Chapter 8
eight
Movies got ditched in favor of board games, but I lacked energy to do more than sit back and cheer on the competitors in a game of Twister that landed Liam on the couch beside me with an ice pack on his lower back. Rían gave up not long after, limping from the room to refill my glass of water.
Only Goldie and Sloane remained, and they resembled living pretzels, twined around each other.
“Walshes play to win.” Liam groaned, mashing his face into the cushions. “I still say Sloane cheated.”
“You’re just jealous I’m better at this game than you,” she panted, her cheeks flush.
“You smeared pizza grease on my circle. You’re the reason I slipped and fell.”
“This whole pad is covered in pizza grease. Stop being a whiner.”
“As soon as I can feel my legs again, it’s on. I challenge you to a rematch.”
“No thanks. I prefer to keep our record as is.”
Shaking his head, Rían bypassed the ongoing battle to hand me the water and a few vitamins Burdock recommended I try.
He sat on the floor, leaned against my knees, and tilted his head back to rest on my thighs.
A funny little smile twitched on his lips, one he hadn’t quite been able to erase since hearing that I had discovered my breed.
Had our roles been reversed, I doubt I could have bottled up my curiosity as well as him.
Granted, he had more experience in this process and would be used to how close people held their secret until their big party.
I wasn’t sure I cared one way or the other.
I had no real point of reference for how to weigh the importance of such milestones when I had already watched them pass me by in my original peer group.
Though it was rare for anyone in the Sartori pack not to shift into a wolf, there were a few mixed species couples who got surprised here and there when their kid took after their non-wolf parent.
Wolf genes tended to be dominant, and only wolves ever climbed in the pack hierarchy.
Anyone else had to leave the pack to pursue their ambitions.
A commotion at the front door brought Rían to his feet, and he went to check who was here so late.
From this angle, I couldn’t see our visitor, but I heard them fine.
“There’s been another bombing.” The enforcer kept her voice low. “This one on Carlyle Street.”
“Two in one day.” He sounded exhausted to my ears but hid it well. “Was anyone hurt?”
“One bystander has burns down his right arm from shielding his face from the blast, but he’s already with Burdock. He’ll recover fully with minimal scarring. No one else was in the area.”
“How long ago did it happen?”
“Twenty minutes. We’ve locked down the scene. We’re just waiting on you and Liam.”
“We’ll be right there.” He shut the door and returned to the living room. “I take it you heard that?”
Unsure who he meant, we all nodded, even Goldie, which didn’t improve Rían’s mood.
“Would you mind watching Goldie tonight?” Rían crouched in front of me, his fingers curling in my hair. “I would ask you to join us, but you need to rest.”
“I don’t mind.” His trust left my heart thumping. “We still have those movies, after all.”
“I’ll keep them safe,” Sloane promised him, her upside-down expression earnest.
“I know you will.” Rían brushed his lips over mine then withdrew. “Can you stand, Liam?”
Grunts and groans poured out of him as he maneuvered onto his feet, but his posture screamed pain.
“Take one of my ibuprofen 800s before you go,” I urged him. “You need it more than I do.”
“God bless you.” He gimped into the kitchen. “Have I ever told you you’re my third favorite coz?”
“You only have three, so…” I rolled my eyes. “That’s not saying much.”
“You’re still top three.” He winked at me. “That’s not a bad start.”
Something told me I would never bump Goldie or Rían from their spots, but I didn’t feel too bad about it when Liam never stood a chance of knocking Sloane out of her top rank either.
As soon as Rían and Liam gathered their things and left, Sloane and Goldie called Twister a draw and climbed onto the couch with me.
We settled in under a blanket, scrounged up the leftover snacks, and got down to the important business of watching a dog win the World Series for his team while finding a home with a family who saw him as more than just a mascot for a popular baseball team.
All in all, not a bad end to a stressful day.
I only wished that Rían had been here to share it with us.
A tickling sensation shot my eyes open to find I had dozed off on the couch with the girls.
Goldie was asleep on my shoulder, her hair stuck to my lips, which were sticky from eating s’mores.
I must have passed out in a sugar-induced coma to be this gummy.
Sloane, chocolate smeared across her cheeks and chin, had stretched out, shoved her cold feet behind my back, and mashed her face into one of the cushions.
That was going to be fun to scrub out of the fabric.
A jolt ran through me when I noticed Rían slumped in a chair across from us. The way he sat with his chin on his fist convinced me he had been watching us and conked out before deciding what to do. Liam was nowhere in sight. He must either still be at the scene or had gone home to rest.
As if my sharp intake of breath had awakened him, Rían jerked in the chair, yawned, and blinked at me.
Careful not to jostle Goldie too much, I laid her out next to Sloane and gestured for Rían to meet me in the kitchen. I noticed the time, almost noon, and decided I would cook a late breakfast and let the smell rouse the others.
As I flipped through the recipe book, Rían joined me. “When did you get in?”
“About an hour ago.” He dropped into a chair at the table. “Another bomb went off around midnight.”
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“Two women were crossing the street and got thrown from the blast. They were lucky to escape with road rash and bruising.”
“Brentwood is busier than usual with the wards down, but it’s odd how both bombs hurt people without killing them.” I pulled down flour and sugar from the cabinet. “Our bomb came close, though.”
“Given the timing, we’re curious about that too. There hasn’t been enough material left of the mechanisms themselves to determine whether the bombs are on timers or remotely detonated.”
Buttoning my lips, I held in an offer to inspect any remains. I could likely identify a Sartori by scent. Had Carmichael hired out the job, not so much. But it sounded like either way, it was a bust.
“We know the bomber is in town to keep rigging them, so it could go either way.”
“Pyromaniacs tend to set fires then circle back to watch them burn after they’ve gathered a crowd.” His expression pinched. “Makes me wonder if a bomber thinks similarly. Returning to the scene of the crime or watching from nearby to control the exact moment of ignition.”
“I didn’t think to ask, but the other bombs were all planted in cars too?”
“Yes.” He slouched in his chair. “All in residential areas.”
“Then we’ve either been very lucky no one has been seriously hurt, or the bomber has another agenda.” A distraction? But why? It made no sense. “Any connection between them and the poisoner or…?”
“None so far.”
“Then we still don’t know if we’re being targeted on one front or two.” I exhaled. “We have to move ahead with tracking Carmichael. There’s no way this isn’t connected to him. Even if he’s not directly responsible, he’s emboldening others to make their move.”
“The other packs, prides, and clans were Sartori allies.” He mulled it over.
“They worked closely with Mercer, but Sartori commanded their loyalty. He might have people in those camps willing to stir up trouble on his account and help him achieve his goals.” He lowered his head.
“That would sow seeds of unrest within alliances on both sides. I don’t think the Sartoris will move against us at this point.
Not if there’s a risk of their former allies turning on them.
But you were right when you suggested meeting with Mercer a few days ago.
We can acknowledge his new role as a courtesy and get a read on how the leadership transition is going.
We can also test the waters for a truce. ”
“Should we do that before or after we attempt to locate Carmichael?”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“You think there’s still a chance they’re working together?”
As we hashed out our thoughts, I whipped together a simple batter for pancakes.
I was grateful for the routine to occupy my hands.
Silly as it might be, I could hardly believe I was standing in a kitchen with a man as powerful as Rían, and he was listening to me.
He paid attention to me. My opinions and experiences carried weight with him.
“I wouldn’t put anything past Sartori, and Mercer challenging him was a shock. He’s never struck me as a man who craved power, but he’s loyal to the pack. I could see him weighing fealty to Sartori against the wellbeing of the pack and deciding based on that.”
“I agree.” I shook my head. “I never in my wildest dreams imagined Mercer turning against Carmichael.”
“You know them best, so your gut instinct carries more weight, but you were missing key information to understand their dynamic.” Rían put it gently, but he meant I hadn’t known I was a long-festering thorn digging into Mercer’s side.
“That puts us both at a disadvantage when it comes to determining whether it was a ruse, Sartori losing the challenge, I mean, or a genuine shift in pack dynamics.”
The thorn was out now, but the wound—and infection—remained in Mercer, poisoning his reasoning as surely as Carmichael’s obsession had sickened him.
“With witches on their side, and all the charms the pack carries, it will be hard to tell if Mercer lies to us. We won’t be able to smell his intent or emotions. He’s got a solid poker face too, so it’s going to be hard to read his expression for signs he’s telling the truth.”