing in front of his mirror, shirtless, tracing his fingers over the sigil he had drawn on his chest earlier that night. He’d been praying—or, at least, trying to.

Praying to Asmodeus.

Praying to Atlas.

Praying for power.

And then, just as he exhaled, letting the candle smoke curl around him—

A voice.

“You want it badly, don’t you?”

Heath’s eyes snapped up, his heart hammering.

His reflection was wrong.

For a flicker of a second, his face wasn’t his own.

Someone else was staring back at him.

Someone with sharp, dark eyes, a strong jaw, a body built like a war god but slightly… off, faded, flickering.

And then—

Gone.

Just a hallucination, a trick of the smoke.

Or so he told himself.

For the first week, the voice came in short bursts.

Just a whisper in the corner of the room.

Just a breath on the back of his neck.

Always when he was alone, always when he was deep in his rituals.

And by the time he finally stopped ignoring it—

It was already too late.

---

2 – The First Conversation

By the second week, Heath stopped pretending he was imagining things.

Because the voice wasn’t just a voice anymore.

It was Daniel.

The first time Daniel fully manifested, Heath was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, exhausted from another failed attempt at reaching Atlas.

The air in the room had gone thick, the candles flickering strangely.

And when he turned his head—

Daniel was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room.

Relaxed. Watching him.

Like he’d always been there.

Heath sat up fast, breath caught in his throat. “Who the fuck are you?”

Daniel smiled. “You already know.”

Heath’s skin prickled.

Because he did.

Somehow, deep in his gut, he knew exactly who this was.

“You’re one of them,” Heath said slowly. “One of Atlas’s failures.”

Daniel’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened. “I was never a failure.”

Heath exhaled, gripping the sheets. “Atlas said—”

“Atlas doesn’t know everything,” Daniel cut in smoothly. “And besides…” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t fail like I did.”

Heath narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care?”

Daniel smirked. “Because I see you.”

Heath’s chest tightened.

Daniel stood, stepping closer. His form flickered, but he was almost solid now—almost real.

“I know what you want,” Daniel murmured. “I know what it feels like to be overlooked. To know you’re worthy, but to watch someone else get what you deserve.”

Heath swallowed hard.

Because, fuck.

He wasn’t wrong.

Daniel stopped at the edge of the bed. “You think Atlas is going to choose you?”

Heath lifted his chin. “I think I’m the only one willing to do whatever it takes.”

Daniel chuckled. “Good. Because I can help you.”

Heath stilled. “How?”

Daniel’s smile widened.

And then, in a voice like velvet wrapped around steel—

“Let me in.”

---

3 – The Temptation

By the third week, Heath wasn’t avoiding Daniel anymore.

He was talking to him.

Listening.

Considering.

It was stupid. He knew that.

But Daniel’s logic was undeniable.

“I was close,” Daniel said one night, sitting across from him at the kitchen table. “Stronger than the others. Stronger than Gideon, stronger than any of Atlas’s failed experiments.”

Heath frowned. “Then why didn’t you survive it?”

Daniel leaned back, expression unreadable. “Because I was alone.”

The words hung between them, thick and heavy.

And Heath understood.

Tank had Jason watching his back.

Tank had Atlas checking in, guiding him, preparing him.

And Daniel?

Daniel had no one.

“So what are you saying?” Heath asked, swirling his whiskey.

Daniel’s eyes burned. “That together, we’d be stronger than anyone.”

Heath’s pulse spiked.

Because that—that was tempting.

“You want me to let you possess me,” Heath said flatly.

Daniel didn’t deny it.

“Think about it,” Daniel said smoothly. “You’re already ready. You’ve already opened yourself to the power. But I can make you stronger. We can make each other stronger.”

Heath licked his lips. “And if I say no?”

Daniel smirked. “You won’t.”

---

4 – The Warning Signs

By the final days before Bear Bash, Heath wasn’t sleeping much.

When he closed his eyes, he felt Daniel breathing inside his skull, waiting, whispering.

When he looked in the mirror, sometimes his reflection wasn’t his own.

The sigil of Asmodeus burned brighter on his altar.

And some nights, he felt the air in his apartment shift, like something bigger than Daniel was watching now, waiting to see what he would do.

But the most dangerous part?

The most fucked up thing?

Was that Heath was seriously considering it.

Because Daniel had a point.

Atlas wasn’t choosing him.

Atlas was focused on Tank.

But if Heath proved himself—if he showed he was more than just one man—then maybe Atlas would have no choice but to acknowledge him.

Maybe he and Daniel could be something greater.

Maybe they could force the gods to look at them.

The idea thrilled him.

And terrified him.

And it all came down to one decision.

One choice.

One word.

Yes.

Or no.

And as Bear Bash loomed closer—

Heath didn’t know which answer he was going to give.

Atlas's pilgrimage

Atlas’s Pilgrimage

1 – The Road to the Last Temple

The journey was long.

Atlas had crossed oceans, deserts, and mountains, shedding the distractions of modern life, stripping himself back to his purest form.

He had done this before.

Not often.

And never without purpose.

The last standing Temple of Asmodeus was hidden from the world, lost to history, buried in a place where no one but the truly devoted could find it.

It had been centuries since anyone had tended to it properly.

But power like this never truly faded.

And now, Atlas had come to ask for guidance.

Not for himself.

For Tank.

---

2 – Preparing for Ritual

Atlas stepped into the temple, inhaling the thick air—old stone, burned offerings, the lingering presence of something ancient.

Braziers lined the walls, their flames unwavering, as if they had been burning since the first day the temple was built.

No priests remained.

No followers.

Only Atlas.

He stripped away his modern clothes, bare feet pressing against the cold stone, muscles tense as he moved through the sacred space.

This was not a spell.

This was not a negotiation.

This was devotion.

Atlas knelt before the great black altar, pressing his forehead to the stone.

And then—he began to pray.

---

3 – Speaking the Forbidden Name

"Lord of Lust and Dominion, I come before you."

Atlas’s voice was steady, reverent.

"I bring offerings, I bring my will, I bring myself."

The air shifted, thickening like humid heat before a storm.

"I ask for your gaze to fall upon the one who walks the path."

Atlas exhaled slowly.

"The one called Tank."

At the sound of the name, the temple responded.

A pulse ran through the stone beneath him, as if the foundation itself was alive.

"He is strong, my Lord. But strength alone is not enough. You know this. I know this."

He lifted his gaze to the statue before him, the last known depiction of Asmodeus that had survived the ages.

Carved from black marble, its face was both beautiful and terrible, its body perfected through divine lust and dominance.

"I do not ask you to change his fate," Atlas murmured. "Only to give him the chance to endure it."

---

4 – The Weight of Past Failures

Atlas’s fingers curled into fists.

Because he had done this before.

And it had failed before.

Not with Gideon Harlow—his mind had cracked, but he still lived.

It was Daniel who had been lost.

Daniel had been the strongest—or so Atlas had believed.

A warrior. A survivor. A man who had fought through everything life threw at him.

But in the end, he had not survived the power.

When the transformation came, Daniel had embraced it too fully.

He had let the hunger take him completely, let the power consume him.

And when he finally realized what he had become—

He ended it himself.

A blade to his own chest, carved with sigils of banishment and finality.

Atlas had found his body, but he had been too late.

The only one of Atlas’s chosen who had ever truly died.

Tank could not be the next.

Atlas would not let that happen again.

---

5 – The Ritual Begins

Atlas pulled a blade from the altar—an ancient thing, curved and wicked, etched with symbols of devotion.

He dragged it across his palm, letting blood drip onto the stone.

"With blood, I ask."

The braziers flared, their flames turning deep red.

"With will, I command."

The air shuddered, thickening with unseen weight.

"With devotion, I serve."

A presence descended—not in words, not in sound, but in a way that pressed against his skin, into his bones.

Asmodeus was listening.

Atlas exhaled sharply, bowing deeper.

"Help him survive."

A pulse rippled through the chamber.

Not an answer.

Not yet.

Just acknowledgment.

"Do not let him be lost."

The power swelled.

A shift.

A promise, without words.

Atlas knew better than to expect mercy.

But he had been heard.

And for now, that was enough.

---

6 – The Long Road Back

The temple fell silent.

The flames dimmed, the weight of Asmodeus’s presence retreating back into the stones.

Atlas exhaled, his body aching from the ritual.

It was done.

As he gathered his things, he caught his reflection in a polished stone pillar.

And for a moment—

Just a moment—

He wasn’t alone.

There was another figure behind him, barely visible, watching through the reflection.

Not Daniel.

Not Gideon.

Something else.

Something waiting.

Atlas didn’t flinch.

Didn’t turn.

He simply stepped forward, leaving the whispers behind.

For now.

Because he knew—

One day, something would try to take Daniel’s place.

And when it did, Atlas would have to face it.

the lead up

The Three Weeks Before Bear Bash – A Slow Descent

The next three weeks were a test.

For Tank, it was about control—learning to wield his new power without losing himself to it.

For Jason, it was about watching—waiting for the moment everything cracked open.

For Heath, it was about becoming—pushing further, demanding more from the darkness that had only just begun to touch him.

And all of it was leading to Bear Bash.

A night that would be nothing like the last.

Because this time, they all knew exactly what was coming.

---

Week One – Adjusting to the New Normal

Tank: Strength in Restraint

Tank kept his life moving forward.

His shop stayed open, his routine stayed the same. Wake up, lift, cut hair, go to The Den, repeat.

And yet—

Everything was different.

Even with the pendant on, he could still feel it—the thrum of power under his skin, the slow, steady pulse of hunger.

It wasn’t just sexual.

It was influence. Presence. Command.

Men still gravitated toward him, but he learned how to pull them in and let them go, keeping everything just below the surface.

He tested himself in small ways.

One night, at The Den, he let out just a whisper of his presence.

Enough that men around him sat closer, leaned in, but not enough to turn the night into an orgy.

And when he willed it away?

They went back to normal.

That was the first night he truly believed he could control it.

But control was a slippery thing.

And as the weeks went on, he wasn’t sure how long he could hold on.

---

Jason: A Doctor, a Watchman, a Friend with Too Many Secrets

Jason was stretched too thin.

At work, he was still seeing patients from Bear Bash—men who swore they had been drugged, who still felt off weeks later.

He kept lying to them, telling them it was just a combination of booze, poppers, and adrenaline.

But he knew the truth.

It was Tank.

And it was only getting stronger.

He checked in with Tank constantly, watching for signs that he was losing control.

And at first?

Tank seemed fine.

Better than fine. In control.

But Jason had known him for years.

And something was shifting.

---

Heath: The Hunger for More

Heath stopped pretending to be normal.

His old life? His love-and-light witchy bullshit?

Gone.

He re-consecrated his altar in Asmodeus’s name, spent his nights meditating on the sigil, whispering invocations, wanting more.

And when nothing happened?

He got frustrated.

Tank had changed overnight.

But Heath?

He was still just a man.

And that wasn’t enough.

So he pushed.

Harder.

Dug into occult texts, forbidden rituals, trying to find the key to unlocking what Clay had started.

But the more he searched, the more he realized—

There was no shortcut.

And that pissed him off more than anything.

---

Week Two – Lines Start to Blur

Tank: Losing Control in the Quiet Moments

The more Tank learned to control his power, the more he realized how easy it was to slip.

One night, he hooked up with a guy—just a normal, sweaty, good time.

Or at least, it should have been.

But the moment he let himself relax—

The moment he stopped holding everything back—

The guy collapsed under him, shaking, gasping, desperate in a way that wasn’t normal.

Tank barely managed to reel it back in before he wrecked the guy completely.

That was when he knew—

This wasn’t just about Bear Bash.

This wasn’t just about lust.

This was about power.

And every day, it was getting harder to hold back.

---

Jason: The Growing Divide

Jason and Caleb had their first real fight in years.

Because Caleb could see it now—the way Jason wasn’t talking.

The way he was hiding something.

“I know you’re lying to me,” Caleb had said, arms crossed. “I know it’s about Tank. And I know you’re scared to tell me what’s really happening.”

Jason had tried to deflect.

But Caleb wasn’t stupid.

He was still haunted by what happened at Bear Bash—by the way he had wanted Tank in a way he never had before.

And Jason?

Jason didn’t have a good enough lie to make that go away.

---

Heath: Close Calls and Desperate Measures

Heath kept pushing.

Poking around too many dark corners, asking too many questions.

And eventually?

He got a response.

Not from Atlas.

Not from Asmodeus.

But from something else.

Something that watched him through his own reflection, something that whispered in the edges of his hearing at night.

He didn’t tell Tank.

Didn’t tell anyone.

Because if something else was listening?

Maybe he could use it.

Maybe he could make himself worthy.

---

Week Three – The Final Days Before Bear Bash

Tank: Preparing for War

By the final week, Tank knew.

Bear Bash was going to be a battle.

Because if he didn’t control himself completely—

If he let go—

It would be worse than the last time.

Because he was stronger now.

More attuned.

And whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was a part of him that wanted to see what would happen if he let go completely.

Just once.

Just to see.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not until he knew for sure that he wouldn’t lose himself completely.

---

Jason: The Fear of What’s Coming

Jason had a bad feeling.

A deep, bone-deep certainty that Bear Bash wasn’t going to go the way Tank thought it would.

Because Tank was stronger now.

And even if he thought he had it under control—

There was a line coming.

And when Tank crossed it?

There would be no going back.

Jason just prayed he’d be there when it happened.

---

Heath: The Final Push

Heath spent the last few days before Bear Bash teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

He wasn’t scared anymore.

He was ready.

He had been waiting too long.

If Tank wouldn’t share his power—

If Atlas wouldn’t give it to him—

Then he would find his own way in.

No matter what it took.

---

The Night Before Bear Bash

By the time Friday night rolled around, they were all waiting.

Waiting for the moment everything snapped into place.

Tank stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself, feeling the weight of what was coming.

Jason sat in his office, turning a pen over in his fingers, knowing deep down that this was his last chance to pull Tank back before it was too late.

And Heath?

Heath was smiling.

Because no matter what happened—

Tomorrow night, everything would change.

heath and tank 2

The Hunger for More

1 – Drinks & Confessions

The bar was dim, the air thick with the scent of whiskey, leather, and candle wax burned down to nothing.

Tank took another slow sip of his bourbon, studying Heath across the table.

The conversation had shifted.

It wasn’t a game anymore.

Not the way Heath had been treating it before.

There was something serious in his eyes now. Something hungry.

Heath leaned in slightly, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “I want more.”

Tank exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Of course you do.”

Heath smirked. “Come on, man. Don’t act like you don’t get it.”

Tank gave him a level look. “I get it. I just think you’re an idiot.”

Heath laughed. “Yeah, well. I’ve been called worse.”

Tank shook his head, setting his drink down. “Do you even understand what the fuck you’re asking for?”

Heath’s smirk didn’t falter. “Power.”

Tank’s jaw clenched. “Power isn’t free.”

Heath rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know that?”

Tank leaned forward. “No, Heath. I don’t think you do. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be so fucking eager to throw yourself at something you can’t control.”

Heath’s smirk faded just slightly, but the hunger in his eyes remained.

“I’ve seen what you can do,” Heath said. “I felt it at Bear Bash. And I resisted it.”

Tank exhaled through his nose. “For how long?”

Heath shrugged. “Long enough.”

Tank’s fingers drummed against the table. “And you think that means something?”

Heath’s expression darkened. “Yeah. I do.”

There was something shifting in his voice now, something deeper.

And for the first time, Tank saw it—Heath wasn’t just interested in the power. He was desperate for it.

And desperate men?

They made stupid fucking choices.

Tank leaned back, rolling his shoulders. “Atlas told me something.”

Heath raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Tank’s voice was low, steady. “That others came before me. And they failed.”

Heath’s lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile.

Tank’s stomach twisted. “That’s funny to you?”

Heath exhaled, swirling his drink. “No. But it is interesting.”

Tank watched him carefully.

And then Heath said—

“I’ve met one of them.”

Tank froze.

Heath took a slow sip of his gin and tonic, his eyes gleaming. “Gideon Harlow.”

Tank’s pulse slammed.

The name was familiar.

Jason had mentioned it once—some paranormal erotica artist, famous for his disturbing, feverish depictions of something he could never quite name.

And now?

Now Heath was sitting across from him, saying that Gideon wasn’t just an artist.

He was a failed experiment.

Tank exhaled sharply, rubbing his jaw. “You’re serious?”

Heath nodded, eyes dark. “I tracked him down.”

Tank stared at him. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Heath’s lips curled into a slow smile. “To see what happens when you fail.”

Tank’s stomach twisted again. “And?”

Heath’s expression flickered—just slightly.

And for the first time all night, his voice dropped to something quieter.

“…He’s barely there,” Heath admitted. “He babbles. He paints. But he can’t take care of himself. He’s got round-the-clock nurses helping him eat, shower—everything.”

Tank’s chest tightened.

Because that was exactly what Atlas had warned him about.

Gideon had been given power.

And it had destroyed him.

Tank let out a slow breath. “And you still want this?”

Heath’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Tank shook his head. “Jesus, Heath.”

Heath leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Gideon wasn’t strong enough. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be.”

Tank’s pulse pounded.

Because he knew that voice.

He’d heard it before.

It was the same voice he had used on Jason when he tried to warn him about Atlas.

The voice of someone who had already made their choice.

And no amount of reasoning was going to stop them.

Tank exhaled, rubbing his temples. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”

Heath grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Tank studied him for a long moment.

Because Heath was already on this path.

Tank could try to stop him.

He could tell him to walk away, to leave this alone.

But Heath wouldn’t listen.

And maybe—just maybe—having someone else who understood what was happening to him wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Tank sighed. “Fine.”

Heath’s eyebrow arched. “Fine?”

Tank’s voice was flat. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you end up just like Gideon.”

Heath smirked, raising his glass. “I’ll take my chances.”

Tank clinked his glass against Heath’s.

And deep down?

He had a bad fucking feeling about all of this.

heath and tank talk 1

Saturday Afternoon – The Pact of Secrets

1 – A Change of Scenery

Tank exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he studied Heath.

The excitement in Heath’s eyes wasn’t just curiosity—it was hunger.

And that was a problem.

Because Heath wasn’t just some guy digging into things he shouldn’t.

Heath had felt it, same as Tank.

Maybe not in the same way—his experience had been with Clay, not Atlas—but it had still left its mark.

Tank wasn’t stupid.

Whatever happened to Heath had changed him, too.

And Tank needed to figure out how far that change had gone.

He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Come on,” he muttered.

Heath raised an eyebrow. “Where are we going?”

Tank pocketed the book he had grabbed—some half-assed demonology text he doubted would be useful but might be worth skimming later—then jerked his head toward the door.

“Somewhere we can actually talk.”

Heath grinned. “Ooh. Sounds secretive.”

Tank scowled. “Shut up and follow me.”

---

2 – The Game Begins

They ended up in a quiet corner booth at a bar a few blocks from Hex & Bone.

It wasn’t The Den—thank God—just a low-lit place where people came for whiskey and silence.

Tank took the seat facing the door, habit kicking in. Heath slid in across from him, looking way too entertained.

“You look tense,” Heath said, smirking.

Tank grunted. “I’m fine.”

A waitress came by. They ordered drinks—Tank a bourbon, Heath a gin and tonic, because of course he was a gin and tonic guy.

When she left, Tank leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s get something straight.”

Heath’s smirk widened. “Oh, please. Set the ground rules, big guy.”

Tank ignored him.

“This isn’t a game, Heath.” His voice was low, steady. “You think this is all some fun, sexy occult shit, but it’s not. You don’t even understand what the fuck you’re playing with.”

Heath tilted his head. “And you do?”

Tank clenched his jaw. “I know enough to be careful.”

Heath leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And yet, here you are. Chasing answers. Just like me.”

Tank exhaled sharply.

Because Heath wasn’t wrong.

But that didn’t mean Heath knew what he was getting into.

Tank studied him, eyes narrowing. “You said Clay was the one who pulled you in.”

Heath nodded. “Yeah.”

Tank drummed his fingers against the table. “And what did he say?”

Heath grinned. “About what?”

Tank’s patience thinned. “About Atlas. About what the fuck is happening to us.”

Heath’s expression shifted slightly, amusement giving way to something darker.

He traced the rim of his glass. “He told me Atlas serves something older. Something with real power.”

Tank stayed silent, letting him talk.

Heath’s eyes flickered up. “And that whatever happened to Tank wasn’t an accident.”

Tank’s stomach tightened.

Because Clay had known, too.

Atlas had told him that others had failed before him.

And now here was Clay, confirming that Tank had been chosen on purpose.

But the question was—why?

Tank leaned back, studying Heath. “And you? How’d it affect you?”

Heath exhaled through his nose. “Oh, you noticed?”

Tank gave him a look. “You’re not exactly subtle, dude.”

Heath chuckled. “Fair.”

He swirled his drink. “It’s like… I can still feel it. Like there’s something in my skin, waiting. But it’s not active, not like you.”

Tank frowned. “So you don’t have the pull.”

Heath shook his head. “Not like you. But I can… resist it.”

Tank stilled. “What?”

Heath tilted his head. “I felt you at Bear Bash. Same as everyone else. But I could fight it. Not forever, but enough.”

Tank narrowed his eyes. “Because of Clay?”

Heath shrugged. “Guess so. He said the only one who can give someone power is Atlas. But what he did to me… gave me something. Just not the whole thing.”

Tank sat back, chewing on that.

Heath was half-marked.

Touched by the same power, but not fully pulled under.

That meant something.

But Tank didn’t know what yet.

---

3 – What Now?

The drinks kept coming.

They kept talking.

And the more they talked, the more Tank realized—Heath wasn’t backing down.

He wasn’t afraid of any of this.

If anything, he wanted more.

“So,” Heath finally said, tipping his glass toward Tank. “What now?”

Tank exhaled. “You shut the fuck up and don’t tell anyone else.”

Heath smirked. “And what if I do?”

Tank’s eyes darkened. “Then I shut you up myself.”

Heath shivered—not with fear.

With something else.

Something Tank wasn’t in the mood to analyze.

Heath leaned forward, voice a low purr. “You sure you don’t want me to talk? Might be fun to put me in my place.”

Tank growled. “Don’t push me, Heath.”

Heath chuckled. “Fine, fine.” He sat back. “I’ll behave. For now.”

Tank clenched his jaw.

Because Heath was going to be a problem.

But for now—

He had bigger things to worry about.