We can’t shift here, I countered, pushing open the door and slipping inside. The shop smelled like burnt sugar and roasted coffee, yesterday’s aromas ever so slightly stale as they whirled through the enclosed space and into my waiting nose. The familiar sensations calmed me, yet I was still looking over one shoulder and trying to pinpoint sources of potential danger when a hand landed on my bare forearm.
“We need to talk.”
I recognized my boss’s voice seconds before instinct dropped me into a fighter’s crouch. So instead of pulling out the knife strapped to my thigh, I relaxed my muscles and pivoted slowly enough to paste a polite smile onto my lips instead. “Mrs. Vespa,” I greeted the older woman. At the same time, I squared my shoulders and did everything in my power to appear less scruffy and more like a candidate for the employee-of-the-month club.
Unfortunately, the plump matron was no more amused by my current tattered appearance than she had been by my lateness two days prior. “Are those...jogging pants?” she asked, nose wrinkling with disgust as she took in the comfy but—I’ll admit it—less-than-stylish bottoms Sebastien had dug up to suit my significantly shorter frame the night before. Then, understanding dawned in her eyes as she continued. “Did you even go home last night?”
Home? That was a tricky location to pin down at the present moment. But I had a feeling Mrs. Vespa thought I’d indulged in a one-night-stand. She certainly wasn’t asking whether I’d spent my off-duty hours evading government agents and saving innocents from werewolf dominance battles.
With no way to prove the noble provenance of my tattered garb, I instead launched into the request I’d been planning to email over to her office later in the day. “I ran up against a family emergency last night,” I offered vaguely, filling a mug to the brim with the first round of fresh coffee before adding cream and sugar to the brew. Whether Mrs. Vespa thought she wanted the additions or not, she clearly needed a bit of sweetening up. “I was hoping you might give me a few days of vacation time so I can figure the issue out.”
Unfortunately, Mrs. Vespa didn’t even bother sipping her drink before she launched into a clipped reply. “You want family leave? After two days of work? As the barista at a coffee shop?”
While I struggled to come up with a more human-friendly explanation, Mrs. Vespa set down the coffee she hadn’t even bothered tasting, mug clicking loudly against the counter top as it expressed my companion’s discontent. Then, striding toward me with one index finger wagging angrily, my employer read me the riot act.
“Now, see here, young lady. You have two options, and I suggest you choose between them wisely. You can either clean yourself up so you don’t look like a homeless person, then you can do your job as promised. Or you can quit now and lose your entire pay check. There’s no point in compensating someone who hasn’t even made it out of the training period with her honor intact.”
So that’s how it was. I grimaced, hating to bid farewell to the industrial-strength mixer and massive ovens that had brightened my previous two days. I’d already begun bonding with the shop’s regular customers, too, greeting each human by name as he or she dropped by for another tasty treat.
But finding a niche for myself here in the one-body world hadn’t been my objective when I left Haven. Employment at the coffee shop was intended as a means to an end, a way to insinuate myself into Derek’s stomping grounds while seeking a clue to his current location. As hoped, I’d turned up at least one strong lead—two if you counted the government officials who’d pounded on Sebastien’s door at the crack of dawn. With no more information to be rooted out here on campus, begging for my job back would be an indulgence I couldn’t really afford.
So I didn’t bother arguing that I hadn’t needed to be trained, that the scent of my baking had drawn in more customers than the shop had boasted before I came on board. Instead, I plunked my key card down onto the counter beside Mrs. Vespa’s untouched mug of coffee and turned toward the door.
“Then I guess I quit,” I said quietly as I marched out of my first real job in the human world. The eggs in my gut roiled like a stormy sea and I wished for the second time that day that I’d skipped breakfast. I guess that’s what I get for letting someone other than me take a turn as cook.
Chapter 8
Behind my back, the sound of Mrs. Vespa’s muttering carried as I beat a hasty retreat. “That’s the last time I let a professor sway my choice of employee,” my ex-boss grumbled, her fingers already tapping at her phone in search of a replacement barista.
And, despite myself, my footsteps faltered then stopped entirely. A professor had asked Mrs. Vespa to hire me? Was it really true that I hadn’t landed this job entirely under my own steam?
I hesitated, thinking back over the events that had led up to me possessing the reins to this campus-located coffee shop. Sure, it had seemed unusual to be granted the first job I applied for, and one right at the heart of the college I was attempting to investigate to boot. A very small part of me had hoped that the cupcake I’d mailed along with a hard copy of the application had sealed the deal. But, realistically, I’d figured Wolfie had pulled strings that carried all the way over into the human sphere.
Now, the concept that someone outside my pack had helped me achieve this position forced me to swallow my pride and turn back around. “A professor?” I asked, taking a step toward my companion instead of away.
But before Mrs. Vespa could reply, three things happened at once.
First, my wolf—who had been lazing through the preceding altercation with the supreme unconcern she usually granted “human troubles”—came awake with a jolt. Her fur bristled as she paced within my belly, and an actual physical growl forced itself out from between our shared lips.
Meanwhile, the door behind us swung wide, a gust of warm air sliding through to brush hair out from behind my ear and tickle the sensitive skin along the side of my face. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I realized the watcher we’d sensed earlier was very much real. In fact, if I wasn’t much mistaken, he was also walking steadily toward my unprotected back.
Werewolf, my inner best said succinctly, as if even my human side could miss the suddenly overwhelming aroma of fur that sat on our shared tongue like dried-out moss. In response, I bade my muscles to turn, to flee, to protect Mrs. Vespa from attack. But wolf instinct instead froze us in place, the sensation that we were no longer the biggest, baddest predator in the room making us cringe in on ourselves in an attempt to be overlooked.
Then hot breath hit the crown of my head, seeping through my part and rustling my hair around my ears. The newcomer was tall...and he was also growling very, very quietly, the sound at too low of a register for Mrs. Vespa to hear. The noise affected me, though, accentuating my wolf’s submissive instincts and freezing my feet in place as effectively as the compulsions that had smacked me in the face the night before.
Even though my legs currently refused to move, though, my brain continued running a mile a minute. So this was the danger we’d felt lingering around the outside of the shop when we arrived at work. This was why my inner beast had roused and begged me to shift.
How the other shifter had snuck up behind me when I’d been facing the window only a few seconds earlier was a conundrum for later consideration. Right now, I had more important matters to attend to than second-guessing the past.
Because, in the time between feeling the newcomer’s breath hot against my skin and realizing my feet had been frozen in place, hands had settled like iron bands around both of my arms. My assailant’s compulsion eased up at the same moment, but the slightest testing of his grip proved that I lacked the physical strength to wrest myself free.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Vespa had gone pale, proving that the shifter looked as scary as he felt. “We’re not open,” the human said shrilly, anxious hands plucking at her discarded coffee mug as if she planned to use the heavy ceramic vessel as a bludgeoning weapon. But since Mrs. Vespa was understandably unwilling to take her eyes off the
male behind my back, her fumbling fingers merely managed to spill hot liquid across the counter and send it drip, drip, dripping down onto the recently mopped floor in the process.
Probably a good thing I don’t work here anymore or I’d be the one to clean that up, I thought inanely.
My wolf, on the other hand, was more focused on the present danger than on mops and other cleaning supplies. She flared our nostrils, trying her hardest to decipher the scent of our accoster. And, as the subtlest tinge of lavender and used motor oil filled our nose, my inner beast and I relaxed in tandem.
So the male holding onto my arms and standing far too close behind my back wasn’t a stranger after all. In fact, he didn’t even represent a lick of danger...although I could understand why my ex-boss had jumped to the wrong conclusions when peering into his sharp-boned face.
“This is my cousin,” I offered without bothering to turn my head. “Malachi, meet Mrs. Vespa. Mrs. Vespa, this is Malachi Jones.”
“YOUR COUSIN?” MY EX-boss asked, her voice dripping with disbelief. And as I turned to take in Malachi’s familiar visage, I realized that my assertion did indeed sound unbelievable to the human ear.
Because Malachi was as dark as I was light. He was one of those rare African-Americans whose skin was so deeply tinted that it seemed to soak sunlight out of the air, and his close-shorn locks boasted the traditional frizz so common in those of his ancestry. Meanwhile, the male was also huge—both tall and broad. No one would have suggested a resemblance to my own slender frame, not in the least.
Added to that, our personalities were polar opposites. Malachi had always gotten a kick out of terrifying the unwary, figuring that if he was going to be judged based on his appearance then he might as well make the most out of the positive sides of that stereotype as well. The fact that he’d snuck up on me rather than just coming by to say hello when I first arrived was a case in point, and I knew my cousin was enjoying watching Mrs. Vespa cringe away from his hulking form now.
Well, that won’t do, I decided, gracing my cousin with an admonishing glare. Because, sure, the food-services manager had just fired me and docked my pay. But that was no reason to send her to an early grave riding a wave of pure, unadulterated terror.
So when my cousin failed to lower his threat quotient on command, I went on the aggressive. Standing on tiptoes, I lunged for Malachi’s neck, bent his head down until it came within reach...then gave him the hardest noogie I could manage. After all, who can be terrified of a huge black guy yelping like a little boy?
“I was adopted,” I explained to our one-bodied companion a few seconds later as I released my disgruntled cousin from my grip. “And so was he. But we’re still related in every way that matters.”
Malachi didn’t argue, but he did scowl ferociously, this time turning his ire in my general direction. Unfortunately for him, the intimidation tactics didn’t work.
Because it was hard to take my relative’s threat seriously when we’d spent most of our childhood together, he in lupine form while I shifted back and forth between pup and child at will. Despite—or perhaps because of—his superior size, my cousin had always been the protector in our ragtag band of young werewolves. And even though it had been ten long years since we’d last spent time in each others’ company, I had no trouble seeing through Malachi’s tough facade now.
Mrs. Vespa was less clear-eyed. “Well,” she interjected, drawing my attention away from fond childhood memories and back to the point at hand. “I’m afraid I’ll still have to let you go....” But the female shuffled from foot to foot rather than continuing, clearly too shell-shocked by Malachi’s sudden appearance in her shop to be sure she could safely fire me.
My friend’s amusement was strong on the air, so I stomped on one of Malachi’s steel-toed boots before he could go to bat for a job I didn’t really need. “I understand, Mrs. Vespa. I appreciate you giving me the opportunity in the first place,” I interjected, letting the human off the hook with grace.
Then I closed my eyes and bid a silent farewell to future cupcakes and croissants. I’ll miss baking for humans, I thought as I turned to leave, noting with amusement how Malachi’s body swiveled right along with mine. Ten long years we’d spent apart, and we still worked in tandem without the need for a single word.
But then I paused, remembering the verbal bomb my employer had dropped seconds before Malachi breezed through the front door. “One more thing,” I added, glancing backward over one shoulder. “Which professor was it who helped me land this job?”
In response, Mrs. Vespa eyed me up and down, fear of Malachi forgotten as her lips pursed in disapproval. For my part, I followed her gaze, taking in the school colors of my jogging pants and the fit that was far too long-legged for my own short stature. Sebastien must have picked up the britches in the college bookstore...which I hoped meant that there were hundreds of similar pairs kicking around campus.
But perhaps Mrs. Vespa saw some detail about the outfit that I’d missed. Whatever the reason, she shook her head disapprovingly before gracing me with a thin-lipped reply. “I assumed you knew who’d gone to bat for you. After all, you’re wearing his clothes. Even though I’ve since lived to regret it, I gave you this job based on a recommendation from Professor Sebastien Carter.”
Chapter 9
“Do you want to tell me what you think you’re up to?” Malachi demanded once the coffee-shop door had closed behind us, the revelation about my mate still ringing in my ears. Only then did I realize that my cousin hadn’t been entirely kidding around with his tough-guy demeanor earlier. He was honestly pissed. And not just at Mrs. Vespa, either, but at me as well.
I scurried to catch up as Malachi’s long legs carried him down the sidewalk toward a huge black SUV that I was positive hadn’t been parked in the lot when Sebastien dropped me off fifteen minutes earlier. So this was the new Malachi—a tough Tribunal enforcer who seemed to have shaken off all the sweetness he’d exhibited while living in Haven amid my large extended family. The male had grown into his physical skin, that’s for sure. Still....I wasn’t as impressed by the maturation process in regard to other areas of his character.
“Maybe you should tell me what’s going on,” I called after my cousin as the distance between us lengthened. Then, hastening my footsteps to catch up, I grabbed hold of Malachi’s arm and swung him around to face me.
Okay, I should say I tried to swing him around to face me. Because Malachi was like a boulder in a field, unmovable and unbreakable unless he saw reason to shift positions for reasons of his own. Still, he did stop barreling forward at the speed of an out-of-control freight train, which allowed me to dance around and look directly up into his expressive eyes.
And what I saw there made me sad. There was a hardness in Malachi’s gaze that I’d never seen before. A hardness...and a gleam that suggested he would toe the Tribunal line and protect werewolf law, family loyalties be damned.
Or at least so he appeared to think today.
As if reading my mind, Malachi narrowed his eyes and demanded, “Do you want to end up at the Alphas’ Pinnacle?”
The sentence was obviously intended to be a threat. And it would have worked, too, had Malachi voiced the sentiment in front of any average shifter who possessed the merest modicum of sense.
After all, werewolves who were brought before the nationwide assemblage of the most powerful alphas in the United States generally didn’t make it out of the building alive. Being sent to the Alphas’ Pinnacle was akin to being invited to a party by the monsters under the bed.
On the other hand, Dad had been tapped to attend the gathering one year and I’d ended up tagging along at his heels. Wolfie wasn’t technically one of our region’s delegates, but his inner wolf was scary enough to be worth trotting out to impress the other leaders. And, being the fun-loving alpha that he was, Wolfie figured if he was going to waste time at the gathering place, then so were his mate, his pack, and his kid.
That particular fami
ly vacation was one of the most striking memories from my long and varied childhood. Malachi and I had slid down banisters, built stink bombs, and made a general nuisance of ourselves far out of proportion with our diminutive size. In the end, Wolfie had actually been asked to leave after my cousin and I snuck into each alpha’s bedroom and slid spiders into shoes and snakes into beds. We’d had a blast.
With that memory fresh in my mind, I couldn’t help smirking up at my once-playmate-turned-enforcer. “Why wouldn’t I want to go back there?” I asked Malachi now, hoping fond recollections would flavor his present just as they’d sweetened mine. “Good food, good fellowship, good scenery. What more could you ask for?”
Unfortunately, the resulting growl that emanated from Malachi’s throat was all wolf, the sound shaking my inner animal out of her nap. Family-oriented beast that she was, the wolf had relaxed upon recognizing our cousin’s scent. But now she rose to her feet and began pacing beneath my skin, ready to protect us both should our recollection of Malachi’s character prove faulty.
My human half wasn’t willing to write off our cousin’s good nature so easily, though. Instead, batting my eyelashes in an over-the-top impression of a damsel in distress, I thrust out my lower lip and demanded: “Hey, are you mad at me?”
And, finally, Malachi’s mouth twitched up into the barest hint of a smile. “Completely effing irate,” he replied, his voice a monotone that did no justice to his preceding words. Then, grabbing me off my feet without appearing to expend the slightest amount of effort, he enveloped me in a bear hug that proved we were still very much part of the same clan...no matter what my own severed bonds plus Malachi’s current job description had to say about the matter.
Well, that’s settled then, I thought, relaxing into my cousin’s iron grip. I was back in the heart of family. All was right in the world.
Huntress Bound Page 4