“I am honored to meet Jane Yellowrock, though the situation seems to be growing more and more unfortunate,” the dark-skinned Brit said. I slid my eyes to the man. He met my gaze, freeing his magic, sharp and musky on the air. They were all pretty, but this one was more. This one smelled of alpha, of power, of dominance. He was mixed ethnicity, African and East Indian maybe, slender, about five-ten, with the muscles of a dancer and the face of a model. “I’m Phillip Hastings, leader of the Bighorn Pack.”
This was the wolf who had taken over several smaller Mountain State packs and consolidated them into a four-state powerhouse called the Bighorn Pack. Who, according to a source in Knoxville, Tennessee, had taken in some gwyllgi—devil dogs—and had the power to meld them all into a single, dual-species megapack. This guy had done that. He was überpowerful. But then the pack had split. Sooo . . . I wasn’t sure how that fit in.
“You were asked questions,” I said. “I’m listening.”
“We brought six wolves because precisely twenty minutes ago, we were attacked in our hotel by a rival pack, led by Jax’s alpha, Prism, and we found it prudent to move. Prior to that, my beta and I went with the cats and the wolf Toots to a prearranged meeting with the Master of the City. The invitation was issued by Asad, who said the MOC was untrustworthy and that he kept a white werewolf chained in his basement. I quickly discovered that both Asad and the wolf had lied. I killed the wolf. I then laid the body of the betrayer at the feet of Leo Pellissier and presented my belly to the Master of the City.”
I blinked. It fit, barely, in the timeline.
“We carry our laptops because they are safest with us and because Adelaide Mooney asked us to provide additional information at this presentation. Because of the attack and the move, we didn’t have time to collate it onto one system, hence we each brought our own laptops. We smell as we do because we hunted last night to run off the frustration of being in a city, of losing our luggage, which is currently in Hawaii, of having to sleep in a hotel instead of our den, and of being in a foreign place, surrounded by predators who Could. Eat. Werewolves. For snacks,” he said, the last words harsh. Softer, he added, “We are accustomed to being the apex predators with land to roam in wolf form.”
It wasn’t succinct, but it was thorough, and I didn’t know what to say to any of that. My scent must have changed in surprise. The skin around his deep brown eyes crinkled with laughter. “Puppies? Tail-waggers? I’m deeply insulted.” But his tone said he wasn’t. He was laughing at me, at a predator with two guns drawn.
“Grindylow?” I asked, not yet willing to let them be okay. “Shoes?”
“For reasons I can’t explain, our furry green executioner chose to stay in the car. Grindys are inexplicable at the best of times and ours is too young to have language, so we can’t ask. Our luggage will fly here tonight, but not soon enough for this meeting, even with the extra day to prepare. We paid a Mr. Lee a fortune to alter off-the-rack suits for us, for this meeting.” Wryly, he added, “We didn’t think about shoes until far too late to go shopping.”
One of the black-haired men said, “I’ve never had a gun pulled on me for a bad fashion choice before.”
“I have,” the other dark-haired man said, with a distinct Southern accent. Maybe Georgia. “Of course, that was back in the nineties, when RuPaul and Elton John were working on ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.’” He batted his eyes at me. “I must admit the ensemble was over the top, even for me.”
I realized he was wearing eye makeup with sparkles. And glittery earrings. And something lacy under his dress shirt. An openly gay werewolf? The fact that all female werewolves were insane and were usually killed on sight, even by males of their own species, and that males could be eviscerated for having sex with humans meant that, if the wolves had sex lives at all, it would be with each other, so the idea of a gay wolf wasn’t surprising. I could practically hear my housemothers at the Christian children’s home where I was raised reacting in judgment. Except Belinda Smith. She had been pretty cool, putting “Thou shalt not judge” as rule number one in the group home.
I took a breath and tasted their magic on my tongue, familiar and yet alien magic. It was similar to Brute’s magic, but long and fibrous, the brown of polished agate. If I had to describe the magic of the Bighorn Pack, it was braided stone, slick and hard and glossy.
“They shot you because of the way you were dressed?” I asked.
“They missed.”
“I won’t.”
“Noted, darlin’ girl. You’re hot. You know that, don’t you?” He air kissed me and I fought my grin, which was surely his intent.
The Brit said, “Would you be so kind as to put your weapons away? I’m beginning to feel unwelcome.” No growl, no attitude.
I realized that the wolf with the makeup had calmed everyone down. He had magic, big magic, and it had curled around us all, calming and palliative. The wolves were big and bad, especially the beefy, hairiest one, but Makeup Wolf could be the most powerful, regardless of his place in the pack. “Not yet,” I said. “Tell me about Jax. I don’t like being shot at.”
“Prism was my beta,” the black man repeated, “and Jax my third. I kicked them and a dozen of their followers out of the pack some time ago for tracking a human girl. She wasn’t hurt, but the grindy flashed steel. Their actions were grave enough for me to act, and harshly. The wolves who participated in the tracking of the human challenged me. There was a battle and the remaining wolves were taken to the edge of our territory. They disappeared.
“I did not know they were here until I was approached about a werewolf in captivity to a vampire, something no wolf would ignore. However, one might suppose that their fledgling pack decided to ruin our entrée to Leo Pellissier and to New Orleans. The banished wolves knew about the trip and our purpose.” He shrugged.
“Before we make nice-nice, there’s one question you didn’t fully answer, Phil. How did you get into the basement at Mithran Council Chambers?”
His mouth tightened and his wolf eyes glowed with irritation. “A vampire woman led us and the werecats to the basement. The werewolf was roaming free, there by choice. Cats are liars, disloyal by nature, and so was the female vampire. I now assume Prism arranged for us to be there in the hope that it might appear we had allied against Pellissier. We have not,” he said distinctly. “Fortunately, the MOC accepted our bellies as proof we were not involved with the cats. We have signed loyalty agreements and discussed a potential business contract to be negotiated by Leo Pellissier’s primo and Onorio attorney.” He tilted his head, his long ringlets shifting like hound ears. “And other agreements granting us the right to broadcast the Sangre Duello. Clearly Pellissier did not fully believe us when we yielded to him, hence this armed standoff, like something from an American cowboy movie.” He shrugged again. “I would not have believed us either.”
Phillip huffed out a breath, sounding like a large playful dog, and said, “And this meeting, while difficult under the circumstances, is still necessary. We met with the Louisiana Gaming Control Board this morning and we have broadcast and distribution agreements signed, notarized, and filed.” Phillip managed to look smug as he said that last part. “Pellissier will do well by a financial agreement with us, and we gain a safety net from a rogue pack by this arrangement.”
“The female vampire who led you to the basement. Did you know her? Did you know her position among the vampires?”
“No. She reeked of fruit. Blond, glacial personality. Beautiful.”
Vamp games. Hated ’em.
And then it hit me. “Leo thought the other werewolf pack would wait to attack and follow you here. Attack all of us here at once. Where his armed people would be prepared to protect you.”
Phillip shrugged slightly. “Or he thought we had lied and that all of the werewolves in New Orleans would attack you here, and that you would kill us all at once, freeing him to negotiate another deal should we prove disloyal.” Phillip stared at me, a wolf’s predator gaze. “I gave him my belly. I am loyal.”