“This be here a bad dwelling,” Rufus said. His voice was downtrodden. “A death shroud looms over the cage. Spirits linger and they are nary for the good.”
He could smell exactly what Rufus was talking about; old meat and congealed blood. Both men watching the entrance had shaved heads and were covered in tattoos. They wore shorts and nothing else, leaving their bulky muscle on display. Their cards were laid on the table; bluffers, the lot of them. They relied on strength over skill. They’d put up a fight and it’d be messy, but they wouldn’t win against someone with his expertise.
He stood to the side of the line, watching the guards pat patrons over before they entered. The search was standard. The men were looking for large items, but even their amateur search would unearth sixty percent of what he usually carried. He’d have to rely solely on the sleeker fey weapons, which would be easier to get in.
“Whatever ye’r thinking, it’s nary a good idea,” Rufus said.
“I know your opinion, Rufus. You don’t have to keep repeating it.”
In truth, he couldn’t risk even the fey weapons being noticed. He needed a distraction. The line was thinning and no one was behaving badly. After a few minutes, it became clear that the only diversion he’d get was one he made himself.
“There be yer alpha,” Rufus’s sing-song tone made everything inside him freeze.
“What?” He turned, half expecting Mercer to be heading towards him. The trail was empty for the moment. When the last shape shifters went in, the guards were going to notice him standing at the side.
“Yer alpha,” Rufus said, fluttering to the board with numerous, weather beaten pictures.
Wolffey crossed over to take a closer look. It was an old picture of Mercer, he’d estimate about ten years prior to what the alpha looked like now. His hair was still short in the photo and his eyes were bruised where his nose had been broken. Undefeated in Numerous Challenges, said the chipping letters on the frame.
“I have my distraction,” he said aloud.
Rufus’s head snapped to look at him, but the fey didn’t ask. Wolffey started towards the parking lot, aware of the eyes following him.
“This has to do with the alpha?” Rufus asked. “Ye’re a werewolf, why do ye need to sneak in? Go bare of weapons and use the gate like the others.”
“It’s not that easy.” His thin voice matched his racing heart. It wasn’t a full blown panic attack. He could reign it back in. He moved past the lot and into the tree coverage.
“Ye’re the queen’s bloody assassin. Ye’ve maneuvered obstacles far more challenging than this.”
“Not this one,” Wolffey grumbled. He pulled his cowboy hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re right. I’ll be outnumbered if Akili is aware of me before I take the key. I can’t go in there without weapons. I would be…”
Goddess, he’d bloody be helpless. There was no honor in dying without a sword.
“I can’t understand ye’r decision,” Rufus said. “Why this?”
Wolffey growled and slammed his hand against the tree trunk. The pain cleared his thoughts.
“Wolffey, why be involved with the alpha?”
He wasn’t use to asking for help, especially when it meant getting involved where he knew better not to. “He’ll be an escort of sorts.”
“Ye are a werewolf, there are werewolves inside. Ye can walk right in.” Rufus was in his face again. There was no inner light in his eyes. It had been startling as a child. Now, it didn’t unnerve him. “What perturbs the assassin? What trembles his steady hand?”
Wolffey leaned in, ready to push the spirit away, though the attempt was futile. “Stop insinuating that I’m afraid.”
“The signs are clear. Ye are pale, even for someone riding high on Beithir venom. Ye’re sweating and unable to put down the spike. There is nary a shifter around us. What ye be so afraid of?”
“I can’t shift, okay.” Spoken in anger, the words sounded pathetic. He caught his breath, forcing the bad feeling away. Admitting it out loud sounded just as bad as repeating it to himself.
Silence hung heavy between them and he hated that even more.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I haven’t shifted since I was twelve,” he growled, low, though he knew better than Rufus that a whisper could travel when sensitive ears were near.
The first couple of years waiting out the full moons in the Hill were lonely. Aire’Si and the healer tried to make the time pass without the usual muscle cramps in his low back and along his limbs that begged to shake off the human flesh and hunt. At first, nothing dulled the soul deep instinct. Now, he couldn’t remember what the transformation felt like. Besides the moodiness and the occasional cravings, the werewolf side was completely lost to him.
“Are there any shape shifters ye have yet to piss off?”
“Nay,” Wolffey answered.
“Listen, lad. Ye can’t go to those werewolves,” Rufus stated.
The fey was right. He should keep his distance from the Texas werewolves, but he really needed that key.
oOo
Mercer fought his drifting consciousness as he stared at the ceiling. The curtain was open and moonlight filtered in, giving the room silvery light. Sleep beckoned, but the moon called to his wolf spirit. Despite his exhaustion, energy pulsed under his skin wanting him to keep moving. Tonight, the need to hunt would be easy to ignore, except the looming problem with Hota kept him awake.
He expected obstacles, but not the consequences that came from getting involved with the fey. The queen never warned that others were after her assassin. He was lucky the scrimmage at the Bird Nest didn’t kill his betas. The sedative left him with a throbbing headache, but the worst of the nausea was over. He’d been careless.
A cold mist drew along his skin, making his hair hackle. His stomach clenched, both in yearning and dread. Music and voices rumbled through the walls, but he didn’t have to look around his room to know he was alone. He sat up and waited for his head to stop pounding before he stood, tucking his Glock in the back of his pants. He never brought a gun to a fight, but the assassin didn’t fight like a lycan.
He left the queen’s collar behind his dresser and followed the pull of energy into the hallway. The farmhouse radiated with the aura of his pack, drawing comfort where the assassin only brought an internal restlessness. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase with the doorway in front of him. The loud clatter from the kitchen said a great deal of pack was lounging and socializing in the hottest part of the house. A few members were in the living room, shoved on the worn couch, but Wolffey wasn’t in the house. Outside then, he was sure of it.
He caught the knob and pulled the door shut behind him. The windows were open allowing the smells and sounds to carry through the screens. It pacified his human spirit, but his inner werewolf reacted to the moonlight reflecting off the cars. Hota was strong, but eventually the pull would be too difficult for him to ignore. He had to get to the Mission Leader before it was too late.
“You can feel my presence, alpha,” Wolffey said with mild interest. That was as far as the tacit question went. The assassin stood away from the porch and held his hands at an angle. Mercer couldn’t see the weapon the gestohlen held, but he knew it was there. “You sought me out. Why?”
“Does my motive matter? It’s not why you’re here now,” he countered.
Despite the energy circulating like live wires under his sensitive skin, he couldn’t feel Wolffey’s lycan force. He was a blank canvas. His pupils were dilated, but he was too tranquil for a werewolf. The swallow scratches marring the left side of his face was new. The bruise under his eye was a darker shade of purple.
Mercer took root at the edge of the porch waiting for Wolffey to speak. Insect wings buzzed in the sticky air, filling the quiet. He questioned the sanity behind not putting the collar on Wolffey and giving him back to the fey. It was his best opportunity to get to Hota in time. If the fey aren’t lying. He had
about as much reason to trust them as he did the brainwashed, lycan assassin.
“You need my assistance, why?” Wolffey asked.
The conversation was going to loop in circles if one of them didn’t break the cycle. Mercer took a step down and the assassin didn’t move, but his hands stilled, no doubt something was between his fingers waiting to be thrown. “The North American Mission Leader was taken by a magi who calls herself Chancellor. I need to get to Hota before the full moon.”
“What are you willing to sacrifice for that rescue?” Wolffey asked.
His face remained a mask. He took the braids out of his hair, and with the very mild breeze, he could smell the harsh chemicals the assassin showered with. There was color to his cheeks, but not much. His jaw was tight, his lips were thin. He was pensive.
Telling Wolffey about his deal with the fey was not happening, though the assassin’s question was surprisingly straightforward. “I will do anything I can to get to him.”
Wolffey shook his head and stepped away. “You don’t know what Chancellor is capable of and yet you’re determined to go into her domain, blind. You can’t be of service to me.”
Mercer took the last steps down the porch stairs, confident the assassin was desperate like him. “I’m aware how fey favors work. I’ll help you if you know someone that can get me to Chancellor.”
“Nay, alpha. I can’t help you with what you ask. It’s suicide for you and your betas. I will na’ be party to it.”
“Don’t underestimate my determination,” Mercer growled. “What did you want from me, Wolffey?”
The use of his name snapped the assassin’s attention back to him. Good. He wasn’t going to let him drift into his own thoughts.
Wolffey licked his lips before responding. “I need to get into the Pound without going through security.”
“And you think I can help you with that?” Mercer asked.
“It looks like both our tasks might be impossible,” Wolffey said. Under his sharp façade was fatigue, but he held his ground. “I will help you get your father back, if you get me into the Pound.”
This caught him off guard. Wolffey knew far more about him than he expected. “My betas and I are ready.”
“A pack is useless to me,” Wolffey answered rather quickly. “We go alone.”
“Not to the Pound. I have enemies.” And you must too, if you’re asking for help from the werewolves.
“It’s a simple task. Get me in and you leave,” Wolffey said.
“Politics are never that simple. Rogues are drawn to fighting rings,” he stated. Wolffey’s expression didn’t change, so he continued. “As an alpha, if I’m challenged, my options are limited.” He’d look like a coward if he left right after showing up. He could fight and keep his reputation or refuse the challenge and the word would spread. He’d have unsolicited visitors on his property, challenging him for his territory and pack.
“And what would your betas do for you?” he asked.
“Keep the attacks legal, nothing outside the ring,” Mercer answered.
Wolffey raised an eyebrow. “You would take the challenge?”
“I never back down,” Mercer answered.
The silence was heavy. Wolffey nodded at an angle, more to himself than acknowledging what Mercer said. “Very well. Help me and I’ll help you.”
Mercer tried to extricate a lie in his words. He was walking into this with blind trust, something he wasn’t sure the assassin deserved after putting a silver tipped arrow into his shoulder. But he didn’t kill you.
Yes, that was the tiny thought that constantly circled his thoughts, followed by the word mate. His wolf spirit was wrong. He’d never choose a trained killer as his mate. It was the assassin’s complete disregard for lycan law that troubled him.
“Wait until I come back out,” Mercer ordered, half expecting the assassin to snort at the command.
His tension didn’t alleviate when he entered the house. His betas were easy to find. They stood in the kitchen with coffee mugs in hands and lightly bantering with the pack family.
Rider stood in the corner whispering with Fallah. Dax and Axel sat with Sadie. Dax said something that had Axel rolling his eyes. Sadie shrugged, bored with his suggestion. Briley and Wyatt were at the stove with Patience. A few children hung at the island table where the desserts were beautifully presented on bright glass platters. Eva stood to the side with a group of males that still supported Gio’s questionable values. On a normal night, that would raise his suspicions, but Hota was his main priority.
He moved through the kitchen, collecting his betas. When they were in the hallway, just outside the door, he warned them. “Wolffey is waiting for us.”
“What is he doing here?” Axel hissed.
Mercer threw the door open, surprised that Wolffey still lingered in the yard, farther from the house. His arms were folded and for that brief second, it appeared he was arguing with himself. The few words that drifted in the quiet night were gibberish. Wolffey’s silence was sudden, not because he’d heard them, but as if they were brought to his attention. He scrapped that strange thought. The assassin was a werewolf, of course he heard them.
The assassin’s face went blank as he approached. The purple ring around his dilated pupils remained a thin line, which was more telling of his emotional state than anything else.
“Van,” Mercer said.
The assassin’s utter stillness made him uncomfortable. “I’ll meet you there.”
“We travel together so you can answer my questions about Chancellor,” he said. He was risking his status and life walking into the Pound. Get him in, that’s all Wolffey had asked. Technically, the assassin wasn’t asking for backup. It was a reminder that he knew so little about the mysterious werewolf who said he wasn’t stolen as a baby, yet he’d been so young the first time they met; pre-teen or a very petite teenager.
Wolffey’s eyes narrowed, challenging his order. Mercer braced himself for the altercation. Instead of continuing the disagreement, the air snapped and the assassin was gone.
“That’s really uncomfortable that he can do that,” Axel said.
“Agreed” Dax grumbled.
The gravel crunched under their feet as they headed towards the van. The brothers quietly mused over the situation, leaving Mercer in thought, but he wasn’t the only one wrapped in silent contemplation. Wyatt was quiet too.
TWELVE
Wolffey refused to acknowledge the anxiety that came from not having his extra weapons. They were as much a part of him as the layered clothing he wore. It was a gamble entering a yard of shape shifters half mad due to temporal insanity. His hand to hand was superior, but it wouldn’t hold up to creatures that used their full mass to move walls.
Headlights brushed the forest as a car pulled into the lot. He quickly stood and blood rushed to his head. It was the first time since leaving the gypsy camp, that his body was showing signs of wear. He waited, collecting himself as he heard the doors slam shut and voices trailed in the night.
“So where is he?” one of the beta’s asked.
“Around,” Mercer said. The alpha’s eyes trailed first in the direction of the Pound, and then slowly roved over the forest trees lining the parking lot.
Wolffey remained against the tree, holding his breath. He was buried too far back, he was sure, but there was a great deal about the lycanthropes that he could no longer remember, like how sensitive a werewolf was during the approach of a full moon. When Mercer’s attention kept drifting, he realized they could no sooner scent him than he could them at this distance with no wind.
“Do we go on in?” one of the five asked.
They all had similar features, though brothers often did. It was their characteristics that individualized them. The one speaking now looked modern in his black tight shirt that stretched over his chest and jeans. The one standing next to Mercer, with his cowboy hat on despite the late hour, wore a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The fabric hugg
ed just as tightly, though a bit looser around the narrow waist. These two were the more dominate of the five brothers, more aggressive and ready for violence.
“There is an insane amount of rogues down there,” the cowboy said.
Wolffey took a deep breath and released it slowly. He didn’t want to be around the brothers, especially the way the leaner of the five, Wyatt, had come towards him. He wouldn’t forget any of their names, even if he hadn’t immediately recognized them at the Bird Nest. It was a dangerous game he was playing. The more he was around the betas; the better his chances were that Wyatt would recognize him in return.
It was time to get in and to get rid of Mercer and his betas. Mercer wasn’t surprised when he popped in. The others didn’t react so nonchalant.
“Alpha,” he nodded in greeting. He didn’t wait for an answer before he started down the path towards the entrance. He kept ahead of them so that no one could pick up his single, elevated heart rate.
Mercer fell in step beside him. “I need to know what you plan to do tonight and how far you’re taking it.”
The alpha wanted to control this moment, but Mercer failed to realize that he was with someone who didn’t need a leader to step in for the decisions he made.
“If you chose to stay once I’m in, that’s your prerogative,” Wolffey said.
Mercer grunted. It wasn’t approval, or displeasure. It was almost neutral, hard to interpret, much like Aire’Si. His stomach tightened. Mercer was nothing like Aire’Si. He felt nothing for the alpha.
“I’ll consider that,” Mercer answered. He turned to his betas. “Stay on guard and try not to accept a challenge.”
As they approached the front gate, Wolffey was sure the bouncers would focus on him. His clothes often drew suspicion, but there attention was on Mercer. Wolffey allowed him to take the lead and tucked himself between the betas.
“Mercer,” the shorter of the two said. The man had a barrel chest that he puffed up. “There are a few people here that would like to see you.”
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