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There was blood. And the scent of fur. And the wildest flash of rage in a broad-shouldered shifter’s eyes.
Then I was being drawn inside, the door closing behind us, as Gunner grabbed a doily off a sideboard and held it up to his streaming nostrils. “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he said grimly, walking away from me just as quickly as his brother—cousin?—had.
Like the thinner werewolf I’d followed up the front steps, the one currently in front of me didn’t bother glancing back to see if I followed as he sped through a series of rooms full of ebony furniture and Turkish rugs. Instead, he bellowed loudly enough for humans to hear from the sidewalk, calling out names of pack mates who came sprinting toward us from nooks and crannies I didn’t have time to fully peruse as we rushed past.
“Liam,” Gunner greeted my former savior as we reached a broad stairwell in the heart of the mansion. The alpha’s voice was muffled by the table runner he’d snatched to replace the doily as he stopped barking out names and moved on to demands. “What else do we know?”
I wasn’t sure how the dark-haired shifter had found time to reach the second story in the few short seconds I’d spent pounding on the door out front. But now Liam descended the stairs in a measured manner while answering the shifter who clearly outranked him by at least a bit. “We don’t know much,” Gunner’s relative said, falling in beside his superior while subtly boxing me further away from the center of power. “And are you sure you want to talk in front of a ragamuffin off the streets?”
Ragamuffin? Did the male think he was living in Victorian-era England? And did that mean my potential job hadn’t been okayed by the rest of the pack?
Gunner glanced at me for a split second only, his eyes piercing as he dropped the table runner to the floor and accepted the handkerchief another pack mate was thrusting into his hand. “Tell me,” he ordered Liam without bothering to respond to the dig about my part in...whatever this was.
And this time, information was finally forthcoming. “The body was found in an alley,” Liam offered, which snagged my attention in a way Gunner’s vague job offers had not. A body didn’t sound good. A body meant there was more going on than an overbearing alpha and my need to pay the bills.
“Unscented like the last one?” my maybe-boss queried.
Liam merely nodded by way of reply, leaving me to wonder if my understanding of the world was perhaps a smidge small-minded and naive. Because as best I could tell, everything in our world had a scent. After all, superior nostrils were half of my edge over human opponents in the Arena.
But I didn’t have time to further ponder the issue, because Gunner was pushing through the back door and leading us all onto what appeared to be an industrial loading dock. “Address?” he queried as I took in the view.
There were two moving vans backed up to the elevated concrete porch, as if these shifters had settled into my home town for the duration rather than merely passing through on their way to greener pastures. In addition, a fleet of cars and SUVs promised the pack would have no problem getting around while they were in residence. Must be nice having so many wheels at your beck and call.
And, apparently, a driver. Because Liam angled ahead of his relative at last, opening the driver’s side door of the closest SUV. “I’ll take you there.”
The move appeared properly obsequious. However, for the first time, Gunner slowed the pack’s forward momentum as his hand closed upon the reedier male’s forearm. “No,” the alpha said quietly...but not quietly enough to keep any of the nearby shifter ears from picking up on the mild rebuke. “Ransom would be lost without his personal secretary. He expects you home tonight. Stick to the plan.”
***
THE WORDS WEREN’T COMMANDING, nor were they overtly revealing. Yet I read volumes of information streaming between the two males as they locked identical sienna eyes. Both shifters were looking out for their relative. Both understood that Ransom possessed some weakness requiring a trusted advisor present at all times.
Or that’s the way Gunner saw the matter. Liam, it seemed, had a different approach to dealing with a potentially problematic leader of their shared pack.
“This is where the action is,” the slender shifter started. “This is more important than whatever business I’d be taking care of back home.”
Liam’s words weren’t overtly insubordinate, but they were enough to evoke a growl of rage from his superior. And within seconds, the lower-ranking werewolf was rattling off directions with eyes averted then obediently slipping behind the wheel of a much smaller vehicle off to one side. Apparently Gunner’s worries about Ransom trumped whatever crime scene the former was going to investigate. Equally apparent—Gunner’s merest hint of displeasure was law within this pack.
I was similarly shunted out of the flow of werewolves as Gunner tossed out orders to his remaining crew members. Doors slammed as half the assemblage piled into vehicles. Meanwhile, half of the shifters present spread out, trotting down the block or back into the building to form a well-oiled security patrol.
Then Liam’s car was rolling away down the alley, his headlights cutting through the gloom even as other engines sprang to life on my every side. Like his departing relative, Gunner was behind the wheel of his own SUV rather than depending upon a driver. Still, the male definitely played the stereotypical alpha role as he honked his horn so loudly I instinctively jumped backwards out of the way.
Tonight was not the night for a job interview, I decided. I’d return tomorrow and beg forgiveness for the nose bleed while stating my case. In the meantime, I could brainstorm other opportunities of gainful employment. This testosterone haze of a werewolf pack couldn’t be the only way to keep Kira in math books and lunch meat.
Only, Gunner hadn’t forgotten about my presence. When his horn honk didn’t elicit the desired reaction, the tinted window between us rolled down to expose a tense and craggy face.
“Get in,” the alpha ordered, blood-encrusted nostrils flaring. He jerked his chin sideways, and for the first time I noticed that, although the back seat was cramped with three cheek-to-jowl shifters, no one had elected to ride shotgun beside their boss.
If the feeling of handcuffs around my wrists had horrified my fox instincts, entering a small space with an angry werewolf seemed akin to committing suicide. But I’d run out of good ideas and was willing to jump at the bad. So, opening the door quickly before Gunner could change his mind, I hastened to obey.