As a building, it reminded me of a werewolf in his wolf form trying to pass himself off as a friendly husky.
The designers had tried to make it reminiscent of human city halls. The front part of the building had four Greek columns and was about two stories tall with a large overhang for drop offs and deliveries and was constructed in a combination of yellow limestone and white granite, that made it almost appear striped from certain angles.
The proverbial wolf, however, was the rest of the building that crowded up behind it, looming over its shoulder with several domed ceilings, a main building that was several stories high, fancy archways set over huge arched windows, gargoyles jutting out of the walls, and enough seals, spells, and wards to knock anyone with the tiniest amount of magical senses on their rear.
I was convinced they had more than a few illegal spells on the place—the outside seemed to take up distinctly less space than you found on the inside of the building.
Greyson got a good spot in the visitor parking lot—it wasn’t nine yet, so the place was pretty empty—and sauntered toward/under the large overhang where two stone dragon statues guarded the front doors.
I started to follow after him, until I saw two people—werewolves for certain based on their upright and almost assertive posture—standing under the overhang, waiting.
I turned on my heels and headed for a side door—I had nothing against Pre-Dominant Harka, but I didn’t want to get dragged into talks about the Northern Lakes Pack that I had no business hearing as an outsider.
Greyson countered my plan and slung his arm over my shoulders, rerouting me. “Nope,” he said. “There’s no way you’re throwing me to the Pre-Dominant like a sacrificial offering when she’s here for you.”
“I wasn’t throwing,” I objected. “I was being discreet. I don’t care what you say, she’s not here for me!”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” There was a grim scratch to Greyson’s usually smooth voice that made me jerk my head and peer up at him.
The set of his mouth was tugged down—a rare show of grimness from him—and he watched Harka with the same wariness in his golden eyes as he used when watching a potential threat.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You’re not as unnoticed as you think,” he said in a tone so low I wasn’t sure the other wolves could hear him.
“Alpha Greyson, Hunter Phillipa Sabre. Welcome to Magiford!” The female wolf with an unusually slender build for a werewolf—though she had the pronounced muscles of a gymnast—smiled, lowering the intensity of her deep blue eyes.
Greyson snapped off a nod that barely counted as lowering his head. “Pre-Dominant Harka.”
I saw Harka’s eyes lingering on his arm that was still casually slung over my shoulder, so I grabbed him by the wrist and flicked his arm off. “Good morning, Pre-Dominant Harka, and…” I trailed off as I squinted at the other wolf.
“Oh, yes. Alpha Greyson, Hunter Phillipa, this is my nephew, Rafe. He’s likely going to be the next Alpha of my Pack once I retire, so he’s begun working with me now to get used to the responsibilities.” Harka beckoned at the other wolf, and he stepped up with a smile.
The Pack Alpha, but not the Pre-Dominant. How obvious is it that she’s doing this so she can introduce Rafe to Greyson, who will probably be the next Pre-Dominant, so she can get the two of them to buddy up before they both move into their positions?
This was why I was happy I was a hunter. The hunter families fought and disagreed, but there were too few of us to play any dumb political ploys.
“Hello, Hunter Sabre and Alpha Greyson. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Rafe inclined his head to Greyson, then smiled at me.
Rafe bore a decent resemblance to his aunt. His hair was dark—though more of a chocolate-y color than black like hers—and he had the same deep blue eyes. He was just a touch taller than her, and more of a wiry build, but age wise I’d put him in his late twenties with Greyson, or possibly in his early thirties with Chase.
Wolves were hard to pinpoint an age for as they were slower to show their age. They weren’t anything like the fae, but it was pretty rare for them to appear old—like Mama Dulce and Papa Santos had. (Usually, they died before they got to that point. For all of their strength and abilities, wolves did not have a high self-preservation drive.)
I thought Greyson would keep his powers locked up tight like he did with the Pack, but as he flicked his eyes from Pre-Dominant Harka to Rafe, I felt the unmistakable pressure of his spirit nipping at my legs.
“Pip punched a hunter, but I didn’t think she did anything so serious that would bring wolf royalty out to greet us,” he drawled.
Harka laughed, deepening the smile lines around her mouth as she casually pushed her hands into the pockets of her pantsuit. “I don’t think it’s a serious matter. If it got to be a big issue, the Regional Committee would have to hear the case, and while I would perhaps be forced to abstain given that I know Hunter Sabre, the vampire Eminence would put a stop to the matter quickly. He doesn’t like to waste his time unless it’s his idea, and he isn’t particularly forgiving to those who attempt it.”
“It shouldn’t be a big issue, regardless,” Rafe offered. “Arbiter Tanaka is fair, and I was told you will have legal representation; is that right, Hunter Sabre?”
“Yes. And I should get going. Into there. Pre-Dominant Harka, Rafe.” I scuttled sideways, attempting to walk into the building—you never ran from a wolf; that invited them to pounce.
Chapter 12
Pip
Greyson didn’t even say anything to them. He just sauntered after me without saying farewell.
“What, you don’t pretend to be a nice guy for them?” I muttered once we passed through the doors.
“Not anymore.” Greyson eyed a shifter standing guard. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Yep. I pulled up the Curia Cloisters map this morning when you were driving like a screaming banshee.” I smiled at the secretary sitting behind the front desk—she had gorgeous black hair without even a strand of frizz, and a smile that brought extra light to her dark eyes—as we walked past, turning off to a different section of the Cloisters.
We climbed a set of granite stairs, my heels tapping with precise clicks. I didn’t wobble too badly, even though I almost never wore heels. As Wyatt and Aeric loved to remind me, I’d rarely had an occasion to, given my failed romantic life.
I veered away from the stairwell and click-clacked my way down the hallway.
I looked pretty sharp, if I say so myself, in my dark gray skirt and suitcoat with my black heels and my white hair pulled back in a bun so neat it could maybe pass as blond if no one looked long enough.