27. Chapter 27
Riley
The Thirsty Crow sat low against the desert landscape, with its rusty sign, weathered timber, and a wooden porch running its length. The smell of lemon cleaner, beer, and whatever gumbo Otis was making hit me as I walked in.
Otis stood behind the bar, wiping down glasses, his slate-blue skin catching the light from the front windows. He reminded me of some epic Nordic god.
“Morning, cher. You look a little tired.” He was a former Marine, stood over six and a half feet tall, and spoke with a slight French Creole accent. I still didn’t know why he was here, working as our cook in this small-town Western bar.
“It’s been a week.” I slid onto a barstool. “Where’s Parker?”
“Doin’ inventory.”
Parker emerged from the stockroom with a clipboard and a pencil tucked behind his ear. His hair was messier than usual.
He lifted an eyebrow when he saw me. “Well, look what the cat hacked up.”
“Nice to see you too. I have a comb if you lost yours.”
Parker leaned against the bar. “We heard about Owen being the father of Anna’s baby. What a little shit.”
The ogre slid a cup of coffee to Parker and hot black tea and a slice of savory jalapeno cornbread to me. “And I thought my family was crazy,” he muttered. He set honey next to my plate, and I drizzled it over the cornbread, then squeezed a drop into my tea.
“This smells delicious, thank you. Where’s McKenna?”
Otis’s mouth tightened. “She’s probably working at the bike shop, but she’ll be happy to see you. I need to check on my gumbo.” He went back into the kitchen, and I turned to Parker.
“What’s going on?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s struggling. Her nightmares are bad, and she wakes up screaming sometimes.”
I set the teacup down. McKenna was the missing person in my last case, and we’d tracked her down, and Conall and Sawyer got us out alive. But not before she’d been tortured and repeatedly raped.
“Otis keeps an eye on her. He takes her food, and they sometimes eat together. She doesn’t flinch around us as much as she used to.”
“I’ll go see her today.” My Airstream trailer sat behind the bar and Parker’s house in a grove of juniper trees. He would be able to hear her screams.
Parker set his mug down and stared at me. “I got a call from one of my Marine buddies who works for a defense contractor in D.C. He’s got sources.”
My implant hissed to life, sending a cold shiver down my spine. Something in Parker’s energy had gone hard and focused.
“What kind of sources?”
“His brother is one of those invisible, high-level support staff who work with commanders and generals.” Parker’s jaw tightened. “They think General Wilson and Apex are planning an internal coup, and your name came up. He called me because we have the same last name.”
“A… military coup?” My implant scrambled, running probabilities and calculating risk factors with brutal efficiency as fear spread through me.
“The evidence is pointing that way. Marlowe is still pulling strings behind the scenes, but he and Wilson aren’t seeing eye to eye.”
“A coup, or an Apex Mentis takeover?” I pushed the rest of my cornbread away. “I don’t know if them being at odds makes it better or worse.”
Parker stared at me. “Hard to say. I wonder if you have some of your mother’s Inamorata abilities. There were a few college guys, Segerson, Malcolm, and that bastard who’s fixated on you.”
“Don’t say that. If anyone suspects, I might be pulled in for retesting and labeled a Polymorph.”
Parker shook his head. “Riles, you are a Polymorph, and it’s not something to be ashamed of. Your mom is a bitch who ruthlessly used people, but not everyone who’s an Inamorata is like her.”
But I was ashamed, and sometimes I had nightmares of running through the Roswell facility as Marlowe stalked me, calling me his pet.
The man had become a persistent, nightmarish specter I couldn’t shake, and his telling me I’d come to him someday was messing with my head.
Was he behind the coup, or were he and Wilson at odds?
“Their asses are on the line because the public now knows someone is trying to raise a fuckin’ supernatural army. If they take over, they won’t have to worry about going to prison. If rumors are true, the Defense Department and Apex plan to declare emergency martial law in key regions.”
Frustration and rage swelled in my chest. “It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?”
Parker nodded. “They’ve probably been planning it for years. The facilities, the modified soldiers, the consolidation of power. And now they plan to take over the Administration. It’s not just about registering shifters or turning Normals into Cogs.”
“The Packs and supernaturals aren’t going to just lie down and take it.”
“If they don’t know what the fuck’s going on, it might be too late. You need to tell Conall.”
Telling him meant dragging the shifters into the middle of a firestorm. “He’ll mobilize the Pack and try to persuade the Pack Council.”
“Good. It’s about fuckin’ time.”
“More people will get hurt… or die.” My fists clenched. There might be a way to stop Wilson without dragging the Pack into the middle of the storm.
Parker’s hand squeezed mine. “Everyone makes their own choices. None of that is on you.” For once, Parker was wrong.
It was on me because maybe I had a way to stop Apex Mentis this time.
He put his elbows on the bar and stared at me.
“I don’t like the look in your eyes. For once in your goddamn life, let someone else carry the weight. ”
The next day passed in a blur of Pack life, and learning how to care for an infant. I helped with Feeny, mostly by holding her when she cried. For some bizarre reason, she seemed to like my scent and the little tune I hummed that my father used to hum to me.
But Parker’s warnings had taken root. My implant processed the discovery with cold efficiency, determining that it was an urgent threat and a high risk. Telling Conall meant dragging the entire Pack into whatever came next, and the thought of more people getting hurt sat heavy.
Conall noticed my distracted state, and I caught him watching me across the dinner table, his gray eyes sharp. I needed to tell him. But more than that, I needed a plan.
The evening before I was supposed to fly back to Wyoming, I stood in our bedroom, folding clean clothes. Feeny was downstairs with Owen, and the house was quiet.
Conall stood in the doorway, his jaw tight as his eyes turned gold. “You didn’t tell me.”
My stomach sank. “Tell you what?”
“Don’t.” He closed the door. “Parker called me an hour ago.”
Of course Parker had called him. “It’s intel from one person. Maybe–”
“Apex and its allies are planning to take over.” He crossed the room in two strides, caught my elbow, and turned me to face him. “Jesus Christ, Riley. How many times are you going to do this?”
“Do what? I didn’t tell you because I’m still processing it, okay?”
“Don’t hide things from me that put you at risk.
” His fingers tightened. “You didn’t tell me you were attacked in Carlsbad.
You went back to the Mary Mountain site and fucking Spooled Wilson’s signature.
You didn’t demand answers about those photos.
And now this. Damn it, no more. You are going to start talking to me. ”
“You have no room to accuse me,” I returned, “and I was going to tell you—”
“When? After you got injured or kidnapped again?”
The bond flared hot, his anger bleeding through, and mine rose to meet it.
“You want to talk about shitty communication? Fine. Let’s talk.
” I pulled my arm free. “You kept Anna’s pregnancy a secret and didn’t communicate with me for months.
You cut me off and let me go through withdrawal alone because you thought the baby was yours.
And you let me sit there for two days while I wondered if you were fucking someone else because you couldn’t find two minutes to call me.
So don’t stand there and lecture me about communication. ”
“You’re right, and you’re making my point for me,” he said quietly.
“I… What?”
“We’re both shit at communicating.” He ran a hand through his hair, and for a moment he looked exhausted. “I should have told you about Anna, I should have called you back, and you should have told me about Spooling Wilson’s signature and what Parker’s source said.”
“I don’t want to put the Pack in danger,” I whispered.
“And I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Freda will watch out for me–” He caught my wrist and pulled me into him.
“Stop running.” His forehead pressed against mine, his warmth seeping into me. “For five minutes, just stop.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he leaned in to kiss me.
It wasn’t gentle. His teeth caught my lower lip, and the bond surged between us like a live wire.
My hands found his chest, and my fingers curled into his shirt as his tongue swept across my mouth.
The implant scrambled, overwhelmed by a flood of pure lust and need, and I told it to take a hike.
His hands slid under my shirt, palms rough against my ribs, then he went higher. I arched into him, my hips pressing against his, feeling his hardness and reveling in it. He fumbled with my waistband, and his hand slipped inside my panties.
I gasped against his mouth. His fingers were clever and impatient, circling my clit, then sliding inside me. My head fell back, and he kissed my throat, his teeth grazing the tendon there.
“Oh god, what are you doing to me?” I sighed.
He groaned against my skin and pushed my shorts down. Then he opened his fly and lifted me. My legs wrapped around his hips, and he thrust into me in one hard stroke that drove the breath from my lungs.
My back hit the cool wall, his body hot against my front.
He set a hard, delicious rhythm. Each thrust pushed a sound from my throat, a strange half-gasp and half-moan.
His mouth found mine again, swallowing the noise.
He gripped my ass, holding me steady as he fucked me against the wall, the angst and anger between us burning into hungry, desperate lust. Electricity twined around us, and I felt his need swirling through me.
Crying out, I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him. He followed a few strokes later, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he shuddered.
For a long moment, we stayed like that, his skin warm against me. When the knot softened enough, he carefully lowered me until my feet touched the floor, and we disentangled ourselves, my legs unsteady.
Neither of us spoke. The anger had burned off, leaving something quieter in its wake. He used his shirt to clean us up a little, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me into his lap. I leaned into him, my head against his chest.
“We need to talk about Marlowe,” he murmured.
“I know.”
“The bastard is fixated on you, and he’s not going away. I know he said he’s not going to kidnap you again.” He absently fingered the white streak in my hair. “But he’s tied with ApGen and Wilson. We need to take them all down.”
“We have a positive identification on Senator White and the General. But Marlowe…” I trailed off.
Conall’s eyes bled gold. “That psychotic fucker is not getting his hands on you.”
“He said he’s waiting for me to come to him, but he still scares me,” I admitted.
“We’ll figure it out, but no more secrets.”
I couldn’t promise him that yet, so I leaned in and softly kissed him. For the first time in days, the bond felt warm and steady against my sternum.
The next morning, when I walked into the kitchen, Owen sat at the oversized oak table with Feeny in his arms, feeding her a bottle at an awkward angle. Milk dribbled down the baby’s chin.
“You need to tilt it higher,” I muttered, reaching for a paper towel. “Otherwise she swallows air and gets gassy.”
“I’ve got it,” he snapped.
Jamie walked in and shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
Owen’s jaw clenched, but he adjusted the angle, and Feeny made a soft, contented noise when she latched back on.
“See? Not so hard,” I muttered.
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Sahara shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and wearing an oversized K-pop concert jersey. “Is Owen being a whiny ass again?”
“Yep,” Jamie muttered.
Owen cleared his throat and stared at Jamie and Sahara. “Her pediatrician appointment is at ten. I need one of you to go with me.”
“Freda and I will go,” I informed him. “Then you can drop us off at the airport.”
“No. Anyone but you.” He stood, cradling Feeny against his chest. “I don’t need your help.”
Something in me snapped, and I crossed the kitchen in three strides. My fingers pinched his ear, and I dragged him toward the back door.
“What the hell are you doing?” He tried to shake me off, but I had leverage and the element of surprise.
“Hand her over to Jamie. We’re having a conversation outside.”
Jamie reached over and plucked the infant out of Owen’s arms. “It’s about time.”
I pulled Owen through the sliding glass door and onto the back patio. The red sandstone cliffs rose behind the property, catching the early light.
Letting go of his ear, I turned to face him. “I’ve had enough.”
His gray eyes were hard. “Of what?”
“Of this.” I gestured between us. “Of you treating me like I’m some kind of disease that infected your brother.
I get it. You don’t like me. You think I make Conall weaker.
You think I don’t belong here. Fine. But you don’t get to stand in that kitchen and act like I’m the problem when the real problem is that you’re a jealous little asshole and you can’t let go of your hurt and fear. ”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not scared.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m a Resonant, Owen. I can feel it rolling off you.” I gestured between us. “We don’t have to be friends, but we need to work together because she deserves more.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I still don’t like you,” he finally muttered.
“That’s okay because I think you’re a selfish man-child. But it’s not about us.”
“So what’re you suggesting?”
“A truce. And a formal promise that we put our feelings aside and focus on her needs.”
He studied me. “A formal promise is binding. You understand that?”
“I’m a Cog. We have magic too, remember?” I wanted to roll my eyes.
“Whatever. I promise I’ll try to get along with you. For her.”
“So eloquent,” I mocked. “I promise I’ll do what’s best for her too.” A faint breeze flowed over us, and something loosened in my chest.
Owen sniffed and turned to walk back into the house. “Alright, let’s go. I don’t wanna be late.”
I refrained from zapping him on his butt. Just barely.