Chapter 4 Maverick #3
“Someone you don’t want to know,” he said, moving on to the woman at her side and working until everyone was unbound and intact.
The buzzed-haircut pixie rubbed her wrists as she stood and helped the second woman up.
“Maverick, how did he know where I lived?” Zera asked.
He met her panicked gaze as she bounced the little boy on her hip. A toothless grin spread across his face when he spotted Maverick, for reasons unknown.
Maverick grimaced. “He followed you home from the restaurant. It’s why I told you to wait for me at the abandoned—”
“And like I told you, I lost him,” Zera snapped. “The druid was long gone when I started home, and it was like he was already here.”
The lavender-eyed pixie with the buzzed haircut gasped. “You’re the guy from Zera’s FaeMatch date.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Is he really?” asked the second woman, who wasn’t a pixie.
He couldn’t tell what kind of fae she was.
Her corkscrew curls and dark complexion glowed in the moonlight that wafted in from the kitchen window.
The storm must’ve broken. “What’s he doing here, and why would he have a military-grade weapon on him? ”
“More importantly, why did these guys want to capture us, and what does it have to do with you?” The buzzed-haircut pixie fixed Maverick with a skeptical look, as if to suggest he was one of the bad guys.
Maverick sighed. “Listen, I don’t have time to explain, but you should leave the room. All of you.”
He didn’t want them to witness his interrogation. Especially not Zera or her son. It could get messy, even with the druid immobilized.
“And you should put some pants on,” the woman with the curls said and muttered something under her breath.
She waved her hand, and then he was clothed in sweatpants and a shirt that would probably be large on any of them, but the fabric strained against his muscles with an uncomfortable amount of tension. So she was a witch or a mage.
The buzzed-haircut pixie burst out laughing. “Sweatpants? Really, Sloane. You couldn’t spring for menswear?”
“It’s not like I had the time to conjure up a whole new outfit.” The other woman, called Sloane, smirked but gave the buzzed-haircut pixie an affectionate grin.
“Jade, Sloane, just stop,” Zera snapped, drawing their attention.
“How can you all think about clothes right now? This intruder was the same one who attacked me on my date and followed me to my place of work, and now, my family is in danger. My son.” Her voice broke as she held her son closer to her chest, tears brimming in her lavender eyes.
“Let’s go, ladies,” Maverick growled, the timbre of his werewolf form still lacing his words with a ferocity that was not entirely human.
With stern nods, the women shuffled out, leaving him and the incapacitated druid in the midst of the upturned kitchen.
Once they were safely beyond the kitchen doors, Maverick turned his attention back to the druid, who was starting to regain control of his faculties. He would have to move quickly.
He crouched over the druid, a storm of frustration broiling within him.
His instinct, that primal drive to protect, had surged to the forefront, fighting against the calculated coolness required of a spy.
He was torn between the desire to rip apart the druid who dared threaten Zera and Cole and the knowledge that his duty was to remain in control of his emotions, to deceive, to wear masks that protected them all from his profession.
The arrogance he wore like armor clashed with the raw vulnerability of caring for someone else’s life—especially that of an innocent child.
“Are you going to just stare at him or what?” Zera’s voice cut through his inner turmoil, sharp and laced with irritation.
Maverick glanced over as Zera marched into the room and folded her arms across her chest, bringing his attention to her commanding presence. For someone so short, she had an aura of power that could put even the most confident of men in their place. A trait he found himself drawn to.
“You can’t be here,” he said, rising to his feet. He noticed the child wasn’t with her but heard his coos in the living room, where he was with the other women.
Zera glared up at him. “Oh, aside from this being my kitchen, I will not let you be the only one doing the questioning here.”
“This is my business.”
“In my house.” She cocked head to the side. “That makes it mine.”
It took all his energy not to crack a smile. She had guts. He liked that. Instead, he stepped into her space and crossed his arms, the fabric of the too-small sweatshirt straining against the movement.
Her eyes flitted over his massive arms, and for a second, he thought he saw a flicker of desire, but it was quickly replaced with anger.
He leaned in closer, ignoring how her sugary aroma sent his senses reeling. It was nothing like the bitter stench of rotting dewdrops of the pixies who’d tormented him. “This is what I’m trained to do.”
She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m not leaving until I get answers.”
The druid grunted as he strained to move, his body beginning to break the bonds of the pulse shackler. It wouldn’t hold much longer, and it was clear Zera wouldn’t budge.
Maverick sighed and gave a reluctant nod before turning his attention back to the druid, who now glared up at him from where he lay helplessly on the floor.
“Who sent you?” Maverick asked, his voice low and steady. “Because even Gareth doesn’t have the power to know my identity. Not after the way I heard his competitors squeezed him dry.”
The druid spat in response, his eyes flickering with hazy magic as he fought against the dwindling effects of the shackler.
“You’re going to make this harder for yourself by not talking.” A growl rumbled from Maverick’s chest as his canines elongated, indicating how close he was to unleashing his true power.
His wolf claws extended, threatening to rip out the druid’s throat as he leaned over him. “I can smell the lies on the tip of your tongue. It’s only a matter of time before I sniff them out and discover the truth.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” The druid sneered.
Maverick’s jaw clenched. This wouldn’t be easy, but the druid would talk. There were ways, and Maverick was exceptionally gifted in the department of torture.
“I’ll give you one last chance to answer.”
“This is taking too long.” Zera pushed Maverick aside and grabbed the druid’s collar in her small fist while the other hand sparked with the glow of soft purple light. “Tell me who you work for? How did you know where to find me?”
Maverick had known pixies could be fierce even without magic, but Zera was far more dangerous.
The druid’s eyes widened in shock as the purple magic forced its way through his nostrils and air passageways, seeking the truth.
His body jerked as he tried to free himself, not just by the pulse shackler but from Zera’s pixie magic.
It was obvious from the way his face reddened that the pixie was inflicting pain, and the druid’s body quivered in response.
Maverick watched in stunned awe—aroused at the sheer sight of her interrogating someone who was more than double her size.
She was fearless, and her pixie power was far greater than any he’d ever witnessed before.
It was true what they said about the fury of a woman scorned, but that was nothing in the face of a mother’s wrath.
“Who sent you?” Zera repeated, her voice low and menacing.
The druid’s body writhed in agony and his lips moved, but no sound came out. As the seconds ticked by, Maverick could hear Zera’s breath coming in harsh gasps, her body shaking with the effort of draining whatever remained of her pixie dust. She was pushing herself too far.
A light sheen of sweat beaded across her forehead, while the druid’s eyes rolled back in his head as his body struggled against the combination of pain and restraints.
“Zera, stop.” Maverick moved to her side. He knew she could easily kill the druid or, worse, burn out herself if she didn’t. “Let him speak.”
A gust of magic lifted her brown waves off her shoulder, and pure malice was in her eyes. He rested his hand on her shoulder, and when her eyes met his, she blinked with realization.
With a flash of purple light, Zera finally released him from her hold. The druid’s body slumped to the floor, unconscious.
“Maverick!” she gasped, running a hand through her hair as she stumbled back. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know it would hurt him that much.”
Maverick grabbed her arm to steady her and help her find a nearby chair.
“It’s fine. You saved us time,” he replied, more concerned about her than he was for the druid, who struggled to breathe. “We can still get some answers from him.”
After making sure Zera was okay, he focused on the druid, who was starting to wake up. He used Zera’s move, fisting a chunk full of the fae’s collar, but his grip lifted the druid up far enough that only his tiptoes scraped the floor.
“Who sent you?” Maverick whispered, his tone lethal. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent of fear mixed with blood and pain.
“Gareth…” The druid trailed off, and his head lolled to one side.
Maverick slammed the druid’s head against the kitchen cabinet, yanking his attention back from the brink before he passed out.
“Explain,” Maverick growled, pressing his clawed fingers even harder against the druid’s neck to remind him who was in control.
Blood trickled from small cuts on his own hand, but it only fueled his determination further.
The druid coughed violently before speaking between gasps for air. “Gareth… is a pawn in a much bigger game.”
Illegal arms dealing, drug trafficking, fae trafficking—they were all games played for profit. Some Maverick could look the other way from, but others he couldn’t.
As a self-employed spy for hire, he chose which jobs he took. Which games he chose to support. Some he could. Some he couldn’t. He had control. But now, his control was slipping.
Maverick’s eyes narrowed at the realization that Gareth might not be the one trying to kill him. That the druid might be an accomplice to a much bigger threat out there that could crush Maverick like a pawn.
But it was the only reality that made sense after what had happened in the restaurant and now this.
“Names,” he commanded, pressing his claws deeper into the druid’s bronzed skin. “Give me names.”
“I would rather die.”
Maverick narrowed his eyes, a cruel smile playing upon his lips. “Then perhaps you will. Give me a name, or I will make you wish for death.”
“I’m not afraid of death,” he said in a rasp. “They know where you are now. Where the woman with pixie dust is. My job is finished.”
Maverick’s heartbeat came to a rapid halt as the druid’s words sank in, and a chill swept down his spine.
It was all a diversion so that the druid could cast whatever spell he had left in his arsenal and send word back to whoever was bankrolling Gareth’s new venture. He’d had no intention of escaping this.
“You’re not going anywhere until I’ve—” Maverick’s growl was cut short as a sudden fire erupted and engulfed the druid until he was only a flurry of ash raining down on the kitchen floor.
As the last embers faded away, Maverick stared at the ashes in disbelief. The druid had played him. He clenched his fists in frustration, knowing that time was running out.
A slow, burning anger simmered inside him. He knew what he had to do. He swallowed hard. As long as Gareth and whoever he was now working for were alive, Zera’s life and the life of her son were in danger.
“What do we do now?” Zera asked, her voice quiet with both shock and fear.
Maverick looked down at her, wanting in that moment to pull her against his chest to comfort her but thinking better of it. He told himself it was only his wolf talking, but something deep within him said it was anything but.
He took a deep breath, trying to remember his training to keep his feelings in check. Zera wouldn’t like what he knew they had to do, but it was the only way for him to do his job. For him to keep his past from hurting any more innocent lives. To keep her and her child alive.
He’d let her out of his sight once before, and it had nearly cost her life. He wouldn’t let that happen again.
“You and I? We hunt,” he said firmly. “And we make them pay.”