“Just need you to take care of me, baby.”
“We’re done here, Delilah.”
She blew him a sarcastic kiss and left him alone at last. His employees—hell, most of Shady Heart—referred to him as “Black Bart,” a play on his middle name and the dark looks he aimed in their direction when their work fell short of his exacting standards. Originally, they’d used the nickname only behind his back, but then more openly as soon as they’d realized he didn’t care one way or the other. Women, especially, seemed to prefer it, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, particularly when they managed to entice him into their beds and boasted about it afterwards.
Whatever.
He had bigger things to worry about. Like keeping the clan alive.
Years earlier, he’d forged a secret pact with Magnum Tao, the old Black Hills Wolves alpha. Magnum’s chief interests lay in lining his own pockets, not caring whether he destroyed the pack in pursuit of his greed. He gave up more and more pack territory, dense, untouched forest land, until he held little more than the town of Los Lobos itself. But now the old alpha was dead, and it didn’t look like he’d get the same sweet deal from Drew Tao, the new pack leader. Something told him the prodigal son was more thoughtful, more interested in rebuilding both the pack and Los Lobos and the surrounding areas. Keeping secure buffer zones around shifter territory and those out to destroy the changelings. Not unlike Cal.
The hell with that.
He wanted—needed—the whole fuckin’ mountain under his control. Wolves be damned. Only then could he ensure the safety and security of the pride. A few were skinwalkers like his rebellious niece, able to take any animal form they wished. But most were purebred cats of one kind or another. South Dakota had declared open season on mountain lions and the human hunters didn’t distinguish between the endangered feral variety or the Shady Heart shifters. Only about ten breeding male mountain lions and forty breeding females remained in the wilds of the Black Hills. He’d be damned if that would happen to his extended Shady Heart family. No way would he let the humans wipe out his cats. He’d take over the whole fuckin’ mountain and build a fuckin’ fortress around Clan Goldspark or die trying.
Only one thing he had less use for than a human. And that was a wolf. Especially if Magnum Tao was an example of sterling lupine character. Crazy fuck.
Cal’s lieutenants were primed and bulldozers were poised to raze Los Lobos to the ground, to create a new walled and gated Goldspark community, well-armed and guarded, off-limits to anyone he didn’t want in, forbidden to all those who could not exhibit the proper papers or enough coin. He planned an exclusive country club and luxury mall/entertainment complex to keep the residents entertained, and bring in cash from the outside, the way the enormous influx of money from his Graymarket Trading Company Saloon and Casino enterprises insured the pride’s wealth, stabilized Shady Heart, and fueled the current project. Prosperity and electronic fences insured the clan’s safety. Its longevity. Foreigners could spend all their cash in Shady Heart. But if they ventured near mates, cubs, residences…he’d make sure they were taken out. Fast.
He took another swig of the Scotch, setting the glass on a stack of blueprints and files, and rolled up the sleeves of his black button down, preparing to get back to work. Someone pounded on his office door, the hammering insistent and urgent. He recognized the knock.
“What is it, Smash?”
“Need you out here, Boss.” The deep voice of his second, a swift and lethal puma, carried over the club’s din. A moment later, Smash Snowdon poked his head into the office. Then his broad, bulky shoulders. Then the rest of his massive frame.
He’d chosen his bouncer and cat-of-all-trades well. “Yeah?”
“Your niece, boss. She’s back.”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “So? You know Summer comes and goes as she pleases. Always has.” The most free-spirited member of his pride, she lived far out of town in a tree house she’d cajoled him into building in the woods after her parents died. He’d have done anything for his late sister—and he indulged her daughter the same way. Ever since her mishap as a kitten when she’d tumbled out of a tree, landing naked in human form before the gawking, hooting crowd that had gathered to watch her climb, she flitted around most often in her raven guise. Which drove him and his cat nuts. But which he consciously tried to accept. They’d lose her otherwise. They rarely saw her now.
And still more unlikely for her to put in an appearance at the saloon—although sometimes only her calming, sweet songs lifted the place out of chaos.