CHAPTER 6
We left the clouds behind during the drive south, and Boston came into view around a bend in the highway. Its skyscrapers towered like glass behemoths, backlit by the cornflower blue of a brilliant summer day.
I hunched my shoulders and tried to focus on his vehicle in front of mine, but even with the windows up I was struggling.
Too many engines roared and whined around me.
Car stereos thumped a cacophony of mismatched beats.
The man with the jackhammer at the construction site nearby might as well have been drilling straight into my skull.
The sights were worse than the sounds. Cars, humans, pigeons, rats, and even dumpster-diving seagulls raced at a frenetic pace around my truck. It felt like my brain was in danger of overheating as it tried to keep up, processing and threat-assessing each image it received.
Then there were the smells. Dear Goddess, the smells.
There were other creatures living in this city with senses as heightened as my own, and I had no idea how they endured this nose-numbing mélange of melting pavement, car exhaust, rotting trash, hobo piss, and whatever the hell that was wafting up out of the nearest sewer drain.
Worst of all were the humans. So. Many. Humans.
Each drenched in their own cocktail of chemical scents.
I breathed a sigh of relief when we turned off the busy road onto a quieter street with wide lanes shaded by hundred-year-old oaks.
A pond appeared on my left. The houses that faced it grew in size and ornamentation the farther we drove, until sprawling, haughty mansions draped in whitewashed brick and Italian marble vied for dominance.
We made another turn a scant mile later, and I found myself on a narrow lane hedged in by stone fences that looked better suited to an English village than a Boston suburb.
A thick screen of smaller trees and shrubs crowded in on either side of us, made to look natural, but too well manicured to have been truly left to nature.
Michael slowed and put on his right blinker, pausing to wait for a megalithic wrought iron gate to swing open and allow us entry.
I followed him into the driveway and immediately broke out in goose bumps.
It felt like someone had dumped a tank of ice water over my head.
We’d just crossed over a ward. A very powerful ward that must have taken several mystics to erect.
Magic wasn’t my forte, but it reminded me of the protection spell that surrounded my pack’s land, only to a greater degree.
This one had a probing nature to it that made it feel like it had inspected me, assessing whether or not I was a threat.
What would have happened if it had determined I was one?
I shivered. Hopefully I’d never find out.
We drove for several hundred feet beneath massive specimen trees that had probably been planted by the original owners of this property.
The canopy they formed rose high above us, shading our vehicles.
We didn’t have many trees like this on our packland.
The fight for space and nutrients was too fierce in the wilderness to allow them to grow to their full height and width.
These were so old I could almost feel them looking down on us. Like they were sentient.
The trees grew farther apart the deeper we drove, and then soon fell away altogether, revealing an immaculately manicured lawn that spread a full acre up a landscaped hill dotted with retaining walls and flower beds.
The landscaping ended at the foot of one of the most impressive houses I had ever seen.
It was a huge colonial that looked to be a few centuries old, three stories tall, made of pale stone.
The shutters that framed its windows were white, giving the place an open, inviting feel I hadn’t expected.
It had clearly been added to over the years, several wings just barely visible behind the main house.
I caught the glimmer of sunlight glancing off aqua as we rounded the bend of the driveway and I sat up a little higher in my seat to see an Olympic-sized swimming pool off to one side.
The twelve-car garage we parked in stood separate, big enough to fit my parents’ entire home inside and then some.
I knew the Kolbecks had money. Michael’s casual mention of multimillion-dollar mergers and the ease with which he wore suits that cost more than my entire wardrobe had given me a good idea of what I might be walking into. But this was something else.
I turned the truck off and tried my best not to be intimidated.
Michael appeared at my window and opened the door for me, concern drawing his brows together.
I took a deep breath and stepped out of the truck.
With all the chaos and confusion of the end of the drive, I’d barely noticed our bond.
It came back now in full force. He felt even more concerned than he looked.
“Are you all right?” he asked, softly.
I fought off a sudden urge to reach out and comfort him. Michael didn’t seem like the kind of man who would welcome a surprise hug, and I knew that it was the bond driving both his concern and my need to touch him. “I’m not used to cities. It’s better here, though.”
He nodded. “My grandfather purchased the surrounding lots and converted them into forest. The buffer of trees doesn’t entirely drown out the sounds of the city, but it helps.”
I didn’t even want to know what that had set his grandfather back. “Can I have a minute before we go in?”
“Of course,” he said, stepping away. “Take all the time you need.”
I leaned against my door and tried to get my bearings.
I was in a strange place with strange wolves who weren’t used to the way my power leaked out of me when I was emotional.
Past encounters had taught me that I needed to get a grip on myself before I met them.
Michael’s assumption that I was an alpha was typical.
I’d had several run-ins with other wolves who’d felt my power pushing against theirs and thought I was looking for a fight for dominance.
That would be a hell of way to meet my in-laws.
An older man in what looked like livery emerged from a side door.
He must have been seventy, and unlike the mystic from last night, his age showed.
He had silver hair, combed neatly back from his lined face.
His back stooped slightly as he moved toward us, and he favored his right leg, as though it were arthritic.
Warmth spread through the bond. I glanced over to see Michael giving him a small, barely there smile. Who was this man to expose such a chink in my mate’s armor?
“Welcome back, Mr. Kolbeck,” he said when he neared.
“Thank you, Roger,” Michael answered. He extended an arm toward me. “This is Ms. Fitzpatrick. She’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”
Roger bent his arched back even further, in what might have been a bow. He was a few inches shorter than me, with bright blue eyes. He was also human, but I decided not to hold that against him because he had a nice smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”
I extended my hand in his direction. “Please, call me Layla.”
We shook. He had a firm grip.
“Layla will be staying in the spare bedroom in my suite,” Michael told him. “Could you please have someone deliver her things there?”
“Of course, Mr. Kolbeck,” Roger said. If he was curious about any of this, it didn’t show in his expression. Not even his scent gave him away.
I was prompted to hand him my keys. Probably so that once my belongings were removed from the cabin, someone could park my eyesore of a truck far, far away from the six-figure vehicles that occupied the other bays of the garage.
“Are you prepared, or do you need another moment?” Michael asked.
“I’m good.” Well, as good as I was going to get.
He led me out of the garage toward the front door.
The smell of roses hung heavy in the air.
Bees buzzed all around us, a small army of them pollinating the flowers that ran riot through the gardens.
Birdsong echoed from overhead. Michael was right: It didn’t quite drown out the distant sound of traffic, but it helped.
It also didn’t mask the sound of soft footfalls just inside the tree line, or the crackle of a handheld radio from farther away.
I snuck a surreptitious glance around us and counted one, two, ten people in black fatigues, moving with the inherent grace of shifters.
How close were the Kolbecks to war that they needed this much security in broad daylight?
Michael came to a stop on the front step.
It was carved from the same stone as the house, worn in the middle from hundreds of years of foot traffic.
I wanted to lean down and rub my hand over the smooth surface, but somehow, I didn’t think that would be considered proper, and I wanted to make a good first impression.
I tugged down the hem of my running shorts, conscious of the fact that the security detail would have eyes on me. “I should have changed before we left.”
Michael glanced at my legs. “I assure you, the sight of nylon and bare thighs will not cause my mother to suffer an apoplectic fit.”
His tone was calm, but I could feel a slight hint of nerves coming from him. I did my best to ignore it. After all, it could have been an echo of my stress reverberating through the bond. Mom and Dad told us that could happen, and I’d already seen it firsthand on the drive down.
Michael opened the front door to the sound of running feet.
We stepped into a large foyer with parquet flooring.
The ceiling rose thirty feet above our heads, and priceless artwork in gold gilt frames hung on the walls.
A staircase climbed up the right-hand side of the room, leading to a viewing balcony high above.