Flint was not in a mood to joke. He had more news for J. “Will do. But hey, you need to know something. About Riot.”
Jameson’s silence on the other end of the line lasted a beat longer than Flint would have liked. Dammit, was he the only one who didn’t trust that sneaky cat? When his old friend spoke, his tone was cautious. “What about Riot?”
He told J about the background check, about the time Riot had done and for what crimes. Jameson sighed wearily. “I don’t like the idea of judging a man for a crime when he’s already paid his debt.”
Flint got that. But he didn’t like it. “We’ve got switches to worry about now. You want to take risks with Cora’s safety?”
Jameson grunted into the phone. “He’s coventwined to Breath Coven. You challenging fate’s decisions?” Jameson sighed audibly. “Look, Flint, I’ll check into it, but you drop it until I say, got it? Knock off all your bullshit with him.”
Flint growled into the phone. “I’m trying to keep the switches safe.” Switches, plural. Already, he could see Goldie moved into Resperanza. There was more than enough room, and Fate seemed to promise the coven would be filled.
Jameson wasn’t fooled. “You’re just pissed about that fight. Let it go. Do your job. You need anything?”
Flint felt like grumbling, but he kept it quiet. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got food.” Bears never went far without snacks. “There’s Cajun Chicken in the fridge, if you want to cook it.”
Jameson’s voice turned curious. “You didn’t put the chicken in the oven before you left?”
“No.”
“It’s in there now, timer on the stove says it’s done in two minutes.”
Flint didn’t say a word. Riot wouldn’t have done it. J would know if Cora had done it. So that meant… what?
“We’re the only ones living in the house, right?” he joked. Half-joked.
Jameson laughed back. “Pretty sure.”
Flint shook it off. He would explore Resperanza more thoroughly as soon as he had a chance. The place was big. Someone could easily be holed away in an empty room. But why sneak around to cook chicken?
The door Goldie had disappeared through opened. “Later, J,” Flint said, and clicked off the line, watching to see who would come out.
Anticipation gripped him around the middle and dirty thoughts filled his mind, thoughts of Goldie’s lips on his, how she’d felt in his arms and against his body. They had fit perfectly together, even though she was so much smaller than he. Holding Goldie’s lean, petite frame to his bulk had made Flint feel more primally protective than he’d ever felt before. Almost like he’d been born for all this, and everything up till now had been… what? Practice, maybe. The Cause was his real purpose.
It wasn’t Goldie at the door, it was Darby. She stopped before she got all the way out and spoke back into the dark room. “What? What’s gonna happen?” Her expression twisted in disgust and she headed back inside.
Flint settled in.
Chapter 6 - Darby, Don’t
Goldie glared at Darby as she came back in the door. “All I asked was for you to stay put, Dar. You can’t even do that?”
Darby huffed at her. Goldie had taken a short shower, knowing she couldn’t trust her sister to keep herself safe. She’d been right, and had caught Darby heading out the door.
Darby shook her head. “Bless it, Goldie, am I eight years old? I was just going to get a soda from the machine.”
Goldie automatically took on the mothering tone she could never seem to shake around her sister. “We don’t have the money for that, Dar. I won’t get paid for two weeks and every penny we have has to go to repairs or this motel. I don’t want to sleep on the street.”
Darby threw up her hands in exasperation. Drama queen. “Then why don’t you want me to get a job?”
Goldie tightened the sash on her Queen of Hearts robe, as she tried to decide if it was worth saying everything again. Her younger sister had selective hearing. Darby was twenty-four, completely impulsive, and couldn’t hold down a job anyway. “Let’s get settled first. We don’t have money to pay for phone plans or anything. We won’t be able to find each other if we go off in different directions. That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
Ice blue eyes met Goldie’s, challenging her. The story of their sisterhood. “So explain why you brought home some random guy who is obviously a total dick.”
Goldie flinched at the thought of Flint. It made an image run through her mind of hunting with him. She tried not to gasp at the primal picture of her and him in the forest, side by side, hunting… Ew. No. She didn’t hunt.
“He’s not a you-know-what. He’s a nice guy. I don’t know why he chased off your friend but I got a ride with him because he felt bad about hitting me with his car.”
As Goldie had hoped, Darby’s jaw dropped, all protests of blame forgotten. “He what? You’re right, he’s not a dick, he’s an asshole. He didn’t even take you to the hospital?”
Goldie flushed. Whoops. Change the subject. “I’m fine. I ran into him, really. Tell me about Riot.”
“He’s sweet as pecan pie, especially to that kid with the glasses. Riot brought him something that made him really happy.” Darby drawled. “Stop trying to change the subject. What in the hell happened?”
Goldie was not about to explain. “I tripped. I was too close to his car. You know me. I’m not hurt.” She smiled at her sister, hoping she did a passable job of looking under control. She shooed Darby toward the couch. “Don’t you worry, puddin’. I’m good, I swear. It was nothing.”
Darby picked up her phone from the table and opened a texting app she’d found that worked with the hotel’s wi-fi, her fingers flying over the screen, making Goldie nervous. “Who ya texting, Dar?”
Darby shrugged, her pink hair slipping off her shoulder. “Lance. He wanted to know where we were.”
A car door closed outside and Goldie jumped. “What? You didn’t tell him, did you?”
Darby rolled her eyes and made a tetchy sound. “All I told him is we got run off the road up in the mountains. He doesn’t know where we are.”
“Please don’t tell him.” Darby had promised, but Darby was not good at keeping her promises.
Years ago Goldie’s younger sister had declared herself an artist and said artists didn’t have to follow the rules. Then she’d taken a semester of art school before realizing she didn’t fit in any better there than she did anywhere else. But Darby had still done it, putting together art shows for herself and friends in all corners of New Orleans.
That’s where she had met Lance, another artist. Goldie had hated him on sight, but Darby had adored him. They’d been chummy ever since. Lance claimed to have connections and contracts in the international art world and he insisted he could make Darby a star.
Right. As soon as he got in her pants a few times. Goldie hoped they’d never been together, but she couldn’t be sure. Her sister liked men and men definitely liked her sister.
Goldie flopped onto the one bed in the place and watched her sister bite her lip and text at the speed of light.
Goldie had to think of a way to get Darby to see things her way. To stop texting guys like Lance. To not be so open and free with men. It had gotten her into trouble in the past, some of it they were still hiding from.
Oh, and she also had to think of a way to forget everything that had happened that night. Flint was gone. She would never see him again. So if she just didn’t think about it…
Goldie fell asleep.
Chapter 7 - Meeting Of The Cause
Flint dragged ass into Resperanza’s basement barracks the next morning. Goldie’s door hadn’t opened all night. Jameson had texted thirty minutes ago that Aven’s buddy Rafe, a Lio who Flint had never met, had replaced Flint on watch. Flint grumbled at the idea of a shifter he didn’t know watching the two women, but J had said he was a Lio, the term of respect given to big cat shifters who didn’t allow their shadows free reign. Riot was not a Lio
. Would never be, as far as Flint was concerned.
Voices came from the common room and Flint headed that way. The conversation got clearer as Flint got closer. He turned a corner and caught sight of Aven’s back as the eagle spoke to Jameson in that sharp way of his. “I can’t get a bead on him. Anyone else, I can tell right away. Unless they’re professionals, and even then it doesn’t take long. But the Steward, he’s a mystery. Fucking vortex, brother. Watch your step.”
Flint entered the room and both males turned to greet him. Aven was a ranger like Jameson, in Pisgah National Forest to the northeast. But since J was the District Ranger, Aven worked for him, and as an eagle he was an invaluable member of The Cause. He had the typical sharp profile of a raptor, with his aquiline nose and pointed chin, along with the standard lack of respect for limitations shared by all those who hunted from high above. Flint answered the eagle’s hello with a yawn and a wave.
Mission accomplished, Aven scooped up the lightweight plastic pod that held his belongings in a fashion his eagle could carry. Unlike most shifters who made use of the specially-scented caches of clothing that dotted the forest around Five Hills, rangers like J and Aven often needed to travel with their uniforms. And Aven being a raptor who could get to downed hikers in dicey locations that others never could, he needed his on him at all times. So he and J had tinkered and engineered and come up with the pod.
Flint shrugged. Most of the clothes in the stashes didn’t fit him, anyway, on the rare occasion he’d had to use them. Maybe the occasional set of sweats he could stretch to fit, but they were always too short. I wonder if Aven could whip me up a bearpack; like a backpack, but for bears.
Oblivious to Flint’s thoughts, Aven aimed for the outside door, opened it wide, then stopped and took two steps back, making room for Carick to come inside, before heading out with a clack of his teeth and a meaningful look back at Jameson.
But J was walking to the bottom of the stairs with purpose, and in a moment Flint saw why. Cora appeared and took Jameson’s hand, staying glued to his side as they made their way to stools at the bar nestled in a corner of the large room.
Cora met Flint’s eye for just a moment before flushing and glancing away. Yep, still awkward. They were all having a hard time with what had happened. Awkwardness was a natural side effect when your friend’s girl sucked on your fingers like they were miniature dicks, vampire haze or not. Jameson would not make the mistake of not being around when Cora needed him again.
Flint shifted his gaze on to Carick, the Steward, one of the few people Flint had ever met who were bigger than he was. Carick stood around seven feet tall and was thick as a tree. His wide shoulders, muscular torso, and legs like marble columns added to an air of command that radiated off him in aggressive waves.
Flint didn’t know his whole story, but he knew the Steward had been asleep in the forest for over one hundred-fifty years and still only had a sprinkling of gray at the temples of his closely-shaved dark hair. He was also the only authority they had on switches, vampires, and everything Cause-related. He was out of date and distressingly single-minded, but they needed him.
The outside door to the barracks’ common room opened again and in came Flint’s brother, Bryce, with Dario, a wolf.
Dario lifted his chin in a nod to Carick. “That file was everything we had.”
Dario was a cop in the Five Hills PD and their inside male to make sure law enforcement didn’t get too close to what The Cause was up to, especially once vampire bodies started showing up.
Humans were food to vampires, shifters and switches were enemies to vampires. And that was all there was to it, but they still had to stay off of the law enforcement radar.
Carick gave a nod. Dario returned it, then made his way to the fully-stocked fridge behind the bar for a drink. Bryce ambled in the same direction, walking close enough to Flint where he stood by the hallway for them to bump fists.
Not so little, Flint’s little brother stood well over six feet with the wide shoulders and muscular bulk typical of bears, especially grizzlies like them. But he still had the ruddy cheeks and tousled hair that kept him looking every bit as young as his twenty-five years. He was a good kid and Flint was proud of him.
Last Flint had talked to Bryce, a bit of evening texting after Flint had settled in at the motel, Bryce had been on something of a rescue mission. Flint sat at the bar and asked his brother about it. “That last family get off the river okay last night?”
Bryce’s grin was cocky. “Shit, yeah, man. I’m taking big sis out tonight to celebrate. Hey, muffins!” Flint hadn’t noticed the basket on the bar. They smelled good.
Bryce underhand-tossed Flint a muffin, biting into one and mumbling around the mouthful. “Damn, these are good.” He turned back to the bar and grabbed another, looking at Cora and Jameson. “Cora, you shouldn’t have. No, actually, you should. I’m still traumatized after Saturday.”
Bryce had also been there when Cora’s Undoing of that vampire, Garner, had gotten a little out of hand. Completely out of hand. None of them had expected what happened.
Cora sat on a barstool, Jameson right up next to her. She smirked weakly, her sarcasm still not back in place since that night. Not around them. Him, Flint, and Riot. They’d all been there and Cora had been ready to have them all for dinner. “If they’re edible, that’s the first clue I didn’t make them.”
Jameson hugged Cora to his side and kissed the top of her head. “Nobody needs you to cook.”
Flint sank his teeth into his muffin. It was better than any muffin he’d had before. He caught the texture of walnuts and dried cherries, a fluffy, cake-y crumb, and a hint of... was that zucchini? So moist. “I need the recipe,” he said.
Ryder and Shiloh stalked in the room. They were twin brother and sister, leopards, tough as hell. Might be the only cats Flint would ever call Lio. The Meow Twins, as he called them in his head for now, didn’t fuck around.
Riot stalked in and ignored them all.
That’s right, pussycat. Just keep walking.
Riot made his way to the twins, his only friends, as far as Flint could tell. Riot barely talked, and Ryder never talked. Instead of three blind mice, the had two mute cats. Brilliant.
Riot stood to grab a muffin before returning to his place against the wall. Flint spied Cora looking at the big cat, blushing furiously, looking away, and then her eyes being drawn to him once more. I get it, Cora. All I can see now is his Free Willy, too.
At the Undoing, Riot had ended up naked, because he’d shifted, and for a few dicey minutes Cora had made it bluntly obvious that she would use his body every which way she could, whether he agreed or not.
Flint, Bryce, and Riot had found themselves in the position of being sexually harassed by a switch in the midst of her first Prowl, and with no idea how to handle it. Now Cora seemed as mortified by her behavior as they had been surprised by it. Another kink for them to work out, no pun intended.
Carick called their attention from the center of the room. “Shifters and switch,” he said, holding the remote in his hand and pointing it at the oversized television. He pressed a button. “Watch,” he said simply.
A shaky cellphone video started on the TV. The frame showed Bryce leaning heavily on the door of a port-o-john that was rocking back and forth, grunts and thumps coming from inside. Bryce was assuring all the humans passing by that there was nothing wrong.
Flint’s stomach clenched. Someone had caught them on video the night of the Undoing. Shit. And still he almost laughed at the expression on Bryce’s face. Poor cub had been completely out of his depth.
Carick wheeled on Bryce, standing frozen at the bar with a muffin halfway to his mouth and a deeper than usual flush on his ruddy cheeks. “Why did you not let the switch hunt?”
Bryce blinked and stammered out a reply. “We were in the middle of the Squash Festival, hundreds of people, if she had gone after Garner then- I was trying to protect her.”
Carick’s dark iris
es blackened, shining like beetle’s wings, his jaw clenching. His voice was quiet, dangerous. “You endangered her mental health. A switch locked into the hunt and unable to engage her enemy feels incredible pain.” He raised his eyebrows to Cora, still tucked under Jameson’s arm, with an expression that said he wanted her to speak.
Cora took a breath. “Yeah. It was horrible. I hurt everywhere. All I could think about was getting to Garner to make it go away. I knew that would work.” She lifted her hands, palms out, to display scabbed fingers. “I ripped my hands to shreds. But it’s not Bryce’s fault. None of us knew that would happen, and I was totally out of control.”
“Plus you stabbed my favorite pants, so you kind of deserved it,” Bryce said, trying to make up with Cora in his silly way.
Cora smiled at him. Flint couldn’t help but wonder, as weird as this must be for Cora, how it felt from Jameson’s perspective to know that his woman had been ready to give all three of them a ride they wouldn’t forget, if he hadn’t shown up in time. So far J had been a lot cooler than Flint would have been in his situation, but that was nothing new. Hell, maybe if he lived to be one hundred-fifty-eight, he’d be as chill as J was, too.
But then Carick was older than any of them even knew and he sure as hell wasn’t swimming in patience. The Steward loomed over Bryce still, a glare in his glittering eyes.
From against the wall, Shiloh spoke up. “We can use that.”
All eyes turned to the lone female shifter in the room. Amongst the bears, wolves, big cats, and raptors, females shifters were hard to come by, and Flint wasn’t sure why. Maybe because switches were always female, and not having enough available males to serve them was a danger all its own.
Shiloh’s hair was platinum, almost white, and the exotic planes of her face added a sharpness that was only accentuated by the leanly ripped muscles of her body. A snow leopard when she shifted, Shiloh was in many ways the polar opposite of her twin. Ryder was a clouded leopard with black hair, long limbs, and a tendency towards absolute silence. Shiloh did the talking for both of them.
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