by RJ Blain
“I had no idea.”
“That’s the beauty of it; you weren’t supposed to know. Your father knew, of course. Young Fenerec-born often share instincts with their Fenerec parents, and from my understanding, he founded your company when he adopted you. Fenerec and Fenerec-born parents tend to be very protective of children. It’s stronger among Fenerec than Fenerec-born. It’s actually a way the Inquisition tracks down potential rogues—ones who need to be brought in, taught, and safeguarded. They look at teachers, doctors, nurses—anyone who would be in a position to help children. It’s Fenerec instinct to protect the young and helpless, so rogues naturally gravitate towards those professions.”
I blinked. “And the Inquisition is okay with that? Aren’t—I was under the impression we’re, well, dangerous.”
“We are. A Fenerec responsible for the care of children tends to be more stable. While we look like wolves, we aren’t, not really. We share some instincts with wolves, but we’re different. We’re built different, too. For example, our fur is denser, especially under our throats. We have dense bone and muscle structure. We try to hide Fenerec bodies, especially in wolf shape, because we’re different. We’d give scientists a field day. As humans, we’re different, but it’s easier to hide the abnormalities.”
I had never been too interested in biology, but as long as Ryan was willing to talk, I’d ask him questions. If he was anything like me—and I knew he was—he’d get tired of talking, and I wouldn’t want to intrude on his desire for silence. “What sort of abnormalities?”
“Blood production, for one. Fenerec regenerate blood cells a great deal faster than standard humans. Our bones have more marrow to account for the need for more blood. We have better circulatory systems, too—more developed. We also regenerate cells humans can’t. For example, your vision. Optic nerves in humans don’t regenerate, not normally. Ours do. Our brain cells also regenerate, so it’s possible for a Fenerec to recover from otherwise lethal damage. A Fenerec has to be very old to survive a bullet to the head, though.”
“How old?”
“No one is really sure. It varies. Any Fenerec in their puppy coat can’t survive a broken neck; it takes up to ten to twenty years for survival to be likely. A severed spine is a different matter altogether; thirty or more years seems to be the average.”
“The Inquisition has studied this?” I blurted.
“Experience.”
I grimaced at the weariness in Ryan’s voice. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I don’t like what I do, but I’m the best one for the job.”
“Why?”
Ryan sighed. “It’s because I’m submissive. For those Fenerec who are borderline, who might be saved, I’m the difference between life or death for them. That’s why I do it. If I can save even one, it’s worth it.”
I understood, and because I did, I nodded and said nothing.
Dad and Sam were the first to arrive, and they brought several bags full of my clothes with them. Leaving Ryan to fend for himself, I dragged them to the bedroom, kicked the door closed, and changed. Maybe becoming a Fenerec would someday heal my eyes, but I’d have to risk a mismatching outfit until that day came.
Several of my blouses had the oddity Ryan assured me was some form of red. Mindful of his discomfort around the color, I stuffed them back into a bag and picked a darker gray shirt to go with my jeans. In the bottom of one of the bags, I found my jewelry box. On a whim, I pulled out the biggest necklace I had, a gaudy ensemble of random beads and baubles making up multiple strands.
When I joined the others, the sitting room was packed with people, including Dalton, Gavin, and others from Dalton’s pack.
Ryan caught sight of me, squeezed his way through the crowd, and leaned down to rest his forehead on my shoulder. “Why are there so many of them?”
Anxiety soured his scent, and I narrowed my eyes, glaring at the group. “Cannon fodder.”
A strained laugh slipped out of my mate. “So we throw them at the rogue pack and clean up the mess?”
“We make them do the work while we take the credit. I think that’s a suitable use for them since they’re in your home.” My stomach gurgled in demand. “They should order food for us, too.”
“Your appetite will settle down in a month or two.” Ryan sighed and nuzzled the side of my throat before straightening. “Do you like pizza?”
Hunger bit at my stomach, and I was horrified over how fast I had gone from fine to starving. “If it’s edible, I like it. I’ll even try sushi if it means we can eat.”
“Did you forget to feed her this morning?” Dalton clucked his tongue. “She might eat you if you forget to feed her.”
“Despite what you might think, we had breakfast.”
I scowled at Dalton. “We had stew.”
“Do you know how to cook anything other than stew, Ryan?” Dalton sighed and dug into his pocket for a phone. “Gavin, while I take care of this, get the files ready. We have a lot to go over tonight.”
Gavin grabbed a pair of briefcases from beside the door and took them to the kitchen island, setting them on the counter. “We’ve managed to get some good information on the rogue pack, and we’ve also gotten some good leads on this Harthel fellow.”
My nose warned me of my Dad’s rage moments before I became aware of the dark shadow surrounding him. “I have people working to get everything we have on Chuck at our office, too. I should have the information in the morning.”
Dad’s scent betrayed his emotions, but his voice remained calm and cool.
“If I might give a piece of advice, Mr. Evans?” Pausing long enough for Dad to nod, Gavin continued, “Call the man Harthel—or something less personal. If you end up in a position to pull the trigger, distancing makes it easier. Hesitating even for a moment could get you killed.”
The thought of Dad being anywhere near Harthel horrified me. The man had been ready to kill me—almost had—and I had no doubt he would kill Dad given a single chance. I clenched my teeth together so I wouldn’t say anything without thinking about the situation first.
Harthel wanted revenge; Dad would have to defend himself, no matter how much the idea of him being in harm’s way bothered me. Acknowledging the fact Harthel might try something would give us time to prepare.
No matter how much I didn’t like the possibility of Harthel going after Dad, Gavin’s advice made a sickening amount of sense.
“Harthel’s going to get a very unpleasant surprise if he thinks he can come after me.” Dad unbuttoned his suit jacket and held it open. “One day someone will come up with a shoulder holster that isn’t uncomfortable to wear.”
Gavin circled my father, examining the holster and gun. “That won’t do you any good if you have to unbutton your jacket to get at it.”
“I’m a decent shot and quick enough on the draw. I’m more worried about Matia. She’s never been interested in guns and has never wanted to take self-defense courses.”
The thought of Dad with a gun, a man who had trouble enough walking across a room, worried me. “Aren’t you going to shoot yourself when you trip over your own feet?”
Dad glared at me. “It’s very improbable.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to use a gun.” I frowned, wondering when he had found the time to learn.
“Let’s just say I’ve spent an ungodly amount of time at the range after what happened at La Guardia.” Shaking his head, Dad buttoned his jacket before reaching for one of the briefcases. “It’s been long enough I had to qualify.”
“Who qualified you?” Gavin asked.
“Some witch the Inquisition sent over from the west coast. She didn’t give her name and I didn’t ask for it. Mean one, though. All business.”
Dalton joined us with a snort. “You know the Inquisition means business when they send one of their qualifiers from the west coast. If you didn’t qualify, you would have gotten the three-day special until you did.”
“Th
ree-day special?” I asked.
“What you’re going to enjoy in the next few days,” the Alpha informed me.
Ryan tensed, sucking in a breath. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. You don’t think I’m going to let you take anyone out with you who isn’t qualified, do you? Maybe you’re coordinating the hit, but I’m responsible for each and every person involved. She qualifies before she’s involved.” Taking a seat at the counter, Dalton grabbed the second briefcase and popped it open. “If it makes you feel any better about it, you’re expected to attend and qualify. I thought that would be suitably annoying to count as punishment for your recent behavior. The Inquisition didn’t like my version of a wrist slap and demanded something quantifiable. This counted.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be a risk to those around me until I learn how to handle being a Fenerec?”
“This will help you—”
“I’m in.” I pulled up a stool and sat next to Dad, peeking at the stack of papers in the briefcase. “What sort of information do we have to work with?”
“About half of what I want,” Dalton admitted. “We have basics on financials, basic criminal records, and telephone records. We’re missing a lot of history, including education, job records, and so on. While we can start a basic profiling from this, we’re going to need to wait a few days for the results of the investigation to come down from the FBI.”
Financials I understood; money left a trail, and those trails often led interesting places. Harthel had been planning something, and I was eager to discover what. “Dad and I are probably best off looking over the financials.” I paused, glaring at my father out of the corner of my eye. “Unless you have any other hidden super powers I don’t know about?”
Dad rolled up the sheets he was looking at and swatted my arm with them. “Watch it, young lady. All I have to do to make your life miserable is suggest to your grandmother various ways to ensure a wedding in the near future—one she can plan.”
My face burned from embarrassment. “Dad!”
“She has to ask me to marry her first for that to be a legitimate threat, Mr. Evans,” Ryan added.
“Normal men would be bribing me to let them have a chance with my daughter.”
“Actually, if we’re being traditional, you would establish a dowry and pay me to take her off your hands, Mr. Evans,” Ryan countered.
I sighed, slumped over the counter, and rested my head on my arms.
“That’s true. Cows, goats, or sheep, right? If I really want to get rid of her, I have to provide an entire herd. No wonder that tradition went away. It’d cost a fortune to provide her husband with an entire herd of cows. Where would I find one nowadays?”
Ryan cleared his throat, and in a mild tone, replied, “I believe they call them farms, Mr. Evans.”
“She cost me a fortune to feed even before she became a Fenerec. Maybe I should offer him an entire farm. What do you think, Dalton?”
Dalton laughed. “A farm would be a wise investment. However, if you purchase one and put it into Inquisition care, you’d be paid back for your investment over time, have access to livestock for your daughter and her mate, and provide a livelihood for Inquisitors unable to work in the traditional job force.”
I sighed. “Can we get back to serious business?”
“Feeding a bitch is serious business, Miss Evans,” Dalton replied. “Do I need to remind you that you ate the equivalent of half a cow on your own yesterday?”
My shock didn’t last long before it transitioned to horror. “I didn’t eat that much, did I?”
“I just ordered thirty extra large pizzas. I’m having my doubts it will be enough. It’ll get better in a month or two. Until then, Ryan’s going to have his hands full keeping you happy.”
“I hope you realize I have a savings account and can, in fact, afford to feed myself, right?”
Dad sighed and swatted me with the rolled up papers again. “I taught you better than that. You’re supposed to be robbing me blind. Get your head in the game, young lady. This is your dowry we’re discussing here.”
“Better request two farms, Ryan,” I declared, snatching the papers out of Dad’s hand. “There better be a good house on the property, too. And horses. I’ve always wanted a horse.”
Dalton grimaced. “Most livestock don’t like us very much, Matia. That includes horses.”
“So find me a horse that can put up with me. One for Ryan, too. They better be good, expensive horses, too.” I paused, glancing at Ryan. “Horses are not for eating. They’re for riding.”
Ryan smiled and held his hands up in surrender. “Do you even know how to take care of a horse?”
“No, but both of my farms will have people who take care of the animals. Dad can start a new business dedicated to making my farms profitable.”
With a sigh, Dad shook his head. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”
Satisfied I had won the discussion, I turned my attention to the papers, smoothing them out. “Let’s get back to business, shall we?”
I needed to learn as much as possible about the Fenerec able and willing to kill so many innocent people so I could help Ryan get rid of them—permanently.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dalton claimed the papers from both briefcases and went to work organizing them into seven stacks. While I waited, I breathed in deep, taking the time to make sense of the smells filling my nose. I had the easiest time identifying Ryan’s markers; my wolf recognized him, which made it easier learning who was who from smell alone.
Identifying Dad’s scent took the most work; the Fenerec drowned him out. I gave up trying to pick out Sam from the others. Even when I could catch a whiff of something, something my wolf believed came from the human, it slipped away before I could commit it to memory.
Dalton’s scent bothered me, as the strength of it dominated everyone else’s, including mine. If anything, the Alpha’s presence made it hard for me to pick out my own scent because the spice of our wolves was somehow similar.
Once I figured out who was who, I focused on the subtle tones associated with everyone. Ryan’s anxiety put my wolf on edge, making her want to drive the other males away from our territory so he could relax. Dad’s anger bothered me, although the dark shadows surrounding him had faded to wispy smoke; some laughter and distraction would blow it to tatters without much work on my part.
From the others, I detected the eagerness of the hunt and anticipation. None of them betrayed their emotions, which intrigued me. On the surface, everyone remained calm.
I wondered what I smelled like to the other Fenerec. Did my impatience alter my scent?
Could their sensitive noses detect Ryan’s scent on me? We had spent so much time together my nose could no longer pinpoint where his scent ended and mine began. My wolf liked the mingling of our spice.
“All right. Before I go into this, we have other things to discuss. Gavin, take notes.” Dalton hopped onto the counter, picked up a sheet of paper, and slid it to me. “I’ll start with you, Miss Evans. Have you ever seen any of these men before?”
Twelve photographs stapled to the paper showed white men in their mid-twenties. I shook my head and passed the sheet over to Dad, who took it, and after a moment of thought, also shook his head.
“These are the Fenerec we’ve identified as part of the pack responsible for the La Guardia bombing. There are more of them, but these twelve were spotted at the airport prior to the explosions. Before we continue, I want to build a timeline of the events from your perspectives. We’re aware of the timing for our companies beginning the negotiation process, so we can skip over that. Start with when you were planning the trip to London.”
“I know nothing. I knew we had a business meeting, but someone neglected to tell me we were going to London until we were on route to the airport.”
Dad cleared his throat, and the darkness surrounding him dissipated. “But it’s so much fun catching y
ou by surprise, Matia. You wouldn’t deny me my fun, would you?”
Instead of answering, I stared at him.
“Mr. Evans?”
Sighing, Dad pulled out his phone and went through his calendar. “Most times, I curse myself for the day I insisted it be company policy for everyone to note in their calendars when the arrangements for a meeting were made at the same time the meeting is scheduled. It’s an extra step in the process. Lots view it as unnecessary calendar clutter. Then, something like this happens, and knowing the whens along with the whys makes things so much easier. I notified Harthel and Annamarie of the London scheduling two weeks prior to our flight. Annamarie booked the flight two days later; Harthel had scheduled a meeting in California the same day as our trip to London, so instead of taking the corporate jet, we went commercial. Was cheaper for the company, too; operational costs for an overseas flight are astronomical.”
Gavin jotted notes down on the paper in front of him. “When did Harthel know he was going to California?”
“The same day he booked the plane.” Dad slid his phone to Gavin. “That has the entirety of Harthel’s schedule, Matia’s, and mine merged together. My itinerary is in blue, his is in orange, and Matia’s is gray.”
“Fitting.” Gavin took the phone, scrolling through the entries. “Harthel had a lot of phone appointments compared to you. If the calendar is to be believed, Miss Evans was seen and never heard.”
I turned my glare on Gavin and waited.
“And she doesn’t need to say a single word to get the point across,” the Fenerec muttered. “That’s a potent weapon, Miss Evans.”
Dad laughed. “I learned to view her silence as her taking her time sharpening her verbal swords. If Matia’s quiet, she’s making trouble for someone. Unfortunately for me, she was silent most of the time.”