Page 74

Week Two

E veryone was wired this morning, which is why I helped Prez make the sugar-filled waffle bar. There’s nothing like a sweet treat to help calm the nerves, and I could feel the tension in the air from the second my eyes opened. It was a struggle to keep the Fae parts of me in check because empathy is one of my strongest inherited traits.

My father’s contribution to my powers, of course.

We got fed, dressed, and off eventually, but it took some time.

Prez has his yearly presentations at the schools—sign-ups for sports physicals and vaccinations on-site. That’s also a cover for registering the newest adopted children in town in the monitoring program—he and Andromeda typically handles it, but she’s been out of town for weeks. He was less than thrilled to have to compensate for her absence, but I couldn’t help this time. I had to meet Eliot and the sheikh to discuss Mehdi’s training and care.

The meeting was likely to last hours because a horse that valuable has to be in a comprehensive program to ensure she’s in top-notch shape. Her viability as a contender in major races depends on specific goal posts being met and maintained. Jolene should probably be present, but this was scheduled last minute and her commitments couldn’t be moved.

Or so she said, but I got the feeling she was setting boundaries with the demanding owner.

Whatever the reason, we all left even Saoirse. The lass was fairly mysterious about what plans she had, so I assumed it was Society business. Her sketchiness worries Prez and I, but given she’s a Guardian who’s hidden her true identity for almost a decade, it must be second nature to keep people in the dark about her activities.

Jolene was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs about Parents’ Night, so I plan to drop in on her to make sure she’s not fending off vipers. I should be done with my meeting and appointments in time to be there mid-way through the evening. If she’s okay, I’ll go home and make dinner for the two of them, so we have something tasty when they get home.

I’m not a service sub by any means, but I enjoy the hell out of spoiling the dominants in my life—the praise definitely gets my motor running.

By the time I pull into the employee lot at Cantwell’s farm, I’m smiling broadly. I should have known that Prez was right about trusting my instincts. So far, Jolene fits into our life like a puzzle piece we didn’t know was missing, and neither of us has any intention of ever letting her go. We can’t tell her that, of course, because it’s obvious she has abandonment issues from her past. Since we can’t explain ‘fated mates’ to her without spilling the beans on our world, the best solution is to worm our way into her life slowly, giving her time to adjust to the idea of opening her heart again.

As I walk towards the office, I spy Eliot standing by the stable they have Mehdi quarantined in. The thoroughbred has to be separated from the others until she passes all the requisite tests and checks, so we are certain she won’t spread anything to our animals. The man standing next to him has to be the sheikh—his wardrobe alone has to run in the low five figures. He’s tall and built like a brick shithouse with shoulder length hair streaked by the sun. His beard is impeccably trimmed, and he’s gesturing towards the fields with large hands. I’m surprised to see an important member of the royal family in public not wearing a kufiyah and thobe , but this man isn’t a bit like anything I would have expected.

“Wolfgang! Come meet our newest partner, Dhameer Mirza Al Sharqi. He owns Mehdi and is rarin’ to go to our meeting,” Eliot booms.

Striding towards the immense man, I hold my hand out. “Good morning, Your Highness. I’m Wolfgang Lucien Fletcher, and I’m the veterinarian for the farm and the town. Since Medhi arrived ahead of you, I could start getting to know her yesterday, and I’m very excited to work with her.”

The grip on my palm is firm, and I feel my ears perk as a zing of energy travels between us. My eyes narrow as I look at the sheikh, knowing without a doubt that he is one of us. I’m uncertain what yet, but he’s no mere human. His eyes dance as he watches me assess him carefully, but he doesn’t provide any additional information.

Is this a test? Does Eliot know?

“I am very pleased to meet you, Wolfgang,” Dhameer rumbles in a low, growly tone. His accent is clipped as if they educated him in Britain, and I wonder if perhaps he attended Swallowtail. “Please, do not stand on formality—we are colleagues working on this project. Address me as all my friends do… by Amiri.”

Tilting my head, I smile and nod. “Then you should call me Wolfie. That’s what all my friends address me as.”

He nods, and Eliot claps his hand, looking gleeful. “Right, and I’m Jamie, and bingo was his name-o. C’mon gents! We’ve got bourbon and plans to look at before we hop in the saddle and take the tour. Amiri, if you need to change, we’ve got plenty of riding clothes you’ll be able to use…”

A rich, dark laugh echoes out of the sheik as he follows Jamie towards the big house. “Ah, Jamie, you are the picture of American Southern hospitality. Never fear—anything I desire is always right at my fingertips. No need for borrowed garments.”

That’s a fucking weird thing to say. Does he just have servants who follow him everywhere? I don’t see anyone…

“Don’t worry about me, Wolfie. I’m resourceful. It’s in my nature,” the sheik says with a mischievous grin.

How did he do that?

“Gentleman, I’ve got Agatha coming to take notes. She should be along soon,” Jamie says as we enter his sprawling home. “Don’t worry—I’ve had another talk with her, Wolfie. She won’t cause any trouble, or she’ll be headed home with her tail tucked between her legs.”

I nod, hoping what my amiable friend says is accurate. The last thing I want to deal with is that fawning succubus trying to lure any of us in while we talk shop. Relationships with new owners are too delicate to have a childish incident color the process, and Amiri seems fairly no nonsense. I don’t think he’d appreciate Agatha’s behavior in the slightest.

“Okay, Jamie. Let’s get down to business.”

* * *

After the meeting, I headed to the office to finish out my day with appointments. Being the town vet in Whistler’s Hollow requires knowledge of an enormous variety of species, so I have to schedule my days carefully. I can’t allow large predators and smaller prey animals on the same day, nor can I have exotic species and regular pets at the same time. Luckily, the service I pay to maintain my calendar is run by the same service that helps schedule vets and docs in all the Society enclaves, so most of my days run pretty smoothly.

The last patient of the day was a rescued wolf companion with serious trauma issues, so I had to locate the closest rehabilitation center so its owner can get the help it needs to thrive. Unlike Jolene, animals adopt some supes with pre-existing health or psychological concerns, and getting them nursed back to health so they can bond with their new owners is part of my job. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite parts because I enjoy seeing that deep emotional connection lock into place once the companion is well.

It’s the Fae in me, I know. I’ve always been slightly jealous that a companion never chose me, but helping others find that love helps ease the pinch.

Once I finish the email to the sanctuary, I shut down my computer and lock up, eager to get to the school to see how Sugarplum is doing. I’ve missed her today, but I know she has a million things to do before the beginning of the school year. Moving home, opening the gallery, and prepping for her students is a huge undertaking, and throwing a bunch of animals and guys into the mix couldn’t have made that process any easier.

She’s handling it like a pro, though.

I lock the door, flipping the sign to show the after hours emergency numbers, and head down the street to WHFS. It’s a warm late summer night, and I wave at people as I pass, noting the crowds heading into the building at the end of the street. Parents in the Hollow always show up for this type of thing, even if they’re damned near absent most of the time. Like most small, moneyed communities, the appearance of being active and involved is more important than actually being involved. Hence, the large number of chicly dressed couples climbing the stairs of the front entrance as if it’s a country club regatta.

“Why, Wolfgang Lucien Fletcher! How absolutely lovely to see you!”

Bobbi Jo rushes up to me excitedly and I pause, giving her a friendly smile. “Good evening, Bobbi Jo. How’s Parent Night going?”

“Marvelous! It’s so invigorating to see all of our students and their families here to meet our staff. I adore these events; I really do.”

Arching a brow, I take in her appearance—she looks a little like a flustered hen chasing chicks around the yard. I find it doubtful she’s enjoying this, but I nod. It wouldn’t be polite to draw attention to her harried energy; she’s putting on a brave face for a reason. “Excellent. I came to drop in on Jolene. Is she holed up in the new art wing?”

Her eyes widen, and she gives me a sly grin. “Why, Wolfie, that sounds like a lovely idea! I thought you’d be visiting that handsome doctor friend of yours. Did something happen?”

Wouldn’t that make all the conservative ninnies pleased as punch?

Their eagerness for gossip has always made me feel icky—it’s akin to thick strands of black, inky goo coming out of their aura—and it gives me a shiver every time I encounter the delight some people in town take in knowing about other people’s miseries. “No, Bobbi Jo. Prez and I are fantastic… going on three years now. Jolene and I met a couple days ago, so I wanted to see her in her element.”

A disappointed look flits across the woman’s features and I know she’s frustrated that she won’t have a juicy tidbit to share in Hazel’s diner tomorrow morning. Bobbi Jo isn’t a bad person; she’s a product of the hive mind in town that swallows people whole the moment they assimilate into the culture. Being the principal of the school, she had to fit in if she ever hoped to keep her job. I don’t fault her for it, but I also refuse to feed into the buzzing rumor mill.

“I see.” She gives me a smile that is entirely too bright and points down a hallway. “The art wing is in that direction. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see a friendly face. Some parents seem in fine form tonight, and being the new staff member, she’s likely to take the brunt of their… demands.”

What a polite way to let me know they have thrown her to the wolves on her first night.

Thanking her, I leave the flustered principal behind as I make my way past the crowds of students and parents gathered near each door. The art wing is the newest part of the school, so the entrance to it is in the back half of the older building. It’s quiet back here, and when I finally reach the door to the studio, I find it mysteriously locked. As I put my ear to the door to find out who is inside, a familiar scent wafts through the air and my lips curve into a satisfied smirk.

I know that smell.

Knocking on the wood lightly, I swallow a chuckle as I call out, “I don’t know what you’ve been getting up to in there, Sugarplum, but it smells delicious.”

“Wolfie? What are you doing here? You were meeting with the sheik.”

Her voice is a panicked squeak, and it takes everything I have not to burst out laughing. “I did—earlier—and he wants to meet with you this weekend.” I pause for a moment, pondering texting Prez so he can come witness this. “I promised I’d set it up with you right away, but it seems like I’ve interrupted a very important conference.”

Jolene doesn’t answer right away, and I wait. When she finally speaks, it’s in a low tone that I could never hear through the door if I weren’t a supe. “Um, well, that’s true. But… I could use… some help? I think there’s a back way in here; earlier Hugo got in without?—”

I don’t wait for her to finish; I simply wave my hand over the lock and the tumblers click into place. Opening the door a crack, I slip inside and re-lock it quickly. Turning to face her, I have to tamp down my amusement. I know she won’t find it cute that I’m laughing at her, but honestly? Her situation is pretty goddamned funny. Walking over to the table, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with a soft smile. “Having trouble with the bully, darlin’?”

She frowns at me, clearly confused by my nonchalance.

“Relax, Sugarplum. Different doesn’t equal bad. If you’re sweet on this asshole, I’m not upset. As long as he treats you like the queen you are and respects our place in your heart, Prez and I are happy to share.” I look at the prone judge curiously, and when I figure out what the problem is, I chuckle. “Although, you may have… ahem… bitten off more than you can chew, Boone.”

Jolene pushes on his shoulders, trying to move the feral shifter without knowing what she’s doing. “What in the fuck does that mean? And why is he acting so damned odd? We have to get him off of me before anyone else finds out we should not be unsupervised!”

Strolling around the table, I pick up the torn thong on the ground. When I whistle softly, she glares daggers at me and I just grin wider. I stuff the lacy scrap in my pocket and approach Edgar carefully. I’m not sure which of his sides is the issue, but given the tinge of sulfur, I’m guessing it’s the hound. That means I have to approach carefully, and speak quietly so I don’t send it on a rampage. I lay my hand on his back gently and turn to wink at Jolene. My lips are against his ear as I whisper something so low that only enhanced hearing can pick it up and his body lifts off of our girl slightly. When he finally looks down at her, Jolene gives both of us a murder stare.

“How did you do that? That wasn’t even English, and since when does Edgar Boone speak another language? Your father would tar your hide for hiding that, buster.”

Edgar laughs, moving to adjust his clothing and sit on the table beside her. “I told you—my father doesn’t control me anymore.”

An interesting tidbit, to be sure. I wouldn’t have imagined him ever saying that out loud, especially in a building where the walls definitely have ears.

“It was Aramaic,” I offer helpfully. “But that’s a story for later. Do you keep wipes in here? I’d assume you do, because, duh…art.”

It takes her a moment to realize that I’m helping her clean up before she stands, and she flushes bright pink. “Um, yeah. In the back room? By the sink?”

I nod, heading to grab them. I can hear him asking if he hurt her. It’s a good question since the mark of his hound—a bite mark branded into the skin of neck—was obvious once I got close. I doubt he meant to claim her on an art table in the high school, and I can sympathize because I didn’t mean to in a horse field. Something about that girl has us all wound up in ways we can’t seem to control. Luckily for both of us, the magic woven into her emergence spell will keep the marks hidden until it breaks, or we’d have much bigger issues.

Although, I doubt she’ll be pleased we marked her without explaining the significance to her, but it’s not as if either of us had a choice. Sometimes, the supe inside has a mind of its own.

When I return with the wipes, she’s laughing and asking him for milkshakes. The joy on Boone’s face is an expression I’ve never see on him before, and I have to stop to marvel at it for a moment before I join them.

Jolene Athena Whitley actually makes him happy. Who knew it was possible?