Page 41

Seven Nation Army

M y drugar is occupied for the rest of the evening.

The message from Thorn was enough to send her barreling towards the city with the animals, and his timing couldn’t have been better if I’d planned it. I know it shocked her when we all came up with excuses not to accompany her, but the glint in her bratty eyes was also triumphant. Jolene isn’t one to be caged—not that I’m trying to—and she was pleased as punch to go hunting clues on her own.

We have to monitor her progress, though, which is why the doc has been helping her set up the ‘war room’ in the garage. Re-locating it from her bolt hole in the basement means any of us can pop out there to check up on her sleuthing without having to take drastic measures to get in. When she moved the armory to the basement, I didn’t expect her installing biometrics for the storage area, and without the Irish car bomb along, we wouldn’t be able to keep tabs on her research.

Since the bloody councils both want updates on her progress once a week, I find it necessary to know what she’s discovered about Whistler’s Hollow. The smallest memory or flashback triggered by something in the mysterious box could awaken a part of her and once she shifts, breaking the magic bonding, her inner beasts will begin.

I should know.

My first merged near the end of high school. Bane helped me along—as is her job—but the transition from knowing that the world was solely human and regular animals to discovering the breadth of extranormal society is rough.

Learning that my parents aren’t my parents, I have a destiny that I cannot change, and the level of disappointment my adoptive parents felt when I seemed to scorn their ambitions for me facilitated several poor decisions. Tilly suffered because of my self-centered egotism back then, and I didn’t even understand how much until she strolled into town two months ago.

Boones don’t regret things, but if I did, her shame would be the one thing I’d carry that burden for.

Logically, I realize a teenage boy who had his entire world flipped upside down, filled with raging hormones and hellfire, could not have comprehended the consequences of his actions. However, every time I look at her when she thinks no one is watching and every small moment of self-doubt I feel through our bond floods my heart with guilt and shame. The founding children of this town broke that girl so effectively that she would never have returned if not for the background check snafu.

“Boone, are you ready to go or are you going to stand at the window with your bourbon and brood? If it’s the latter, let me know what lighting you’d prefer. I think we can post it on OnlyFans and make some dough.”

I whip around to glare at Prez, only to be greeted by the entire cadre outfitted to the nines for the trial. “Hamilton, if I were to let you, we could build you a new aviary without touching the first month’s fees. Nice leather, by the way.”

He smirks, adjusting the collar of the black leather jacket he’s wearing with low-slung jeans, a-line tank and combat boots. Given his species, he’s not likely to show up completely revealed; They use his kind for shifter care in all the enclaves and towns, but they’re also hunted by poachers because of their rarity. Revealing himself wasn’t a worry here until stalkers showed up looking for my drugar —we have no idea what this person or people are capable of. “I dirty up good and you know it. Go ahead; admire my ass. It looks fantastic.”

I glare at his antics, turning to the unusually quiet Irish lass that watches over Tilly. “And you? Thought you were going to a party east o’ the sun and west o’ the moon?”

Saoirse shakes her bright red locks, making the fluffy mound of braids and ties and trinkets crowning her head tinkle. “Aye, doggy. I thought I’d find out if yer pet could give me a tour. I hear it’s almost comparable to our lands.”

Snorting, I sip my bourbon, studying her before I respond. Of course, she doesn’t mean England—that dreary rain-soaked castle her adoptive parents live in isn’t the true home of her people, either. It doesn’t matter which of her people she means, she’s not wrong that their lands would give Wolfie’s father’s kingdom a run for its money. As she squirms in the silence, I grin a little. She’s made it her own, but the aquamarine and cerulean garb under the shiny armor of her father’s side paired with the glinting knives and weapons of her mother’s make her look fierce.

She’ll need to be; we all will. Going against the will of the founding families over the incident last week will require us to appear loyal to the councils and the society, but also outraged at some of its favored townsfolk.

My gaze cuts to the hulking man and his two companions. Tharin and Julia aren’t hybrids; I scented their creatures from the moment I met them. They’re also dressed in the flowing garments and armor of their species. Zasha, however, matches Saoirse, but less stabby and more... regal.

Christ help me.

Children of royals and upper tier extranormals should help our case, but given half of them are dirty secrets and the other half’s relatives spend all of their time squabbling, it’s likely to be a hindrance rather than useful. Sometimes, I think it’s better when the Society has no records at all about birth heritage—like with Jolene and I. It means there are fewer worries about interference and less petty grievances that can be used against you.

Except that someone is clearly coming after our girl, and none of us can figure out who or why.

“Edgar, are we ready to go?”

I turn and my lips curl up as I walk to the counter in Tilly’s kitchen and sit my bourbon down. If only she were here to see this, she’d lose her goddamn mind. My drugar has no idea what her pup looks like when he drops all the shields and glamours, and when she sees it, I have to be there. I’m no slouch in my dark blue Armani suit and Society silk tie, but Wolfie is… ethereal. Even the doc and the merry men shut up to stare as he walks in. “We are, pup. You clean up good.”

He ducks his head, making the waterfall of sparkling silver hair slide over his iridescent skin. I notice he’s kept his ears but is controlling the rest carefully so he can wear a stylish sharkskin suit rather than the garb his mother would expect. “I miss her, too, T,” he murmurs.

“C’mere, Lucy. You can ride with me in my car and the rest of these clowns can find their own way to the sanctuary. You look hot as hell, and I don’t get to see the sparkly bits very often,” Prez growls, crooking his finger.

Humph.

I was doing a perfectly fine job of calming the pup down. Hamilton is such an ass when he decides he wants to mark his bloody territory. I’ll show him later, though, when Tilly gets back. I order some brand new?—

“Oi, mutt!”

I turn, feeling the fire dance in my veins as the usually silent brick wall yells at me from across the room. “Ah, so he can speak. I wondered.”

Zasha rushes forward, ever the diplomat. “Now, boys. No need to get in a scrap. We have to present a united front at the trial. Otherwise, we won’t be able to win any of the wildcards over.”

Blinking, I look at him and then the nodding behemoth. “Since when do wildcards show up for a small town trial over a fight in the newspaper?”

“Since the small town bitches posted their idiocy to their blogs for the paper before the fight and now it’s not about an internal struggle in town. It’s a breach of protocol. Wildcards from surrounding areas will be at the meeting to help keep the vote from being swayed by personal relationships,” Julia says. Her gold and green gaze holds mine for a moment, and I shake my head, breaking the contact.

Fucking snakes. It’s bad enough I have to deal with Tilly’s clingy ass new companion, but adding in O’Flanagan’s scaly consort is not my idea of a good time.

“Then we discuss strategy in the car as we head to the entrance. Haggerty is meeting us at the door. O’Flanagan, make sure we have enough earwigs from my drugar’s stash downstairs for everyone to be wired. We may have to split up during the cocktail hour to curry votes from all the old farts they brought in to sway the proceedings. Everyone clear?”

You’d think the general would get salutes or even choruses of agreement, but all I get are grumbles and middle fingers.

Have I mentioned how much I hate fucking brats that aren’t Jolene?

* * *

“I can’t believe we’re having a trial at all,” the jowly man in an ancient, tight dress uniform of some type grumbles around the brandy he’s sharing with several other founding family patriarchs. “The girl got distraught and made a terrible decision. Womenfolk do that. And this Whitley girl needs to remember her place. She’s the disgrace here, if you ask me. You all remember the Catastrophe…”

Rage surges through me and I feel every bit of me pushing to get out all at once at Reginald Whitman Behle’s snide commentary. I stalk over to him and let him get a taste of whichever side wins the battle as I cross the floor. That is until a hand grabs my shirt and yanks me aside.

“Look, you tosser. I’m no more fond of you than you are of me, and we haven’t had our words yet about my Tíogair. But if you attack an ex-diplomat and the accused’s father during cocktails, we won’t make any friends. Leave him to his crusty old misogyny.”

I snort, shaking my head as he eases his grip. “No wonder his wife is schtupping her cameraman.”

The red-haired git grins and shrugs. “Well, he didn’t produce a male heir, and Amy came out human. She had to come from somewhere and it wasn’t a mage and warlock.”

Now that would be a wonderful secret to expose. Knowing it would make Tilly giggle—if I could tell her. Ah, well. I’ll save it for later. A woman as stupid as Amy Matilda Behle is bound to fuck up again if she survives this process. “How are the others doing with vote counting, Haggerty?”

“Well… it helps that your bottom is so feckin’ pretty. Every female in the room is dying just by looking at him. Knowing our girl owns his leash doesn’t help much, but the charming grin and the occasional flourish he’s giving with his power is helping. I’m certain he’s charmed a few of the tourists into hearing our side.”

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “Not. My. Bottom.” His eyes dance and I look up at the ceiling, wondering what grievous sin I committed to have to deal with the inordinate amount of fucking sass I now get daily. My life was fairly squared away before Tilly came crashing in, bringing all of this chaos with her. People did what I said, and I didn’t get all this lip.

“You can stand here and tell tragic lies to yourself or we can go find out who the voodoo queen in the corner is. She might be a guardian, but since those bastards are like rabbits breeding, I don’t know them all anymore,” Haggerty chuckles, downing the last of his Jameson.

I sigh, knowing there isn’t time to argue if we’re going to curry favor before they call us downstairs to proceed with the main event of the evening. We need to make sure this shit doesn’t swing in the other direction and possibly earn Tilly a forced emergence. That never goes well, and it usually breaks the supe so severely that they either go insane or they refuse to accept their supe side.

A gong rings before I can muse further, and everything in my body tenses. We’re too late.

“Ladies and gentleman, it is time to make your way to your seats for the trial. The Honorable Senator Edgar Olivier Boone II and The Honorable Mayor Cornelia Sykes will be presiding. You have five minutes to get situated.”

Thanks, Pop. You’re a real mensch.