by M. D. Massey
Lucindras’ eyes narrowed and her mouth curled into a scowl as she stalked toward me. “You’ll pay for that with your life!” she screamed.
I pointed the barrel of the Glock at her partner. “And he’ll die if you don’t treat his injuries,” I stated. “So, why don’t you go ahead and relay that message, and we can all be on our way?”
She looked back and forth between Eliandres and me, finally sheathing her swords with a frustrated growl. “The Queen wants you to know that, while she still intends to punish you for your betrayal, she supports you in your quest to find those who are killing the fae. So, she will not stand in your way until the killers are found.”
I twirled the tip of my sword to take in the entire vignette around me. “And just how does this little scene fit into the Queen’s plans?”
Lucindras scowled. “Many of the Queen’s most loyal subjects feel her interests would be better served if you were dead.” She glanced at her partner, who was bleeding out a few feet away. “My advice to you, druid, is that you do not assume all her majesty’s subjects will heed her commands where you are concerned.”
“Noted,” I said. “And fuck you very much for that info.”
“I’ll see you dead, druid. I swear it,” she replied as she moved to assist her partner.
“Not if I see you first, Lucy. Ciao!” I gave them both a half-hearted salute before I beat a hasty retreat to my vehicle.
Eight
I’d gotten lucky with Lucy and Eli, and I knew it. Even with their magical wings clipped, it wouldn’t take long for Eli to get healed so they could come back after me. That knowledge made me even more antsy, because now I had a fae hit squad and a serial killer gunning for me.
Leave it to me to keep things nice and simple, I thought as I drove to my next destination. The War Wolves’ clubhouse was on the other side of town, but I had some time to kill. Besides, after running into Lucy and Eli, I didn’t mind the idea of having a few dozen ’thropes watching my back, if only for a few hours.
It was getting close to dark, so things would be hopping at the clubhouse soon. If there was one thing the Pack loved to do, it was to party—and rest-assured there’d be a crowd on hand at the Pack’s private hangout tonight. I’d have plenty of backup if the Wonder Twins decided to come at me again.
I was officially a member of the Pack, based on my status as a shifter who’d passed the Pack’s trials—and the fact that I’d saved their alpha from being killed by a nasty bunch of fae who’d infiltrated their organization. Even so, it wasn’t like I was completely accepted by the rest of the Pack—my other half was Fomorian and not an animal like most shifters, and “Fomorian” was just the same as “fae” to most ’thropes.
So, I’d kept my distance since all that shit had gone down with the attempted Pack coup, and that was how I liked it. This was in spite of the fact that I owed the Pack’s alpha, Samson, a debt of gratitude I could never repay for helping me get my Hyde-side under control. As I pulled into the parking lot, I silently hoped there weren’t any hard feelings because I hadn’t been around much lately.
I parked the truck in the back of the building, mostly to keep any prying eyes from knowing I was here, but also because certain Pack members had once been fond of letting the air out of my tires. Yeah, Patrick Swayze’s got nothing on me, I thought as I walked in the service entrance to the clubhouse. No sooner had I entered the kitchen did I hear a dusky female voice call out to me from across the room.
“Well now, look what the coyotes dragged in—as I live and breathe, Colin McCool himself.” I turned to see Samson’s daughter, Fallyn, leaning on the safety rail above the basement stairs, a huge grin on her face and a mischievous look in her eye. “And here I was starting to think you didn’t love us anymore.”
I walked over to greet her, picking up a couple of cases of beer on the way. I’d had to bar back for the clubhouse when I was a prospect, so I knew the drill. I also knew they must’ve been shorthanded for Fallyn to be helping Mitzy, their bartender, get ready for the night.
“Hiya, Fallyn. Where do you want these?”
She smirked. “Just like that, huh? You’re going to act like you haven’t been avoiding us, and just pick up where you left off?” I shrugged. “Fine, you know where they go. And there’s a dozen more cases downstairs, if you don’t mind.”
“No sweat, I got it,” I said as I headed to the bar.
“I knew you were good for something, besides killing fae,” she said as I walked away. “Come see me in Samson’s office when you’re done.”
There were a few Pack members already in attendance when I stepped into the main hall. I got a few nods and a couple of, “Druid, how’s it hanging”-type greetings as I finished helping Mitzy prep the bar for the night. Mitzy was a pretty redhead with a ready smile who liked to tell bawdy jokes. I’d liked her from the start back when I was new to the Pack, and she’d given me advice a time or two that had saved me from embarrassing myself. So, when she stopped me with a hand on my arm, I paid attention.
“Hey, champ, just an FYI—believe it or not, Sonny still has a few fans left ’round here. None of ’em will cause any trouble, at least not while Samson’s around. But, just between you and me, keep an eye on your drink and sit with your back to the wall tonight, alright?”
“Thanks for the heads up, Mitzy.”
I dropped a fiver into her tip jar. She nodded and gave me a playful wink, the kind most female bartenders did reflexively as a matter of course. Far be it from me to blame a woman for wanting to get better tips, and if guys were stupid enough to see it as flirting, well… that was on them.
Me? I just trusted that Mitzy wouldn’t let anyone Mickey my drinks if she could help it. Plus, I knew how hard she worked. For those reasons, I considered it a moral obligation to tip her, even when I wasn’t drinking.
I didn’t see anyone in the clubhouse I cared to chat with, so I headed straight to the office. Inside, not much had changed. The walls were still plastered with girly calendars and posters, and the place still smelled of sex, weed, and liquor. The Pack’s makeshift indoor shooting range was obviously still seeing regular use as well, albeit with a new mannequin to serve for a target.
As always, Samson sat behind his desk, face hidden in shadow as he sipped his whiskey and did his whole “zen biker” thing. He was leaning back in his chair with his boots kicked up, whiskey tumbler in his lap as he considered the paint peeling from the ceiling.
Fallyn sat on the edge of his desk, sharpening a huge Bowie knife with a stag handle. She looked up as I entered, continuing to run the edge of the blade across the whetstone in her hand. One slip and she’d lay her wrist open, but she was a ’thrope so she didn’t have much to worry about.
“See, Dad? Told you I wasn’t lying. The little shit actually decided to grace us with his presence.” She said it with the same friendly smirk as before, but based on the tension in the room, I knew something was up.
Samson twitched his Chuck Norris mustache as he took a sip of whiskey. “Kid, you got some nerve coming in here unannounced.”
I figured Samson might be a little cross, what with me making myself scarce after I’d helped him and Fallyn stop Sonny’s coup. But I didn’t think he’d do more than chide me a little and call it even. From the look on his face, I knew I was in for a major ass-chewing… if not an ass-kicking, as well.
Samson was an old, old wolf, and I’d seen him in action. No way did I want to face him down in a fair fight. My Hyde-side could take him, sure—but I wouldn’t like it. Nope. So, I’d just take my licks if it came to that.
“Look, Samson, I’m sorry I haven’t been around—”
He laughed out loud, and it wasn’t an amused laugh. “Shit, son, you think I’m mad because you haven’t showed your face lately? Hell, it was the best thing you could’ve done, considering how jumpy everyone was after you killed Sonny the way you did. Only a few things scare ’thropes, and death by fire is one of ’em. Naw, that ain’t it at all
.”
My brow furrowed as I tried to think of what I might have done. “Sorry, I’m drawing a blank here. Do you two care to fill me?”
Fallyn stopped sharpening her knife and stuck it tip-first in the desk, drawing a sigh from her dad.
“I told you to stop doing that, Fallyn. Furniture costs money, damn it, and this desk is an antique.”
“Oh, get over it. Thing’s a piece of shit anyway.” She sheathed her knife and turned on me. “As for you, what were you thinking, kicking the fae in the nuts like that? Do you know how close we came to all-out war with those pointy-eared fuckers after that stunt you pulled with Maeve?”
I mentally backpedaled for a moment, speechless. “I, um…”
“You didn’t think about it, right?” she said with a smug look on her face. “Because Colin McCool, mightiest fucking druid apprentice in the free world, never stops to think anything through. He just barrels his way through life, kicking hornet’s nests over, never considering how his actions might impact the people around him. Well, like it or not, you represent the Pack now, and—”
“Fallyn, enough,” her father said in a low voice.
She turned on him in a heartbeat. “What do you mean, ‘enough’? All the trouble he’s caused, and you’re not even going to chew his ass for it? If it was any other Pack member, he’d be eating his teeth.”
He raised a hand, slowly. “Yeah, but he’s not any other Pack member. When things went sideways, who else stepped in to set things right? Who backed us up against Sonny and his stooges? Hell, who could’ve, and lived? That’s right, no one. And who saved your life, Fallyn? Sure, I healed you—but if it wasn’t for shit-for-brains here I’d still be mourning the loss of my daughter.”
Fallyn began to protest, but her father cut her off. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Colin’s a special case, whether you like it or not. He could never fit in here, not if he wanted to, but he’s sacrificed more for the Pack than any ten of us.” Samson turned his cold eyes on me, and I shivered a little as they flashed red in the lamplight. “You get one pass, kid. One. But next time, you’d better consult me first before you do something that could start a war. Understood?”
I gulped and nodded. “Yeah, Samson, I understand.”
He nodded in kind, signaling to me that it was settled. Fallyn sighed, shaking her head as she gave me a smile that was just barely friendly. “I’d have gotten my ass chewed, golden boy, so don’t think you’re off the hook with me.”
I smiled and nodded. “I get it, I screwed up and caused you grief. I’ll make it up, I promise.”
She chuckled as she walked by me on her way out the office. “No, you won’t—at least not as long as you’re still sharing a bed with that little hunter chick.” Fallyn patted me on the cheek. “But come see me when you get bored with her, and I’ll show you how a she-wolf takes out her frustrations.”
Fallyn left, and I stood there in stunned silence for a few seconds before speaking. “Samson, I—”
“Don’t,” he said, and the warning in his voice was clear. “My daughter does what she wants—always has, always will. But you and her can never be a thing, am I clear? She needs a wolf, not a wildcard. As much as I like you, I want better for my daughter.”
“Again, understood.”
Samson spun in his chair to grab another glass and a bottle of whiskey. He poured one for each of us, sliding a tumbler to me before kicking his feet up again.
“Good. That’s settled—why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
Samson sat with his fingers steepled, giving me his full attention as I shared the events of the last several weeks. When I was done, he took a sip of whiskey then stared off into the distance while I waited for him to speak.
“You sure know how to step in it, don’t you, kid?”
I gave a rueful smile and cocked my head to the side. “It’s a talent, but not really what you’d call a gift.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, well—that’s what you get for being young and idealistic. You get a little older, and you start to realize that every fight ain’t your fight. You gotta pick your battles, else you’ll never live to see old age.”
My first thought to Samson’s advice was, Who wants to see old age? But I kept that opinion to myself. “Well, I have a soft spot for underdogs, I guess. That ogre never hurt anyone—besides me, of course—and he got caught up in a mess that ended in his death, all because he was trying to help a defenseless teenage girl.”
“A fae girl,” Samson observed. “So it’s not like she was completely defenseless, or pure as the driven snow either.”
I tongued a molar and tsked. “Be that as it may, I’m still determined to see the killer—or killers—caught. And something tells me there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
Samson sipped his whiskey and sniffed. “Could be a power play—someone making a move on the fae’s power base. And after the number you did on them, they’re not really in a position to prevent it right now.”
“Didn’t you just say that the fae aren’t exactly defenseless?” I asked.
“I did, but you’re missing the point. Think about what keeps the world’s superpowers from destroying each other. It ain’t good intentions, I’ll tell you that. Nope, it’s self-preservation, because an all-out nuclear war would mean mutually-assured destruction for all involved. Nobody wins that scenario, which is why we’re not all living in a nuclear winter.
“Well, the supernatural factions here in Austin are a lot like the world’s superpowers. Nobody wants to start a war, because if it happens everyone loses. Each faction, be it the Pack, the Coven, the Circle, or the Fae—all of us agreed long ago that it was better to keep the peace than risk an all-out war.
“But, kid, you upset the balance of power when you cut the fae off from their giant magic battery in Underhill.” I began to protest, but he raised a hand to cut me off. “Now, hear me out. I know for a fact that Maeve’s not completely vulnerable. That old fae queen is crafty as all hell, and she has more aces up her sleeve than a six-armed card sharp.”
“But…”
He kicked his legs off his desk, leaning forward on his elbows as he fixed me with a cold stare. “But some other factions might have been preparing for this day. Maybe they’ve been planning ahead for decades, waiting for the right moment to strike. Or maybe they have some sort of magic hidden that they think gives them an edge.” He sat back and waved a hand in the air as if shooing a fly. “Hell, I don’t know. But what I do know is that, if I had designs on eliminating the fae, I’d strike now.”
“So, this is all my fault.”
“Yup.” Samson sipped his whiskey, staring at me with hooded eyes. “Question is, what’re you going to do about it? Cause I can tell you, kid, whoever is going after the fae has designs on all their artifacts and talismans. And once they have them, who do you think they’ll go after next?”
“The other factions,” I said, finally realizing the implications of my actions. I leaned back in my chair, downing my whiskey. “Shit.”
Samson raised his glass to me. “You got that right, kid. And a whole mess of it.” He poured himself another three fingers, offering me the same. I declined. “So, again, what are you going to do about it?”
I thought for a moment, knowing that Samson was steering me toward a conclusion that I hadn’t yet reached. “Samson, if you were in my shoes, who would you finger for these killings?”
A smiled played at the corner of the old alpha’s mouth. “Well, first, I’d ask who stands to gain the most from taking over Maeve’s shit. It ain’t us, that’s for sure. What the hell are a bunch of werewolves going to do with fae artifacts?”
I swirled the last remaining drops of whiskey in my empty glass. “And it’s probably not Luther. He tends to discourage his coven members from practicing magic.”
“That’s right,” the old alpha replied, “because he wants to keep the balance of power—maintain the status quo. If the fae or the Circle got wind that he
was training up a bunch of vampire mages, well—that shit just would not stand.”
“So what you’re saying is, The Cold Iron Circle is probably behind this.”
Samson frowned unconvincingly. “Now did I say that? I distinctly recall not saying anything about who might be behind this whole mess. I only said who likely wasn’t behind it. The difference is subtle, but important… especially when you’re trying to stay neutral and keep your Pack out of a shit storm like this one.”
“Right, I understand.” I set my glass down on his desk and stood. “I think it’s time I went to speak with Luther.”
“Hell, he’d have been the first person I’d gone to if I were in your shoes. Anyway, while you’re there tell him I’m running low on coffee beans.”
“Um, okay. But, uh—can’t you just pick up the phone and tell him yourself?”
“For once in your life, Colin, just do as your told.”
“Alright, anything else?”
“Nope. Except don’t go starting a war with the Circle without speaking with me or Luther first. Chances are good that there are just a few people involved here, and not the whole bunch.”
“Roger that, Samson. And thanks for the whiskey.”
“Anytime,” he said, tilting his glass to me as he kicked back even further in his chair, until his face was hidden in shadow once more. He was staring at the ceiling again by the time I reached the exit. “Shut the door behind you as you go, kid.”
Nine
It was late, so I called Luther’s before heading over. Not that Luther ever answered his phone; he was so old he was a virtual Luddite when it came to modern technology like cell phones and the like. But someone always checked his messages, either a member of his coven or a human assistant, so my most important voicemails and texts always got through.