7. Mai

Chapter seven

Mai

I watched Ryan come in the front door, followed by Jase and the man who must be Maxwell Bishop. His eyes flickered briefly toward me, then Sam, Derek, and Mason, calculating quickly, taking note of his surroundings like a seasoned soldier entering enemy territory. My focus shifted quickly from him to the small figure by his side—a girl; couldn’t be more than ten or eleven. Her fingers clutched the bottom of Maxwell’s jacket, knuckles white from the pressure, though she stood off from him, ready to move if needed. Her dark eyes darted between us, wide and alert, like a wolf just released into a new stretch of wilderness. She was lean, slightly underfed by the look of it, with a nose that was a smidge too large for her face. She came to a stop, angling her body between Maxwell and the rest of us.

Pack instincts.

She had them. Whether she was conscious of them or not. And she wanted to protect the human.

Then, her eyes landed on the gigantic Christmas tree. She took it all in with wide, unblinking eyes, her wariness shifting momentarily into something else entirely. Awe.

Ryan stepped toward me, his hand brushing the small of my back for only a second, but it was enough to ground me.

“Hello. I’m Mai.”

The man nodded at me, keeping his eyes on my chin. “Maxwell. Maxwell Bishop.”

Ryan wasted no time getting to the point. “Where’s Ronnie?”

The corners of Maxwell’s mouth briefly tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “He’s handling a situation out east.”

Right.

“I don’t suppose you’re here carol-singing?”

A smile flickered across Maxwell’s face. “No, I’m not much of a singer.”

“Right,” I sighed. It had been too much to hope for. “Well then, we should take this to the study.”

Ryan sent a glance toward his brothers, telling them to come with us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jase glaring at Amara and Cameron. Yeah, he was not happy she was dating someone. And that it was Cameron, the boy-scout enforcer who everyone loved? That only made it worse. Jase had been grumpy as hell since they’d gotten together.

I turned as Sylvie appeared from the kitchen with the same brisk efficiency she always carried. Today, she wore her short, chestnut-brown hair in a sharp, clean cut that framed her face with effortless style—a practical look that suited her straightforward nature. There was no pretension in the way she looked or moved. Even her clothes hinted at functional simplicity: dark blue jeans and a loose blouse. Three purple stud earrings glinted in each ear beneath her tousled hair. Sylvie took one look at all the people here, her face paled, and she made a sharp U-turn. She avoided crowds, refusing to go to Pack events or even eat with us. She was the best cook this side of the Whispering Willow, but she’d spent too much time alone before coming here to be comfortable with many people, even members of her own Pack.

I caught Maxwell staring after her. His eyes flickered with something—a flash of recognition or surprise. Interesting. Did he know Sylvie?

Something to ask her later.

“Ben,” I called, keeping my tone gentle. “Come here a second.”

Ben, who had been watching everything from his spot by the fireplace, stepped forward cautiously.

“Can you show—uh …” I turned to the girl. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The girl’s lips parted, but for a second, nothing came out. She dropped her head a little, staring down at the tips of her shoes. “… Lark.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine for a brief, fleeting moment, then quickly shifted back down to the floor.

“I was wondering, Lark,” I began gently, “if you might like to check out the house? Ben and his friend Tucker here could show you around. We have a big tree, lots of snacks, and maybe—if Thomas hasn’t eaten them all yet—some cookies.”

“Yeah, we could show you all the best places,” Ben said shyly. “There’s even a room with lots of books and cool secret spaces.”

Tucker, bouncing on the toes of his feet, nudged in front of Ben. “Come on, we can show you the kitchen too! That’s where the gingerbread wolves are and where Mason pretends he doesn’t pinch them.” He grinned mischievously, clearly proud of his knowledge.

Shya laughed as Ben said urgently, “I told you to keep that a secret!”

“Don’t worry, Ben, that’s not a secret—everyone knows Mason can’t resist a gingerbread wolf when he sees one.”

Lark hesitated, her small frame remaining stiff by Maxwell’s side. He leaned down toward her, murmuring, “Go on. I’ll be right here, Lark.”

Her grip on his jacket finally released. She took a small, tentative step toward Ben and Tucker. They grinned at her as she followed them deeper into the house. I nodded to Jase, and he followed them.

Ryan didn’t waste any more time. He turned sharply toward Maxwell and jerked his head toward the door leading to the study. Maxwell stepped forward, glancing only once in the direction Lark had gone before following Ryan. I trailed after them, Mason, Derek, and Sam all falling into step behind us.

By the time Maxwell, Ryan, and I had sat down, with Mason leaning against the desk, Derek propping up the far wall where he could keep an eye on everyone in the room, and Sam perching on the edge of one of the leather couches, looking relaxed to anyone who didn’t know him, Ryan was clearly losing patience. “Alright, Maxwell, you’ve got five minutes to explain what the hell’s going on.”

Maxwell nodded once. “I don’t have all the answers, but what I know is this: Ronnie found Lark about two months ago. She had run away from her Pack and was terrified about something that had happened there. He took her in and made sure she was kept safe. For a while. But …” He paused. His eyes flicked to the side momentarily, as if calculating whether or not to share more.

“But?” I prompted.

Maxwell exhaled slowly, choosing his next words carefully. “Ronnie called me two days ago. We’re … well, we’re not close. Not these days. I live down south now and don’t hear much from my brother.”

“What did he say?”

“Ronnie needed a favor, said it was something only I could do. Didn’t tell me what, just said to get to the clubhouse asap. We might not be close anymore, but I owe Ronnie. I got on a plane first thing. I got to the clubhouse yesterday and … well, Lark was there with two prospects, along with a handwritten note from Ronnie that said, ‘Protect the girl, trust no one.’”

Movement outside the frosted window caught my eye. The three children were outside, Jase hovering in the distance. Tucker threw a snowball at Ben, laughing and spinning in pure delight. Lark was standing a few feet away from the boys, watching them as though deciding if it was worth joining in.

“You said her Pack wants her back.” Ryan’s deep voice drew me back inside the study. “Do you know which Pack she’s from?”

Maxwell shook his head, grimacing slightly. “That’s where I’m in the dark. I’ve asked Lark, but she’s not talking. All I got out of her was that her parents are dead, and she doesn’t ever want to go back to her Pack. According to the prospects, Ronnie is determined to keep her, and the whole fucking club has been acting as her family for the last two months; even been home-schooling her.”

“No Pack is going to let a pup make a decision like that,” Sam pointed out.

“So I gather. Apparently, they turned up last week and demanded Ronnie return her. He refused. They left, but then four days ago, Benny—he’s a patch holder, someone Ronnie trusts—stumbled into the shop, covered in blood, saying there was an attack on Ronnie’s operations across the north.”

“The Pack is taking down his businesses until he relents,” I guessed.

“Yeah. Only if you know anything about Ronnie, you know he doesn’t relent. He left to take care of them. He couldn’t take the girl with him, not if he wanted to keep her safe—“

“So he called the one person he trusts to protect her,” said Sam.

Maxwell nodded.

Mason, still leaning against the desk, crossed one ankle over the other. “Yet you brought her here?”

“Ronnie finally fucking picked up my call last night. He told me that if things got too hot, to bring the girl here. Then he hung up on me.”

Maxwell was clearly as unhappy about this whole situation as we were.

“And it got too hot?” Derek asked.

Maxwell’s jaw was tight, and he was silent for a moment before answering. “They came this morning. Before dawn. Ten werewolves. They torched the clubhouse. Killed one of the prospects. I got away with Lark. Sent the other prospect to find Ronnie.”

Sam smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s pretty darn impressive, man. One human escaping from ten werewolves.”

Maxwell leveled his gaze at Sam, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. He was just as lethal as his brother, and we’d be fools to underestimate him. “I’m a Bishop. We’re never helpless, not even against Shifters. But I can’t protect her by myself, and I’ve got no fucking clue when Ronnie will be back.” Then he leaned back against the couch. “So, will you help us?”