“No. I want to keep this strictly a shifter matter. It’ll hit home a little harder that way.”
“And I will keep the situation from escalating,” I said firmly. “I’ll stay out of it, but I can control the crowd without strong-arming them and causing more aggression. I can keep you from going too far without having to drag you off like some dog.” I poked him in the chest. “I’m going, Austin. We’ll knock that out, maybe have a drink, and then come back here and cuddle on the couch. And if that dickface Momar has any of his people attack me tonight, so help me God, I will go scorched earth on his ass.”
TWENTY-SIX
NESSA
NESSA COULDN’T HOLD back a lopsided grin as she watched Jessie stomp down the hall and Austin stare after her in dismay. That big, fearsome alpha would not be saying no to her. He was many things to a lot of people, but he was not pushy when it came to Jessie. Not when she’d set her mind to something.
“You did good,” Austin told Tristan, bracing his arms on the counter and hanging his head. He took a deep breath before straightening up. “You did real good. You handled that perfectly. Except maybe”—he tilted his head to either side—“telling Niamh.”
“She’ll have that place primed, everyone in whatever mood is likely to suit you best, sir. She’ll be your ace in the hole on this one, I think.”
“No.” He glanced in the direction of the bedrooms at the other end of the house. “That has always been my mate. I don’t want to drag her into this, but…”
“Pardon me for saying, sir, but you dragged her into this the second you decided to bring her to this pack. It was always going to go down like this. I don’t know what kind of man you were back in the day, but it certainly rattled some people.”
“For a while I was a nightmare incarnate.” His arms flexed, but he kept himself from showing emotion. “I was young, though. Stupid. For the five years after that, I did everything I could to turn myself around. I was a model citizen and always submissive to the hierarchy.” His whole body flexed now, like he wanted to punch something. “But then I left, and I think it ripped the fiber of the pack.”
“Staying would’ve almost certainly done the same thing, don’t you think?” Tristan countered.
“Your coming back to help is tearing that fiber in the other direction it seems, right?”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Austin murmured, his body starting to relax.
“You can fix it,” Nessa said, crossing one leg over the other. Dealing with their drama was so much more refreshing than making decisions about her own. “Our people and Kingsley’s are mostly getting along. The shifters in town absolutely love the garhettes. The kids like Edgar’s weird flowers and how creepy he is, the basajaunak are blending in nicely, and I think most of Kingsley’s people are coming around about the gargoyles. When they realize we helped save them—presuming we do help save them and don’t all die in the process—I don’t think very many will think of you as a pariah anymore. Everyone loves a victory, but they revere a hero.” She paused, her mood dark. “And, you know, if we all die, then who cares anyway, right?”
The room was silent for a moment after she’d finished.
“You good?” Austin asked her.
“I mean…” She shrugged. “Sure, why not. Aren’t we all?”
“Okay.” Jessie returned wearing jeans and a T-shirt with her hair up in a ponytail. “Let’s get this done. I have a couch and cuddling to return to.”
Nessa shook her head, watching them leave. “Relationship goals, right there.”
Silence crept between her and Tristan, alone now, and the house suddenly seemed very still.
Sebastian was out collecting ingredients for some potion or other, and everyone who might stop by was probably at the bar waiting to see how it all went down. Nessa hoped Austin absolutely crushed the crew that had ambushed Jessie. What cowardly, despicable bags of shit.
Soon the creeping thoughts from earlier filtered back in, a thousand scenarios rolling through her head. The unnamed buyer had changed the plans, setting up the new situation, trying to play her like a pawn as if she were new to this schtick…
“What are the particulars of an informational situation?” Tristan asked. His smooth, deep voice jolted her back to reality. She’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Um…” She sagged against the cushion. Might as well talk it through. There was only so long it could be trapped in her head, circling ’round and ’round. “Okay, well, there are a few possible scenarios, usually pertaining to the identity of the buyer or the current landscape in the mage world.”
She took a deep breath. “That said, I have a shell of an alias buying a decently sized order of artillery with a time constraint—”
“Meaning a last-minute purchase?”
“Correct. A fake persona—a persona not hiding its fakeness, at that—is purchasing a good few weapons at the last minute and having them delivered for pickup to a Podunk location where Momar just so happens to be gearing up for a full-scale attack on shifters.”
Tristan sat back as well, saying nothing for a moment. “Is it possible people might think it is Momar’s organization placing the order?”
“Very, very unlikely. These are second-rate weapons coming from disreputable people on a type of magical black market. And he wouldn’t use an alias. He wouldn’t have to. It is plausible for a band of mercenaries to place an order like this. If they got a last-minute job, perhaps, like Momar hearing about all the gargoyles and garhettes showing up and adding more low-rung resources to his stockpile.”
“Would they use an alias?”
Despite the lead weight forming in her stomach, she couldn’t help the grin.
“You catch on very quickly, Tristan…” She frowned, blinking. “I don’t even know your last name.”
“Do you know anyone’s last name?”
“Brochan’s, though he doesn’t like to talk about it. It reminds him of his lost family. Austin’s.
Jessie’s.” She squinted. “No one else. Touché. Anyway, Tristan Shadowmaster—”
“You’re the shadow, not me. Isn’t that what Edgar calls you?”
“Moving on. To answer your question, it’s unlikely they’d use an alias. The person consolidating the order could be someone who’s following the situation and wants to know what new players are jumping into the fray. Maybe to catalog who will sell services to Momar, or something like that.”
“Is that plausible?”
“In a faraway universe, a distant galaxy, maybe. For us, it’s wishful thinking. Not many people would want to check up on Momar in this way, and those who would probably wouldn’t be poking
around here. There are always surprises, but it’s not likely.”