"How do the gangs feel about this?"
I snort. "Most of them are pretty happy with the arrangement, but you get the odd couple of people who want to steal from us, and that's taken care of pretty quickly." I shrug again. "Donovan runs a tight ship. No corruption, no unfair treatment. You step of line and you die, but it's a pretty wide line."
"Do you like working for him?" The dragon's voice is soft, and I glare at him.
"That has no bearing on the job," I say flatly. "He's a competent and well-liked alpha, and he's respected within the community. You already know all of this."
"Easy," he says, his tone mocking. "I was just asking." His eyes glitter green for a second, and I drop my gaze.
"I can't tell you much else besides structure, but it's all typical. I haven't met the beta yet, but I've met most of the top-tier enforcers."
"Is the pack happy? Content? Does Donovan have any major rivals?" The dragon's tone is business-like again, and I let out a small sigh.
"The pack is happy and content. They love Donovan, and as far as I can tell, he has no major rivals." I take a too-large sip of my coffee and grimace. "The pack's stable."
"Anything unusual that you've noticed?"
"That they're all stupidly happy?" I growl. "I don't know." I grip the mug tighter. "They have a lot of enforcers. I mean, a lot, at least thirty percent of the pack. They shouldn't need so many, especially since the lower echelons of the business are human, and I get the feeling the alpha's keeping more out of sight for whatever reason. It's excessive." I stare into my coffee and grit my teeth. I have to tell the dragon these things, it's my job.
"And what could they be doing with all these enforcers, I wonder." There's a deliberate note of mocking inquisition in the dragon's voice and I grip the mug tighter.
"Usually, a pack swells its ranks in preparation for a territory war," I say. "After, if the new territory isn't bordering, or if it's large, the new ranks will be relocated to bring that territory to heel."
"Is that what you think is going on here?"
I contemplate my coffee for a long couple of seconds. I haven't been drinking a lot of coffee lately. As a shifter PI, I don't exactly get a lot of business, and most of my money is spent on necessities. With Deepine, though, maybe I can take up the habit again.
What, so you can drop it again when you leave?
"No. Something else is going on," I say quietly. "I don't know what, exactly, and I don't have any evidence. It's just a feeling."
"Alright, then. Thank you for your time, Reese." He stands, and I do, too. "Is there anywhere you'd like us to take you since your motorcycle was, ah, broken?"
"To my shop," I say, even as I decide to go home, my real home. Not that I can let this nosy dragon know that. "I need to wash your scent off me."
He grins. "Sure thing."
*~*~*
I slink into the mansion through the kitchen, ears flat, a low whine building in the back of my throat, and isn't this just pathetic?
The kitchen's empty, thank God. I don't think I could deal with the others when I'm already exhausted from walking here from my shop. I snag a loaf of bread before tip-toeing down the servant hallway, hardly breathing, moving at a glacier speed. Please don't see me, please don't see me, please—
"Reese?"
Damn. Double damn. Of all the people—
"Reese, get your butt in here! I can smell the blood clean on the other side of the mansion, you fool!"
"Coming," I say flatly, trying to keep the growl out of my voice. No sense is digging my grave any deeper.
Coriander's waiting for me in the back foyer, hands perched on her hips, fiery red hair making up for the lack of height, and a fierce scowl on her elfin face, disapproval radiating off her in bursts.
Her eyes widen briefly when she sees me, and I count it as a victory, pathetic as it is. "You should see the other guy."
The joke falls flat and lands on the black marble floor. I trod on it as I shuffle forward to take a seat, just to be sure.
Cori's already got the first aid kit with my name ready on a nearby table. She must not've been kidding about smelling me from the infirmary.
I sigh. That just means that Ryan knows I'm back and that I'm hurt.
"Where do you hurt the most?" she asks, a quiet note of pity in her voice. I scowl.
"I'll live," I say, and she makes a rude noise.
"That's not what I asked, Mr. Enforcer."
I sigh. Loudly. "My ribs, I guess."
She works quickly and efficiently, cutting off part of my ruined, bloody shirt, cleaning the long, shallow gashes with stinging antiseptic, and then bandaging everything up again.
I keep quiet about the cuts down my back and concentrate on eating my bread. They're still covered by my shirt, and besides, they're not that deep. Can't do anything about the roadrash down my face, or the glass embedded in my thigh, and Cori takes care of those quickly, stitching up the worst of the cuts without a word.
Damn rogue. He got everything that was coming to him.
"Reese?"
I jolt and give Cori a sheepish smile. Nothing to see here, move along now.
"I'll go change and see Ryan." She just nods and watches me limp away into the main hallway connecting the back of the mansion to the front.
The mansion's beautiful, with walls of dark wood cut from trees older than the oldest of the founders of the pack and accented by the black marble that covers nearly the entire mansion—even in some of the bedrooms, from the days when the pack was smaller and they were studies or libraries. Covering the wood, spaced between windows and doors, are pictures and portraits, furs from enemies defeated a long time ago. All practically myth and legend now.
Ugh. I hobble up the back staircase, breathing hard through my nose. Like that rogue's claws were myth and effing legend.
My room is close to the stairwell, more due to design than luck, and I nearly collapse against the heavy wood in relief as I fumble with the ludicrously ornate handle.
The point where I open the door and see Ryan sitting on my bed is the point where my day gets bad. I ignore him as much as I can as I limp to the bathroom. I strip and wash off with a damp towel, cleaning around the multitude of bandages with practiced ease.
I glare at my reflection in the mirror, at my grey eyes that aren't like anyone else's in the pack and at my brown hair, plain where everything else isn't, where everything about my manner is practiced, graceful by design, made to look effortless, even when I'm bleeding from seven new holes. Even when I'm flushed, embarrassed and ashamed.
There's a loose pair of sleep pants on top of the cleaner pile of laundry in the corner. I climb into those and steel myself.
Ryan wastes no time when I reappear in the bedroom.
"What are you doing, Reese? You shouldn't be here." His voice is sharper and harsher than a whip, though he used those plenty when I was younger and going through a rebellious phase. He stands as I move a little closer, and he towers over me, probably always will, in my memories and in real life.
I run my hands through my hair before I get a hold of myself and still the nervous tremor running through my body. "I told you, Donovan said I can come back if I need to." But my voice is flat, and I don’t bother putting more energy into my words. Ryan won't listen, anyway. How exactly can I defend myself when I don't even know why I'm here in the first place?
"It's dangerous! What if one of them starts to wonder who keeps patching you together after your little jobs? Did you report to the Syndicate?" There’s a hint of a snarl in his words that it took years to learn to ignore. If I was always cringing from his snarling, I’d never get off the floor.
"Yes, and I know, Ryan." It takes everything in me to keep my shoulders straight, my head high, my tone even. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Can't exactly tell him I don't want to deal with Noelle.
"Good. Don't forget the job I sent you to do; this is far too important for you to mess up just because you're homesick."
/> I flinch despite myself. Never let it be said that Ryan believes in pulling punches.
"Of course not," I make myself say as calmly as possible, my tone hovering along bored insolence. "I would never fail you."
He stares at me hard, and I make myself meet his gaze head-on. Staring the alpha down, that’s something I taught myself, despite thousands of years of instincts. Despite all of my formative years featuring this man and his disapproval and his cold, yellow eyes.
Nothing like Donovan's, and I tell myself to shut up. Ryan's always been good at picking up on things like that.
"You're right," he says abruptly. "You won't."
He leaves, and I make myself lay down on the bed—on top of the covers because even their small weight is a discomfort on my injuries I don't feel like dealing with. I might as well enjoy my time here, reveling in the smell of pack and home.
It takes two hours of me lying still, staring up at the ceiling, for me to admit that this place doesn't feel like home anymore, doesn't smell like pack, doesn't feel safe and comfortable and warm. But I don't move because leaving would be like admitting … admitting what? Defeat? Loss? That I don't know what the hell I'm doing?
As soon as dawn starts turning the ceiling grey, I slip out of bed and get dressed, my mind carefully blank. I leave my bloodied clothes by the door in the hall and trot down the stairs. The kitchen's half-full when I make it down, and everybody pauses to give me an icy glare. I lower my eyes, and I feel their attention move elsewhere like a tangible weight lifting.
I walk to the island and hesitate. I'd have to go through the group of first-tier enforcers there to get to the food, and I'm too sore to be fighting right now. I look around, and my gaze rests on Cori. She's standing on the other side of the island and could easily pass me the bread I prefer to eat in the morning. She glances at the enforcers, then turns her back to me.
For just a second, my temper roars up fierce, righteously hot, before I douse the fire. I slip out the door without a word and quell the hurt that swells to replace the anger. It's not her fault, it's not like she has a choice. It's not fair to blame her for my own actions.
I spend the walk back to Deepine cooling off and regaining control of myself. It's another long walk up another long drive to another mansion, but this time, I come in through the front door.
I push the gloomy thoughts away and focus on smiling and nodding and greeting people and not looking guilty or hurt or—
"Reese!" I spin around and plaster a smile to my face.
Donovan grins broadly as he jogs across the expensive foyer to me, and people pause where he passes. I swallow hard and hope Mika doesn't walk in. "Did you just get back? I heard you trounced that rogue."
I grin weakly. "After he wrecked me and my bike, sure I did."
His grin falls as his eyes track over my face. "This all is from falling off your bike?" He draws a little closer, and the foyer gets quiet. I try to ignore the fact that pretty much everyone is staring right at me, but it's hard, and I'm sure the heat I can feel on my cheeks is abundantly obvious to everyone, blunted senses or not. "You weren't wearing a helmet?"
"I was," I say, and why does all my training go out the window with him? I barely resist the urge to fidget under his honey-gold gaze. "He was strong."
"Where are you hurt the worst?" There's a frown sitting on his lips now, far too severe on a face used to smiles and laughter and please oh please let this all be a waste of my time. He shakes his head. "Never mind. Go see Noelle. I'll be there in minute." He turns away.
"I've already seen a doctor," I say very, very quietly.
He whirls back around, and his eyes are like the sun now, blazing, furious, and I cringe. "Only someone utterly incompetent would release you without checking those cuts on your back. Now go!"
I go.
The infirmary's mostly empty when I walk in. Mostly, except for Noelle, who's the only doctor Donovan will employ, and at least a hundred years old if she's a day. She gives me a narrow-eyed glare as I take a seat by the door, but says nothing. For now. Noelle's the only wolf in this pack who openly dislikes me, which is nice, I guess.
"What'd you do now?" she snaps, waving me over to a bed. She follows after me, dragging a cart behind her.
"Took out the rogue that rampaged through the training grounds River shares with Dust," I say quietly as I shift around until I’m seated to her liking. "Donovan wanted me to do it alone." Sudden fear makes me freeze. Did he do that knowing the rogue was almost too strong for me? Has he figured it out?
But no, he seemed genuinely surprised to see half my face bandaged up. That wouldn't be the case if he wanted me to be hurt, would it? So does this just mean that I'm not as strong as he thought I was? Does this mean I failed?
"He dead?" Noelle rasps out. She starts cutting at my shirt, and I muffle a sigh and try not to wilt.
"Of course," I say, shifting around to accommodate her hands. "I wouldn't be back if he wasn't."
"Not that your dedication isn't admirable, but I hope you have more sense than that." Donovan's leaning in the doorframe, still frowning. He doesn't come any closer, and I cringe inside. Is this the part where he tells me I'm not good enough for his pack?
"Nothing severe," Noelle says, pitching her voice so it carries farther. "Mostly shallow lacerations. Boy, you need to stop swimming in glass." I wince at the sting of antiseptic and bite back the urge to snap that it's not my fault all my prey seem drawn to broken glass—and seeing me bleed all over it.
A tiny smile quirks Donovan's lips, and I get the feeling he caught my unspoken statement loud and clear. This is why I like Donovan more than Ryan. Not that I'm picking sides, or that it matters. I just ... I do.
There’s silence for a few minutes as Noelle finishes taping gauze onto my back. I’m not gonna be able to move without dislodging something, and then I’ll get yelled at more, I just know it. Noelle pats my shoulder lightly and walks away, dragging her cart behind her, and I roll my shoulders gingerly.
"What are you thinking about, pup?"
I flinch and feel my face explode with heat. God, I'm too stupid to live. "Nothing important," I mutter, and he laughs.
"I don't know. You looked pretty serious there for a minute." I shake my head and stare resolutely at the floor, refusing to look up even as he paces closer, footsteps measured and calm. Everything I should be and utterly fail at around this wolf.
"Are you happy here?" he asks. He crouches in front of me so I either have to meet his eyes or look like an idiot. Not that I don't already, regularly. Constantly.
"What do you mean?" I look down at my clasped hands, well aware of how pathetic I must look to him. Bandaged, stitched together and painted black and blue from that collecting job that went funny last week. Covered in layers of gauze and bandages, making the bruises stand out even more against my already pale skin. Scrawny, because Ryan believes that a well-fed wolf is a lazy wolf.
"I mean, are you happy here, in my pack? Are you happy enforcing for me?"
Happy? What does happiness have to do with anything? I do as I'm told, isn't that good enough?
Donovan sighs, almost a growl, really, and shifts forward so he can rest his hands on my knees. "Do you like working for me? You seem content enough, but is that true?" He smiles when I hesitate again. "C'mon, pup, speak up. I won't bite."
"Why does it matter?" I ask.
Something flickers across his face too fast for me to catch, but I can smell his sudden anger. I shrink back, instinctive reaction to appease the bigger, badder wolf. "Shit, I 'm sorry, pup. I'm an ass." I lift my eyes to glance at his face, relaxing when the smell of anger fades and his expression calms.
"Sorry," I say, because that usually calms Ryan down when I don’t know what I did to piss him off, and one alpha is much like the other. Not that Ryan and Donovan are anything alike, and I really need to stop thinking about these things. Is it because I just saw Ryan for the first time in weeks?
"No, it’s not your fault
." He pats my knee, then pets it, his eyes on my face. I have to look away, though I know it does nothing to hide the blush creeping up my face. Why does he keep looking at me?
"Okay," I say awkwardly, and he chuffs out a laugh.
"Answer my question, pup."
There’s a gentle, but unmistakable note of command in his voice now, and I fight back a shiver. "I like it here," I say and gnaw at the inside of my lip. God, I’m awful at this. What the hell was the dragon thinking? "Everyone’s nice."
"See, was that so hard?" What, from Ryan, would be mocking is nothing more than vaguely admonishing from Donovan. So maybe they’re really different. He taps my cheek. "I’ve come to a decision regarding your bid to join my pack."
I look at him, my pulse picking up speed. If I fail at this, it’s entirely possible that Ryan will kill me, and who knows what the Syndicate will do in retaliation for wasting months and months of their time. If I’m not good enough to join Donovan’s pack, even if it’s under these pretenses, I think I might welcome their punishment.
Oh. I’ve got it bad, don’t I?
Donovan just looks at me for a few seconds that feel like years, and I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems satisfied when a smile finally overtakes his face. "Reese Greymist, your bid to join my pack was submitted two months ago. In that time, you’ve proven yourself to be a capable enforcer and an excellent wolf. I would be honored if you would join my pack as one of my second-tier enforcers."
I try really hard to stop a smile that would get me smacked in my pack. But they’re not my pack anymore, and if it’s all just a lie, well, I can pretend for a bit, can’t I?
"I—thank you," I say quietly. "It would be an honor to join your pack." I duck my head to hide that stupid smile, but Donovan taps my cheek again, and I look up.
"Good," he says, nodding. "You’re not allowed to go back to your old pack, you hear?" A scowl flashes across his face before he quells it. "I won’t allow you to go back to a place where you were so badly mistreated."
"They don’t—"
Private Dicks Page 3