Chapter Sixteen #2
The moment Steadman arrived at the hotel, Tom had shoved all thoughts of Bryce into a box and locked the lid. She wanted his thorough analysis of the dynamics of the pack, interrogating him on each member like they were a suspect in a murder mystery.
While she was disappointed that he hadn’t had much interaction with Jesse, she wasn’t surprised.
“Makes sense they’d keep the Argent up their sleeve.
You did well getting to talk to him at all.
Now tell me, what’s his power base? Which of the other members are more likely to follow him than their alpha? ”
By the time she was satisfied she’d wrung every last bit of meaning from the conversation he’d had with Jesse, the sun was down and the moon rising. It was time to head to the ranch.
And then he’d stood on the dark porch and seen the most amazing sight of his life—a wolf whose silken coat rippled with moonlight’s cold fire. It was so beautiful and felt so right, somewhere deep inside him, that Tom’s throat seized and his eyes burned.
When he saw the councilors’ hands reaching out, wanting to touch, to claim, to own, he took an involuntary step back.
For an instant, he too had been seduced by the beauty and the weight of history, but the wolf in front of them was more than just his coat.
He had his own wants and needs and weaknesses, he lived in the same world as the rest of them, and they had no right.
He was ashamed for being part of bringing these people here.
His wolf stirred, and an awareness prickled, as if he were being watched. When he turned, Bryce’s gaze was on him. He had no idea what showed on his face, but Bryce nodded as if he agreed, his eyes warm.
When he glanced back at the councilors, he saw the moment of wonder was already slipping away. Instead, it was being cataloged, ready to turn into leverage.
“So now you’ve seen what you wanted, I guess we need to talk,” Matt said.
Careless of protocol, he turned and walked through the back door in front of the Leader of the National Council.
And the best part of it was that Bennett knew he couldn’t put Matt in his place, because this was Matt’s territory, Matt’s pack, and—for now—Matt’s Argent.
Offend him, and they’d lose access to Jesse.
Matt led the way to the living room, where some of the kitchen chairs had been brought in to provide enough seats.
By the time everyone was settled, the room was full, with four councilors, one of Bennett’s aides, a security guard and Jax, along with Matt, Jesse, and Bryce.
Tristan was sitting on the floor beside Jason and Riley.
It seemed Councilor Hart wasn’t as well-briefed as the others, because he was glaring at Riley, his chin quivering in outrage before he turned his indignation on Matt.
“What is a non-shifter doing here?” he demanded, the word spat out as if it were a curse.
Matt’s eyes were very green and very hard as he returned Hart’s stare. “Riley’s part of my pack,” he said. And left it at that.
Tom bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing and had the impression Councilor Steadman was doing the same. He’d come here expecting delicate negotiations. Instead, Matt was playing political chess with a baseball bat.
There was nothing Hart could say to that calm, bold statement of fact. That didn’t stop him harrumphing and looking to Bennett for help. But Bennett was too wily an operator to risk displeasing Matt. He kept his somewhat reactionary views about non-shifters hidden as he smiled.
“Thank you for inviting us here, Alpha Urban,” he said, his head inclining very slightly. It could have been respect, or it could have been condescension.
“We figured shifters should know that Argents still exist. The Council seemed the quickest way to make that happen,” Urban said, and if Tom kept biting the inside of his cheek this hard, he’d end up with blood in his mouth.
Bennett kept the good humor on his face, but it was evidently a struggle. “Well, I think you’ll find we’re rather more than a broadcast service,” he said. “There are a number of issues to consider here.”
“Like what?” It was Jesse Turner’s voice, low and raspy.
“Like how to break the news in a manner that ensures you retain a modicum of privacy, Mr. Turner,” Bennett said, and he almost sounded sincere.
“And in a way that doesn’t elicit a reaction from anti-shifter activists who see unity within the shifter community as a threat,” Councilor Steadman added pointedly.
“I ain’t unifying anyone.” Jesse sounded indignant. “Hell, once half the shifters out there spoke to me, they’d find out I know jack about shifter history and that other stuff you all put such store in. I just got a pretty-colored coat is all, and once anyone met me, they’d get that.”
“With the greatest of respect, Mr. Turner.” Steadman’s voice was smooth and persuasive. “I think you underestimate the need in people to find something to give their lives meaning. Sometimes the truth behind that symbol doesn’t matter as much as the fact it exists.”
As so often, Tom thought, the councilor was right. She seemed to have a way of reading people’s motivations that escaped people like Bennett, who got what they wanted by throwing their weight around.
He glanced around the room to see what impact her words had made on everyone else.
Tristan looked star-struck, but that was as far as he got because the next person he looked at was Bryce.
It took every bit of self-discipline he had not to cross the room and settle next to him, feel his warmth, let their shoulders touch, grounding him.
He forced himself to stop looking. Because if he kept watching Bryce, he might forget why he was here.