Guild of Secrets

by Shannon Lynn Cook

  I study him, tormented by conflicting emotions.

  He finally breaks the eye contact. “Even when it makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be in the same room as you.”

  I drop my gaze to my hands. After several long moments, I softly say, “No offense, but your brother is the worst sort of jerk.”

  Gray bumps his shoulder into mine. “I told you he was.”

  “You did.”

  “Do you love him?”

  I nibble my lip, mulling his question over. “I thought I did. But now I kind of want to shove him off a cliff.”

  Gray chuckles, and then we drop into another silence, this one a little more comfortable.

  “I’m not using you as bait,” he eventually says, his words soft. “I refuse to put you in that position.”

  “I’ll do it,” I say before I realize I’ve made the decision. But it feels right. Terrifying, but right.

  He stands, shaking his head. “No. We’ll think of something else. You’re safe here. We’ll set up a watch system. Someone will be with you at all times until we catch Trent.”

  “And how many people will he kill before then?” I demand, joining him. I drop my voice and wait until he meets my eyes. “When Trent had his hands on me, it was the most terrifying moment of my life. He meant to hurt me. He planned to do horrible, degrading things, and once he tired of that, he was going to kill me. I can’t let him do that to anyone else. And, Gray, he might be doing it right now.”

  Gray turns abruptly, looking like he wants to break something. If he were a Dragon, I’d be concerned he might bring down the entire building.

  Thankfully, he’s a Wolf. A little broken, plagued with guilt, but still noble at the core.

  He controls himself and turns back, his face anguished. “I’m so sorry, Madeline. I was supposed to protec—”

  I step into him, wrap my hand around the back of his neck, and cut off his words with a kiss—the last one I intend to give him. It’s not searing or passionate. It’s sweet, thankful. A friendly pressing of lips, if there is such a thing.

  “It’s all right,” I whisper when I pull back. “I’m all right.”

  He tugs me against him, holding me so tightly it almost hurts. “Thank goodness you’re a Fox.”

  “Now there’s something I don’t hear every day,” I say from my position smashed against his chest.

  Gray laughs, but he doesn’t let me go. “Only a Fox could escape a deranged pixie, especially while wearing heels.”

  “What can I say? It’s an art.”

  He pulls me back at arm’s length and studies me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “No.” I stand a little straighter. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

  Nodding, acknowledging that I’m a big girl and can make my own decisions, he lets me go.

  “Gray?” I ask as we head for the door. “I’ve done such a good job with the Taser. Do you think I’ve graduated to a gun?”

  He flashes me a look that’s nothing short of horrified. “Absolutely not.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “We need a codeword,” Jonathan says as he debates where to stash a GPS tracking device on me—the kind parents use on their children just in case they get kidnapped. We could have hired a tracker, but no. We’re resorting to human methods because we’re short on time.

  “A codeword?” Rafe says, looking bored from his seat on the couch. “But we don’t even have a clubhouse yet.”

  The comment startles me so much, I glance at him and grin.

  His gaze meets mine, and that weird magnetism thing happens again. I'm sure it's because he’s a Fox and I'm a Fox, but it's disconcerting.

  “Idiot,” Jonathan says, which seems strange now that I know that he used to answer to Rafe, not Gray. But I suppose it goes deeper than that. They were all friends. There's more history here than I thought.

  I turn back to Jonathan and find him frowning at my chest—but in the most clinical kind of way.

  “You’re not sticking that in my bra,” I inform him.

  “I know.” Despite his words, a wicked, boyish grin spreads across his face. “What kind of degenerate do you think I am?”

  I roll my eyes. “What’s the codeword for?”

  “We’ll use it whenever we meet to make sure it’s actually us.”

  “What if it’s not us right now?” Eric asks. “What if the pixie is already impersonating someone on our team?”

  And though it’s ridiculous, the five of us look at each other, momentarily suspicious.

  “I vote we make the codeword Bunny Hugger,” Gray suggests after a moment. He’s leaning against the wall, supervising.

  Eric rolls his eyes. “That’s two words, boss.”

  “Even better.”

  “I still don’t understand what it is you want me to do.” I hold my hand out, demanding Jonathan give me the device. I’ll plant it on myself, thank you very much. “It sounds a lot like I’m supposed to wander the city until Trent tries to nab me.”

  “That’s pretty much the plan,” Jonathan says.

  I narrow my eyes. “Your plan sucks.”

  He clucks his tongue. “That’s not a very nice word for such a well-bred young woman.”

  “I’m not well-bred. I’m a Fox.”

  “Watch it, Lexie,” Rafe says.

  Ignoring Rafe, I ask Jonathan, “What am I supposed to do all day?”

  Gray pushes away from the wall and walks to me. “Same thing you’d do at home. Shop, have your nails done, sunbathe.”

  I point an accusing finger at him. “It’s because I’m blond, isn’t it?”

  He grins. “Fine. Go to the bookstore, visit a museum, walk around all day in a tweed skirt with a pair of spectacles on your nose.”

  “Mmmm,” Jonathan says, nodding. “Yes, do that.”

  Gray gives the Griffon an incredulous look and turns back to me. “How much charisma did you use on him earlier?”

  “Barely any.” I roll my eyes. “He’s a lightweight.”

  “What did we talk about, princess?” Gray chastises, his tone light and teasing.

  I cock my head to the side. “No bunny in a hat tricks?”

  “The other one.”

  “What was it?” Pretending I’m trying to remember, I tap my finger to my lips. “Oh, I remember. No using charisma on team members.”

  “Do I get a say in this?” Jonathan asks. “I don’t like that rule.”

  “No,” Gray answers bluntly, and then he steps in front of me, the humor on his face morphing to concern. “You can still change your mind. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I do.”

  “Do you have your Taser?” he asks.

  I pat my purse. “Never leave home without it.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  But I’m not his girl, and we both know it. My opinion of him has changed, and I’m not sure there’s any way to repair it.

  “We’ll stay close,” he promises. “No more than a block away.”

  Taking a deep breath, I nod.

  “All right.” He nods toward the door. “Go ahead.”

  And though I’ve been mostly calm up to this point, my stomach knots now. I gulp, tightly clutch the strap of my purse, and head to the door. I look back just before I step out. “A block, right?”

  Gray nods. “Or closer, if we think we can manage it without being spotted.”

  The last thing we need is for Trent to spy the quartet of knights and take off.

  I’m almost to the lift when Rafe calls from behind me to hold up. I turn, expecting to find all four of them. But it’s just him walking toward me in the hall.

  His face is solemn, his eyes cool. A part of me still recoils, but it’s manageable now.

  “Do not be afraid to use your magic if you need it,” he says in a low voice when he meets me, glancing down the hall first to make sure there aren't any humans nearby. “Even if there are witnesses. Believe me when I say Trent won’t hesitate to us
e his.”

  As if I need reminding.

  “I will,” I promise.

  Satisfied, the Fox steps back, but he pauses before he heads toward the suite.

  “What?” I ask, knowing he wants to say something else.

  Rafe studies me for several long moments. Finally, he says, “Never be ashamed of what you are. There was a time Foxes ruled Aparia. We are not lowly—we never have been.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, remembering my words from inside. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “You didn’t. But who knows?” he says lightly. “Someday, a Fox might take the throne.”

  “If this is you trying to marry me off to an eighty-seven-year-old man to raise the public perception of our faction, please know I’m not having it.”

  Laughing, Rafe walks away. “Good luck, Lexie.”

  “It’s Madeline,” I holler down the hall.

  He turns, walking backward, a smirk on his face. “You’ll always be Lexie to me.”

  ***

  “Can I get you anything else, Miss?” the male barista asks as he walks past me for the fifth time. And I know it's been five times—I’ve counted.

  He’s stocked the cream and sugar bar twice, straightened all the small paper placards on the tables, tidied the chairs, and moved the welcome chalkboard two inches to the left.

  He’s the epitome of suspicious.

  It’s Trent. I can feel it.

  He stands in front of me, smiling. The smell of coffee and sugar lingers in the air, drawing customers into the bookstore. That’s right—bookstore. I skipped the tweed skirt though.

  “Anything you want,” he says, his finger twitching at his side. “It’s on the house.”

  His eyes are brown, and he has a pleasant face. He purses his lips, waiting for me to respond.

  “I’m fine,” I assure him, trying to smile so he doesn’t know I’m onto him.

  “Okay,” he says brightly, nodding. He stands there for another few seconds, just looking at me.

  I slowly rise to my feet. “In fact, I think I’m going to…go.”

  The young man’s face falls. “Oh. Right.” He forces another smile. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too.”

  I move to the exit slowly, taking my time to quickly send Gray a text. Male, blond hair, brown eyes, about nineteen.

  He responds immediately. You sure?

  We’ve been at it all day. I’ve walked up and down the small tourist city, to the lake, down the beach, into a grocery store, and finally here, to this little cafe inside a larger bookstore.

  He’s acting suspicious, I tell him.

  I push through the glass doors, leaving the glorious smell of freshly printed books and coffee behind. The weather’s no better than it was earlier. It’s drizzled on and off, but the clouds continue to churn in the sky. It’s almost four in the afternoon, but the breeze is cold.

  A woman with a stroller passes me, and I step back, giving her room. The woman’s tiny daughter cries from her seat, livid she’s strapped in.

  After it’s clear, I head toward the left, moving slowly so I don’t accidentally lose my backup. The guys know exactly where I am, but I haven’t seen so much as a sign of them all day.

  “Miss!” a male voice says from behind me just as a hand falls on my shoulder.

  Before I can even turn, the barista is on the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs. Dozens of squirrels run the length of him, shrieking, scratching, and biting with their little sharp teeth.

  I let out a yelp and stumble back, horrified. It’s a blur of furry tails and the man’s flailing arms and legs.

  Eric materializes in front of me, pulling the man to his feet by the front of his shirt. The squirrels scatter, running back to the trees and bushes for cover. People gather around us, gaping.

  The barista is covered in dozens of bright red squirrel bites that each ooze droplets of blood. He gasps for breath, still flailing as the rest of my team appears.

  “I say,” Eric says in an exaggerated voice, playing it up for the crowd. “I haven’t seen such a thing in my life. They just descended from the trees like they were possessed. Are you okay, boy?”

  The barista shivers again and whirls about, looking for signs of his fluffy attackers.

  Gray turns to the crowd. “Must have smelled baked goods on him, don’t you think?”

  His persuasion is so powerful, it almost knocks me off my feet.

  An older gentleman nods, his eyes wide. “I’ve heard of such things. They form packs—will attack like jackals if there’s a lack of food in the area.”

  Say what?

  Jonathan gives him a sage nod. “Just like the Placerville attack of 1964. We learned about it in school—but there were hospitalizations in that case.” He shakes his head. “A lot of good men lost.”

  “Too far,” Rafe hisses, shooting Jonathan a look.

  A woman with bright red hair and blue eyeshadow straight from 1985 steps forward. “I remember that!”

  Jonathan’s jaw drops, and he looks like he’s going to start laughing. His eyes water, but he somehow chokes it back.

  Rafe looks at the woman like she’s lost her fool mind but brushes it off and turns to Eric. “Better look the boy over. See if there’s something that attracted the little beasts.”

  Eric nods, roughly checking the area around the barista’s neck, feigning concern as he actually searches for the medallion. He turns to Gray and subtly shakes his head. There’s no medallion…which means this man is just a barista…not Trent.

  The knight steadies the young man. “What were you thinking anyway? Running out the door, scaring the squirrels into such a frenzy like that?”

  Suddenly, the barista bursts into tears, and not the type that stoically run down his cheeks—these are full out sobs.

  “I just wanted to give her my number.” He stumbles forward and pushes a slip of paper into my hand. “I had no idea.”

  Rafe tosses his hands in the air, looking up at the sky.

  That’s why he was fidgety…the poor human just wanted to ask me out.

  Now I feel awful. I try to give him an encouraging smile, but it’s hard when snot and tears run down his face…much like the toddler who passed with her mother only moments before.

  Speaking of the girl, she’s on the edge of the crowd, grinning from her stroller, kicking her feet with glee. Glad we could make someone happy.

  Her mother, however, peers into the trees, horrified the Rogue Squirrel Gang of Tahoe will strike again.

  “Well.” Eric gives the young man a firm pat on the back. “Now you know to be careful in the future.”

  The barista gulps and nods, and Gray takes my arm and escorts me away with the team.

  “Sorry,” I murmur.

  Gray looks more amused than he probably should. “Poor kid just wanted to ask you out.”

  Jonathan doesn’t hide his amusement. He chuckles to himself, probably hoping his Placerville squirrel attack story will spread and end up on Snopes.

  “Oh.” Eric stops suddenly and turns back to the traumatized young man. “You’ll want to make an appointment with your doctor to start a series of rabies shots. You know, just in case.”

  The young man nods dumbly. As we walk away, I hear the crowd murmuring about other vicious squirrels they’ve encountered.

  I wait until we’re several blocks away before I look at Eric. “You used your powers for evil—I’m going to have to write you up.”

  Eric gives me a wide, toothy grin. “You’ll never prove it was me.”

  “Do you have any idea how many rules you violated?” I ask the group.

  Rafe smirks. “Well, next time, sweetheart, don’t sic the team on a human whose only crime is trying to ask out someone way out of his league.”

  “There’s a compliment in there,” I tell him. “I’m going to ignore the rest and focus on that.”

  Gray tenses beside me, but I pretend I don’t notice.

  “Now
what?” I ask. “We’ve been at this all day, and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of Trent.”

  Jonathan shakes his head. “Trent the Pixie.”

  “Get over it already,” Eric says.

  “How’s your foot?” Gray asks me. “It looks like you’re limping again.”

  I frown at my ballet-flat-covered foot. “It hurts.”

  “Let’s call it a day,” Rafe says. “Trent’s probably decided to lay low in hopes that we’ll drop our guard. It’s suspicious that we’d let her wander all day by herself after what happened last night.”

  “It’s my team,” Gray says to Rafe, looking ahead. “I decide when we’re finished. If you hadn’t flown into a rage and demanded relocation, then you’d still get to make those calls.”

  “If you hadn’t—”

  “Enough!” I cry, looking from man to man. Then, softer, I say, “This isn’t the place or time.”

  They glare at each other, their testosterone overpowering their common sense.

  Eric turns to Jonathan and stage whispers, “I know a couple of knights who won’t be getting their stickers.”

  Jonathan snorts, but neither Rafe or Gray are amused.

  We walk in near silence, heading nowhere in particular. I don’t want to ask Gray if we can go back to the suite, not after all that, but I’m tired of aimlessly wandering around Tahoe, just waiting for the pixie to confront me.

  “So,” Jonathan says when he can’t take it any longer. “Who’s hungry? Let’s go to that place a few blocks from the resort. The one with the giant cookie skillet thing.”

  “You mean the brewpub?” I ask, surprised he’d want to go back. “The cyclist hangout?”

  “Why not? Free food’s the best sort.”

  Rafe turns to Jonathan. “You managed to get free food at Hillcrest Brewery?”

  “Madeline used her charisma and had them panting at her feet.”

  I’m about to correct Jonathan, explain that’s not exactly what happened, but Rafe turns his eyes on me. He doesn’t say anything, but the look he’s giving me makes my stomach jittery, so I look away.

  “It’s almost time for dinner,” I say to Jonathan instead. “You can’t possibly be planning to eat that cookie as a meal.”