While he continued addressing the men, I walked to the western wall, set down my bag and broom, and gauged the view from the various windows. The glass was clouded with years of weather and grime, so I resorted to checking those that were broken out, trying to find a spot where the moon was in the best position. Once located, I could mark my spot on the floor and arrange the wæres accordingly.
My ears detected a regular tap-tapping sound and I searched for the source. The men heard it, too, and Johnny’s words trailed off. It seemed to be echoing from a stairwell beside the elevator. The shadows darkened with movement beyond. The men were all actively sniffing the air.
Cammi Harding stepped into the light.
The spoiled bank heiress had, apparently, gone shopping and found a pair of shiny gold, thigh-high platform boots not unlike the red ones Menessos had provided me for the Erus Veneficus ceremony. When I’d gone to The Dirty Dog to talk to Johnny, Cammi had ogled my boots. That particular run-in had ended badly for her, as had our last run-in, which occurred at a church. Clearly, she was back for more.
Her glossy black miniskirt was as tight and short as possible, and meant for someone at least fifteen years her junior. She did seem to relish flaunting what wære genetics had graced her with. The gold top was low-cut and sleeveless. Despite the chill in the November air, she wore no coat. Even from this distance I was certain her nails, makeup, and fluffy platinum hair were flawless. The only thing that surprised me was the absence of her more subdued twin, Sammi.
As soon as I saw her, I found myself wondering what Eva de Monique looked like. I am secure that my relationships with both Johnny and Menessos are all I want them to be. I hoped that affirmation would squelch these seeds of jealousy.
“Hello, boys,” Cammi purred, strutting forward.
“What are you doing here?” Todd demanded.
“I’m here to be the voice of reason.”
“Get out,” Johnny commanded.
“Someone needs to remind them what a risk they’re taking, letting magic be stirred around them.” She angled her path to avoid Johnny and stopped in front of the gathered men three good paces out of anyone’s reach. “You haven’t forgotten how that witch threatened me, have you? Or that she threatened to call the energy up and leave me half-formed? You heard her, Pete. I know you did. And so did you, Josh. And yet you line up like puppies in a pound, wagging your tails, eager to be petted.” She tossed her head and struck a pose of defiance as she looked them up and down, taking the measure of every man present. “There’s not an alpha among you.”
That won her angry growls all around. She can’t think insulting them—and their Domn Lup—will sway them to see her side of things.
“Oooo. I love that sound,” she taunted. “Do it again.”
The men gave her their best growls.
“There it is … there’s the evidence of the backbone of real wæres. I know you’ve seen him change, you’ve found your Domn Lup. But he’s not doing this, is he? She is.” She pointed at me accusingly. “The sange stricata.” She sauntered toward me, and the group of men parted to let her through. She stopped just past them, as if to give the visual effect that she was leading the wæres who flanked her. “They say she’s the Lustrata. What-fucking-ever. What does the witches’ messiah matter to us? Have you all forgotten your training? The witches are—” Her features manifested arrogance and seemed to scream, I know something you don’t know. “Well, we’ll not discuss that in front of her. Let’s discuss what we all know: she’s a witch tied to witches, she’s also tied to vampires—you’ve seen her on the Regional Lord’s lap, feeding him—and she’s tied to our Domn Lup.”
“You’re walking a thin line, Cammi,” Todd barked.
“Oh shut up. I’m not anti–Domn Lup. I’m merely connecting the dots and making sure you see how she could be a danger to us all.” With a flick of her wrist she cut Todd off before he could get another syllable out. “I want you all to do what the Lup asks of you. But not blindly. Ask yourself: Do you trust her? Are you willing to become another half-formed monster?”
“Get out,” Johnny said. “Now.”
“Make me,” she cooed. “Show me what a big strong alpha you can be.”
“Heel, bitch.” This new, deep voice echoed from the stairwell.
As its source stepped into view, I recognized Mr. Alligator Shoes from the drugstore.
Men filed in, forming a line behind him. Yet, as Johnny, Todd, and the other pack wæres squared their shoulders and emitted low growls, I wondered what, exactly, was going on. How had these guys gotten through the security Johnny had boasted about, and whether I should let Johnny know this was the guy from the drugstore.
Mr. Alligator Shoes marched into the room, and his men maintained their line behind him, though one not-so-brawny man lagged back, carrying a briefcase.
Cammi sucked in a breath and sashayed toward him. “Finally, a true alpha!” She gave a coquettish little shimmy at the last.
Maxine was right; he was a wærewolf.
As she neared, Mr. Alligator Shoes swiftly slapped her—hard enough to knock her to the ground. “Never speak to your dirija again.” He spat on her.
My mouth opened to protest—standing silently by while someone hit a woman wasn’t in my nature—but Johnny caught my attention as he threw off his leather jacket and his shirt. His hands, arms, and shoulders darkened, sprouted fur, and bulged. It wasn’t pretty, but it bulked his size closer to that of Mr. Alligator Shoes, who had pointed his finger at Cammi as she had pointed at me earlier. “You will never trouble him with the sound of your voice ever again, do you understand me, bitch?” He spoke with a thick accent.
That was when Johnny leaped forward, launching himself at Mr. Alligator Shoes. Both fell, rolled, and rose up swinging.
The two groups of men growled at each other, but none interfered with the fight. Cammi, reflexively touching her smacked cheek, struggled to get her feet under her. I could attest to the difficulty of this when there’s two extra inches of platform attached to the bottom of a high-heeled shoe.
The men fighting seemed well matched; for what I could tell, each was blocking the other’s punches. Then Mr. Alligator Shoes took a hit to the kidneys, but it gave him an opening to hit Johnny in the jaw. Johnny’s growl rumbled in his chest and I felt a wave of energy. He punched Mr. Alligator Shoes in the stomach so hard it lifted him into the air and sent him back six feet. Johnny was fully transformed before Mr. Alligator Shoes had landed.
He hadn’t taken off his jeans, though. Wriggling and kicking out of the fabric and the undies gave the beast some trouble. By the time Mr. Alligator Shoes had been helped up by his men, the pony-size black wolf stood snarling before them.
“It’s true,” Mr. Alligator Shoes whispered.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Having reverted to man form and put on his pants, Johnny glowered at the invaders. “I give the orders here.”
“You told her to get out. I was just enforcing your word.” Mr. Alligator Shoes’ lip was busted and bleeding.
“I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do. She still hasn’t left.”
Johnny flashed dark, scathing eyes at Cammi. In seconds, she was trying to run to the stairwell in the stupidest shoes on the planet. I couldn’t help smiling at how ridiculous she looked. Everyone watched her go, including Mr. Alligator Shoes. Before she could disappear up the stairwell, he remarked, “She’s a bit old for my tastes. Not sure I’d keep her around. Is it sentimental? Did she teach you things when you were a pup?”
“Unless you want to be banished from speaking to your Domn Lup, you will speak only when spoken to.”
Mr. Alligator Shoes bowed his head.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You may call me Gregor.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I am the head of the Omori, elite protectors of the Zvonul.” He pulled a leather bifold from his breast pocket and flashed an ID. “These are
my men; we have come to secure the area. I was so charged by the Rege.”
“Does he think there is cause for concern here?”
“This is standard procedure. May I ask a question?”
Johnny let him wait for the answer. “One.”
“Why would you take such verbal abuse from a pack bitch, and in front of your men?”
“I would have dealt with her my own way.”
“You Americans are weak, letting your women wag their tongues as much as their tails. Discipline is the fastest, surest way to achieve obedience. Especially with women.”
I’m liking him less with every word.
Johnny stalked forward. Gregor’s men retreated from him, lowering their heads. Gregor did neither.
“If a woman’s tongue wagging is a threat to you, Greg, I’d say you’re the one who’s weak.”
Gregor lowered his head. Glancing around, he observed my broom and supply bag. “May I ask what is going on here?”
Johnny gestured toward me. “She was about to reward these men, who volunteered to stand with me in battle. I believe that freely given allegiance should be rewarded.”
“Allegiance is expected. Anything less is punished.”
Johnny didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’m relieved that you’re not the Domn Lup.”
Gregor assessed me lecherously. It was clear my layers of shirt, hoodie, and blazer, paired with jeans and hiking boots, didn’t fit the mental picture he was forming. He gestured toward the stairwell. “The other one was dressed to give rewards.” He glanced again at the broom leaning against the wall, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What will this one do?”
“She’s a witch.”
“Fuck!” Gregor shouted. “This is your den, man! What is a witch doing here?”
With a roar, Johnny all-out slugged him. Gregor’s head snapped to the side, his knees buckled. He barely caught himself on the heels of his hands.
“Your tongue-wagging is pissing me off, Greg. This ain’t Romania. However you do things there, you can count on our ways being different.”
Transferring onto his haunches, Gregor wiped blood from his lips. His expression was utterly hostile, but he stayed down.
Johnny pointed at the floor. “My house. My rules. Got it?”
Gregor delayed his nod for as long as possible, but when Johnny had that acquiescence, he turned to the men this Omori brought with him. “Got it?”
They each went down on one knee and bowed their heads.
The pack led the Omori upstairs, moving into a meeting room. Johnny, Todd, and I took the long way around. I thought we might be going to the dirija’s office and I wasn’t disappointed. I leaned my broom on the wall beside the door and dropped my bag beside it. Kirk immediately opened the little refrigerator and passed an energy drink—Rockstar—to Johnny, who gulped it down. That transformation had taken a lot out of him.
“Did you know the Omori were coming?” he asked Todd.
“No.”
“He said it was standard procedure.”
Todd’s cheeks reddened at the unspoken accusation in Johnny’s words. “I’ve never been a dirija and I’m not privy to what secrets of protocol they might keep. Did you get a handbook?”
Johnny didn’t answer.
“I didn’t either. Ig never told me anything about the Zvonul, the Rege, or Omori. Why would he? He didn’t intend for me to lead.”
“Todd …”
“Don’t expect me to have the answers you need on this, John.” Though he’d spoken forcefully, he continued in a less aggressive tone. “The grooming Ig gave me for the position was incomplete at best.”
Realizing that prolonging a conversation that reopened Todd’s deepest wounds was not a good idea, I asked, “What are the Omori?”
“Apparently they’re the wærewolf version of the Secret Service with a whole lot of special ops included.” He shot a look at Kirk. “I want to know how they got in.”
Kirk left. Johnny tossed the empty can into the trash. “Let’s go.”
I followed him and Todd to a gymnasium with hardwood flooring. A carpeted platform about three feet higher than the rest of the area was situated to one side about ten feet from the doors we entered. Furnished with a long table and executive chairs, it looked like it belonged in a boardroom rather than a basketball court. The high ceiling was dotted with arena lights, but only one was powered up, illuminating the table and its occupants.
The wæres ahead of me ascended the steps to the dais. The “home team” sat in the comfortable chairs with their backs to the wall; the “away team” faced them, the dark openness and drop-off behind them. I stopped just atop the stairs, close enough to see and hear them, but well out of reach and out of the illumination.
Johnny and Gregor were midtable across from each other. Johnny’s men pushed their seats to the wall and stood, eyeballing Gregor’s men who remained seated. Gregor, with his black eye, bruised jaw, and bloody lips, was a mess. He hadn’t been offered ice or even paper towels. I wondered if the wæres lacked ice packs and a first aid kit, or if the big, bad Omori leader was expected to lick his wounds.
“As head of security for the Zvonul, I must know why you found it reasonable to have a witch in your den.” Gregor sounded almost submissive as he spoke. He was moving his mouth very little. Maybe pain had something to do with the diplomatic tone.
“I don’t answer to you.”
“Respectfully, I remind you that you have not been confirmed by the Rege. Even when that occurs, the authority you wield is not without limits.”
“I revealed myself to you. You’re obligated to acknowledge me as Domn Lup.”
“True. But my first obligation is to the Zvonul. Until the Rege offers you his acknowledgment, his orders remain supreme. While your confirmation is yet pending, I am under his orders to secure this den and this area. And he expects you to comply.”
“If I don’t?”
“He will not come. Your confirmation will become … unlikely.”
Johnny considered for a moment, then answered, “As I told you, she was about to bestow these men with a reward.”
“What manner of reward?”
“She can perform a spell that amplifies moonlight. Amplifies it enough to force them to fully transform.”
“That’s impossible!” A fresh spill of blood ran from his cut lip as he spoke, but he ignored it and continued. “The moon is waning. Less than half her face shows.”
“Three of my friends have already experienced this spell and have been enhanced for it. They now retain their man-minds during their transformation with the full moon. It is a gift I intend to give these men for their service.”
I heard the briefest hesitation before the word “friends.” Erik hadn’t exactly been happy with Johnny since he learned that Johnny could transform at will. I didn’t think it was jealousy, but it was clear that the Domn Lup would have lofty responsibilities to attend to, and that it would cut into band time. I hadn’t known their very friendship might be at stake.
Gregor’s gaze rapidly bounced back and forth as if he was thinking fast. When his jaw flexed, I knew it was a bad sign. “No,” he said.
“No?” Johnny echoed.
“I cannot allow this to proceed.” He spoke not to Johnny but to the men. “This spell must be canceled.” He spat the word “spell.”
Johnny leaned across the table. “Your job doesn’t give you authority here.”
Kirk joined us then, and made knuckle-popping fists as he took his place. The rest of the local pack shifted into ready stances, preparing should this become a fight.
Gregor relaxed into his seat. “The Rege arrives tomorrow. I cannot allow anything to transpire here that may be the first stage of a strike at my lord.”
“You can’t seriously think—”
“The witches have long threatened preemptive attacks on wærewolves. As impossible as your claim is, for security purposes, I refuse to allow her to even attempt it.”
“It�
��s not up to you, Greg.” Johnny stood and glowered down at Gregor. “These men decide for themselves!”
Immediately, Gregor bowed his head and said, “I yield to your suggestion. Let us ask your men to decide for themselves. Surely you would not have them go through with this spell if they wish to wait until the Rege has returned to Romania? We would, of course, consider such a decision to defer your own plans as a high act of respect in favor of the wishes of the Zvonul.”
Gregor’s smooth. He’d just gotten his way while acquiescing to Johnny’s demands, reminding everyone here that the Zvonul had all the clout, and hinting that the men should vote to wait so that their leader could avoid any discredit.
Gregor called out, “If you vote to delay this spell until the Rege has gone, let it be known by raising your right arm.”
Slowly, every arm rose.
“And you, witch, do you agree to wait, or do you protest this notion?”
I dropped my crossed arms and stepped into the edge of the illuminated area. “I will reward these men whenever it pleases their Domn Lup and them.”
“Persephone?”
It was one of the men with Gregor who called my name, the not-brawny one with a briefcase. He was at the far end of the table, and he stood so the wære-bulk between him and Gregor no longer blocked his view of me.
“Chris? Christopher LaCroix?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, then, with everyone staring at us, the moment soured into awkwardness. “Yeah,” he repeated, quieter, as if he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
Chris was the younger brother of the one serious boyfriend I’d ever had, my college sweetheart, Michael La-Croix. Chris had been inadvertently turned wærewolf by a girlfriend he was trying to kennel. Word got around and Chris was threatened on campus by some wære-hating jocks. It led to a wære coalition forming and even some non-wære’s like me joined. Michael, who waffled between being a private investigator, a personal trainer, and a kung-fu master (his nickname then was Pi-fu), instructed a training series for self-defense. They had access to one of the campus’s smaller gymnasiums at a certain time every week. He taught wære’s methods that took their superior strength into consideration and kept them from hurting mere humans, even if those mere humans were instigating an attack.
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