Chapter 20 #2
The men were already at the long table. Bronc at the head, back straight, eyes alert, the man born to lead.
Arsenal and Wrecker had their hands wrapped around mugs like they’d just come in from a blizzard.
Big Papa was quietly demolishing a mountain of eggs while Doc was picking apart a fruit bowl and watching the room over the rim of his glasses.
As I sat, Arsenal nodded to me. “You’re just in time, Gunner. Bronc was about to make us say grace.”
Bronc gave him the finger, then looked at me. “How’s Brie?”
“She’s good. Real good,” I said, meaning it. “Ate breakfast, dressed up like a peacock, ready to conquer the world.”
Wrecker snorted. “I saw her Instagram post. She looks like an acid trip in human form.”
“She looks happy,” said Big Papa, his voice as big as the rest of him. “That’s all that matters.”
Doc offered a rare smile, then forked another piece of melon. “She and Gunner both look better than last week.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I muttered.
Bronc rapped the table. “Let’s get started. We got three priorities today: security, logistics, and making sure the pack looks good in front of a shitload of humans.”
He looked at me. “First up—report.”
I set my fork down and folded my hands. “The nightmares are gone, for now. Aspen’s charms worked. But before that, Brie and I had a… situation.”
Arsenal leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Define ‘situation.’”
“The last nightmare she had was really bad. ‘Cept this time I was also having the same dream at the same time. I saw what was happening to her, but I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
At least that’s what I gathered from the notes I jotted down when I woke up.
Based on those; it wasn’t something I’d want to remember.
But I do vaguely remember a shadow, and I caught a glimpse of who I thought could be Maltraz.
It seemed like he was making Brie think he was me.
Again, my notes were sketchy. My memory, even more so. We both woke up screaming.”
The details of the dream and that name sucked the oxygen out of the room.
Wrecker didn’t flinch. “Fuck, you sure?”
I nodded. “It was more than just a dream—it was like he was using us to test something out.”
Doc went full clinical. “Any aftereffects? Physical symptoms?”
I shrugged. “Tired, sore. Like we’d been fighting in our sleep. Brie couldn’t remember most of it, but she felt it, too.”
Bronc drummed his fingers. “He's clearly got something up his fucking sleeve.”
I nodded my tired head. "I agree. But I think he’s waiting.
He wants us to know he can get to us, even if it isn’t actually physical yet.
He's just fucking with us right now. He’s still got a hard-on for Iron Valor, but I don’t get it.
He’s a fucking king of a realm. Why does he care about a pack of wolves? "
Big Papa put his fork down, expression grave. “We’ve beat him several times. He clearly doesn’t like losing. Iron Valor has his number, and he can't have that. Hopefully, that will make him sloppy, causing him to slip up.”
Wrecker caught my eye. “Aspen’s charm is a temporary fix. If he wants in, he’ll get in eventually.”
Bronc’s jaw set. “After the gallery opening, we take that fucker down. No more waiting for him to make the first move. Menace and Savannah land in an hour. I’ll discuss Maltraz with him; see if he’s noticed any weirder behavior from him with the Council than usual.
Then we’ll act on our own. It would be helpful if we had Council help.
Lucia had mentioned it would take more than wolves to bring him down.
We’ll need more firepower. After the opening, we’ll find out what she meant. ”
There was a silent round of agreement. If anyone could kill a demon king, it was these men. Or, these men and the people we were associated with.
Bronc gestured to Wrecker. “Back to the gallery opening. Security?”
Wrecker wiped his mouth with a napkin, then slid a folder down the table.
“I’ve got micro-cameras up in both venues, with cloud storage.
We’ll monitor everything from Harper’s office, and Arsenal will run physical sweeps.
We’ve got prospects on rotating perimeter shifts, disguised as gallery staff.
Two plainclothes at the front door, three more handling the parking lots.
We want all hands on site in case anything goes down. ”
Arsenal added, “I got local police to stand down. Iron Valor has security on lockdown.”
Bronc shifted to Doc. “What about medical?”
Doc took a gulp of his coffee and then set his mug down. “I got EMTs on standby, plus me. Low chance of violence, but better safe than sorry. There will be as many human patrons as supernatural. Need both on hand.”
Bronc asked me about logistics.
“Harper’s dance studio is the reception and food area. Temporary walls, fabric drapes, floral installations. Brie wanted it to look like a fairy tale. Prospects will set up tables that Papa didn’t get to this morning. That and chairs should be done by noon.”
Big Papa smiled, proud. “Harper did all the prep herself. She’s proud of what she and Brie have accomplished.”
“And she deserves it,” I said, not bothering to hide my affection for my new sister-in-law.
Arsenal passed me a page. “Aspen’s got the food. I saw the menu. She’s going full Southern. Delivery starts at three, set up by five. Big Papa is helping her set up the cake.”
I looked down at the sheet, suddenly overwhelmed by the precision and the planning. Every angle, every risk, accounted for.
Wrecker caught my hesitation and grinned. “Don’t worry, Finn. We won’t let anything happen to her.”
I looked around the table. These men had literally saved my life before. They were the reason I’d survived battles, the reason I could wake up next to Brie every morning. For a second, I couldn’t talk. My throat locked up, and I had to take a deep breath to steady myself.
Big Papa noticed. “It’s okay to let them see you care, son. That’s the difference between us and them.”
Bronc nodded. “We’re a pack for a reason.”
I drained my coffee, then stood. “Thank you. All of you.”
There was a round of grunts and nods, the men’s version of a group hug.
Bronc finished his biscuit, then clapped me on the shoulder. “Get out there, Gunner. Make us look good.”
I grinned, heading for the door, the weight in my chest replaced by something light and warm.
The world might be full of monsters, but I had the best crew in Texas backing me up.
Let them come.
The trick with a Tom Ford suit is to act like you wear it every day, not like you just took it out of the dry cleaner’s plastic and spent half an hour watching YouTube videos on how to tie a “semi-formal” tie.
The truth was, I felt like a fraud in that suit, but Brie had asked for it, and there wasn’t a man alive who could say no to her when she turned those turquoise eyes on you and said, “I want you to look like a million bucks tonight.”
So I showered, used the expensive aftershave she loved, and tried not to think about how many ways this night could go off the rails.
By the time I pulled into the lot across the street, I’d gotten my nerves down to a dull roar and convinced myself the real reason I was sweating had nothing to do with the suit.
Harper’s space didn’t even look like itself.
The front windows glowed with soft light; every inch of glass was lined with string lights, trailing like a river of stars through the foyer and into the big studio.
The floors shone, and there was this smell of fresh-cut flowers, buttercream, and lemon polish.
Tables were set with white linens, little gold-trimmed flyers, and arrangements of wildflowers in mismatched vases.
Someone had even managed to get a soft jazz playlist going, which made the whole place feel more like a speakeasy than a dance studio for little girls.
I knew that Brie had hired a string quartet that would arrive and start playing soon.
She thought they’d “class the place up” just right.
The main attraction on the food side was the cake Aspen had delivered.
It was four tiers, stacked in a way I’d never seen before: instead of circles, each layer was a triangle, the edges lined with gold leaf; the surfaces painted with delicate brushstrokes of color that mirrored the gallery’s palette.
There were sugar flowers in the same purple and green as Brie’s dress, and a big, abstract wolf made of blown sugar crowning the top tier.
Aspen stood off to the side, hands folded, watching the cake like it might try to escape.
And she was her own cute little work of art dressed in a flowing hot pink dress with a high waist, big white daisy appliques and a scoop neck.
Her hair was in its signature high ponytail, and her green eyes almost glowed.
I caught a glimpse of Oscar when his head popped out from under the tablecloth on the floor.
He gave me a little salute and disappeared.
I stopped at the table and grinned. “That’s a work of art, Asp.”
She smiled, cheeks pink, then shushed me. “Don’t make me cry. If I cry, I’ll mess up my eyeliner, and Juliet will kill me.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Gallery’s locked down for final touches. Most folks are changing or doing last-minute stuff at home. Harper and Parker are upstairs trying to pin Juliet into her dress. Brie’s in her office, probably having a panic attack.”
Aspen reached out, straightened my tie, and gave a little nod. “You look nice, Finn. Very… grown up.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the meanest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”
“Just wait,” she said, then drifted off to talk to the florist.