These wolves didn’t even know what they’d walked into, but their natural arrogance preceded them, along with their model looks. Even the older one was stunning. Those cheekbones! Who naturally had cheekbones like that?
The Van Holtzes. That’s who. Tock normally couldn’t tell one pack from another. Wolves were wolves were wolves unless they played on her basketball team. But the Van Holtz Pack, whether from here or their original home country of Germany, stood out among the other shifter wolves because they all seemed to be stunningly beautiful and fucking arrogant.
And, normally, that made them perfect for Max to torture. Nothing she loved more than torturing arrogant beings of any gender, race, religion, breed, or species; but today she wasn’t going to do that. Not today.
Because Charlie had been baking.
It was why all the bears were lurking. They adored Charlie’s baking and would eat it every day if she’d open a bakery. But Charlie didn’t want to make baking a job; she wanted it to be a stress reliever. In fact, baking might be the only reason she wasn’t a homicidal maniac.
“You can’t see her now,” Max told the two canines. “That would be a very bad idea.”
“It’s important.”
“Don’t care.”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you see me smiling?” Max abruptly asked.
The older wolf blinked before replying, “Uh . . . no.”
“Right. And I always smile. I smile so much, I freak out my own mother. Do you know why I smile? Because I’m a fucking happy person. I love life. I love everything about life. I especially love making other people miserable. I’m good at it. And yet,” she continued, “I’m warning you away from seeing my sister despite what I know she’ll do to you. That should tell you something.”
“So, you’re seriously telling us—”
“If you walk into that house, you ain’t walkin’ out again. Instead, I’ll be searching out hyena territories to bury your bones.” That last part . . . she did say with a smile.
The wolves looked at each other, then back at Max.
“Fine,” the oldest canine replied. “But can you let her know I stopped by, and I’d like to talk?”
Max nodded. “I can do that. Do you have a business card I can give her?”
The two wolves gazed at Max, looked at each other, then back at Max.
“You don’t know who we are?” the eldest asked.
“Should I?”
“You and Charlie have been to my office to meet with me. You sort of work for us through Imani.”
“I know Imani!” she said cheerfully. “Still don’t remember you.”
“How is that possible?”
“You mean nothing to me, so why would I think about you?”
“And your sister? She’d remember us.”
“Doubtful.”
He handed her a business card pulled from a pocket inside his expensive suit jacket.
Max looked at it and announced, “Niles Van Holtz. What kind of name is Niles? Didn’t your parents love you?”
Nelle smoothly took the card from Max and pushed her out of the way. “We’ll make sure to let Charlie know you came by.”
“Thank you.”
The younger wolf was already heading back to their sleek black limo, but the older one stopped and looked over at Tock.
“Is your grandmother in town?” he asked her, but Tock wasn’t about to answer that question. She never answered that question, no matter who asked. One time Kissinger asked her that question . . . she didn’t answer him either.
When she didn’t respond, he walked away. Down the stoop, across the tiny front yard, and into the waiting limo.
Tock didn’t even know she’d pulled her gun and aimed it at the nosy canine’s head until her team grabbed her and pushed her up against the front door.
“It’s always fun when visitors come to call, isn’t it?” Max joked while pinning Tock to the house until the canines had driven away.
*
Ric Van Holtz wished he could just go home, but he had a job to do. And these days, he knew his job was more important than ever.
A shame really. That his kind couldn’t play nice. Instead, they were starting wars with honey badgers. One of the worst things he could think of anyone doing. For lots of reasons.
Honey badgers weren’t like the rest of them. They lived mostly in family units, coexisting with the full-humans of the world as if they belonged there. They normally had very little to do with the various shifter intelligence agencies: his organization, simply called the Group; Katzenhaus Securities, started in Germany by lions, but now worldwide and involving all cat breeds; and the BPC, aka the Bear Preservation Council, which handled all bear issues around the world.
Unless you got up close enough to catch their scent, you would never know honey badgers were anything but the full-humans most of them pretended to be. It was a mistake, however, to think they were nothing but a disorganized group of weasels that liked to steal. In reality, they were a dangerously unstable but highly organized gang of vicious predators that could shut down entire nations on a whim.
That was the thing about badgers. They were never the leaders of the countries they took down. They were smarter than that. A leader could lose his throne or be assassinated. So honey badgers were never the front-facing ones. That would only make them targets.
No, they were never the tsars of a country. They were the Rasputins. They were never the Lenins. They were the Trotskys. They were never the pope, but they were definitely one of the cardinals. Over time, depending on how powerful they became, they might become targets, but they never started off that way. And depending on what their plan was, they could topple entire ruling parties. Sometimes because they had an agenda. Sometimes because they were bored and had nothing better to do. And sometimes because they were just feeling downright mean.
One never knew with a honey badger.
So to purposely start a fight with them seemed . . . stupid. He was going to say reckless, but nope. It was just plain stupid. Reckless was when his daughter tried to juggle knives while his back was turned. Stupid was trying to kill honey badgers. A species that made hyenas appear warm and friendly.
Instead of heading back to Manhattan and the Group office, the limo turned at the corner and made its way down the street until it reached another shifter-only neighborhood. Not bears this time, but cats. They pulled up in front of a lovely house where cubs and a few moms were lounging out front. As soon as his Uncle Van stepped out of the limo, the kids were sent inside and male lions woke up from their lazy napping to unleash fangs and claws in warning.
By the time Ric got out of the limo, Imani Ako was out of her house and motioning the males away with a sweep of her hand.
“Niles,” she said, coming down the walkway toward them, “how did it go?”
“How do you think? I couldn’t get in to see the eldest. And the other one didn’t even remember us.”
“It’s always better to be forgotten by badgers than to take up any of their memory. That way lies skinning.”
“Don’t remind me.”
She laughed. “And Ulric—” she began before turning her head so Ric could kiss her cheek.
“Imani.”