The man’s thin lips went thinner. “Three of Aretha’s pack are down at Saturday’s kill. I want a tank truck out there—now. Get a full data spread before you douse them.”“I don’t have any saltwater made up,” whoever it was complained. “No one told me we were collecting data this month.”
“That’s because we aren’t,” he answered, anger growing in his face, though it wasn’t in his slow speech. “But they’re down, and since Aretha has pups in her, I want an ultrasound. And be careful. They’re riled up and likely to be unpredictable.”
“An ultrasound?” came an indignant voice. “Who the hell is this?”
“This here is Brett,” he drawled, shifting his cap farther back and squinting at the sun. We hit a bump, and I clutched at a support post. “Who the hell is this?”
There was no answer except static, and I snickered, glad I wasn’t the only one in trouble. “So,” I said when Brett gave the mike to the driver and settled back. “Are you a survivalist group or a wolf research station?”
“Both.” He shifted his brown eyes between Jenks and me. The large pixy had his head bowed over his knees, ignoring everyone in his effort to keep his hand to his wound.
I pulled a strand of hair out of my mouth, wishing I had on more than my black tights. I looked like a thief, and the men surrounding me were getting their money’s worth. They were in baggy camouflage, and from what I could see, each had a Celtic knot tattooed in the arch of their ears that matched the emblems on their hats. Huh.
Most packs had a tattoo that all members subscribed to, but they usually put them in a more traditional place. Weres loved body decoration, standing in stark contrast to vamps, who shunned getting ink even if a parlor would give them any. It seemed that pain was part of the mystique, and since vamps could turn pain into pleasure, it was a rare artist who would work on vamps, living or dead. But Weres indulged themselves freely, and the best artists could run on four feet as well as two. I was glad David hadn’t brought up the idea of a pack tattoo.
Jenks was starting to hyperventilate, and I put a hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy, Jenks,” I soothed, growing anxious when the light brightened and we slowed, easing into a pleasant-looking compound. There was a lake nearby, with a mishmash of small cabins and larger homes surrounding it, well-tended dirt paths everywhere. “I’ll get you something as soon as we stop.”
“You will?” he said, tilting his head to meet my eyes. “You’ll fix it?”
I nearly laughed at his panicked expression until I remembered it was a pixy wife’s ancestral duty to keep her mate alive and no one else’s—and Matalina wasn’t here.
“Matalina won’t mind,” I said, then wondered. “Will she?”
His eighteen-year-old features scrunched into relief. “No. I didn’t want to assume—”
“Good Lord, Jenks,” I said, weight shifting when we stopped. “It’s no big deal.”
Brett’s eyes were bright in speculation at the exchange, and he made us remain seated until everyone else got out. The Were in wolf ’s clothing was last, and as soon as Jenks and my feet hit the parking lot, Brett directed us to head to the lake. The people who saw us were curious, but the only ones stopping to watch wore either bright flamboyant clothes or casual business attire, both of which looked out of place among the predominant fatigues. Clearly they were not military, and I wondered what they were doing there. Everyone was on two feet, which wasn’t surprising since it seemed there were two or possibly three packs on the island—three big packs—and when packs mixed, fur flew if they didn’t stay people.
It was highly unusual to have Were packs mixing like this. Indeed, I could see it in the thinly veiled disdain that the Weres in fatigues showed the street Weres, and the belligerent why-should-I-care-what-you-think attitude of the colorfully dressed pack in response.
Chickadees called in the chill spring air, and the sun was dappled through the pale green leaves of the saplings. It was a nice spot, but something smelled rank. Literally. And it wasn’t the breath of the Were padding on four feet to my right.
My worried gaze followed Jenks’s to the lake. Logs were arranged in a circle around a large defunct bonfire, and I could faintly smell the acidic odor of hurt and pain over the scent of old ash. All of a sudden I did not want to go over there.
Jenks stiffened, nostrils flaring. He dug in his heels with a defiant clench to his jaw. Tension slammed into me, and every man with a weapon tightened his grip as we came to a collective halt. The Were on four feet growled, ears flat and his lip curled to show white teeth.
“Now y’all just ease down,” Brett said softly, cautiously evaluating Jenks’s resolve and rocking back. “We aren’t going to the pit. Mr. Vincent will want to see you.” He cocked his head at the driver. “Put them in the living room, get them a med kit, and back off.”
My eyebrows rose, and the men surrounding us with their matching fatigues and cute caps looked among themselves, their grips on their weapons shifting. “Sir?” the driver stammered, clearly not wanting to, and Brett’s eyes narrowed.
“You got a problem?” he said, his slow drawl making twice as many syllables as was warranted. “Or is security for a witch and a—whatever he is—beyond you?”
“I can’t leave them alone in Mr. Vincent’s living room,” the driver said, clearly worried.
A Jeep with a milky-white tank and coiled hose was leaving, and Brett smiled, squinting in the sun. “Deal with it,” he said. “And next time, don’t start to Were ’less I tell you. Besides, he looks smart,” he added, indicating Jenks, “and right quiet. A gentleman. So I’m willing to wager he won’t be doing anything rash.” His amiable demeanor fell away to leave a hardened will. “Capiche?” he said to Jenks, every drop of casual country boy gone.
Jenks nodded, his face both serious and scared. I didn’t care if this was their standard good cop/bad cop ploy as long as I didn’t have to go to the lake. Relieved, I smiled at Brett, not having to fake my gratitude. In the brighter light at the outskirts of the parking lot, I could tell that his hair was silver with age, not sunlight, putting him closer to forty than thirty. Brett’s answering smile made his face wrinkle, his eyes amused as he clearly realized I was playing the grateful captive and not as helpless as I let on.
“Randy?” he said, and the Were on four feet pricked his ears. “You’re with me.” Turning on a heel, he strode to the second largest building off the lot, the pony-sized Were trotting beside him. The driver watched them go, his lips moving in an unheard curse. With obvious anger he jerked his weapon, indicating we should take an alternate path. Jenks and I fell into step before they could touch us. Time for a little bad cop?We were headed away from the pit, but I didn’t feel much better. The walkway was made of flat slate, and Jenks’s running shoes were silent beside mine. The Weres scuffed in their boots behind us. The building we were headed for looked like it had been built in the seventies, low-slung and made out of a salmon-colored stone, with high small windows that overlooked the lake. The middle section was taller, and I imagined it had vaulted ceilings since it wasn’t quite high enough for a full second story. I slowed as I approached the entryway, thinking the massive wood and steel door looked like it belonged to a vault.
“You want me to just walk in?” I asked, hesitating.
He sneered, clearly not happy about his boss reprimanding him by giving him an awkward task that, if we ran, he would be punished for. Not to mention Brett had taken with him the only member of his team that might have a chance of catching us.
Taking that as a yes, Jenks reached in front of me to pull the door open, leaving his blood behind on it. It would be a good marker of where we were for someone looking if they forgot to clean it off. I don’t think anyone even noticed, and we slipped inside.
“Down the hall and to the left,” the driver said, gesturing with the butt of his weapon.
I was tired of his attitude; it wasn’t my fault Brett was mad at him. I took Jenks’s elbow—apparently the sight of his blood was making him woozy again—and led the way past sterile walls to a bright spot at the end of the hall. It was clearly a living room, and I evaluated it for possibilities while the driver had a hushed conversation with the armed sentry in the archway. More weapons, but no face paint or insignia on them this time apart from the tattoo.
The low ceilings of the hallway gave rise to that story and a half I had noticed from outside. To my right a bank of windows opened onto an enclosed courtyard landscaped with shrubs and a formal fountain. To my left was the exterior wall facing the lake, a catwalk tucked under the high windows. Defense was written all over the sunken room, and my mind pinged on my first idea—that this was a survivalist’s group. I was willing to bet that when they left us alone, someone would still be watching, so it was no surprise when Jenks muttered, “There are six cameras in here. I can’t place them all, but I can hear their different frequencies.”
“No kidding,” I said, eyes roving but seeing nothing in the plush sunken living room with two opposing couches, a coffee table, two chairs by the windows, and what I thought was a modest entertainment center until I realized it held two huge flat screen TV’s, three satellite boxes, and a computer that would have made Ivy salivate.