Chapter 5

The next morning, when I opened my bedroom door to head to the common eating area, I found a bouquet of wildflowers in a scarlet vase, wrapped up with a big silver bow. The card said,

"Thinking of you.

–M"

Dammit. Didn't appreciate him playing me like this. Tempted to smash the vase, but that would be a waste. I snatched up the flowers, hoping no one saw them, and placed them on the nightstand.

I took a few deep breaths. Let it go. He could send me all the flowers he wanted. I wasn't fool enough to think pretty gestures would make a difference. He was still an overbearing asshole, and he'd as much as said his family would never accept me. Wasn't signing up for that shit. Again.

I traced a raised purple scar on my forearm. Sliced with a sliver blade and never fully healed. My stepmother's reminder of where I stood in the pecking order. If not for my grams showing up at my school and whisking me away to Baltimore when I was eight, I don't know what would have happened. Or maybe I did and just didn't want to think about it.

My dad didn't fight Grams once he knew where I was. No calls. No visits. Probably breathed a sigh of relief. Not his problem anymore.

I shook off the memory, a suspicious tingle lingering behind my eyes whenever I thought of my grams. My angel.

I missed her. Human life spans were so short.

I looked at the flowers. No idea how Michael found these in the middle of winter—crazy wolf had to have paid a mint. I ran a finger over a sunflower petal before turning and heading to the community eatery. Kennedy had partitioned off her personal space from the rest of the penthouse, with only Michael, me, Ike, and Jagger rooming on the same hallway. Even her staff, she only trusted so far. Then again, if I'd had as many attempts on my life in the last weeks as she'd had, I'd also be paranoid.

I strode down a long hall, past the elevators, and turned the corner, reaching what had been three hotel rooms—now turned into the common area. Her guards bristled with mercenary zeal as they stood in groups or sat eating breakfast. A well-trained fighting force. Michael stood in the center of a group of mostly wolf shifters. I didn't meet his eyes. Several group members tilted their chins in my direction. A grizzled wolf gave me a good-natured leer. I winked.

No shifter could miss Michael's low growl. Dude had a serious problem. If he didn't knock that alpha shit off, I was gonna step over to him, set him straight. Didn't help that all the wolves instantly bared their throats to him. And the asshole took it as his due.

Instead of reacting, I swaggered past the group to a round table. A lone figure hunched over a plate of food and guzzled coffee. Kennedy served real coffee, the beans rich and dark, not the synth stuff most of Baltimore drank.

"Hey, Linc, 'sup?" I grinned at the petite fairy. A huge pair of square frames rested on his button nose.

He grunted. Our resident tech guru wasn't a morning person.

To sate my shifter's metabolism, I grabbed several plates of food, slid them onto a tray, and then snagged myself a cup of coffee, not bothering with cream or sugar.

Even though the hair at my nape prickled, I ignored Michael's stare. Didn't owe him anything.

I returned to Linc and sank into a chair next to him. I dug into my food. While I devoured my eggs, pancakes, toast, waffles, bacon, and sausage, Linc guzzled several more cups of coffee.

The news played on a flat screen TV that took up almost an entire wall. Sally DeSantos, BNN's highest rated news anchor, pretended to enjoy discussing Valentine cupcake ideas. Management had recently pulled her from the prime-time Baltimore Today and shoved her into Baltimore Outta Bed, a morning show focusing on puff pieces. She'd been one of BNN's best investigative reporters. The morning show must have been a huge demotion. Might have something to do with the new bombshell siren Tiffany Something—couldn't remember her last name—they'd hired. Personally, I missed Sally taking the hard-hitting pieces.

"Isn't this frosting divine?" asked Randall Jerico, a distinguished jackalope with silver sideburns. He ran a finger through a cupcake's frosting and popped it into his mouth. "So creamy."

Sally's angular features remained bland, but her pastel green wings fluttered, and her matching beehive wobbled slightly.

"Yes, Randall, so creamy." Her lip turned up in a hint of a smile, and she pulled her signature yellow cat's-eye glasses down her nose. "You know, it reminds me of currents. Like the ones in the harbor."

"Uh, sure," Randall said, always affable. He took a big bite of the cupcake.

"Speaking of the harbor, did you hear about the floater they found last night near the bridge?"

Randall choked, spraying cupcake crumbs everywhere. He wheezed, wiping at his shirt. "I don't think we're supposed to talk about those kinds of stories. Besides, jumpers happen."

Not wrong. A popular spot. Still, several of us snickered. Good for her for slipping that tidbit into the morning show.

Sally shrugged, her eyes the picture of innocence. Nothing innocent about that fairy.

"Why Randall, I'll have you know, I talked to some sources. Not a jumper. Garroted," she sing-songed.

"That was Tiffany's story," Randall hissed, though his mic picked him up loud and clear. He shot her a murderous look, then turned to smile at the cameras. "Right. Thanks for that, uh, morbid commentary, Sally. Next up, the moistest red velvet cupcake to ever grace your palate. First, a word from our sponsor."

I tuned out and finished my breakfast. By the time I pushed my tray away, Linc looked more alert. He brushed his blue curls back from his heart-shaped face, his eyes owlish behind his glasses.

"Hey, Abe." Like he'd just noticed me. "You on the roster today?"

I nodded. "Far as I know."

I didn't get many days off. Kennedy liked to keep both Michael and me close. Too close for my comfort.

"Cool. She has me looking into the Domino Sugar sabotage."

"That why you look like you haven't slept in a week?"

He shrugged, and his deep blue wings fluttered. "Don't sleep much, anyway."

"You know who's behind it?" Weeks ago, someone had torched the sugar factory's main shed. Since it was the largest manufacturing outlet in Baltimore and refined upward of twenty-five percent of the country's sugar, this had quickly become a national crisis. Yet permits kept being stalled. This problem dropped in Kennedy's lap when she took over the position of Roger.

One of the first things she did was call her father—a U.S. senator and the president's closest advisor—to cram those permits through. She'd built a temporary sugar shack and reopened the refinery. Baltimoreans depended on those jobs, so even as assholes kept trying to take her out, she was winning over the business district and the hard-working grunts.

Yet, once again, someone—or more likely someones—had tried to close the factory. This shit had to stop.

Linc's bow lips turned down in a frown. "Not sure. But one thing I know: it's personal. Kennedy's got one hell of an enemy."

Ah, damn.