17. Lynx #2
“No.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the quiet way he says it packs more of a punch.
I could order him to do it, make him. But I’ve never been that type of alpha, and I won’t let fucking hunters push me into it now. Jet needs careful handling, not being hit over the head with alpha power.
I set my forearms on the table and meet stubborn green eyes that have no intention of backing down.
Fucking hell, Jet.
I take a moment to breathe in and out, making sure I have all my frustration, my anger locked down tight.
I can’t afford to mess this up. “I know what Nico’s been through.
I know it’s the last thing he’ll want to talk about or remember.
I fucking know that.” Jet’s expression softens the tiniest of fractions.
I’ll take that. “But we can’t wait for him to get comfortable with it.
If hunters are involved in the fight rings, we need to know as much as fucking possible, because this changes everything . ”
My words hit their mark.
Doesn’t make me feel any better about it, but Nico is the best lead we have right now. The only lead.
Jet doesn’t say anything, but he gets up and storms out, slamming the door behind him. I groan, but it is what it is.
“Did you tell Fox my name?” Morgan asks, breaking the silence.
“What?”
“He called me by my name when he questioned me. I assumed you’d told him.”
“No.” I curse under my breath. Should’ve picked up on that. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
He slumps in his seat. “D’you think they knew I was here all along? That maybe I’m the reason they came here and not that they know you’re the ones targeting the fight rings.”
“It’s possible,” I concede. “But it doesn’t matter either way. We’ve got to assume the worst, so we’re prepared.”
“Matters to me,” he says quietly. “Maybe it’s not just the Feral Beasts I need to watch out for now the hunters know where I am.”
“ Fuck!” I snarl, because he’s right. And the hunters are so much worse.
FBs we can handle, we can fucking fight if we need to, and there’s no way they’d dare set foot on our compound.
But Fox? He doesn’t even need an invitation, and he holds all the cards.
Without solid proof, no other hunter groups will believe he’s involved with illegal shifter fight rings.
It’ll be our word against his, and it doesn’t matter how much things have improved over the years. Hunters will always protect their own.
The truth hits me like a silver-edged blade. Sharp and nasty.
I can’t keep Morgan safe.
Not if he stays here.
My gaze slides to him. He’s sat back in his seat, eyes closed, messy hair falling forward enough that I have to fight the urge to gently push it back.
Without that angry glare directed my way, it’s easier to see the fatigue setting in.
The dark shadows forming under his eyes, the rigid way he’s holding himself.
It’s a stark reminder that he’s not like us. He’s not a shifter, and Corey’s blood aside, he was at death’s door less than a fucking week ago. He needs to rest and recuperate, and there’s zero chance of doing that around here. Not now.
And not with me around to remind him of the other bombshell I dropped on him earlier. Or the awesome, but ill-advised orgasm that followed.
It’s no surprise he looks exhausted.
An idea starts to form at the back of my mind.
One I hate with every bone in my body, but even my wolf has to reluctantly acknowledge it might be for the best. I don’t get a chance to voice it before the door opens and Jet walks in, thankfully a lot calmer than when he left.
He looks almost... soft as he leads Nico into the room.
Jet sits back in the chair nearest Mal, but Nico hesitates.
I look around the room and try and see it through his eyes. Morgan aside, the rest of us are typical shifters: tall, built, intimidating.
Nico is none of those things.
Born human, he’s five foot ten, at most, and slim. No wonder he’s not keen to be in here with the door shut.
“I’m sorry we have to do this.” I keep my voice soft, non-threatening. “I wouldn’t drag you in here if there was any other choice.”
“I understand,” he says as he meets my gaze. There’s a strength in those eyes, a resolve. “You got me out of that hellhole. This is the least I can do.”
Fuck no.
“You don’t owe us anything,” I say quick but firm, because I need him to know that. “We got you out because you don’t deserve to be in there. No one does. But if we’re going to keep doing what we do, we need to know everything you can tell us about the guy you recognised this afternoon.”
“Okay.” Nico takes a deep breath and seems to steel himself, because he glances around the room before taking the spare seat next to Jet.
This puts him opposite Flint, who flashes him a welcoming smile and makes him blush.
I ignore the death glare Jet shoots Flint, because we don’t have time for any of their drama.
“Can you describe the hunter you recognised?” Callum asks, flicking to a clean page to take notes.
Nico closes his eyes. “It was the one with black hair and the blade tattoo on the side of his neck.”
Fuck, I don’t remember a tattoo. I look to Callum, eyebrows raised in question.
Callum scowls. “Lee Mosely. The other two were blond with no visible tattoos.”
“Yeah,” Nico grimaces. “I think I remember one of the others saying that name.”
“Where did you see him?” I ask. “The ring we took you from?”
“No. The one before. I don’t know where we were because they never tell us the locations. They just trot us out to perform when we get there.”
Jet fidgets in his seat, hands curling into fists, then flexing over and over while Nico speaks. Most of us here have experience about what performing means. It’s not easy to listen to Nico’s story, even though he keeps to the basic facts. We can all read between the fucking lines.
What he went through was horrific.
Brutal and terrifying.
There’s more than one soft growl echoing around the room, the tension thickening with each quiet word. But it’s Jet I keep my eye on. It was bad enough when we were talking about the fight rings, but throw hunters into the mix?
They killed his entire family for nothing more than the notoriety of killing feline shifters.
They’re a rarity among us, and for some hunter pieces of shit, that means they’re a target.
Doesn’t fucking matter that the hunter council dealt with them, made them an example when the new rules were established.
For Jet, hunters are the scum of the motherfucking earth, and that will never change.
His hands curl into tight fists on top of the table.
Steady.
But I’d bet my fucking bike that his claws are out, digging into the meat of his palms, the pain the only thing grounding him.
His eyes meet mine, and just for a moment he lets me see the utter fucking misery that Nico’s story has dragged up. The memories that haunt him. And it hurts .
I’m two seconds away from launching across the table and pulling him into the tightest fucking hug when he blinks and locks everything back down tight.
He gives me a slight shake of his head, and as much as I want to grab him, to tell him he doesn’t have to hide anything, especially not from me, I let it go.
He’s not ready.
He might never be, and that’s okay.
Because every fucker in this room will be here when he is.
“Did you see Mosely with anyone else?” Callum asks, and Nico’s hand twitches on the table.
I don’t miss the way he leans into Jet. They’re sat so close their arms touch from shoulder to elbow, and he visibly relaxes.
But there’s no trace of arousal, no sense of attraction between them.
Jet’s fierce protectiveness is almost.. . familial.
Like a brother.
Who would’ve thought my most surly beta and club enforcer would be Nico’s sole source of comfort? Maybe I should’ve seen that coming a mile off, because now I think about it, it makes perfect fucking sense. Jet makes him feel safe.
“There were others there who he spoke to, but they never came close enough for me to see their faces.” Nico shrugs and kind of shrinks in on himself. “I don’t... I don’t think I’d recognise their scents either.”
Because he has no fucking idea how to be a shifter.
Something else we’ll need to talk about later, because there’s no way we’re leaving him like this. I don’t care how long it takes, we’re gonna help him be his best fucking self.
“Doesn’t matter,” I tell him, making sure no alpha power seeps out. I have no idea how it would affect him, and I have no desire to find out right now. “Just describe what you did see.”
“They were from around here, the Midlands,” he adds like I don’t know where we are.
Forgetting that he’s probably not from around here.
Just because we found him in this area doesn’t mean they didn’t snatch him from somewhere miles away.
He offers a rare, if a little self-deprecating, smile.
“I might be shit with scents, but I can recognise accents easily enough.”
“What else?”
His gaze travels around the room, quick enough that it doesn’t linger on anyone, except maybe Flint, but that could be my imagination. “They were big.” He spreads his hands wide. “Like you all are.”
No.
Just because they were built doesn’t mean they were exactly like us. Shifters wouldn’t be involved with the fucking fight rings. Not even the Feral Beasts would sink that low. “You mean like bodyguards?” Would make sense for them to have some muscle on the payroll.
“I guess?”
Callum asks the question no other fucker wants to. “Could they have been shifters?”
It’d be an easy question for anyone else at this table.
Except Morgan.
And apparently Nico too, because there’s no mistaking the shame that makes him curl in on himself that little bit more.
“I don’t know,” he whispers, the air thick with the scent of defeat.
Jet growls, low and nasty, fierce green eyes daring anyone to have a problem with that.