CHAPTER ONE
Gwen Miller slammed her foot on the deck, bringing the swing to a halt. They were here again. She could hear their footsteps rustling the high grass as they muttered complaints about the scents of marsh gas, salty water, and humid air.
She sighed and rubbed her temple. God, she was too tired for this shit.
Making as little noise as possible, she rose from the wooden swing and padded down the boardwalk that ran over the marsh, protecting her feet from the muddy soil and water pools. She stuck to the thickening shadows as she crept closer to her home. And there they were. All three males were nineteen, but she couldn’t help thinking of them as boys, even though they were built like linebackers and had proved they were capable of seriously sick shit.
Apparently, they weren’t getting the message that they needed to keep their asses away from her damn house. That was unfortunate.
She slipped her hand into her pocket and threaded her fingers through the knuckle stun gun in her pocket, but she didn’t switch it on. Not yet.
As one of the boys raised a bat to the windscreen of her truck—motherfucker—she made a tsk sound. All three swerved to face her, eyes wide. Going by the state of their pupils, they’d all been drinking. And going by the cans of spray paint at their feet, they’d come prepared to make a fucking mess of her truck and maybe even her home, which doubled as a B&B.
The buzz and drone of the insects stopped, and the cool breeze paused—as if nature itself was waiting to see how this would play out.
“Evening, boys,” Gwen drawled. “So, you’re back. Not getting bored of this at all?”
The ringleader and pain in her ass, Brandt, gave her a mocking smile and put his hand over his heart. “You don’t like my company? I’m offended.” His expression sobered as he went on. “You know what to do if you want me out of your life.”
Yeah, she did.
“You can make this stop so easily, Gwen. You just have to do a little thing for me first. Change your statement. Hell, even she had the sense to alter hers.”
“She” being the female shifter he’d beaten months ago with a metal pole while his friends had watched, urging him on. Gwen had found them in the trees near the border of her family’s land, and she’d shot at them several times to chase them off. She’d then taken the drugged and shaken shifter, Andie, to her home, where Gwen had called the sheriff.
That call had proved to be a waste of time.
The sheriff hadn’t arrested the boys—he’d brought them in for questioning. That had lasted mere minutes before all three were released. He was tight with Brandt’s socially influential father, Ezra Moore. Neither of them thought of Andie as a person with rights. The police hadn’t taken photographs of her injuries or done a drug test that would have proved her drink had been spiked. They’d pretty much swept the incident under the rug, like it was nothing.
That didn’t mean Brandt would get away with it, though. Andie had reported the attack to the shifter council, which was originally formed to appease humans who didn’t like that shifters solved problems mostly through violence. While the council’s rulings often prevented wars between packs, it also punished humans who committed crimes against shifters if human law enforcement didn’t take care of it themselves. As such, Brandt would have to stand before the council—something, not surprisingly, he didn’t want to do.
The boys had harassed Gwen for weeks, trying to force her to alter her statement. They’d also done the same to Andie, who was scared out of her damn mind and eventually folded under their intimidation tactics. Gwen couldn’t really blame her. Andie wasn’t part of a pride, so she had no protection from her kind. Gwen, well, she didn’t back down for anyone.
The shifter council didn’t care that Andie had backed off. Once an incident was reported, the council always investigated it.
“You need to get off my land,” Gwen warned the boys.
“I go where I want, when I want,” said Brandt, dark eyes drilling into hers. His attitude was quite typical of the Moore family. The rich bastards lived in fancy homes, drove fancy cars, and had more money than sense. That would have been fine, except that they were also extremely arrogant and considered themselves superior to just about everyone.
Brandt stepped out of the shadows, and the moonlight illuminated his face—that was when she saw the bruised jaw, swollen eye, and split lip.
Gwen couldn’t help but smile. “My, my, my, don’t you look pretty.” Seemed like Ezra had lashed out at his son—most likely for bringing this kind of attention to the family. It wasn’t uncommon.
Brandt’s face hardened. “You’ll look just as pretty soon enough.” He twirled his bat—a move that was meant to intimidate her. A move that also didn’t work.
“Does your mommy know you’re out of bed?”
He stilled, and his two friends let out low whistles.
“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day, honey,” said Mack, chewing on gum.
The third boy, Rowan, nodded with a smirk that he appeared to wear permanently. “Maybe we should find a way to keep that mouth busy.” He leered. “Yeah, I think you should suck my dick.”
“You’ll need to get one first,” she said drily.
Brandt laughed, not at all bothered by the “traitor” look that his friend sent him. To these idiots, this was one big game.
Gwen cocked her head, glaring at Brandt. “You’re not at all sorry for what you did, are you?”
He shrugged, snorting. “She’s a shifter—why should I be sorry? They’re abominations. But you . . . you’re human, so why would you care what happens to her?”
“She’s a person, just like you and me.”
“She’s nothing like us,” he snarled. “She’s a goddamn animal.”
“Funny . . . the only one I saw behaving like an animal that night was you. You drugged her and then beat her with a pole while she was weak and unable to defend herself. You think that makes you a big, brave guy? It doesn’t. You don’t have that thing”—she clicked her fingers a few times—“a soul.”
His eyes flared. “I’d be careful if I were you, sweetheart. You don’t have your shotgun with you this time.”
She gave them each a dismissive look. “I don’t need a shotgun to deal with three little boys.” The knuckle stun gun she discreetly pulled out of her pocket would do nicely.
Brandt licked his teeth. “Little, huh? Maybe I should show you just how big I really am.” He grinned. There wasn’t just heat in his gaze, there was something else—something ugly and twisted. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, babe?” He advanced on her, mouth curled. “Why don’t you spread those legs for me? I think you’d enjoy it.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” She yanked the bat out of his grip and slammed it into his bruised jaw so hard she was surprised she didn’t hear his teeth rattle. At the same time, she switched on the stun gun and hit him in the solar plexus just long enough to send him dropping to his knees, dazed and shaking.
Rowan and Mack stared down at him, eyes wide. She braced herself for them to come at her, but shock seemed to have immobilized them.
Snapping out of his daze, Brandt stumbled to his feet. “You fucking bitch.” He idiotically took an aggressive step toward her, but then froze at the cock of a shotgun that came from somewhere behind her.
Mack and Rowan swallowed nervously—probably because they had a good idea who was holding that shotgun. The person in question wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a trespasser. Hell, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot anyone.
“Brandt, we should go,” said Mack, a tremor in his voice. “I’ll back you all the way on this, but I ain’t getting shot or Tased for you.”
Licking his lips, Brandt took a step back.
“That was smart of you, freezing like that,” Gwen told him. “Because I gotta say, the idea of Donnie blowing your brains out fills me with a morbid kind of joy. I don’t like to deny myself joy. Life’s too short for that.” She flicked a look at his crotch. “But I guess you’re used to things being short.”
Brandt’s eyes blazed with indignation. “My father will—”
“I don’t care. You wield his name like it’s a sword, thinking it will protect you. No matter what you do, I’m standing by my original statement. In light of that, I suggest you stop wasting both of our time, run along home, and never come back. Ah, I can see your bruised ego’s struggling with that, but coming back here would be a serious error on your part.
“Now, personally, I think it’s far past time that you boys left. I advise you to back up slowly. If you run, you’ll trigger Donnie’s hunting instincts, and he’ll start firing like he’s facing an invading army. That would suck. Not so much for me, but definitely for you.”
Mack and Rowan did as she advised, but Brandt stood firm as he glowered at her, fists clenched, clearly at war with himself.
“You need to fight that ego, Brandt. If you want to live, that is. I’d be thoroughly glad to hear that you don’t want to live.”
He took a deep breath and finally backed away. Casting looks at her over their shoulders, the three boys jogged away and disappeared into the trees.
She knew that wasn’t the end of it. The Moores never backed down. But then, neither did Gwen.
Balancing the bat on her shoulder, she turned to the large three-story house and climbed up the stone steps and onto the wraparound porch. The wooden boards creaked as a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, dressed in camo gear and holding a shotgun, looking like he’d just walked right out of a war zone.
“You handled that well,” said Donnie, her foster uncle. He was ex-military and the ultimate conspiracy theorist. He was also a little unstable and often disappeared in the woods for days at a time, “on patrol.” Donnie felt more at ease outside, surrounded by nature.
The locals thought of him as an eccentric, and he let them believe that because it meant they underestimated him. The truth was that Donnie was extremely intelligent and a strategic mastermind.
“You didn’t think to shoot at their feet to scare them off?”
He rolled his eyes. “I had my gun trained on them the whole time; you were never in any real danger. You don’t need my help anyway.”
That was because he’d trained her to defend herself. He’d also trained her to use many of the weapons he’d stashed—some of which she was pretty sure Uncle Sam would want back, especially the rocket launchers. When she’d asked why he had all the weapons, he’d simply said, “Just in case.”
Pulling a leaf out of his fuzzy salt-and-pepper hair, Donnie looked in the direction in which the boys had disappeared. “The Moores are scared. They thought you’d back down by now, and they’re starting to panic because they have no idea what it will take to make you do it.”
Nothing would make her back down.
“What I want to know is how they’re managing to electronically mess with you. Draining your back account, maxing out your credit cards, and canceling your cell phone contract—that takes skill.” He shook his head, lips thinning, and began to pace . . . and she sensed one of his rants coming.
“You know, this kind of thing happens too easily because we have the Internet,” he insisted, words coming fast and sharp. “Now it’s so simple to invade people’s privacy using spam, viruses, and Trojan horses. I’m telling you, the Net is evil. It has no ethical guidelines. Think of all the child pornography, cyberbullying, and websites that actually promote suicide—”
“Donnie.”
“—and encourage depressed teens to make suicide pacts. Not that the CIA, FBI, or any other organization cares. Oh, no. They’re too busy spying on us using—”
“Donnie.”
His expression cleared, becoming one of total calm. “Hmm?”
She sighed. “You coming inside?”
He lifted his gun. “I want to check the little pricks have left first.”
“All right. Be careful.” Pulling open the front door, she winced at the squeak of the hinges. She would have oiled them, but most of the guests came to experience what it was like to stay in an allegedly haunted house. They seemed to like hearing creaks, thuds, squeaks, and other weird noises.
Was the place haunted? Well, plenty of people believed so. Gwen wasn’t gonna lie, there was something in the house. A few somethings, actually. It was rumored that they were the spirits of a man and his two teenage daughters who’d died in a fire long ago. She’d never gotten the feeling that there was anything malevolent about them. They just seemed nosy and bored.
She was also betting they enjoyed spooking the guests, because many claimed to have “felt a presence,” heard someone pacing on the third floor, or seen shadows moving around. Some guests had been so freaked out, they’d actually packed up and left earlier than planned.
Not all were believers, though. Some had complained that it wasn’t as haunted as they’d hoped—one even whined that it didn’t smell haunted. If by that he’d meant it didn’t smell dusty and moldy, he was right. The place smelled like fragrant oils, wood polish, and lavender air freshener. She was happy for it to stay that way.
Humming to himself, her foster brother came striding down the hall with a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream. Marlon cocked his head, nose wrinkling. “What’s with the bat?”
She headed up the stairs as she replied, “It’s Brandt’s. He, Rowan, and Mack were going to vandalize my truck. I wasn’t down with that.”
“They came again?” Marlon followed her, listening as she gave him a quick rundown of what had happened. “They’ll be back. Brandt’s too used to his father buying his way out of trouble to care if he takes it too far.”
“Yep,” agreed Gwen, reaching the second floor. “It’s probably why Brandt doesn’t have any sense of right and wrong.” She walked straight to her room and went inside, leaned the bat against the wall, and—passing her cluttered dresser, overfull laundry basket, and half-open closet—sank onto her unmade bed.
Gwen rolled her shoulders, sighing. Noticing the angry flush on Marlon’s dark skin, she decided to change the subject. “I like the shirt.” He always looked like he’d just come back from a photo shoot. He was also as camp as Christmas, much like his boyfriend. “In fact, I like the whole outfit. It’s not fair that you can so effortlessly look cool and stylish.”
He smiled, pleased. “It’s all about accessorizing and color coordination. I’m good at it, for someone who’s color-blind.”
She sighed. “You are not color-blind.” But he insisted on claiming to be simply to annoy her for his own amusement.
“How would you know?”
Looking away, she waved a hand. “Forget it.”
“Yes, forget it, because we’re not finished with Brandt. Are you going to call Colt and tell him what happened?” he asked.
“What’s the point? He’s firmly lodged up Ezra Moore’s rectum. He won’t help. Besides, a nightly visit from the sheriff wouldn’t exactly look good on the B&B’s reviews. And, you know, it’s not such a bad thing that Brandt’s acting like an ass.”
Marlon’s brows snapped together. “How do you figure that?”
“Each time the little bastard does something dumb or hostile, I have more tales to share with the shifter council that prove he’s dangerous and not worth shit.”
In the beginning, Brandt had done stupid crap like throw eggs at her truck, make prank calls, and toilet-paper the yard. The pranks had gotten worse, but she still hadn’t reacted. Then he’d stepped it up by putting ads in the paper for BDSM parties, subscribing her to kinky magazines, and posting bogus awful reviews on the B&B’s website.
When that hadn’t worked, the cyber shit had started. She doubted Brandt could have done that, so she was guessing his father had hired someone to do it. Ezra was just as bad as Brandt when it came to bullying people to get what he wanted.
Marlon sipped his hot chocolate and then licked some whipped cream from his lip. “I still don’t like any of it. You know, I think part of the sheriff’s problem with you is that you rejected his son.”
“That was two years ago. Randy’s married to some woman in Idaho now. Besides, he wasn’t exactly heartbroken—he was using me to get to Julie.” Something many guys had tried over the years. Her foster sister was beyond beautiful, both inside and out; she was tall and shapely, with gorgeous thick dark hair. Gwen was not tall or shapely or beautiful. She didn’t think of herself as ugly, but she wasn’t pretty either—kind of average, really.
She didn’t envy her sister, though. Didn’t envy that all people saw when they looked at Julie was her looks, didn’t envy that Julie was ogled and heckled wherever she went, didn’t envy that she was often surrounded by shallow people who wanted to use her as arm candy. Now that Julie was engaged, the attention had eased somewhat.
“Nah, I think Randy actually liked you, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not what you need. What you need is someone who isn’t put off by your ‘Don’t get too close’ vibe. Hey, don’t give me that innocent look. You don’t try to get to know people, and you don’t let them know you. What you don’t seem to realize is that your aloofness comes across as a challenge.”
“Yeah? I don’t see a bunch of guys taking up any such challenge.”
“Oh, they try. You just don’t notice.”
“I like being on my own.”
“But you’re not happy. Julie and I want better for you. We want you to find contentment. Peace.”
“I am content. And I’m all about peace.”
He lifted a brow. “Peace? Really? You just bludgeoned someone with their own bat.”
“‘Bludgeoned’ is a strong word.”
“And that’s not conducive to living a peaceful life.”
“And yet, I feel great after clocking Brandt right on the jaw.”
He chuckled. “You would.”
“And if he’s dumb enough to come back, I’ll be able to do it again.” Positively cheered by that idea, she smiled. Marlon just laughed.
“What about a bookstore?”
“No.”
“A coffeehouse?”
“No.”
“A diner?”
“Fuck, Shay, you’ve got your motel—be happy with that.”
As his Alphas continued to argue, Zander Devlin exchanged an amused look with his fellow enforcer, Bracken, and slung their duffels in the trunk of the SUV. The other members of the pack who’d come to wave them off looked just as amused by the Alphas’ byplay.
Zander wasn’t sure whether Shaya genuinely wanted to open more businesses or whether she just kept making suggestions to annoy her mate for fun. If it was the first, Zander suspected that she’d eventually get her way. Nick hated disappointing his mate . . . which was why the pack now officially owned two businesses.
The motel was still a work in progress and not yet open, but their other business had been open for a while. It was a club managed by their only nonwolf pack mate, Harley, who was mated to one of Zander’s closest friends, Jesse. She also regularly performed at the club, playing her electric violin alongside DJs and other artists.
“Enough,” Nick growled at Shaya, slashing a hand in the air. He turned to Zander. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you purposely brought up her other business ideas so that she’d change the subject.”
Zander shrugged, unapologetic. He also tensed when Shaya’s eyes slid to his, once again filled with compassion. “I’m fine.” He closed the trunk and walked to the driver’s door. “Me and Bracken can manage on our own for a few days.”
“I know that,” she assured him, clipping her red curls behind her ear. “But it would be okay if you weren’t fine, you know. Your uncle just died.”
“I told you, we weren’t close.”
“But he was still your uncle. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take someone other than Bracken to the reading of the will? I mean, he’s not exactly the comforting type.”
The wolf in question frowned, affronted. “Hey.”
Shaya shrugged at him. “Well, you’re not.”
Zander didn’t need or want comfort. He’d cared for his uncle, but he wasn’t broken up about his death. He didn’t seem to feel grief the way others did anyway. He hadn’t cried when his parents died either. Hadn’t been deep in grief. Hadn’t felt much other than a faint regret for what could have been if they hadn’t cast him off long ago. If that made him cold, there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“I didn’t think people did that anymore,” said Jesse, scraping a hand over his dark stubble.
“What?” asked Zander.
“Gathered in an office while an attorney read the will. I thought they just sent out copies of the will to the relevant people, like the beneficiaries.”
“That’s what I thought. The attorney said that it was Dale’s wish for it to be done this way.”
“You sure you don’t want me to come along?” Jesse asked for the tenth time, brow creased.
“Since when have I ever needed anyone to hold my fucking hand?” Zander said without heat.
Dark eyes softening with amusement, Jesse snorted. “Fine, fuck you. I just don’t like the idea of you in the same room as Rory, even though I know you can deal with the motherfucker easily.”
Rory had never been a true brother to Zander. In his twin’s mind, they were in competition. It was a warped sibling rivalry that Zander had never wanted any part in, but Rory hadn’t cared.
The only people in the Mercury Pack who’d ever met Rory were Jesse and Bracken, because they’d once all belonged to another pack. As such, the two wolves knew every sneaky move Rory had made and just how toxic and twisted the guy was.
Their mother, Pearl, had come down hard on Rory for the sibling rivalry . . . right up until he was seven and caught an infection in the hospital after—very begrudgingly—donating a kidney to Zander. The infection had almost killed Rory, and their mother had felt guilty for pushing him to go through with the operation. Rory had played on that guilt, and he’d hated Zander for “stealing his kidney” ever since.
After that, Pearl let Rory get away with pretty much everything. Maybe that was why he was so arrogant, egotistical, and self-indulgent. Or maybe her lack of discipline just made those traits more defined. Whatever the case, Rory had been a nightmare to live with.
He became even worse when Pearl got pregnant with their sister. Rory didn’t like sharing anything, particularly Pearl’s attention. Striving to ensure Rory didn’t feel “left out,” she’d emotionally neglected Shelby. Zander suspected that had fed Rory’s bloated sense of self-importance.
Jesse played with Harley’s dark hair as he spoke to Zander. “Do you think Dale will have left you much in his will? He was unmated and had no direct descendants, but Rory somehow managed to manipulate your parents into making him their sole heir—not that there was much money left when they died, since Rory had bled them dry over the years. But he might have found a way to do the same to your uncle.”
Zander shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t spoken much to Dale over the years, so I don’t know if he was in constant contact with Rory or not.” He’d find out soon enough.
Eli, the Head Enforcer, folded his arms over his broad chest. “What’s Rory like? You said he was fucked up, but how, exactly?”
It was Jesse who answered. “I’d like to dismiss him as a dumb asshole, but Rory’s smart. Too smart. That’s why he does so well as a computer analyst. He’s not nerdy, though. He dresses like a CEO, comes across as slick and charming.”
Rory was also one of those guys who waxed his chest, back, and eyebrows—Zander would rather walk through fire than do girlie shit like that to himself.
“When he was a juvenile, our pack was wary of him,” Jesse went on. “He wasn’t quite so smooth back then, and it was easy to sense that something wasn’t right with him.”
“Even though he’s smart, he’s immature,” Bracken added. “He’s not happy unless he has a rival who he can ridicule and compete with—winning is more important to him than anything else. If someone upsets him in some way, he never lets it go; he carries it with him like a rucksack on his back.”
“He’s a spiteful piece of shit too,” clipped Jesse. “If Zander wouldn’t give him something, he’d shift into his wolf form and piss on it. Remember when you were kids and you had those pet mice, rats, gerbils, and ferrets, Z?”
Zander nodded. He’d gone through a phase where he’d wanted to be a vet, so his father had indulgently bought him lots of small pets to care for as “practice.”
“When Zander refused to give him his new Star Wars figures, Rory went down to the basement where Z’s pets were kept,” Jesse continued. “He let out the mice, rats, and gerbils. Then he let out the ferrets and watched while they killed the smaller rodents.”
Shaya’s mouth fell open. “That’s cruel.” She turned to Zander. “What did your parents do?”
“Nothing,” Zander replied. “Rory said he hadn’t let them out, that I’d done it and was trying to pin it on him. Pearl sided with him, and Jerold went along with it. Our father was submissive, and she was very dominant. She used that strength against him until he eventually learned not to question her.”
Nick’s green eyes blazed. “That kind of abuse should be rare, but it isn’t.”
“No, it isn’t,” agreed Zander. “And neither is a parent favoring one child over the others—it’s just life.” He’d long ago accepted it.
“Blood isn’t thicker than water, no matter what anyone says,” said Harley. The margay cat shifter would know that well, taking her own dysfunctional family situation into account. “Still, I’d have thought you being identical twins would make a difference. I’ve heard they’re usually pretty close and feel each other’s pain and stuff.”
“We don’t have any kind of mystical connection.” It wasn’t hard for them to be apart, Rory wasn’t his ideal companion, they were not best friends, and they didn’t have a psychic link that told them what each other was thinking and feeling. “We do understand each other well, though—that’s why he knows how to get under my skin.”
“The only way Zander and Rory are alike is that they can both read people easily,” said Jesse. “Rory will size you up, find every hot button you have, and sense how best to manipulate you. If manipulating you doesn’t work, he’ll push those hot buttons as hard as he can. And he knows all Zander’s hot buttons. That’s why I don’t like them being in the same room.”
Ally, the Beta female and Seer, twisted her mouth as she looked at Zander. “Hell, no wonder you’re predominately calm. I’ll bet you spent your life having to keep a lid on your emotions so you didn’t give him the reactions he wanted. You’re never too happy, never too sad, never too anything . . . which I have to say is a little weird.”
Well, she’d know, thought Zander. Part of the Seer package was that she was also an empath. “He was harsher with our sister, Shelby, than me.”
Jesse cocked his head. “Will Shelby be there for the reading of the will?”
“She said she would,” replied Zander, “but I doubt it. She doesn’t go out much anymore.”
She’d been through a lot over the years, more than anyone should have to endure. He’d worried when she’d adopted Luke, her friend’s orphaned seven-year-old son, concerned it would be too much for her, but it had seemed to heal her. When Luke was later kidnapped by human anti-shifter extremists and hunted within a game reserve, she’d fallen apart.
Zander hadn’t known Luke long, but he’d considered him his nephew. It hurt to imagine what the kid had gone through. Hurt to know that Luke would have expected them to come for him, would have believed they’d save him. But they hadn’t found him, and they couldn’t even pray his death had been quick and painless. It would have been far from it.
Bracken’s uncle and Jesse’s sister had also been snatched by the same extremists. With the help of the Mercury wolves, Zander, Bracken, and Jesse had hunted down the people who ran the game reserve—both motherfuckers had suffered long and hard before dying, just as Luke likely suffered when he was set free in the wild, hunted like an animal, and then killed.
“Having heard about Rory,” began Ally, “I really think me and Derren should go with you.”
Bracken snorted. “You just want to see if the B&B is really haunted.”
Derren blinked. “Haunted?”
“I looked at reviews from guests,” said Ally. “There were a lot of them, and they were all good. It gets a lot of tourists and ghost hunters, since the locals claim it’s haunted.” At Derren’s scoff, she said, “You all believe in the soul, right? And you believe it vacates our body when we die. Is it such a stretch, then, to think that maybe some souls might stick around a little while?”
For Zander, yeah, it was a stretch. He just wasn’t a believer in all that stuff. Turning to Bracken, he said, “Ready to go?” The enforcer nodded, so Zander opened the driver’s door and said, “See you all in a few days.” As the pack called out quick goodbyes, he and Bracken hopped into the SUV.
In honesty, Zander wasn’t looking forward to spending the weekend around humans. He had nothing against them per se, but humans often fell into three camps when it came to shifters. They either feared shifters, were disgusted by them, or found them so fascinating that they gave them the kind of appraisal they’d give an ancient artifact. He supposed whether humans were prejudiced against shifters or not, they were often unable to see them as “people.”
Jesse leaned slightly into the open window. “You sure you don’t want additional company? It wouldn’t hurt the pack for me to come with you. Everything’s been quiet and peaceful for a while now. We’ve had no trouble at all.”
An odd note in the enforcer’s voice made Zander’s mouth curve. “You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you?”
“It’s wrong, isn’t it?” said Jesse, rueful. “But I’m a person of action. There’s been no action.”
“You’re too whipped to cope without your mate for a few days.”
Bracken chuckled. “He’s right, Jesse, so stop with the growling.”
“I could bring Harley along,” Jesse offered.
Zander shook his head. “She has the club to run and performances scheduled. And really, Jesse, do you want her exposed to Rory? Because I don’t.”
Jesse sighed. “No.” He pushed away from the SUV. “If you need any kind of backup, you call me.”
Zander turned the key in the ignition. “Will do.”