Chapter 8

Sometimes I could be the master of understatement. Kennedy had passed "terrible mood" about five hours ago. We spent the morning at the Domino Sugar factory meeting with her new security team—again—and I'm pretty sure creatures twice her size pissed themselves by the time she finished grilling them about gaps in their security system and routines. I winced more than once in sympathy.

Eventually, we were relegated to standing outside the manager's office while Kennedy requested—in a waytoo sugary voice—all sorts of documentation from the terrified staff.

Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" kept playing from Michael's pocket as we stood "guard." He didn't answer the phone. Each time it began the opening riff, his jaw hardened a little more, and he silenced it. After the fifth or sixth time, I snapped, "You going to answer that?"

He glowered, but snatched ear buds from his pocket, stuffed them in his ears, and stomped a few feet down the hallway. He answered. "I'm working. Now is not a good time."

He stood too far away for me to hear the voice on the other end. A woman, that much I could tell. Not that I wanted to eavesdrop. Didn't care.

After shooting me a glance from under his lashes, Michael strode farther away. Got that message loud and clear. He stayed quiet, his knuckles whitening as his hands clenched into fists. After a couple minutes, he said, "Are you finished? I've already told you—"

His posture stiffened, and for a second I swore he began to shift. Since he was a fucking huge prehistoric-looking wolf and this hallway was narrow, that was slightly worrisome. Didn't shift, though.

"No. I've been clear. Tell her to go home. I've told you repeatedly, I—"

Shouted indistinct words—a man's voice this time—and then Michael said, "Deal with it," and hung up. He stomped back over to me, his face so thunderous I might have been intimidated if I didn't know him.

Guess we were all in a shitty mood now.

We stood there almost shoulder-to-shoulder in the deafening silence. Now that he easily gave me the quiet I wanted, I had to bite my tongue not to talk to him.

"Everything all right?" I blurted. I dipped my chin so my locs would cover my grimace. Sometimes being a caretaker caused more problems than it solved. "Sorry, man, I shouldn't have—"

"My parents. We don't have the best relationship." His voice lacked inflection.

I nodded. Yeah, bigots sucked, though that probably wasn't what he meant.

"It's hard to be the heir, right?" Not that I knew anything about that.

He snorted. "What makes you think I'm the heir?"

I couldn't help it. I laughed, keeping my voice low. "Right. Good one."

"I'm serious. My sister's next in line. It's the reason I left. My dad wants me to challenge her position."

I turned toward him. "Your dad wants you to fight your own sister?"

"Yeah. We're twins. She's ten minutes older. And an alpha. It's not all that unusual in a wolf pack. Dad is sure I'm the stronger wolf."

I gave him a slow perusal from head to toe. Not hard to believe. "Are you?"

"Maybe. I don't care. I'm not hurting my sis. Besides, she'll be a better leader than I ever would." He shrugged.

Color me surprised. Hadn't expected him to acknowledge any weakness. And for an alpha wolf, admitting someone else could be a stronger leader would be seen as weakness.

"So, what are you planning to do?"

He locked gazes with me. "Live my life. Try to be happy. Let my sister take her rightful place."

"You're not going back?" I swallowed.

"Maybe someday. But everything I want is right here in Baltimore." His eyes darkened.

I flushed. Don't fall for it. He's a wolf. They always return to their packs. . . Unless they join new ones, an annoying voice chimed in. I cleared my throat again, my mouth suddenly dry. "They sending your sister here? I heard you say—"

The door banged open, and Kennedy swanned out, an evil grin on her face. "Let's go kick some ass, boys."

* * *

The rest of the day,Michael and I kept quiet. As if the day responded to Kennedy's mood, it remained overcast, frigid, and gray. To make matters even worse, she dragged us to a meeting with Valkyrie Cane, the Roger of West Baltimore. A high-powered mage, Cane was as nasty as the rest of her coven. Poe joked that the mages all dressed like they should sell scented candles at the Ren Faire, and he wasn't wrong. The shapeless earth-tone robes, silver jewelry, and cloud of incense that quickly gave me a headache made them a cliché.

Cane came in trying hard to both influence and disrespect Kennedy. By the time we finished, one of Cane's enforcers left in tears, another cradled broken fingers, and Cane herself had paled to the color of freshly fallen snow. Couldn't even take credit. Michael and I hadn't done a thing.

Except stay out of Kennedy's way.

There was something soothing about having Michael by my side. His fresh pine scent was driving me crazy, though it helped with the incense headache. My body was having all sorts of inappropriate and confusing reactions to his nearness.

During a tense moment with the mages, he'd subtly reached out and squeezed my elbow. I pretended I didn't notice, but was tempted to lean into him.

In the late afternoon with the sun hidden behind ominous clouds, we climbed out of her fancy SUV with her new pink Oleander logo stenciled on the hood. A fitting symbol. Pretty but deadly. Like Kennedy.

So ready to be done for the day, but we still had a couple more stops to make. Just as I finished that thought, a lone boar shifter came out of a crouch behind a parked car and lunged for Kennedy.

She put a silver bullet between his fire-red eyes.

He fell, lifeless, at our feet.

"Damn, I needed that." She stepped over his corpse like he was barely an inconvenience. Guess he thought he could claim the Roger's position for his own.

Fatal mistake.

Don't know what it meant that I barely flinched. Michael shot me a feral grin, which should have disgusted me, instead of heating my blood to boiling. I glanced away. Damn this fated mates shit. I would resist it. Ravens don't have mates. Ravens don't have mates. Ravens . . . maybe if I repeated it enough times, it would stick.

Michael tensed, tilted his face up, and seemed to taste the air. A growl rolled from his powerful chest and claws sprung from his fingertips through his expensive leather gloves. Both Kennedy and I froze.

"What is it?" she asked, her gun reappearing in her hand.

I scanned the street. Only a couple of humans lingered on the other side of the road with six lanes between us. Perhaps a father and son. Big fuckers, but human. Definitely human.

"Abe, stay with Kennedy. Watch each other's back." He looked both ways and sprinted across the wide street directly toward the humans. They began to slowly dissolve right before our eyes. The hell?

Then it hit me.

Shades.

They looked human during the day, but at night could disappear like smoke. Since they hadn't winked out of sight, it must still be light enough they couldn't easily shift to their amorphous state. Michael lunged and swiped a clawed hand at one of their faces . . . but they were gone.

He prowled around the area in a quick sweep before jogging back to us.

He held up his hand. Blood tipped his claws. "Tagged that fucker. Should make him easy to spot, unless they have a healer, too."

"Nice job, Michael. Joris' always been vain. Serves him right for getting too cocky." Kennedy tapped a long nail against her cheek. "Should have killed him in Antwerp when I had the chance. Ugh, now, Tommy will gloat. He said there'd be more."

She seemed more annoyed than concerned.

"Who's Joris?" I asked.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Just a guy."

"You know him?" My tone came out sharp, probing.

"Does anyone really know another creature?"

"You didn't think to tell us there'd be more shades gunning for you?" I crossed my arms, my jaw going tight.

"Michael had it under control." She gave him a nod, then proceeded toward the building onto her next errand.

I gaped. Really?

"Damn, Kennedy, warn a guy next time!" I called after her, beginning to follow.

She barely gave me a wave in acknowledgement.

Michael stepped close, his nearness comforting.

"How'd you know?" I asked, gazing into his faintly glowing eyes. "I'd have bet my life those guys were human."

"Dire wolves have exceptional noses. On the surface, they smelled human. Underlying their scent was the hint of sulfur. Like fireworks. Dead giveaway."

"Huh," was all I managed.

Michael leaned in close to my ear, his words only for me. "You notice the way they stood? They're mercenaries. My guess? Belladonna. Night Shades. If they're here, there's more going on than we're being told. You need to stay close."