Chapter 5 #2
I filed the information away, watching how others in the crowd instinctively created space around the jaguar-shifter’s path. The feline recognized another feline. My cheetah half stirred with instinctive wariness, hackles raised beneath my human skin.
“Over there,” Quinn continued, subtly inclining his head toward a regal woman with dark skin and silver-streaked red hair cascading down her back like liquid flame. “Isabella. Dragon-shifter.”
“A dragon?” The words escaped before I could stop them, my mind racing through implications. Dragons were nearly mythical even among Others, their power so old and vast that most preferred isolation to community. “Here? Involved in local politics?”
“Don’t let the designer suit fool you,” Quinn murmured, respect evident in his tone.
“She’s old enough to remember when humans thought the Earth was flat.
Her family’s wealth makes the Rockefellers look like corner-store owners.
But she’s seen too many of her unmated males lost to feral progression.
This makes her an unexpected ally for your research. ”
My gaze tracked to where the stocky man who’d confronted us outside was now moving through the crowd, people parting before him not with respect but with wariness, like prey animals spotting a predator with unpredictable tendencies.
“Shane,” Quinn confirmed, his jaw tightening visibly. “The honey badger alpha we met outside. Perpetually convinced someone’s plotting against him.”
“And clearly has a problem with my family,” I finished, recognizing the hatred I’d seen too often in my career. My stomach knotted with familiar tension, old wounds pulsing beneath newer scars. Of course there would be someone like Shane in a position of power. There always was.
“Gertrude runs the ferret-shifters,” Quinn continued, nodding toward a thin woman who appeared to be casually adjusting a painting but whose sharp eyes missed nothing.
“Seems harmless but has a network of informants that would make the OIA jealous. That woman knows what you had for breakfast before you’ve decided to eat it. ”
As if sensing our attention, Gertrude snapped her gaze to us with unnerving precision before she returned to her task. She’d be watching me, cataloging weaknesses, filing away every detail for future use.
A subtle ripple moved through the crowd as a statuesque black woman with long white hair entered, the air around her almost visibly charged with power.
“Freya,” Quinn said, though her identity was obvious from the magic crackling around her like static electricity.
The witch’s presence commanded attention without effort, magic emanating from her in waves I could almost see. My skin prickled with goose bumps as she passed, my mind struggling to rationalize the pure power that defied all my years of research.
“And completing our council”—Quinn nodded toward a pale man whose stillness was so complete he seemed more like a statue than a being—“King Atticus. Leads the local vampire coven. Traditional but fair. Doesn’t speak much, but when he does, townsfolk listen.”
The vampire’s eyes swept over me, cold and assessing.
For a heartbeat, I felt like prey being evaluated by a predator far older and more dangerous than anything I’d encountered in my career.
Then his gaze moved on, leaving me with the unsettling certainty that he’d seen far more than I’d wanted to reveal.
“And me, of course.” The simple statement carried the weight of centuries of pack hierarchy, of blood oaths and moon-sworn fealty.
Quinn leaned forward, his intensity practically a physical force.
“The town council is symbolic more than anything. I have the final say, but in order to stamp out any uprisings, we need a majority vote from the council to allow you to work here safely.”
His emphasis on the last word sent a chill down my spine. Safety wasn’t guaranteed, only possible with political backing.
“One more thing,” Quinn said, his expression growing serious again. “I’m assigning Brody to work with you during your time here. He created a tonic that helps with pre-feral progression.”
A flutter of unease rippled through me. “He told me on the ride over here. But what you might not know is that Brody and I have history… and it’s not good.”
“What type of history?” he asked.
I had nothing to hide. Besides, the truth would come out eventually. “I’m his rejected mate.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. You’re her.”
“Yes. So you understand why I refuse to work with him.”
“Even if his tonic might be the key to a breakthrough that could save lots of lives?” he asked.
I shut my eyes briefly. He was right. I needed a win. I was so close to finding a solution that could be the key to saving the lives of many pre-feral unmated males, not only in the Ridge. “Fine, but if he starts getting weird and clingy with me, the deal is off,” I said.
“Agreed,” Quinn said. “Let’s go. Residents are waiting for you inside.”
I followed him, pushing through the throng. “Is that her?” someone asked when we strode inside the room that buzzed with nervous energy.
Every eye in the packed room tracked my movement. The collective assessment made my skin prickle.
“Damn, she has a great ass,” a male said.
Someone chuckled at the comment, then said, “And damn, she’s a looker. Too bad she’s a Dhahabu.”
“Dr. Dhahabu,” Quinn said, his voice cutting through the loud chatter like a blade. “The floor is yours.” He gestured to the podium.
The town council members were seated in a semicircle behind the podium.
Two seats remained conspicuously empty. Someone had placed a stuffed wolf toy wearing sunglasses in one chair and balanced a coffee mug on it that read Meetings Are for Losers.
The other empty chair had a sticky note attached.
“Gone fishing—literally, not metaphorically this time.”
At the far end of the room, an enormous male dozed lightly beside a table stacked with pamphlets, his rumbling snores keeping perfect rhythm with the overhead fan. Each time he exhaled, the papers on the table in front of him fluttered like autumn leaves. No one seemed to find this unusual.
I activated my presentation screen, the familiar ritual of academic protocol serving as professional armor.
This wasn’t my first hostile audience, from my father walking out to pharmaceutical boards trying to discredit me because of my last name.
I was well accustomed to proving myself to people determined not to believe in me.
“Some unmated males are losing themselves to feral sickness,” I began, my voice carrying across the packed room. “Current pharmaceutical treatments stop the progression but at a devastating cost—they can never shift again.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
“My research offers a different path,” I continued, clicking to my first slide. “Natural compounds that prevent feral episodes while preserving what makes us who we are. Others. The question is, do we choose freedom or safety?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Brody settle against the side wall. Close enough that his scent wrapped around me like silk. Far enough that I could pretend his presence didn’t affect my breathing.
“And why should we trust a Dhahabu to fix what Dhahabu Pharmaceuticals caused?” Shane asked.
“It’s a fair question,” I replied coolly. “My research is conducted independently, specifically to provide alternatives to current corporate treatments. My grandmother and I have… philosophical differences about medical ethics. And about a lot more.”
“Philosophical differences,” Shane snorted. “Is that what you call it when you steal research from your family company?”
“That’s rich,” I replied, unable to contain a bitter laugh. “For years, my grandmother has been sending spies to infiltrate my lab and steal my research. The truth is exactly the opposite of what you’re suggesting. I’ve spent half my career protecting my work from Tabia’s corporate espionage.”
I didn’t elaborate on the painful history there, how my own grandmother had tried to destroy my career when I refused to work for her. How I’d had to implement extreme security protocols in my lab after discovering a postdoc was on Tabia’s payroll.
I continued. “My work is completely original and independently verified by multiple research institutions. The OIA has reviewed every aspect of my methodology to confirm its originality.”
“Yeah, but what about the alien supersoldiers?” a man in a tinfoil hat shouted from the back of the room.
He stood up, revealing a T-shirt that read The Truth Is Way Out There, Like Way WAY Out There.
“My cousin’s friend works at a Dhahabu lab and says they’re breeding human-alien hybrids for the government.
I’ve been saying it for years! That’s why I keep my thoughts protected. ” He tapped his tinfoil hat knowingly.
A ripple of nervous laughter went through the crowd. I blinked, momentarily speechless.
“Sit down, Chester!” called a woman beside him who was knitting what looked like either a very long scarf or a very thin blanket, her needles clicking at supernatural speed while her eyes never left my face. “We all know your cousin’s friend is your imaginary hiking buddy.”
“He’s real,” Chester protested. “Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not there! Some beings exist on different vibrational planes.”
“The only vibrational plane you’re on is the one powered by those batteries you buy in bulk from my shop,” she shot back, causing several nearby shifters to choke on their laughter.
“Seriously?” I said, unable to keep the incredulity from my voice. “Alien supersoldiers? That’s what we’re going with?”
“Well, it makes more sense than trusting Big Pharma,” Chester called back defensively. “At least the aliens are honest about wanting to probe us!”