24. You Brought a Snack
You Brought a Snack
The Werewolf comes at me out of nowhere.
Twice as large as a normal wolf, it pins me to the wall just inside the large wrought-iron gates. Standing on its hind legs, front ones on either side of my shoulders, it’s so close I can see intelligent grey eyes and deadly canines within snapping distance of my throat.
Several more wolves come streaking over with a lithe grace belying their size. I can’t see more than flashes of fur as I try to press myself further into the brick wall at my back. They prowl across the hard-packed dirt, paws kicking up dust, growling low in their throats.
I can’t move my arms to show them my badge.
I could activate it from my contacts, but my wrist is bent backwards, so the holo would only hit the wall.
But I get the distinct feeling they know who I am and are toying with me.
I hope Jake has nothing to do with it, but right now I’m not sure of anything.
We didn’t exactly leave things in a good place before I took off for New Orleans without letting him know, and now I’m in his territory, uninvited.
The Wolf that has me trapped is a deep russet color, and I’m sure I see a wolfish smile as it snaps at my throat.
Staring it down, I hold my ground, but inside I’m a boneless mess.
One bite would rip my throat out, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
My gun with its silver-tipped bullets is tucked into my pants, digging into my back in all its useless glory.
I should have learned from my run-in with Jezreel, but I hadn’t wanted to come into the compound with a direct threat in plain sight.
The other Wolves howl, and one dashes in to bite at my ankles. The one that has me trying my best to merge with the wall turns its head and snarls fiercely at the other Were in warning.
Suddenly, the animal pinning me is thrown backwards, rolling across the ground in a spray of dirt. Its claws dig in to halt its slide over the ground, before rising to shake the dust off its fur. The other Weres drop to the ground, heads lowering in deference and subservience.
Now that my life isn’t in imminent danger, I can see the Were who cornered me is smaller than the others around it. Likely a female.
The Alpha of the Sin City Pack stalks toward me with an animal grace that I admire even as my legs collapse under me. He catches me before I hit the ground, slinging an arm around my waist. Jake’s hazel eyes are a flame in his hard face as he stares down at me.
Where Micah is cold and aloof, Jake is fire and heat.
He doesn’t say anything aloud, giving a silent command down their shared Pack bond.
The Wolf shakes as it tries to resist, defiance shining bright in luminous grey eyes as she stares at me with pure hatred.
I have no idea what I’ve done to earn this Were’s anger.
Jake must project something else silently because the Weres with their heads lowered whine and growl, looking accusingly at the smaller one with their glowing Wolf eyes. Finally, fur bristling, she also drops her front paws to the ground, but keeps her head up.
‘Sara. Change,’ Jake tells the Were in a voice I have never heard from him before, part growl, all deep, resonant authority. Removing his arm from around my waist, Jake helps me to stand, but I’m still shaking. I’m really over supernatural beings trying to kill me.
Bones crack and grind, and I avert my gaze as the Werewolf sheds her fur and changes back into human form.
I’ve seen Lycos in their Wolf form plenty of times, but I have never seen one Change.
When I look again, a female is crouched on the ground, naked.
She rises with the innate grace all Werewolves possess, apparently unfazed by her state of undress.
Around my height with lean muscle, her hair is the same color as her fur in Wolf form.
She flicks those unnerving grey eyes toward me and smiles.
If she thinks she can rattle me, she’s in for some disappointment.
I’m not here as Jake’s girlfriend, so I step away, folding my arms across my chest, almost daring her to make a move.
‘Explain,’ the Alpha commands before I can flash my holo badge or state why I’m at the Sin City compound.
The recalcitrant Were, Sara, shrugs. ‘I thought she was a Wolfie.’ Her disdain is evident, but her eyes tell me she doesn’t really believe that. It’s an excuse to explain her bad behavior.
A Wolfie is the derogatory name for a Werewolf groupie.
Some humans only bang Lycos, getting a thrill from their strength and power.
I know firsthand exactly what that’s like.
But whereas there’s always an edge of danger present with Jake, he has more control over his primal animal instincts than most. I also know he has a rule prohibiting Wolfies from the compound or near the younger Weres.
There’s too high a chance of an accident happening.
It’s been a long time since there’s been an incident, thanks to the Treaty, but I’ve seen holo-pics of the damage a Were changing mid-fuck can do to a human. But I guess it’s a drug to some people, the same as having a Vamp sink their fangs in. No judgment from me.
I shake the thought away and give Sara the coldest look I can manage while surrounded by Weres still in Wolf form. I bring up my police badge to hover in front of me. Her eyes flick over it disdainfully.
‘I’ll decide on your punishment later,’ Jake says in dismissal.
Sara looks as if she’s about to argue, but thinks better of it.
I wonder if she’s too young, too new, to understand the repercussions of defying her Alpha.
Or if she’s older and assumes she’s earned the right.
Is there dissension within the Sin City ranks, and if so, is Janus aware of it?
But Pack infighting isn’t my main concern at the moment.
‘The rest of you, back to your posts.’ Jake’s voice brooks no opposition, and if I wasn’t slightly mad at him right now, I’d be very turned on.
The Weres stalk away, Sara sans clothes, as my boyfriend turns to look down at me. There is none of the warmth I usually find in his hazel eyes as he rakes them over me. Looking for injuries? I see his eyes catch on my now unblemished cheek, but he doesn’t comment on it.
Arms crossed over his broad chest, his worn grey t-shirt pulls tight over hard-packed muscle. ‘What are you doing here, Eve?’
‘I thought that would be obvious from the badge.’ Props to me for keeping my voice even and professional.
I feel as if I’m walking a tightrope without a net beneath, trying to balance the detective part of me with the girlfriend side.
The lines have become blurred, both by his jealous outburst and my lack of professionalism when this investigation first began.
It’s no wonder we’re now on uneven footing. A place we’ve never been before.
‘My Wolves already talked to you,’ he says tightly, his voice pitched low.
Lyco hearing may not be as good as Vamps, but it’s much better than humans, especially when they’re in their Wolf form.
Jake told me he can shield his mind from Pack awareness, and he can override their minds if he chooses to.
Sara and the other Werewolves had no choice but to obey him when given a direct order.
‘Barely.’ I rein in the flare of anger that sparks.
He’s being protective of his Pack, and I remind myself that it’s his job.
‘I wanted to fill you in on where we’re at, seeing as the second vic was one of yours. Is there somewhere we can talk?’ I look over to the building closest to us, where Tim and I conducted interviews a few days ago.
‘Of course, Detective Sinclair.’ His voice softens, and I see a glimmer of apology in his eyes.
Then he takes my hand, and I can’t tell if it’s out of habit or he’s making a statement. More blurred lines. The last time I saw him, he couldn’t control his animal nature, started to Change in front of me, and accidentally marked me with his claws.
The surrounding buildings are brick, typical of what used to be a major industrial part of the city.
Then it became gentrified, turned into warehouse apartments and shops.
Now it’s Sin City Pack territory, encompassing this compound and the areas surrounding it.
There are shops and apartments, along with several restaurants and a few nightclubs, close to the compound.
That was one reason our second victim, Evan Reynolds, shouldn’t have needed to be in another Pack’s territory.
Jake takes me past the Pack offices to a building on the left.
It’s five levels of whitewashed stone with columns flanking the front portico.
The large lobby has a marble-checked floor, tasteful art on the warm cream walls, a sweeping staircase, and an old iron elevator that Jake opens easily.
We rise to the top, each floor visible from the lattice-work of bars holding us in, mirroring the minimalist lobby decor.
As Jake opens the doors, I see that the entire floor is open plan. It’s a penthouse loft, and clearly it belongs to him. What does it say that in three years together, I’ve never been in his apartment?
The floors are ash wood with a few rugs scattered around.
Large picture windows bisect the whitewashed brick walls, showcasing the late-morning sun streaming in.
Directly in front of us is the living area, all clean lines and Scandinavian furniture.
To the right is a cream kitchen with grey stone countertops, and past it, French doors that lead onto a balcony.
A large, low-slung bed is neatly made to our left, with a walk-in wardrobe on one side and a bathroom on the other. Two bedside tables and a set of drawers in the same light Scandinavian-style wood, along with a chair with clothes scattered on it, complete the bedroom area.
There are no paintings on the walls, no pictures of us anywhere. It’s as if he sleeps here, but it’s not really his. It’s not a home.