CHAPTER ELEVEN
Did Warden leap up, grab his son—who’d just spent a painful time learning about how Collars came off—and start running around Shiftertown doing it? No, he sat there contemplating Graham with his jade-colored eyes, and clasped his hands behind his head.
“You two want to tell me what you’re talking about?” Eric asked.
“You want to call off your posse?” Graham growled, baring his wolf’s teeth at Jace and Cassidy. “If I wanted you dead, I’d have attacked you and not let them stop me. Where’s your mate?” he added, realizing he neither saw nor scented Iona.
“Busy.” Meaning Eric wasn’t about to tell Graham. “Reid, get in here and close the door. It’s hot.”
Reid obeyed. Showed how seriously he took this, because Reid usually gave Shifters who told him what to do a f*ck-off glare. Now Reid only walked inside and shut the solid door, closing out the morning heat.
“All right, you have my attention,” Eric said. “Talk.”
Graham drew a breath. The last person he wanted to tell he was weakened was Warden, but the risk went beyond him now. Being alpha, and leader, didn’t only mean Graham could best all other Shifters. It meant he took good care of those he bested.
“I think we’re all screwed,” Graham said. “Because of the Collars. What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room, all right?”
He launched into the story of what had happened out in the desert, including him drinking the Fae water, the dream he’d shared with Misty, the way they’d tried to counteract the spell, and his dream alone with Oison. He left out the more intimate moments he and Misty had shared in her backyard after the spell had left her—some things were none of their frigging business.
As he spoke, Cassidy moved to Diego, who put his arms around her from behind, and Jace joined his father on the sofa. No one had changed position all that much, but just enough to show that fighting was no longer imminent.
“Oison,” Eric repeated when Graham had finished. “Know anything about him, Reid?”
“Never heard of him,” Reid said. “But Faerie’s a big place.”
“If you’ve never heard of him, how do you know I’m right about him and the sword?” Graham asked. Reid had never hurried to agree with Graham before.
“Because of Misty’s book,” Reid said. “It contains many anti-Fae spells. From what I gleaned from the notes and subtext, the Fae might once before have tried to use devices to bring the Shifters back into their power, I’d say about a hundred years ago. Except, the last time, they didn’t have the technology available to them that humans have now.”
Only Reid could use words like gleaned and subtext with a straight face. “I really want to know about this half Fae who designed the Collars for us,” Graham said. “No, what I really want to do is break his face.”
“He’s dead,” Eric said in a mild voice. “But his son is still around somewhere.”
“I say we round him up and talk to him.”
“I think we agree,” Eric said. He unclasped his hands and rested them on his abdomen. “Write it down. Doesn’t happen often.”
Diego spoke up from behind Cassidy. “Let me see if I understand this. This Fae, in your dream, had a sword that, what, connected to your Collar?”
“Yep,” Graham said. “Like a key and a lock. Only the lock hurt like hell.”
“And from this dream, you’re guessing there are more swords that will affect more Collars?” Diego went on.
“I’m saying they figured out a way to manipulate the Collars,” Graham said impatiently. “Figured it out even before the Collars went on us. Like electronic dog leashes. And they’ve been planning this for the last twenty years.”
“Kind of a long time to wait,” Diego said.
“Time moves differently for the Fae,” Graham said. “At least that’s what that a*shole told me in my dream. And he wouldn’t stay dead, which means he was there and not there at the same time, devious bastard. I bet the pain was there for him, though. Not that it makes me feel any better.”
“We need a leader meeting,” Eric said.
Graham’s temper, which he’d barely been holding on to, splintered. “Whoa, what happened to What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room? I’m not letting other Shiftertown leaders know I’m spelled. They’ll eat me alive. You know it, so don’t give me that patient look.”
“If you’ll shut up,” Eric said. “I’ll tell you I agree with you. Again. That’s twice in one morning. Amazing.”
“If there’s a leader meeting, I’m going to it,” Graham said. “And you’re going to say exactly what I tell you to say.”
“I don’t—”
Graham cut Eric off. “I’m going. There, we disagree on that, but suck it up. Set up the meeting, tell me when and where.”
Before Eric could draw breath to speak again, Graham turned his back and walked out. His heart was thumping hard, in worry and pain.
What Oison had done scared him, not only for himself but for Shifters like Dougal, Lindsay, and others—Shifters who weren’t strong enough to fight the Fae. They’d end up Fae slaves in a second, their wills taken away, made to fight Fae wars in the realm of Faerie, and maybe here too if Oison’s cryptic statements were anything to go by.
Fae had difficulty in the human world because of all the iron and steel. But if they enslaved Shifters to fight the humans for them, the violence the humans feared from Shifters would come to pass. Shifters wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, even if they loathed what the Fae made them do. And Graham knew plenty of Shifters, unfortunately, who wouldn’t hate killing humans, even for the Fae.
Before Graham had met Misty, he might have been one of those not caring if humans suffered. But Graham had met Misty, and he’d kissed her, and he’d kill every Shifter on the planet, and every Fae in Faerie, before he’d let any of them touch her.
? ? ?
Paul met Misty at her store later that morning. Her brother leaned on a push broom in the main part of the shop and looked dejectedly down at the broken glass and ruined flowers.
He dropped the broom when he saw Misty and came to her, wrapping his rawboned arms around her in a deep hug. Paul had grown up too fast after their parents’ divorce, and had tried to act tough, but underneath, he was still a frightened boy.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Misty.”
Misty said nothing, only held him close. After a few minutes, Paul raised his head and wiped his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll fix it. I’ll get you money . . .”
“You don’t have to do anything at all,” Misty said quickly. “Not your fault Flores is a criminal. Don’t even clean up. The insurance adjuster has to look at the damage first.”
“Insurance guy is already here,” Paul said. “In the back.”
“Really? That was fast.” Misty had known people with property damage who’d had to wait weeks, even months, before their claims started to process.
She left Paul and went into her office to find a man in a white shirt and dark tie, holding a clipboard and making check marks on it left-handed.
“Most of the damage is in the front,” Misty said. “Not much back here.” Thank God. Her safe and most valuable vases had been in her storage room. Flores’s gang had come for Paul and revenge, not petty cash.
“I see that.” The man switched the clipboard to his left hand and stuck out his right. He did it a little awkwardly, as someone who had to practice doing anything with that hand. “I’m Kevin Foster, from your insurance company.” He released Misty, plucked a card from the top of his clipboard, and handed it to her. “They really busted up the place, didn’t they?”
“Pretty much.”
Kevin smiled. He had dark hair and blue eyes that crinkled in the corners. “It’s too bad. This is a nice little place. I hope you can get it up and running again.”
“That’s the plan. As soon as the claim gets filed.”
“Which, I know, insurance companies can take a long time with.” Another little smile. “But I’ll do what I can.”
“Can I start cleaning up? I’d love to get back to work.”
“I’ll clear it. Repairs have to be made by approved workers, though, keep in mind, or the company might not pay the claim.”
Misty strove to remain polite. In the real world, things could move at a snail’s crawl. Meanwhile, businesses went under because customers lost faith in them.
Kevin seemed to understand. “I’ll do my best. Don’t worry. Give it a week, tops.”
“Really?” Misty’s skepticism rose. “I don’t mean to be rude, but . . .”
“But nothing. I’m a friend of Iona Warden’s. She was waiting at my office this morning and pretty much wouldn’t let me even grab my first cup of coffee before she made sure I was headed out here. My company does a lot of work with her family.”
Ah. Iona, mate to Eric, ran a construction and contracting company with her mother and sister. Humans had been kept in the dark that Iona was half Shifter so she wouldn’t have to give up her livelihood. Shifters weren’t allowed to own businesses, or run them, or even hold very high positions in them. Such were the unfair laws governing Shifters.
“Tell her thank you,” Misty said.
“I will.” Kevin gave her another smile. He was cute, really. A normal guy. “You start your cleanup,” Kevin said. “I can recommend a service to help you, if you want.”
“I’ll let you know. Thanks for coming.”
Kevin gave her a final smile and departed. Misty followed him out of the store and watched him get into a conservative four-door car. He started up, backed carefully out of his space, and used his turn signal when he left the parking lot. A guy who played by the rules.
Paul was sweeping the floor inside the store again, and a few men from DX Security were helping scoop up and throw away the glass and petals. When Misty tried to help with the manual labor, Xavier told her not to—she might cut herself on the shards, he said. They’d take care of everything.
Shifters were amazing, Misty thought as she went back into her office. They banded together when any of their own were in trouble and worked to solve their problems. Cassidy’s mate, Diego, had come to Graham’s rescue in the desert; Diego had made sure his security company and Xav helped and protected Misty afterward. Iona had driven across town this morning to urge the insurance adjuster to start on Misty’s store right away. Misty wasn’t even Shifter—she was Graham’s girlfriend, and she wasn’t even sure of that status. But the Shifters had sent resources to help her, even when Misty knew Eric and Graham didn’t get along much of the time. They pulled together as a community. It warmed her that they considered her part of it.
Misty spent the rest of the morning canceling orders, e-mailing or calling customers, and apologizing until she was breathless. This was so wrong. Flores had broken into her store and wrecked her business, and she had to apologize.
By lunch, she needed a break. Paul and the security guys had done a great job sweeping everything up and salvaging what they could. The refrigeration room and the watering system still worked, which was a blessing, but she’d need to replace all the glass doors, her counters, shelving, and the front door and window, which would be expensive, and who knew how much insurance would cover?
Depressed, she told Xav she was heading a few doors down to get herself an enchilada at the little café that served New Mexico–style Mexican food. Paul had already gone down there, Xav said and offered to walk with her.
Xav was another nice guy, Misty decided. He wore the same black T-shirt as the rest of the security men, the tight fabric showing off every muscle beneath it. Diego and Xav had probably decided on the shirts to reassure clients that DX Security hired only strong guys.
Misty focused on the DX men in an effort to not dwell on a Shifter who also looked hot in a tight T-shirt. Even hotter without it.
Graham hadn’t called Misty all morning, hadn’t said a word. Stay away, he’d told her forcefully. Misty thought she understood why—now that she’d broken free of the thirst spell, he didn’t want her near him to get caught in danger again. He was hurting, vulnerable, and didn’t want to drag her into his problems.
Well, she’d dragged him into hers first. They should work on this together.
But who was she kidding? Graham had never indicated he wanted anything more from Misty than dating, and not even serious dating. Even if they figured out a way to get Graham free from the Fae spell, Graham might tell Misty he wanted to call it quits. She’d already laid the groundwork by getting mad at him and asking him not to call her.
And look how long that had lasted. Graham had come charging to her house only a few hours later. And now he was deciding they should stay apart. He drove her insane, and she was never going to win a control battle with him.
She needed to forget about Graham, Misty decided. There were plenty of other men around—for instance, Xav, or Kevin the insurance guy.
But Graham wasn’t someone she could easily forget, and Misty knew it. He lingered, like the taste of the best wine—or something with a little harsher bite, like the tequila last night.
You are so beautiful. The words had softened Graham’s rough-edged voice. The tequila talking, Misty guessed. But the phrase had shot straight to her heart and lodged there. She had no illusions about what she looked like, but Graham had been talking about how he saw her. Misty would treasure his words for a long time.
Misty and Xav reached the restaurant. It was crowded, this place popular. Paul had already snagged a table. Misty ordered herself an enchilada with spinach and white cheese topped with green chile sauce, her favorite. Paul went for a chimi, and Xav had the carnitas, the restaurant’s specialty.
Halfway through the meal, which Misty was too distracted to appreciate, Paul excused himself and went into the back. When Misty glanced at him in the rear hall of the restaurant, he beckoned to her.
He wanted to talk to her alone. Paul wasn’t entirely comfortable in social atmospheres yet, and he often asked Misty to step aside with him while he worked out his nerves.
“What is it?” she asked quietly as she joined him. The restaurant’s crowd was noisy today, Xav answering his phone and not watching them, but Misty didn’t want anyone overhearing. Paul was easily embarrassed these days.
“A friend of mine wants to talk to you,” Paul said. “Think we can ditch our bodyguards?”
Misty’s alarm grew again. “What friend?”
“Don’t worry, he’s not from one of the prison gangs I had to sell my soul to.” Paul made a face. “I met him after I got out. He knows my parole officer, actually. Probably wants to talk to you about keeping me out of trouble.”
Misty let out her breath. “All right. Have him come by the store after lunch, and we can talk in my office. I’m sure Xav will let us have a private conversation.”
“He’s here now. Wants to talk right away. He’s busy.”
“Here?” Misty scanned the small restaurant. Xav glanced their way but looked unworried, still on his phone. “Where? Why doesn’t he come and have lunch with us?”
“He’s in the alley. He only has a few minutes.”
Misty stepped in front of Paul as he started for the restaurant’s rear door. “Oh, right. Because that doesn’t sound suspicious at all. Who is this guy? If he wants to talk to me so much, he can come to the store. It’s only three doors down.”
Paul looked suddenly afraid, which rang even more alarms. “Misty, please.”
“No,” Misty said firmly. “I’m not stupid enough to meet some guy I don’t know in a back alley, even in broad daylight. If he’s legit, he’ll come to my office.”
Paul opened his mouth to argue more, but Misty broke away from him. “Let’s go finish lunch. We’ll talk about him later.”
To her relief, Paul followed her instead of charging out after this person. Paul pulled out his phone and was texting, probably canceling the back-alley appointment.
Xav gave the two of them a sharp look when they returned to the table, but he didn’t ask. Paul finished his meal without speaking, and Misty picked at hers, wishing she could enjoy it.
Back at the store, Paul followed Misty into her office. “He’s legit, Misty,” he said. He looked angry now instead of afraid. “He’s on his way.”
“Fine, then.” Misty sat at her desk, turned to her computer, and pulled up her never-ending e-mail.
Paul stepped out and returned in a few minutes with a man who was on the short side, but broad-shouldered and buff, without an ounce of fat on him. In his thirties, Misty guessed as she looked up from her terminal. He had very short black hair and tatts that proclaimed he’d been in prison at least once.
“Hi,” the man said, stopping on the other side of her desk. His voice was gruff, a little bit like Graham’s, but he gave her a little smile and sounded apologetic. “I’m Ben. Sorry about that. Paul didn’t think you’d want me coming here or even talking to you in the restaurant. I’m so obviously an ex-con.”
Which meant Paul wasn’t supposed to be talking to him. A friend of his parole officer? Really?
“What can I do for you, Ben?” Misty asked.
“It’s not what you can do for me.” Ben leaned on his hands on the desk, which made every muscle press against his sun-worn skin. “It’s what you can do for your boyfriend, Graham McNeil.”
“What?” Misty came alert, not pretending to give Ben anything other than her full attention. The man looked fairly harmless—well, as harmless as a tough man with prison tatts could look—but his brown eyes held only friendliness. He certainly wasn’t a Fae, at least, Misty didn’t think so. Did they all look like the hiker?
Paul had remained by the door, his back to it. He looked uneasy but not surprised that Ben was asking about Graham.
“McNeil is in a lot of trouble,” Ben said. “You know that. He’s dying. And you can save him, if you want to. Do you want to save him, Misty?”