HAPTER FIVE
Dillon stood in his laundry closet, a basket of clothes in front of him, debating whether or not to wash them. Tucked in amidst his own dirty laundry were the things that Brigitte had worn; the pajamas she had borrowed the two nights she had stayed with him, along with the sheets that they had thoroughly soaked in their combined pheromones. The hygienic part of his mind insisted that everything needed to be washed. It would be entirely too much to ask Brigitte to sleep on dirty sheets the next time she came over.
But the leonine part of his personality was more reluctant. His own clothes, marked with nothing more than his own scent and the world around him, he could throw into the washer without a second thought; but the things that smelled like his currently-absent mate were another issue.
When she left Sunday night, he had given into his animal impulses, retreating into his room and burying his face against the pillow she’d used, rubbing himself against the part of the bed that smelled most strongly of her. It was a spectacle that he knew he’d be embarrassed for Brigitte herself to see—but her scent intoxicated him, and he had no idea whether she’d back out of their next date or not, whether he’d frightened her with his intensity and she’d make an excuse.
If she told him she didn’t want to see him, he would accept it; he respected that it was her right. But the animal in him keened at the thought of letting his mate go.
Just put it in the washer and have done with it, he told himself. The pillows still smell like her, you’re not going to get that scent out unless you take ‘em to the cleaners. He reached into the basket and unerringly plucked a t-shirt that Brigitte had worn from the unruly pile, bringing it up to his face and inhaling slowly.
The haunting, alluring scent of her warm, spicy pheromones, mingled with the headier aroma of her arousal—she had been wearing it when they fooled around at some point—was enough to send a hot flush of desire through Dillon’s body. He groaned, gripping the fabric more tightly, swaying on his feet. He wanted—more than anything—to leave the apartment, track down his lover, and convince her to find somewhere to be alone with him again.
But that, he knew, would be a mistake. He had to give Brigitte space. She was a human; she wouldn’t be able to cope with the fast-paced mating rituals associated with Dillon’s kind. She had already told him, more than once, that he was moving too fast for her.
He couldn’t let himself jeopardize the chance to be with a woman who was perfectly suited to him. “Not that she knows it,” Dillon mused to himself. He smiled faintly to himself, putting the shirt back into the basket. He closed his eyes, remembering the sight of Brigitte curled up in his bed, naked, her face relaxed in sleep. He took a deep breath, resolutely turning on the washing machine.
Dillon licked his lips, thinking about their afternoon together with another grin to himself. He had been on his best behavior, keeping his hands to himself for the most part, as they wandered the green market together, looking at the different stalls.
By the time they’d come back to the apartment, loaded down with fabric bags full of produce, cheese, and cured meats, Dillon had barely been able to hold back. He had immediately pushed Brigitte against the counter in the kitchen, kissing her hungrily, letting his hands trail over her lush curves until he felt her starting to become aroused.
Dillon loaded his clothes into the washer steadily, smirking to himself as he remembered lifting Brigitte up onto the counter, stripping off her borrowed clothes, and taking her right then and there. They had finally been able to part from each other long enough to cook their purchases for dinner, and long enough to eat. When Brigitte had finally taken her leave, it had taken all of Dillon’s self-control not to try and convince her to stay.
Dillon came to the last few items, hesitating once more. “Just wash them, you idiot,” he told himself firmly. “You’ll see her again.” He crammed the tee shirts, pajama pants, and the sheets into the washer, closing the lid and stepping back. He took a slow, shuddering breath, closing his eyes. They had made a tentative date to meet up for a local concert later in the week; Dillon had never heard of the band, but the members were friends of Brigitte’s.
The idea of being around a bunch of guys his mate knew well was less than appealing to Dillon, but he knew it would be a good idea to go along with her suggestion—she would feel safer, more comfortable, on her own turf.
Dillon wandered into his living room and turned on the TV. While he was in such a precarious position—living almost as a fugitive—he had to be careful about going out, leaving the house. Even at the green market, Dillon had scented the air constantly; he had had a scary moment, a few times, when he caught the unmistakable smell of another were-lion.
If he could smell them, Dillon knew, they would smell him. But he couldn’t force Brigitte to stay locked up in the apartment with him for every date; she would feel more trapped. He sighed, flipping through the channels as he considered the problem in front of him.
As if his thoughts about the other were-lions were a cue, Dillon heard a knock at the door. His heart beat a little faster in his chest; he had no friends in the city other than Brigitte, and his neighbors in the building were not particularly interested in each other’s lives. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, standing up from his couch. If it was a missionary of some kind—that would just be an annoyance. But if his callers were members of the local Pride…
Dillon brushed at his clothes with his hands, gathering his courage around him. He knew that he would have to deal with the local Pride eventually; he had hoped that it would be after he’d managed to find a mate, or at least someone he could pass off as a potential mate. He had even hoped—before he had met Brigitte—that he might find an unattached female were-lion to potentially mate with. There was another knock, and Dillon took the last few steps to the door, throwing his shoulders back and unlocking the door.
Two men stood on the other side, their scents marking them indisputably as were-lions. “Good afternoon,” one of the men said. He was maybe two inches shorter than Dillon, with strawberry blond hair and big, green eyes, a little soft around the middle. Dillon noticed that he had a wedding band. The other man was maybe an inch taller than Dillon, with light brown hair and a deep tan, scars marking his arms. Both of the men were dressed in jeans and work shirts.
“Hello,” Dillon said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I assume you’re here to welcome me to the city?” The brown-haired man’s lips twitched in an almost-smile at Dillon’s dry tone.
“We’re from the local Pride,” the brown-haired man said. “I’m Jake, this is Ron.” Dillon nodded shortly.
“Dillon,” he said, answering the unspoken question.
“We were curious when one of our members caught your scent at the green market a couple of days ago,” Ron said. “Are you just passing through the city, here on the short term?”
Dillon shrugged.
“We thought it was pretty strange that you hadn’t reported to our Alpha.” Dillon shrugged again, glancing past the two men. He sniffed as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, trying to detect whether they had backup.
“What Pride are you with?” Jake asked. Dillon pressed his lips together.
“I’m not with a Pride,” Dillon said quietly. “I’m by myself.” The two men’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t intend to encroach on your territory. I wouldn’t approach your Alpha because I currently don’t have a mate.” Breathing in, Dillon could smell the rising scent of their apprehension. The two men shifted into a more aggressive position, their body language making it obvious to Dillon that they were displeased, that they were on the point of attack.
“I will approach your Pride when I am no longer a lone male without a mate,” Dillon said firmly, holding each man’s gaze. He suppressed the spurt of anxiety that began inside of him, knowing that the two men were sizing him up, deciding whether or not they could take him. Dillon stood absolutely still; he had been in more than one fight with other were-lions in his life—both in his Pride and outside of it.
“We don’t look kindly on lone males,” Ron said. “You’d do best to get out of town as quickly as possible.”
Dillon shook his head. “I have a potential mate,” he said firmly. “I will present myself to your Alpha as soon as I have come to an understanding with the woman.”
“I don’t smell a lion here other than you,” Jake said, raising an eyebrow slowly. “I smell a human woman.”
“We don’t like human mates in our Pride, either,” Ron told Dillon. “Too complicated. Take your mate and find a city they approve of that kind of thing.” Dillon shrugged.
“I’ll talk to your Alpha about it when the time comes,” Dillon said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like you both to leave this building. I’ve done nothing to either of you.”
Ron shifted and Dillon could sense the movement, sense the coiled tension in the man as he prepared to strike. Faster than either of the two men, Dillon reached out and slammed his hand up against Ron’s throat, barely avoiding choking him, merely holding him in place. Jake moved, and Dillon stepped through the door, holding Ron with one hand and shoving Jake backward with the other.
Dillon held Ron’s gaze for a long moment. “You’ve got my measure and I doubt you two are fool enough to want to reveal yourselves in a public place. Get the hell out of my building.”
He released Ron’s throat. The two men looked at each other and backed away, holding his gaze—holding onto their dignity as best as they could. They retreated down the hall and Dillon watched them intently, not moving to go back into his apartment until he could hear them step into the elevator to head to the ground floor.
He closed the door behind him, locking it firmly and exhaling slowly. Adrenaline washed through his system, making his heart beat faster. He closed his eyes and leaned against the doorframe, fighting down the change that crackled along his bones. He wanted to transform into his other shape, turn into the lion that he was, and chase the two insolent, insulting men down.
But that would not help his situation. Dillon breathed in and out slowly, forcing his mind to think in human thoughts instead of animal instincts. He should approach the Alpha of the Pride; he should find out what the man actually thought, and if the Alpha’s views accorded with those of Ron and Jake, he would need to convince Brigitte of the need to move away and be with him.
Dillon strode through the living room, stepping into the bedroom and moving directly for his laptop, on top of his dresser. If he was going to go to the Alpha of the Pride in this city, he would need to know who to contact and how to go about contacting them; he would have to find out who the second was, and he would have to figure out the general mood of the Pride.
Fortunately, Dillon thought as he unlocked his computer, taking it into the living room once more as it booted up, there were ways to get that kind of information all without having to leave the apartment and leave himself open to attacks from the lesser members of the Pride.
From their demeanor, Dillon had known that the two men were not very highly ranked; he frowned as he thought. They had been—at least a little bit—scared of him. He was certain that neither of them was the second in command; they had submitted too easily, slunk away too readily.
Dillon thought it was likely that the ranked lions in the Pride didn’t even know what Ron and Jake had planned. That the two men had acted on their own to try and scare him out of the city was another thing he would have to discuss with their Alpha.
While he could understand that they didn’t want lone males around—and while Dillon, as the son of one of the higher-ranked lions in his own Pride had dealt with lone males himself—there was a protocol to follow.
He hadn’t presented himself to the Pride or to its Alpha simply because he hadn’t wanted to be expelled from the territory before he even had a chance to find a mate. It was difficult for a man to find a mate on the run; he wanted a chance to settle a little bit, to get the lay of the land, and take his time. He would have happily avoided the Pride altogether until he could convince Brigitte to be his lover permanently. But that would take time; and Dillon knew that time was something he had very little of, now that he’d come to the attention of some of the Pride’s members.
Dillon typed in a forum URL in his browser, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth as he waited for it to load. Though all were-creatures were secretive, they had long ago decided that they needed ways to communicate; even those without an affiliation with Pride or Pack needed information—even if it was just what areas to avoid.
Dillon looked up the city he was in and began to read, turning his myriad of problems over and over in his mind. He would have to be more careful than ever, now that he’d been approached and told to leave the city.
If Ron and Jake were willing to act on their own, that meant that they presented something of a threat to their Alpha; members of a Pride who took initiative like that didn’t tend to do so unless they intended to challenge their leader.
Dillon frowned, thinking that while he wanted to belong once more, it was something of a letdown to find himself unwittingly in the midst of yet another power struggle. He would have to be very, very careful on his date with Brigitte; it would be too easy for the two men and whoever they had on their side, to track him, and to track her, if they intended to do them grief.
A protective instinct rose up in him at the thought of someone threatening his mate, and Dillon decided that he would approach the Alpha before it came time for his date, whether or not Brigitte decided to go through with it.
*
Brigitte fidgeted as she waited for Dillon to arrive, her hands fluttering over her skirt, her blouse, the silky feeling of the tights covering her legs. In spite of her misgivings about Dillon’s intensity, she had to admit that she was more than eager to spend another evening with him.
It had been difficult for her to make herself leave the way she’d planned to on Sunday evening, to return to her suddenly so empty apartment and go about her usual Sunday night routine. She was struck by the way that Dillon’s presence seemed to fill whatever room he was in; by the fact that even his slightly barren apartment had seemed homier and cozier than her living space.
She had borrowed a pair of jeans from him as well as a t-shirt to go home in, and though Brigitte hadn’t quite been able to admit it to herself, she had struggled with the idea of washing them to return to him; in spite of having worn them, the clothes smelled like Dillon—a smell she was already starting to like more than she wanted to and in the end, she stuffed the clothes into the washer along with her own things. She told herself that at least it was a valid reason to see him again.
They had spent the week texting back and forth; Brigitte had wanted to keep her distance, but she hadn’t been able to resist him. Brigitte smiled to herself, remembering. How’s my beautiful girl? he sent her, every morning that week.
Throughout her workday, her phone buzzed at intervals, and Brigitte learned to anticipate—to feel a thrill of interest every time her phone chirped or vibrated in her purse—another missive, another message. I wish I had you right here with me now, love. I’d have you naked in a minute flat, on top of me on the couch.
Brigitte’s days had been much more interesting with the messages from Dillon; he apparently saw nothing wrong with turning her on throughout the day, spurring her to respond, distracting her from work. If nothing else, she had to admire his creativity; some of the messages he’d sent were not only graphic—but also intriguing.
He’d asked her to send him a picture of her desk. He texted back, I could sneak in sometime, duck under your desk, and spend the whole afternoon teasing you until you just couldn’t stand it…convince you to stay late and bend you over your chair.
Brigitte checked the time on her phone; she had been so anxious to see him again that she’d gotten ready thirty minutes early, and it still wasn’t time for Dillon to pick her up for the show.
She could tell that he had been less than thrilled with the idea of going to see a band full of men she knew; but Brigitte had never had the slightest interest in any of the band’s members—and she had been practically invisible to them as a source of romantic interest.
The fact that Dillon was willing to go with her in spite of his possessive tendencies was a point in his favor. “Come on, Dillon, be early or I’m going to start taking things apart.” Brigitte curled and flexed her toes in the confines of the boots she had decided to wear, worrying at her bottom lip.
The distance—physical, if not emotional—from Dillon had given Brigitte some time to think about the relationship they were beginning to form together. She refused to touch on the thought of what Dillon wanted from her ultimately; but she couldn’t deny that she was anxious to see him again. She was even more antsy to go back to his apartment or to invite him to hers. But that’s a whole different thing from wanting to be with him forever. You barely know the guy!
Brigitte tapped the toe of her boot on the floor, glancing around her living room. It was so quiet, almost oppressively so. Almost involuntarily, Brigitte imagined what it would be like for Dillon to be in the living room with her. He’d have me naked on the couch, she thought wryly, grinning to herself. Oh god. He’d rip these tights right off me. Brigitte shivered at the thought, a little rush of heat working through her.
The sound of a knock at her door interrupted Brigitte’s thoughts, and she was on her feet in an instant, hurrying to answer it. Her heart beat faster in her chest, and Brigitte felt herself smiling broadly, her skin tingling and her body warming up just from the thought of Dillon being on the other side of her door.
Brigitte fumbled with the deadbolt, her fingers slipping on the lever as she scrambled to turn it. “God, I’m such an idiot,” she said to herself, shaking her head at how excited she was, how giddy she felt. She finally managed to get the deadbolt turned over, the door unlocked, and turned the knob, pulling the door open in a quick, jerky movement.
Dillon barely waited for the door to open before he pushed through it, immediately coiling his arms around her waist and bringing his lips down onto hers. Brigitte shivered in Dillon’s embrace as he kissed her hungrily, his hands wandering over the curves of her body.
He broke away after a long moment, panting slightly as he looked down into her eyes. “Can we skip the concert and go to bed, love? I’ve been thinking about you for days.” Dillon held her away from him and looked her over from head to toe admiringly.
“Although, I don’t mind watching you move around in these digs for a few hours.” Brigitte laughed, blushing under his lustful gaze.
“You can’t have it both ways,” she pointed out, giving his shoulder a playful shove. Dillon chuckled.
“Well, we could take the tights off, the panties with them…” his fingertips slid up underneath the hem of her skirt, brushing against her upper thigh. “Leave everything else on.” Brigitte’s heart skipped in her chest, and she licked her lips, swallowing against the tight feeling in her throat.
“We’re going to the show, and we’re going to dance, and then when we get back you can rip my clothes off and make me scream your name.”
Dillon nipped sharply at the patch of skin underneath her ear along her throat, and Brigitte shuddered, her hands tightening on his shoulders in reaction. “I like the fact that you’re already anticipating screaming my name,” Dillon murmured, his hands sliding down to the curve of her back. “We can do it your way, but we need to be careful.”
Brigitte stepped back, out of his arms, looking at Dillon sharply.
“Why careful?” she asked, catching something in his tone of voice that set off alarms in her mind.
“I’ve been tracked,” Dillon said. “When we went to the green market last weekend, someone from the local Pride caught my scent, and some guys from the Pride came by to try and scare me out of the town.”
Brigitte’s eyes widened. “You didn’t think to mention that to me all this week?”
Dillon smiled wryly. “You’ve made it clear you’re not my mate—yet. I didn’t want to burden you with it when you haven’t even decided to stay with me.”
Brigitte frowned, trying to decide if she appreciated the discretion or disliked the fact that he’d hidden something from her.
“I met with the Alpha yesterday.”
“Okay, and?”
Dillon’s lips twisted into an expression somewhere between a smile and a frown. “His name is Kieran, and he told me—I assumed as much—that he hadn’t sent the guys after me. There’s a big chance they’re looking to shake up the Pride, and part of that is getting me out of the city before I can even think to join up.”
“I thought you said Prides don’t like lone males,” Brigitte said, her heart beginning to beat faster out of fear, rather than arousal.
“They don’t,” Dillon admitted. “But since I told him that I have the prospect of a potential mate, he’s willing to give me time to court you before he makes a decision. If, that is, he can handle the situation with these renegades in his own Pride.”
“And he probably wants you on board to help him,” Brigitte surmised after a moment’s thought.
Dillon nodded. “I’d have to give him allegiance; I’d expect as much, since he’s willing to give me time to assimilate.”
“But these other people are after you.”
Dillon nodded again. “And they caught your scent at my apartment, so they’d know…” he shrugged. “We just need to be careful at the show tonight is all.”
Brigitte licked her lips, taking a slow breath. “Okay,” she said finally, giving her mind a chance to work through the startling revelation. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re a big, scary lion.”
Dillon laughed. “Yes,” he said, reaching out and pulling her to him for a quick, hungry kiss. “It’s a very good thing. I scared them off at my apartment, I can handle them anywhere.”
“As long as you can back it up,” Brigitte said tartly. “I’ve already told the guys I was coming to the show with my hot new boyfriend, so I need to make an appearance.”
“Then we can come back here and I can make you scream my name?”
Brigitte grinned, blushing as she gathered up her purse. “It’d be nice to get some revenge on my upstairs neighbors, keeping me up half the week with the bed squeaking.”
Dillon chuckled, tousling her hair. “Lots of places in here to have you,” he pointed out, glancing around the apartment. “I think we can keep them entertained for hours, don’t you?” Brigitte rolled her eyes, laughing as she made sure she had her phone and keys.
“You are the worst,” she told Dillon. He responded by letting his hand rest on the small of her back as he steered her through the front door, a grin on his face.
***
As soon as they arrived at the club, Brigitte spotted Angel, the band’s drummer, loading in the pieces of his kit. “Hey!” he said, looking up when he caught sight of her hand-in-hand with Dillon. Angel gave Dillon a quick, appraising glance and grinned at Brigitte.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you had a hot new boyfriend. Welcome to the show, man!” Angel put down the gear he was carrying to shake Dillon’s hand.
“Brigitte’s told me great things,” Dillon said noncommittally, and Brigitte rolled her eyes mentally; she may not know lions in general as intimately as she knew Dillon in particular—but she could recognize the sight of two men feeling each other out no matter what their species.
“She’s a great girl,” Angel said, still smiling. He pushed a lock of thick, curly hair out of his face. “We all feel sort of protective over her, you know? Like a little sister to the band.”
Brigitte laughed out loud. “Oh, you mean like that time John picked a fight with the drunk guy and I had to kick the guy’s knees in before he knocked John out?” she asked archly.
“Like that,” Angel agreed, his smile broadening. Brigitte rolled her eyes, her grip tightening on Dillon’s free hand.
“Come on, let’s get something to drink,” she said, standing on tiptoe to give Angel a quick kiss on the cheek as a greeting before pulling her lover away.
As they made their way through the crowd, Brigitte pointed out the other members of the band to Dillon, introducing them as they ran into the men; she could tell that Dillon was more vigilant than he’d been during their trip to the green market, sniffing at the air occasionally and glancing around the crowded club. “Smell anything suspicious?” she asked him in a low voice when they finally found a table to sit at, drinks close at hand.
Dillon shrugged. “It’s harder to keep track, but so far, I don’t recognize any non-human scents,” he told her, his voice equally low.
“Just let me know if we need to leave,” Brigitte said, glancing around, feeling strangely conspicuous. Dillon grinned at her in the dim light, his teeth flashing bright.
“That’s a whole separate issue,” he told her, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “If I had my way we’d have spent the whole evening at your place.” Brigitte shook her head, grinning irrepressibly.
“You are the most masculine male I have ever met in my life,” Brigitte said, taking a sip of her cider. She had decided to keep to beer-like drinks for the night, since she and Dillon might have to leave or react at any moment. “Everything is either sex or food with you.”
Dillon laughed. “Your fault completely,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Before I met you I was able to keep my lusty urges under control.”
“Oh, so because you think I’m your mate, you want to have as much sex with me as possible?” Dillon shrugged, still smiling.
“Biological imperative,” he said simply. Brigitte rolled her eyes. Dillon leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her neck. “The way you smell, the way you taste, the way you look, drives me absolutely wild, woman,” he murmured. “I can’t even see any other women, even think of them.
All I can think of is how much I want to have you all to myself and hear you moaning with pleasure.” Brigitte shivered, a flash of heat tingling through her at the sound of Dillon’s low voice. “But we do have to act like regular people instead of sex maniacs sometimes,” he finished, pulling back to sit more firmly in his seat.
He grinned as if he knew exactly what effect he’d had on her, and Brigitte scowled. “If you don’t behave, you’re going home alone,” she told him firmly.
Dillon held up his hands in surrender.
The band finally started up, and Brigitte stayed close to Dillon as they made their way onto the dance floor, swaying and moving together to the music. She could feel her desire starting up at the feeling of Dillon’s body pressed against hers, the unmistakable bulge forming at the front of his jeans brushing and rubbing against her.
More than once she almost gave into the impulse to suggest to Dillon that they go home together, back to her apartment—but she made herself hold back. We need to make sure that we can spend time together without having to have sex to be happy, she told herself firmly. But the smell of Dillon’s body, shot through with the musk that she knew marked him as a were-lion, only stirred up her lust more and more.
They managed to hold out through the end of the show, Dillon occasionally dragging Brigitte to a dark corner of the club to take advantage of the slight privacy; her body thrummed with tension, buzzing with greater and greater lust every time Dillon led her into the dark to kiss her hungrily, his hands wandering over her body in devastating caresses. “I can’t wait to get you home,” Dillon murmured in her ear at one point, nipping at the column of her throat. “I hope you’re not too attached to these tights.”
Brigitte could feel the heat building up between her thighs, her fluids drenching the thin fabric of her panties.
When the band finished their second set of the evening, Brigitte brought Dillon to where they were hanging out at the bar, standing around long enough to make polite conversation. Every moment she spent waiting to go home was slow torture, and Brigitte tried not to fidget and give away her growing arousal as she accepted Angel’s insistent offers to buy her and Dillon a shot. Dillon’s hand on hers tightened occasionally, and in the corner of her eye, Brigitte could see the flickers of tension on his face, the way that his eyes darkened with desire.
Finally—finally—it was time for them to leave; the waiters and bartenders were beginning to clean up, and the band had started to load up their gear. Brigitte nodded when Dillon gave her a quick look, his expression full of intent. He pulled her into his arms quickly and kissed her, pressing her body against his.
“You don’t need to sleep tonight, do you?” he asked her, barely breaking away from her lips. “Because I think I desperately need to make up for the last four hours of not making love to you.”
Brigitte shivered, grinning slightly. “I don’t have work tomorrow,” she said, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the hard ridge of Dillon’s erection pressing into her hip. “So as long as we can both stay awake…” Dillon let out a low, growling purr, nuzzling her neck in an affectionate movement that Brigitte had already come to love, strange as it was.
“Let’s keep count of the number of times I can make you come before you pass out,” Dillon suggested. Brigitte nodded acceptance of the idea, and Dillon took her hand, leading her out of the club with unmistakable urgency.
They both walked quickly down the street towards Dillon’s car, and Brigitte’s mind was so full of their impending sex that she barely noticed as her lover became tense—tense with something other than lust. He came to a dead stop, and Brigitte turned to look at him in confusion.
“Lions,” Dillon said quickly. “Five of them, at least.” He let go of her hand and Brigitte swallowed against the dry feeling of dread in her throat, her heart beginning to pound in her chest.
Of course, she thought bitterly as the darkness around them erupted.