Page 27 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)

Chapter Twenty-Five

T had

Town Hall is packed to capacity for the emergency zoning meeting.

The energy in the room crackles with tension—angry business owners, concerned citizens, and several Harrington Development employees strategically positioned throughout the crowd.

My snakes detect them easily, tracking their subtle communications and heightened heart rates.

“Guardian Solutions is a go,” I murmur into my earpiece. Four of my newly hired security staff—two werewolves and two former Gorgon enforcers—confirm with professional acknowledgments.

Sebastian stands by the side entrance, his sanctuary ability creating a bubble of calm around the more agitated monster business owners. His snakes, serious in black bowties tonight, maintain a dignified alertness that contrasts with my team’s more obvious vigilance.

“Mayor’s arriving,” Sloane says, appearing at my side with press credentials around her neck. “And here comes Harrington Senior.”

My snakes rise slightly, tracking the entry of Bradley Harrington II—Bradley’s father and the CEO of Harrington Development. The older Harrington’s expensive suit and practiced smile can’t hide his predatory energy, something my enforcer senses pick up immediately.

“They’re nervous,” I observe, noting the subtle tells—tightened jaw, adjustments of his tie, the too-firm handshakes with council members. “Your evidence must be solid.”

“Three signed affidavits, recordings of veiled threats, and documentation of systematic undervaluing of monster-owned properties.” Sloane’s voice holds professional satisfaction. “Dad’s legal team says it’s enough to trigger an investigation even without tonight’s vote.”

My snakes pick up movement near the back—Bradley entering, scanning the crowd until he spots Sloane. His expression darkens when he sees her standing with me.

Sloane’s breathing quickens slightly and she eases a half-step closer to me. The faint scent of her perfume mingles with the sharp tang of adrenaline as tension fills the space between us.

“Your admirer’s here,” I say dryly, and several of my snakes actually snicker.

“Funny, I only see one man I admire in this room, and he has much better hair.” Sloane grins as my snakes preen shamelessly at the compliment. “Speaking of which, Sterling’s doing that show-off routine again.”

The iridescent snake in question is indeed executing an unnecessarily elaborate surveillance pattern, leaning forward with exaggerated vigilance whenever anyone glances our way.

“Professional hazard,” I mutter. “He’s been impossible since the sequin fitting.”

The meeting begins with Mayor Whitaker calling for order. My security crew maintains their positions as the agenda items are addressed—standard business first, building tension for the main event.

“Item seven,” the mayor finally announces, “Addressing concerns regarding predatory real estate practices targeting monster-owned businesses in districts four and six.”

The room stills. The elder Harrington shifts in his seat, expression carefully neutral, but my snakes pick up his elevated heart rate.

“The council has received multiple complaints regarding business practices employed by certain development companies,” the mayor continues, diplomatic to the end. “Tonight, we’ll hear testimony from affected business owners before considering emergency protective zoning measures.”

What follows is a parade of monster business owners—a bakery run by an orc, a bookstore owned by a sphinx, a butcher shop managed by a troll—each recounting similar stories.

Harrington representatives approaching with lowball offers, followed by escalating pressure tactics if declined.

Veiled references to “changing neighborhood demographics” and “regulatory challenges for non-human enterprises.”

Halfway through the testimonies, Bradley eases to the back of the room, phone to his ear.

Two of my security staff exchange glances but maintain their positions as instructed.

No need to stop him—the real target is still seated at the council table, growing increasingly uncomfortable as the evidence mounts.

When Bradley Harrington II finally rises to speak, my snakes all snap to attention, sensing the aggressive energy beneath his practiced corporate veneer.

“These accusations are, frankly, absurd,” he begins, voice smooth as expensive bourbon.

“Harrington Development has always sought to improve Harmony Glen through strategic investment. If our offers were declined, we respected those decisions. These supposed ‘pressure tactics’ are nothing more than normal business negotiations, perhaps misinterpreted by… less experienced business owners.”

The subtle prejudice in his tone makes me feel as though fire flows through my veins. Before I can shift into more obvious enforcer mode, Sloane steps forward, press credentials displayed prominently.

“Mr. Harrington,” she says, voice carrying clearly, “I have recordings of your representatives specifically mentioning how monster businesses might face ‘regulatory challenges’ if they don’t sell now.

Would you care to explain what regulations you were referring to, given that none currently exist? ”

His expression flickers—surprise that the mayor’s daughter is the one challenging him. “I can’t be expected to account for every conversation my employees might have had.”

“Then perhaps you can explain this email from your office,” Sloane continues, holding up a printout, “detailing a strategy to ‘acquire target properties in monster districts before integration protections can be established’?”

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder and more aggressive. Harrington Senior’s face darkens as he realizes the trap. “Where did you get that? That’s proprietary company information!”

“It was provided by a concerned employee,” Sloane says smoothly. “One who was uncomfortable with targeting business owners based on species.”

My security team tenses as Harrington’s composure cracks.

“This is a setup! Charles, control your daughter!”

The mayor rises slowly, expression contemplative. “My daughter is operating as a journalist, Brad. And a damn good one, based on the evidence she’s uncovered.”

What follows isn’t the clean victory we’d hoped for. Councilman Rasmussen, who I now realize has been unusually quiet, clears his throat. “While these allegations are concerning, we can’t make zoning decisions based on unverified claims.”

“Unverified?” Sloane’s voice hardens. “I have recorded conversations—”

“From unnamed sources,” Rasmussen interrupts. “Hardly admissible in any legal sense.”

The room murmurs with uncertainty. Two other council members nod along with Rasmussen, and I realize Harrington’s influence runs deeper than we thought.

That’s when Sloane does something I didn’t expect. “Then perhaps we should hear from Mrs. Serenmut directly.” She gestures to the back of the room, where an elderly sphinx sits quietly. “Since she’s here tonight and was willing to go on record.”

Mrs. Serenmut rises slowly, dignity in every line of her posture.

“I own Delights Bakery on Fifth Street. Last Tuesday, a man from Harrington Development told me that if I didn’t sell, the city might find ‘health code violations’ in my kitchen.

He said monster businesses have to work twice as hard to meet ‘human standards’. ”

The room falls silent. Rasmussen shifts uncomfortably.

“Mrs. Serenmut,” Mayor Whitaker says gently, “are you willing to repeat that statement under oath?”

“Yes.”

That breaks the resistance. The council votes 5-2 to enact emergency zoning protections for monster business districts.

Harrington Sr. storms out, already on his phone, likely calling his legal team. Bradley follows, pausing only to shoot a venomous look at Sloane.

“Congratulations, Sloane,” Bradley sneers.

“You’ve just made some very powerful enemies.

And your boyfriend’s little security company?

Good luck getting permits when the state starts looking into former enforcers working without proper oversight.

I’ve already made some calls. Funny how quickly bureaucrats move when they hear about public safety concerns involving… creatures with a history of violence.”

The threat hangs in the air like a physical presence. The temperature in the immediate area seems to drop as my intimidation aura activates without conscious thought—every enforcer instinct I’ve spent months suppressing suddenly unleashed by the direct threat to what I’m building.

Before Sloane can respond, I step forward. “Bradley.” My voice drops to the tone that used to make troublemakers think twice. “I suggest you leave. Now.”

“Or what? You’ll intimidate me?” But his bravado wavers as my presence fills the space between us.

“I don’t need to intimidate you,” I say quietly. “I just need to protect what’s mine.”

Sloane’s hand finds my arm—not to stop me, but to ground me. “Actually, Bradley, this conversation is over. Your father’s company is facing legal scrutiny, your reputation is compromised, and the ‘arrangement’ you and our fathers planned? That was never going to happen.”

His face hardens as he takes in the Guardian Solutions staff positioned throughout the hall, and the supportive nods from council members who once courted his family’s favor.

“Enjoy your monster circus while it lasts,” he mutters before following his father.

My security staff maintain their positions as the meeting continues, but the main threat has passed.

“That went well,” Sloane says afterward, as the crowd disperses under the watchful eyes of Thad’s staff. Her satisfied smile makes my snakes sway with pleasure.

“Professional and effective,” I agree. Sterling performs an elaborate victory dance above my right temple, earning chuckles from passing council members who have apparently grown accustomed to his theatrics.

Mayor Whitaker approaches, looking both tired and triumphant. “Excellent security presence, Thaddeus. Visible but not intimidating. Very skillful.”

“That’s the Guardian Solutions difference,” I reply, as I’m filled with pride. “Protection without unnecessary fear.”

“You’ve found your niche.” He glances at Sloane with obvious affection. “Both of you have.”

As we leave Town Hall, I notice Sebastian waiting by the entrance, his sanctuary ability still calming the departing attendees. Even the most agitated business owners leave with shoulders relaxed and expressions peaceful.

“Nice work, big brother,” I say, and his snakes bob in acknowledgment.

“Quite a team we make,” he replies. “Your protection, my peace.”

“Though I notice you don’t have to wear sequined snakes for your contribution,” I grumble, making Sloane laugh.

“Speaking of which,” she says, “final dress rehearsal tomorrow. Iris texted that they’ve added lighting effects.”

My snakes all droop dramatically, making Sebastian’s snakes wriggle with amusement.

“The water ballet is going to be the highlight of the celebration,” he says cheerfully. “Aspen’s already reserved front-row seats.”

As we walk to my motorcycle, Sloane’s hand finds mine. “Proud of you, Enforcer. You’re managing to protect people while letting them protect themselves, too.”

“From shadows to spotlight.”

“With a few sequins in between,” she adds with a grin.

As we ride home through the streets of Harmony Glen, Sloane’s arms tight around my waist, I feel the last of my old identity finally settle into something new. At a red light, she leans forward so her voice carries over the engine.

“You were magnificent in there,” she says, her breath warm against the back of my neck. “Protective without being possessive. Strong without being scary.”

“Learning the difference,” I admit, my hand covering hers where it rests against my chest.

When we reach my water tower, she doesn’t immediately let go. Instead, she holds on for one extra heartbeat, and I realize something profound: for the first time since the Revelation, I’m not mourning what I lost.

I’m celebrating what I’ve found. And more importantly, what we’re building together.