Stevie recognized him. There were two tiers of this generation of Van Holtz brothers. There was the eldest, Edgar, who oversaw the entire pack in the U.S., working closely with the German Van Holtz Pack and the U.S. government when necessary. The second oldest, Alder, who had once run the restaurant business in the U.S. but had been forced out a few years back. The rumor was embezzlement, but Stevie didn’t know how accurate that was. The family never discussed it one way or the other. And then there was the third oldest, Niles, who was also known as Van. He ran the Group, a government organization protecting shifters all over the world, especially hybrids; he was also family negotiator when anyone had to deal with Alder.
But there were three more Van Holtz brothers connected to the first trio. These were the three who had been walking toward the house. In no particular order, since she didn’t know their ages, there was Heller, also called “Hel”; Lothaire, also called “Lot”; and Gerulf, only called “Wolf.” Stevie didn’t blame him for insisting on a ridiculously redundant nickname for a wolf shifter. Because who wanted to be called “Gerulf”? These three wolf brothers had very Old German names and very little was known about them. While the three oldest were outward facing, seamlessly gliding between the shifter and full-human worlds without problem, Stevie rarely heard about the three younger brothers. She knew they were rich. She knew they were trained chefs . . . and that was about it.
“Gentlemen,” Stevie greeted them as she approached.
“Stevie MacKilligan,” Wolf said, greeting her with a head nod. The fact that he knew her name was a little unnerving. Stevie had never met the three youngest brothers before. She knew of them, of course, because Charlie had showed her pictures once of the family so Stevie could recognize them on sight. Edgar and Niles Van Holtz’s involvement with the government had made that necessary. Still, she hadn’t met these three before now. And yet, Wolf had greeted her as if he’d known her for years. “Not to be impolite, Stevie, but why are you here?”
She shrugged at the question. “We were brought here.”
There was a momentary look of confusion on Wolf’s face but it quickly changed to outright annoyance and anger.
“Dammit!” he barked, spinning around, stomping to the front of the house and throwing open the door to the mansion.
“Tracey!” he bellowed as he stormed into the entryway. “Get your ass down here!”
As Lot stepped inside behind his brother, he sniffed the air. “I think . . .” He sniffed again. “I think someone is baking in our kitchen.”
Realizing it had to be Charlie, Stevie looked at Shen and mouthed, Uh-oh.
*
Charlie looked up when three very handsome wolves entered the kitchen.
“What the hell are you doing?” one of them asked.
“Here.” Charlie went around the big counter and pushed a brownie into the male’s hand. “Try this.”
“I don’t want to try your brownie.”
“Eat it. I tried this fancy unsweetened cocoa you had in your pantry. I usually just use Hershey’s, so I’m curious how this one will work in my recipe.”
“Dear God,” one of them gasped. “You used our cocoa?”
“Wench!”
Mads’s aunt burst into the room with her three honey badger friends.
“Wolf! You’re home!”
“She’s baking in our kitchen!”
“Let’s talk outside.”
“You brought them here and let this one bake in our kitchen!”
“Outside.” She forced a smile at Charlie. “Excuse us.”
She grabbed an arm and began dragging. Two of her friends followed suit with the other wolves.
Charlie thought about following, finding out what the problem was. But she knew herself. What would start out as a calm and rational conversation would quickly turn into a nasty fight and, eventually, a mass burial that she simply didn’t want to be involved in.
“Better to bake,” she told herself. “Always better to bake. Mass murder bad,” she reminded herself. “Baking good.”
With that bit of wisdom, she went back to what she loved.
*
“You need to calm down.”
“You brought them here?”
“What did you want me to do? She’s my niece.”
“Bring your niece. I don’t give a shit. But you brought all of them here.” Wolf pointed an accusing finger at his wife. “I smell cat, too.”
“Yes. There are tigers in your home. Malones, specifically.”
“Why don’t you just poison the entire pack?” Lot asked. His tone suggested reasoned thinking, but his words revealed what a nut he was. “Quick and easy. That way we don’t have to worry about watching our children being eaten by tigers.”
Trace gestured at the canine and asked CeCe, “Seriously?”
“When did I become responsible for Lot’s insanity?”
“When you married him!”
“A drunken night of irresponsibility that I immediately regretted.”
“That you have not dealt with in more than thirty years.”
CeCe sighed. “All that paperwork for a divorce. I’m an artist! Who has time for all that paperwork?”
Lot, who’d been sitting between his wife’s legs on the couch, looked back at her and said, “I love you, too, honey.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Steph tossed in. “They stay for a couple of days and then we get them out.”
“Unless Edgar comes.” Hel looked around the room. “Do we know if Edgar’s coming?”
“You males sound like panicked puppies,” Ox interjected. “If Edgar comes, I will deal with him.”
“No!” the entire group shouted at her.
“You’re not killing our brother,” Lot told Ox.
“What is this connection you boys have with each other?” Ox wanted to know. “When I was two, my sister tried to strangle me in the crib. I survived, and I’m stronger for it.”
“We do love these little amuse-bouche that you provide, Comrade,” Wolf snarled, “but they’re not particularly helpful.”
“Look, don’t worry,” Trace promised Wolf. “I’ve got this all under control.”
He almost believed her. She could tell. They’d known each other for over three decades, and she knew her husband. He was right there with the believing . . .
“Charlie?” a young honey badger called out from the foyer. Must be the younger MacKilligan sister. She had a bear and a cat with her as her protection detail. “Where are you?”
“In the kitchen. I’m baking!” The two males began to head that way, but Stevie MacKilligan quickly stopped them, stretching both arms out to block them.
“Okay!” she continued to bellow from her spot in the foyer. “Well . . . when you have a chance, I need access to a freezer! I have samples to test and I don’t want anyone to be accidentally poisoned by this stuff!”
“Told you,” Lot snapped.
“No problem!” Charlie screamed back. “They have a bunch of freezers in this kitchen! Just give me a few minutes to see which one will work for you!”
“That’s great! Thanks, Charlie!”
“No problem!”
“Hey! Where’s Max?”
“With Streep! Upstairs!”
“Okay! Thanks!” Stevie looked at the bear and cat. “Go, go, go!” she quietly ordered, pointing. Then all three scrambled up the stairs and disappeared to the second floor.
The wolves again focused on Tracey, and she smiled and started to reassure them, but the nearly two-hundred-pound female dog that had been brought to the house for some reason—along with her very young puppies—appeared in the archway and began to bark at her. And bark. And bark. Demanding food, most likely.
Two male dogs came down the stairs and joined the female. Together, like a little team, they all barked and barked and barked.