Page 47

Jaxson

“GOOD THING WE dragged you fellas into the alley, now wasn’t it?” Jake teasingly chides from his makeshift seat of two upside-down milk crates stacked on top of each other.

From my spot on one of the three metal and plastic café chairs that were brought up here, I glance over my shoulder at him with furrowed brows. He rocks back on the edge of the milk crates. The setting sun and the window blinds cast alternating lines of light and shadows across his face, which is already partially hidden by the black ball cap tugged tightly down on his head. He points at the small black-and-white TV nestled into one of the upper corners of the burnt-orange-painted room, showing a live feed from the downstairs security camera. At least five Decoction employees with the logo on their polo shirts chat and socialize with each other as they approach the counter of the café—the café where Ethan and I had planned to meet up with some of The Den while Xander and Billie were on their tour.

When Ethan and I got out of the Uber, we heard a “Psst, psst” coming from the alleyway. We looked at each other and then down the dim alleyway where Jake, wearing a black hoodie over his ball cap, popped up like a delinquent meerkat from behind a blue dumpster, while Dom crept up behind us, softly chuckling. “Yeah, jabroni doesn’t look conspicuous at all, does he?” He then ushered us down the alleyway toward a totally sketchy-looking Jake.

I guess the owners of the café have been longtime associates of one of Micky’s cousins. What associates means, I haven’t a freakin’ clue, but they offered up their office and storage space above the café for us to use.

“Well shit,” I grunt, bringing my fingers to my hair and then fisting them and cursing, remembering the effort I took in styling it for tonight.

“Not really surprising though, is it?” Dom comments, ruffling his messy red hair, his green eyes flitting between the security feed and the images on the large monitor set on the old wooden desk that we moved against a side wall so we could all crowd around it. “It’s a café across the street from where they work, offering great coffee, pastries, and sandwiches well into the evening. Makes sense some of the customers would be employees of this lab.” He points to the monitor; the live feeds that will surely be responsible for the ulcers I’ll have at an early age. “Now, are you sure she’s feckin’ okay? Because the video feed was of the cement floor for well over five minutes and Xander calmly freaking out, then doing some of that”—he waggles his pale fingers— “spirit finger shite to her.”

“She’s okay,” Ethan assures him, turning to look at Dom, who’s seated next to him, with me on Ethan’s other side. Both of our coats, suit jackets, and ties are slung on the backs of our chairs, having come off in layers with the rise of our anger and fear. “It was her shifter reacting to the energies coming from beyond those doors. She wasn’t under attack by anyone. It’s been...” He scrubs a hand over his short-shaved head, and dammit, is everyone playing with their hair tonight to piss me off?

“A steep learning curve,” I finish for him.

“Because of her folks dyin’?” Jake asks, pressing up from the milk crates to stand next to Micky, who’s either been leaning against the wall behind us, pacing, or bending down to get a better look. Billie was right—the guy can’t sit still. Though I don’t think Jake can for long either since he’s been up and down the entire time as well.

“I’d say that’s the simplest explanation,” Ethan confirms while we watch them change into the proper—what’d Billie call it? —PPE for the next room. It’s been a welcome lull, a chance to catch our breaths. Watching the videos hasn’t been easy, but it’s the recording, what’s been said, that’s had my wolf roaring, my heart stopping, and my mind spinning.

Jake has repeated, “Are you feckin’ kiddin’ me?” more times than I can count. Dom’s been a bevy of questions; Ethan’s fielded most of them. At first it wasn’t so bad, giving us something to talk about, a temporary distraction from a reality none of want to face, but with more and more coming to light and then Billie getting royal-shifter shocked (that’s what I’m calling it) by Little Fox, I was about to snap.

Micky must have read me because he lightly smacked Dom on the back of the head and said, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that’s enough already, Dom. For cryin’ out loud.”

Jake snickered. “’Bout time.” Dom raised his hands in defense and apologized.

The only thing Micky has said other than that was, “Thank Christ I talked Jimmy outta comin’.”

“It’d have been a massacre,” Jake commented under his breath. “Bloody feckin’ massacre.”

A beep, beep sounds from the audio, and we watch them enter a brightly lit but windowless room. Like most of the lab we’ve seen thus far, it’s all white except for the tops of the workbenches, which are black. One of Billie’s earring cameras shows a profile of Xander. He’s wearing what she meant by PPE, a surgical cap and face mask, white lab coat, purple nitrile gloves, and safety glasses that, of course, seem to draw attention to those damn ice-blue eyes of his.

Aware of the cameras, at least for a little while, she’s made sure to keep them clear of the cap and does a very slow turn, taking in the room. To one side, three scientists, dressed like them, are at a long black bench with what looks like some sort of temperature-controlled unit with racks of vials and other scientific shit taking up about half of the long bench. The other half holds computer screens and microscopes, which, based on the projected images, are hooked up to the screens.

“That’s not...” Billie mutters from under her mask, the video blurring, and the rapid clunking of her shoes against the tiled floor sounds through the audio with a heavy beat. Definitely not sneaking up on anyone wearing those.

“It’s the gestation and fertilization room,” Dunne explains, his voice void of emotion. He’s regained control of himself after falling apart not more than twenty minutes ago. I have to swallow down the growl of distrust climbing up my throat, needing to box up those feelings for now. Billie’s head twists around to face him, giving the camera a perfect picture of what had her hurrying over. Projected on the screen is an image of what the scientist seated near Billie is working on. It looks like five eggs—human or shifter eggs—are in a petri dish or something, and a long needle is slowly being inserted into one. Once the stretchy outer layer breaks, a milky liquid is released, and then the needle is drawn out to repeat the process on the remaining eggs.

All heat drains from my face, and I barely choke out “Fuck no,” complete disbelief and horror snatching away my ability to speak. Micky’s boots softly thump across the room, and I’ve determined he paces when he’s upset or disturbed. He’s been pacing a lot.

“What’s the purpose, what’s the goal?” Billie questions.

“To grow life, of course!” a female scientist near the one doing the work cheers. “If we can fertilize these eggs successfully and grow them to a certain point, we’ll be able to attempt the next step: impregnation! We’ve never made it there before, but we will. We’ve just got to figure out how to keep the fetuses alive long enough. The—”

“What are the species you’re working with?” Xander curtly asks, interrupting her prideful raving. “They can’t be human, right? I’d think there’d be something unlawful about creating human life to experiment on it.”

“Oh!” She vigorously bobs her head. Billie makes sure to keep her at one side, with her facing the workstation, thus recording Xander—well, his chest—through the other camera. “Yes, absolutely. No human subjects here. They’re all from animals that have been exposed to unique environmental contaminants that have altered their DNA in a way no one has ever seen! Like animal and human and something else. The DNA is so similar, yet they look nothing alike,” she practically gushes.

“I’m gonna be sick,” I groan, dropping my head down but finding myself unable to look away.

“Come, come,” the energetic scientist says with a circling of her arm. “Let me show you our specimen. They’re—”

“Cassie!” an older woman chastises from somewhere. “Just because they’re in here doesn’t mean we share the details of all our research.”

“He is William Knight’s replacement,” Dunne interjects from nearby. Billie’s head swings around, making it hard to see or discern much. “He needs to know what his role is and the reasons behind it.”

“Oh my goodness,” the too-bubbly Cassie exclaims, her shoes tapping a rapid beat over the tiled floor. “So you’ve been there!” she assumes, and my brows furrow in confusion. “You’ve seen the damage from the hazardous waste spills. Seen what those chemicals are doing to the wildlife!”

“The what now?” I wonder.

“Lies,” Ethan hisses.

“Show me the specimen you currently have in holding,” Xander demands, his voice as flat and sharp as a blade.

I can’t see the scientist. Billie, choosing to be Billie and no longer a videographer, starts checking out everything else while following Cassie, who prattles on. “William was such a brave man! Risking his own life, exposing himself to collect the affected specimen. Some of them can be rather rabid at times. I don’t know how he faced them in the wild.”

Ethan’s trying to take down notes of whatever he sees while Billie follows Cassie and Dunne with Xander at her side. When they get to the far edge of the room, there’s beeping like that from an electronic keypad and then a whirring sound, similar to a rolling metal door being retracted. Xander’s jaw snaps shut with enough force for us to hear it, and Billie sucks in a hissing breath.

She turns her head to the side so we can see what has unnerved our pack-mates. Directly in front of them behind thick plexiglass is a small empty room with another half wall of plexiglass leading into another much larger room. There are large cages stacked two high aligning the back cinder-block wall, and inside those cages are what appear to be animals. But we know—we know they’re shifters. Possibly two dozen of them, all different subspecies. Some are hard to see tucked into balls in the backs of their cages. Others are thrashing about, throwing themselves against the bars. Some are helplessly looking around with big, wide glowing eyes, and others look deathly ill, paws limply hanging through the spaces between the bars, bodies skeletal and fur patchy. My entire world spins, and Blondie wails out the pain he feels for them.

Ethan and I have been making sure to stay on the edge of our mind link with Billie and Xander, never fully entering, allowing us to sense a fraction of their feelings and thoughts, which, fuck... honestly, it has been more than enough. We’ve got plenty of our own to deal with. Both of us grunt, “Shit,” sensing Little Fox shooting to alertness again.

My eyes watch in fascination as several of the captive shifters seem to take notice of her presence. The ones huddled in corners peek their heads out, their glowing eyes fixated on Billie. The hostile honey badger that was throwing itself against the bars stops and spins around, whipping its black-and-white-stripped head from side to side, its glowing lime-green eyes frantically searching while it inhales, hisses, and grunts. An African wild dog slinks up to the edge of its cage, tipping its black-and-yellow-spotted head in curiosity, its large ears rotating like radar dishes while its glowing golden eyes swing between Billie, and I think Dunne with a look of—shit, bemusement?

“Well, that’s so strange,” Cassie observes, clearly taking note of the change in their behaviors.

“Not really,” Dunne says. “It’s basic habit formation. I bring them donuts and treats several times a week.”

The sound of rubber snapping is followed by the feeling of calm, cooling energy releasing into the bond. The tension in my shoulders relaxes, and Ethan’s clenched fists loosen. The rapt attention of several of the shifters fades, and I let out a long sigh. “Thank fuck for Xander.”

Dom arches a brow in question, and Ethan, keeping his gaze on the screen, says, “Later.” Dom jerks a nod in cool acceptance.

“Oh!” Cassie blusters, “You can’t—”

“He’s fine,” Dunne assures, and one of the video feeds goes all white with strands of strawberry-blonde hair as Xander pulls our mate into his chest, his hand, glove-free, most likely on her nape. The position still gives a good view of the shifters from the other feed.

“It’s not an easy sight to take in,” Dunne grinds out, and you can hear the anger, the pain that he’s been avoiding, in the simmering heat of his voice.

“I know, those glowing eyes are so disturbing, aren’t they?” Cassie exclaims with an awkward giggle. “Took me a little to get used to. But it’s nothing compared to all the other fascinating mutations we’ve discovered.”

“I meant the state of them,” Dunne tersely replies.

“Oh... of course, Dr. Dunne,” Cassie says in a much softer voice. “I sometimes forget.” The sound of a finger tapping on plexiglass comes through, and she continues, “I know some look to be in terrible shape, but give them a week, and they’ll be all better... well, mostly.” She taps on the glass again. “Those two there were infected with giardia about six hours ago. That’s why they’re so lethargic. We’re letting them go untreated to see how long it will take for them to eradicate the parasitic infection and to see if their immune systems will prevent the typical long-term effects of the disease when not treated. Whatever happened to these animals increased their ability to heal. We’ve broken bones, lacerated their bodies, removed organs, and they not only survived but completely healed, regrowing organs, and... I was going to say limbs, but that remains inconclusive. The bones and flesh were regrowing at a slow rate, and well... the specimen expired before we were able to determine the true extent of that particular healing ability.”

“Are you feckin’ kiddin’ me?” Jake blurts.

“Need,” Billie grits out. “Need to leave... now.”

“Dr. Dunne, though this is all very interesting, and the”—Xander clicks his tongue— “ enthusiasm of your staff is notable. We’ve already spent far more time than intended, and I assume there’s more you’d like to show me before the fundraiser tonight.”

“Oh, you’ll be at the fundraiser?” Cassie practically squeals. “It’s one of my favorite events of the year. Decoction is such a generous company. The amount of money they raise and donate to support future scientists that may not have the means to fully reach their potential is one of the reasons I’m here. I was a recipient of one of their scholarships several years back. And the location, the Museum of Science—it’s just brilliant.”

“Xander,” Billie hisses.

“Well, then we better make sure we don’t miss too much,” Xander states.

“Yes, of course,” Dunne replies.

Micky pulls his readers from the collar of his muscle shirt under the half-buttoned insulated flannel and puts them on. Leaning in between Jake and me, he touches the screen with a gnarled finger, running his bent knuckle over the image of a ferret and then the African wild dog, which is still fixated on Billie and Dunne. “Those are you guys? They turn into humans?” he comments right before the image changes with Billie and Xander following Dunne toward the exit.

“If they know how,” Ethan softly replies, and I glance at him. His eyes are brimming with tears, just as mine are. Without knowing it, I’ve unbuttoned the top of my shirt, my skin hot and dewy like I’ve got a fever from seeing the sickness, in all its forms, being portrayed—the ill and deplorable state of our fellow shifters and the disgusting glee of the scientists responsible.

Ethan hitches a shoulder. “I don’t—” He intakes a sharp breath. “I don’t know how they were obtained, but if they were caught as rogue shifters, it means they didn’t have other shifters in their lives to help them with the process. When we first shift, we generally need an alpha, parent, elder, or experienced shifter to help us through it. If not, they’ll be forced to shift... like Billie was.”

“Holy shit, really?” Jake blurts.

“Yeah,” Ethan replies with a pinched face and heavy nod, probably remembering the details and reasons behind that forced shift. “If it wasn’t for Xander, she may not have been able to shift back.” He scrubs a shaky hand over his head and blows out a wet breath, continuing like he can’t help himself, like he needs to confess. “Wolf packs have been primarily in charge of handling rogue shifters for well over half a century. For the last several decades, handling meant hunting and killing. It was about not wanting to risk exposing us to humans, not wanting rogue shifters to act like humans in animal form, not wanting to draw attention.” He leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. “Now I’m wondering if we were too quick with their deaths. If we didn’t rip them apart, is this where they ended up?” Bile born of self-loathing, burns a pathway up my throat, and I force myself to swallow it down.

“You guys partake in that?” Dom probes, his eyes still on the screen like he’s only half paying attention.

Ethan rolls his lips between his teeth and bites down, unable to answer.

“It was part of the culture we grew up in, part of becoming a true wolf-shifter. The hunt, the kill, giving into our baser instincts,” I explain in a monotone voice, not wanting to feel the shame of what we did as teenagers. “We were taught that since alphas couldn’t connect with non-wolf-shifters, there was no way for us to help those stuck in animal form, no way for us to communicate with them. The longer they stay in animal form, the more animal they become. It was made a ritual, a rite of passage.” A rite of passage that to this day I have nightmares about. My first kill... the fear and confusion in the rogue shifter’s feral eyes. Our first kill. You weren’t alone in the act, Jaxson , Blondie says.

“Ya didn’t know bettah,” Micky grunts, laying a fatherly hand on my and Ethan’s shoulders. I twist my head around, and he’s looking at both of us with a sad understanding weighing down his light-blue eyes.

Ethan lifts his head to meet Micky’s caring gaze. “No, but it didn’t feel right either.” He huffs out a breath. “At first at least, but when we’re in wolf form and the hunt starts, the instincts take over... and it feels better to give in to them.”

“You know bettah now?” Micky probes with a cant of his head.

“Fuck yeah,” I answer, and Ethan numbly nods. “We know so much more than we did then.”

“You gonna do bettah, then?” Micky continues.

“Do better, be better,” Ethan asserts.

“Fuck yeah,” I reply with a twitchy quirk of my lips.

Jake slaps a hand down on my thigh and waggles his brows. “ Feck ya. It’s feck ya .”

“Right, feck ya,” I say on a choked laugh.

“Good, ’cause that’s all you can do,” Micky proclaims with a firm nod. “Can’t change the past, but you gotta own it. You gotta own the shit you did, the decisions you made, and then make them mean somethin’. It’s what you do when you know bettah that mattahs most. Honor those hurt by past actions by being bettah to those you come across now and in the future.” His eyes go distant, and he shakes his head, snickering. “Feck knows I was a bloody shitehawk back in my days. Made a mess of things for me and my family.” He brings his gaze back down to us. “What I learned was I needed to own what I did, accept it, and accept myself—then become who I am, who I could be, by making bettah choices.” Scrubbing the underside of his jaw with the back of his knuckles, he muses, “Don’t think I’d be me now if I wasn’t me then, ya know?”

“Damn,” Ethan gusts out, shaking his head, looking at Micky with gleaming eyes. “Billie was so lucky to have you, to find you again.”

Micky chuckles shaking his head, his light-blue eyes welling with tears. “That kid gave me a reason to be bettah, to stay on the path. Jimmy was born a grumpy old man, responsible and stalwart, probably because both his folks were such messes. He had a little bit of a tempah. The boxin’ helped with that. But the kid?”

“Savage Demon,” Jake chuckles, lifting his ball cap up to sweep his fingers through his sandy-blond-brown hair and them tugging it back on. “Feckin’ savage.”

“But willing to learn, to grow,” Dom adds. He looks up at Micky and arches a fiery brow. “We all needed you, Micky. You helped us all out.”

Micky pats mine and Ethan’s shoulders “See... made it mattah, now didn’t I?” He winks.

“And so will we,” Ethan promises with steel in his voice, his eyes drifting to mine.

“So will we,” I repeat holding the gaze, solidifying the vow.

“We all will,” Jake adds, tipping his chin to the screen. “’Cause no way in hell that’s happening to Demon or any of you guys. Don’t get it all, but this is sickening and not somethin’ to be ignored. We’ll sort it out. We’ll help.”

“Um,” I start, “don’t know if Billie will...”

“I’ll take care of the kid.” Micky cuts in, scratching behind his ear and then rolling his eyes skyward. “Just gotta make sure there’s no plates or cups around is all. Just bought that new set after she left for college.” Soft humming chuckles sound from Dom and Jake. Micky looks back at the screen and says “Get me the names and files of those in charge. I’ll pass the information along to some contacts of mine here and in Ireland. I know ya think this is a shifter issue, but it seems like humans are runnin’ the show. We need information, and then we need leverage. Don’t think for a moment those men haven’t been doin’ the same. Suits will always go for blackmail rather than steppin’ in the ring. We gotta think like them.”

“I think we should consider Ghostbusting them,” Dom muses with a few head bobs.

“You don’t mean crossing the streams, because I don’t think we’re supposed to do that,” I tease.

“Nah, man.” Dom laughs shaking his head. “The villain in the first movie, the one that was trying to shut them down was the EPA.” He waves a hand at the screen showing Billie, Dunne, and Xander stepping into an elevator. “This is a biopharmaceutical laboratory, and though our concern is with a particular section of their products or whatever, according to their website, which lists none of this obviously, they’re responsible for several drugs that are on the market, and working on bringing new ones to the market. The FDA has strict guidelines and requirements for shit like this. If we can ingest it, then it needs to be safe. And that safety has to be traceable, from vendors of raw materials to compounding and manufacturing to storage and labeling.”

“Kill ’em with paperwork,” Jake surmises.

“Shit, Billie might break out in hives if she hears that,” I comment.

“No shite.” Micky huffs a laugh, slipping his readers off and pointing them at the screen. “Looks like they’re leaving now, and—” Yup, the video goes blank, and all background noise ceases. “And the show’s ovah.”

“Micky,” Jake says, his brows knitting. Micky turns to him and jerks his chin. Jake readjusts his cap. “Seems like they know more about Demon than she or we expected. Thinkin’ like humans...”

“I’ll make calls,” Micky grunts, pulling out an old-school flip phone. “No one will be using us to get to herh.” He looks at us and swings the phone between Ethan and me. “Make sure you do the same. One thing about the kid: She’ll sacrifice herself for those she loves. She’d rather die than go through what she did when herh parents were taken. Cover yah asses. Ya can’t be open targets.”

“She’ll want to know what you’re doin’,” Jake mutters, raising his hands when Micky shoots him a scowl. “You know she will. If you’re doin’ what I think you’re doin,’ you gotta keep her in the loop. Anything happens and she finds out after, it’ll kill her.”

“Feckin’ mouthy brat is whatcha yah are, Jakey,” Micky curses, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Jimmy and Marcus would say the same thing,” Dom contends.

“Somethin’ happens to you because of you protecting her, she’ll follow you to the other side just to bitch ya out,” Jake says and then impersonates a young Billie. “You try to pull shit like that again, you’ll have more to worry about than the po-po .”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my gaze swinging between Micky and Jake.

Micky groans something under his breath while slipping his glasses—sorry, readers—just readers, he doesn’t need glasses—into the chest pocket of his insulated flannel. He swipes a hand down his drawn face and then scratches the side of his head.

“Look,” Jake says, pulling his hat off, raking his fingers through his hair, and then putting his hat on backward. Leaning forward with elbows on knees, his rubs his hands together. “Like three years back, we were at one of her away soccer games in Revere. Enzo was with us, and everything was fine. But there was a group of three guys there, and Enzo kept on side-eyeing them like he recognized ’em or somethin’. Second half of the game, there was a play where Demon ended up near them, and you could tell they recognized her. And they let her know, yellin’ something that we couldn’t make out. But she could. She was startled, totally shook, messed up the play. She tried to get her head back in the game but couldn’t. She paled, and her eyes kept going to them for the rest of the half.”

“Enzo was jumpy,” Dom says. “Like, more jumpy than normal, and back then, he was on edge all the time, especially in public. But...” Dom shrugs. “He’d started getting comfortable with us, and for Billie, he’d deal with it. He’d deal with just about anything for her. Once he saw the interaction, he nibbled his thumb bloody, eyes swinging between the guys and Billie.”

“Jimmy pressed Enzo,” Jake grumbles. “Pressed him for info. All he would say was they’d been at the shelters with them a couple of times. The last time, in the middle of the night, two of them snatched Billie and took her into the basement, while the third kept lookout. Enzo couldn’t sleep and had gone out back to smoke a cigarette. Guy still has issues sleepin’. Came back to their cot to find no Billie. He noted the other two empty cots and went searching for her. He managed to fight his way past the guy up top and got to the basement just as Billie was kicking and crawling away from the other two. Her clothes were ripped. Face was okay, but her neck was swollen and red, same with her back and shoulders.”

“I saw red,” Micky cuts in, throwing his hands up. “Like I’d nevah seen red before. When the kid came to us, she was all kinds of banged up, skittish, and wary. All I could see was the little lass who pitched a fit ovah wearing dresses, loved pranks, and laughed all the time, just so joyous and happy and such a little troublemakah. I saw herh being held down by those older boys, losing all that spirit, and it just broke me.” He waves a hand in front of his face and then folds his arms over his broad chest. “She was tiny back then, just a slight thing. Malnourished—shite, starved. She was livin’ on the streets—herh and Enzo, eatin’ outta dumpsters when they couldn’t get into the shelters. And still such a little fighter. I wanted to right one of the wrongs, ya know?” My stomach is a twisted mess, and I feel like curling up in a tight ball around her and never letting go. We know the basics of her childhood, but hearing these details? It’s always worse than I wanted to imagine. Micky groans, looking away. “She’d gone through so much, wronged by God or whatevah, then those who were supposed to take care of herh. And I wanted to fight for herh.” His narrowed eyes slide to Jake.

“Hey,” Jake says, shaking his head and widening his eyes. “I pick my battles, and I’d rather deal with you bein’ pissy at me than Demon finding out I knew and didn’t do anything. So instead of arguing with you and Jimmy about not doing anything, I told Demon. Let her decide.”

“The kid tore me a new one, let me tell yah.” Micky groans, shaking his head. “Just ran up one side of me, then down the other. I was still tryin’ to fight herh on it on the ride back home.” He gazes skyward, his eyes welling with tears again. “Then she kicked everyone else out of the carh but me and herh, and turned on the damn waterworks, tellin’ me, How could I threaten taking away anymore of herh family? Hadn’t she lost enough? That she almost lost Enzo to those punks, and now she had to worry about losin’ me and Jimmy too? Then the threat...” He shakes his head and groans a laugh. “She climbed up through the middle of the two front seats, got herh red, teary face right in mine, and said if I ever tried to risk my life for herhs, she’d make sure I had nothin’ to risk my life for, that’d she’d leave. She’d run away after breaking every damn plate I had first.”

“So you gotta tell her, keep her in the loop. You know you do,” Jake says, a pleading hitch to his voice.

“I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about,” I comment looking at Ethan with raised brows. He manages to quirk a half smile in understanding. Then I swing my gaze between Micky and Jake. “But we agree with Jake. She doesn’t like finding things out after the fact.”

“Neither does Little Fox,” Ethan adds. “And she’ll be even more... reactive after this visit.”

“Little Fox is Billie’s shifter form?” Dom probes.

“Yeah.” I nod. “It’s hard to explain the relationship,”

“Which can be done at another time,” Ethan interjects, pressing up from his chair and neatening his dark-green, almost-black dress shirt. “We’ve got a fundraiser to go to. Because if we have no idea about the outcome of their visit, then it’d be expected for us to be at the event, waiting for them to show up.”

“Fuck,” I groan, finally losing the battle and raking my fingers through my styled hair. I shoot up to standing and rebutton my royal-dark-blue dress shirt before grabbing my black tie and suit jacket.

“Yeah, and Jakey over there is gonna be late for his server gig,” Dom adds with a shit-eating grin, tipping his chin to Jake.

“Shite,” Jake curses, pressing up to standing and stretching his arms above his head. “Probably be the last one they hire me for, damn.”