Chapter Twenty-One
Marcus
You’re a werewolf.”
Cherie’s words startle me so bad I almost drop my coffee.
I’d slipped out of bed while John was still asleep, knowing I needed to be on my game when the rest of the crew got together.
They’ve got hundreds of years of history; I’m not sure I’ve known them for one hundred hours yet, and for what it’s worth, I still haven’t done what they supposedly hired me to do.
Carefully setting my mug on the sideboard, I turn around.
Dressed in suburban chic—black leggings, a white hoodie, and red Chuck Taylors—she stands in the doorway to the kitchen, hands on her hips, mouth twisted like she ate something bitter.
“And if I am?” I ask.
She gives a sharp inhale. “I told you I knew there was something odd going on here.”
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to remember our last conversation and whether she had, in fact, said anything like that. Something tickles my brain, so I guess she probably did. “And now you’re pissed because I didn’t say ‘yes, I’m a werewolf and he’s an elf’ and whatever?”
“Yes.” She grinds out the word, so obviously angry that I’m worried she’ll spit in our eggs or something.
I shrug, halfway between apologetic and I don’t care. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but we don’t work that way.”
Our witch friend Jen slides through the door from behind Cherie. “That’s what I told her.”
I seriously haven’t had enough coffee for this. “I thought you two were friends.”
She smirks, flipping her long hair over her shoulders. “I don’t have friends.”
“Too busy stirring up trouble for that.”
Grinning so hard she pops a dimple, she says, “You’re the ones who weren’t honest in the first place. A woman’s got a right to know when she’s putting her livelihood in danger.”
Glaring right back at her, I figure this entire argument is above my pay grade. They’re not wrong, and there’s no way this is going to end well, so I toast them with my mug. “Thanks for the coffee,” I say, and make my getaway.
The thing is, though, I’m not sure where to go.
John’s still asleep, and to be honest, I need a minute before seeing him again.
Except for the whole fighting-with-a-cat-dragons-smashing-windows-bff-betrayal thing, I wouldn’t undo a second of the last twelve hours.
Yeah, if someone had told me that a week ago I’d meet this gentle giant super alpha who’s hot as bejesus and wants me for some reason on top of that, I’d have asked what they were smoking.
I’m absolutely down with what’s happening between us, but it’s a lot to take in. Neither of us have given it any kind of name, this thing that is bigger than boyfriends. Bigger than pack.
Bigger than anything I’ve known before.
Almost like my wolf knew where he was going when he took off running through the mountains.
Rather than risk spilling coffee on the fancy living room furniture, I slip out the front door.
Early morning sun washes over the front porch.
I park my butt on the top step, holding my mug with both hands.
John’s claim that David wouldn’t have let me go if he hadn’t forgiven me in the first place leaves me with a warm feeling.
Part of me wants to poke at it, to find the flaw.
Nah, not really. I exhale into the morning light, ready to be happy for once.
David and I were never lovers—well, we mighta messed around a little in, like, the seventh grade—but we were close. Too close, maybe. Siblings, in all but name, and rivals, except he always won.
And right now, I really don’t want to think about David anymore.
John Naylor has given me a fresh start. He called me his morning star, for fuck’s sake. He’s steady, and strong, and I want to stay by his side.
I sit there and sip coffee that flirts with being too strong, basking in the sun’s warmth and the afterglow of John’s claim until someone opens the door.
“There you are.” It’s John, and the sound of his voice sends a thrill through me. “Rob has asked us to gather in the dining room.”
Rising slowly, I cross the small porch to the door. He doesn’t move, and for a moment we simply gaze at each other, close enough for his warmth to wrap around me.
“I knew you hadn’t gone far,” he murmurs.
I wave behind myself. “Just catching a ray or two.” It makes sense that he’d been able to find me. The gentle tug created by our bond tells me that, in some ways, we’re already closer than David and I have ever been.
Unable to resist, I put my hands on his shoulders and stand on tiptoe to give him a kiss. He gets an arm around me and pins me to his body.
“This will be a difficult conversation.” The gruff tone of voice is at odds with the sweet way his lips brush my brow. “When Rob is unhappy, all of us are unhappy.”
Arms around his waist, I rest my forehead against his chest. “We’ll get through it.”
“We will.” He straightens, easing far enough away to let some air between us.
I take a deep breath and plaster on a smile. “Let’s get ’er done, then.”
Fingers intertwined, we walk to the dining room. If anyone notices our new closeness, they keep their mouths shut, which I appreciate, and once we’re seated at the table, the sense of pack-but-not intensifies.
I feel them all in a new way. Rob is bright and strong. Will has a wild flavor that must be an elf thing. His ginger friend is sturdy, a rock, and Nasir is all fire. Sonny manages to be both cold and as hot as his shining eyes, and the other unfamiliar man echoes that, with more darkness.
To be honest, it’s weird, but good. I like them. And on closer inspection, I recognize the new guy. “Jameson McCoy?”
The way everyone stares at me, not the least Jameson fucking McCoy, makes me feel like an asshole. Jameson, lead singer for Paternity Row, gives me a sultry look—as if he has any other expressions—and then dissolves into laughter. John’s hand on my shoulder grounds me, which lets me take a breath.
“Actually, Jameson’s a stage name. You can call me Alec.”
I shake my head, unable or unwilling to open my mouth in case any more stupid comes out. I want to pull John aside and ask why he never told me he was friends with one of the most famous musicians in the city—country—possibly the world,
Except, bless his heart, John might not actually know. Fortunately, Rob speaks up, saving me from myself.
“Tucker, Alec, this is Marcus,” Rob says. John had warned me Rob wasn’t happy, and his smile definitely lacks its normal exuberance.
I half-rise, extending my hand to the red-haired Tucker.
His grip is warm and sure, and he gives off heavy fae energy.
Earthier than Will and lighter than Connor.
I’m mentally cataloging supernaturals when I get a nudge from Will, who is nearly sitting in Tucker’s lap, making it plain to anyone looking that the big ginger is taken.
I smile at them both and promise to improve my knowledge of the various types of fae.
Because I plan on sticking around.
And not just because John squeezes my leg as if he can read my mind and wants me to know that I won’t be going anywhere.
Alec has the cool touch of a vampire. We shake hands, and under that tousled hair and guyliner, his sharp eyes don’t miss much. He and Sonny sit side-by-side, each of them leaning slightly away from the other. They’re so obviously pretending to ignore each other that I have to stifle a grin.
“Last night was successful,” Rob says, and even I can hear the lie.
“The French government has offered a substantial reward for the return of any of their stolen jewels, and I’ve already initiated the process that will return the Belle Etoile to their possession.
The Securitas will work with them to upgrade their security. ”
“So fast,” Nasir mutters, earning a raised eyebrow from Rob.
“I want that thing out of our hair as soon as possible because de Lisle already has our location and it won’t take them long to figure out the necklace Prince has is a fake.
Unless the Securitas is willing to place a team here to help guard the thing, it needs to go.
” Rob gazes at each of us in turn. “More importantly, I want to put the reward money where it can do the most good. The young people we extracted from Prince’s lair are currently being cared for by members of the Securitas.
They’re in safe houses, being counseled and cared for until their families can be found or they can be placed in some other loving community.
Either way, they’ll need some level of financial support until they’re truly safe.
In the end, you’ll see this was worth it. ”
Sonny’s braced on the elbow furthest from Alec, chin on his knuckles, smile sardonic. “I hope so. Last night was not without its losses.”
There’s the sense that everyone at the table inhales at once, the tension ratcheting up with equal speed.
“What?” Rob asks, his voice gone cold.
Sonny snorts, giving a slight head shake.
“If nothing else, Prince is now our sworn enemy, along with however many supernaturals who are still loyal to him. He and de Lisle already had some sort of relationship, and now we’ve pretty much guaranteed they’ll work together, at least once they discover the necklace is a fake. ”
Rob brushes him off. “We’ve done worse.” Giving us all another, sterner, look, he says, “There were other aspects to last night we may live to regret.” He closes his eyes for the briefest moment.
“Know that I value each one of you. Everyone played their part, and we accomplished what we set out to do.” He holds his hands wide, palms out, inviting us all to agree with him.
Or deflecting any further arguments.
It’s John who clears his throat, nodding at Sonny. “You’re right, but there’s no point in whining about it. We’ve got the diamond and de Lisle knows we intend to fight him. Now it’s time to put the next part of our plan into action.”
John turns to me, which draws the eyes of everyone else at the table. “Tell us what we need to do to break into his computer system.”