A sudden shriek came from the kitchen, drawing the attention of the small morning crowd in the restaurant, including Rik. Turning around in his chair, he saw his youngest sister beaming innocently at him through the porthole window. It was the wave that clued him in that something was fishy.

"Excuse me a second," Rik muttered as he rose and stalked toward the kitchen.

The double-doors swung open, and Bertie had planted himself firmly in the center of the doorway, his massive arms crossed over his thick chest, every inch the Gargoyle Guardian he was. A flash of a memory, the sight of a distinctive gargoyle mark on Sam’s naked flesh burned into his mind’s eye, and Rik found it very difficult to not snarl like an enraged shifter.

Somehow managing to plaster a smile on his face, Rik gritted out, “Good morning, Bertie. Something going on in the kitchen? I thought I saw Clara, and I needed her to do me a favor.”

“She’s busy,” Bertie replied, his tone deceptively mild, though even in his Mortal façade, his eyes flashed and the air shimmered with static electricity.

Rik took a long, slow breath and a half-step back. Bertie was stormbound, his powers drawn from the unpredictable and fierceness of the storm. Gargoyles held a strange place in Fae society, as they were descended from both Sidhe and dragons, drawing power from both sides of their heritage. True Gargoyles were rare, and Bertie was ancient—and age always meant power for all supernaturals.

“I wanted to ask her to check on Sam and bring her some breakfast in a little while,” Rik said evenly, tamping down his personal glamour’s instinctive urge to strike first at the threat before him.

Bertie relaxed slightly, and just like that, he was the big, gruff pâtissier once more. Canting his head to the side as he uncrossed his arms, Bertie gave Rik a small, knowing smirk.

“Clara headed into the Village,” Bertie said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take care of your cara yourself.”

Bertie turned away. Rik grabbed the larger man’s arm, and he was under few illusions that his grip was strong enough to actually stop the man if he wanted to pull away. Bertie looked down at the hand on his bicep, then turned those stormy, pale eyes back to Rik. A heavy brow arched.

“We need to talk about your mark on my cara,” Rik said in a low voice.

“It’s simple,” Bertie shrugged. “She needs protection. She’s a human and will be drawn into our world, our politics, our dangers.”

Rik growled, “Are you saying I can’t protect her?” Once more, his glamour roused, pulsing through his veins in an instinct as old as time itself—the need to protect his loved ones.

“I’m saying,” Bertie said, his own voice a low rumble, “that Sam is special. She accepted me without question, offered friendship with no expectations. I’m saying that she is my friend, and that while you are her anam cara and I owe fealty to your family, it is for her life that I will give mine to protect.”

Shocked, Rik released Bertie’s arm and just stared at the other man.

With another shrug of shoulders wide enough to block the large doorway to the kitchen, Bertie turned back to look at Rik and gave him another small smile. “She’s special. You are blessed by the Fates, my friend. Don’t fuck it up.”

A thoughtful look crossed Bertie’s rugged face. “Here’s a little something for you—she loves her coffee, particularly when it is a double mocha with an extra shot of espresso. She has a sweet tooth.”

Rik couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, “Well, that certainly explains why she’s been hanging out in your kitchen.”

Bertie nodded, and held up two fingers. “A second piece of advice. While she is human, Mortal, she is very clever, so don’t underestimate her.”

“Yeah,” Rik rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I’m learning that. She’s got one hell of a temper.”

“She has a big heart, but a long memory,” Bertie’s smile widened into a full-blown grin. “She’s going to make your life interesting.”

“Tell me about it!” Rik’s own grin matched Bertie’s. “I can’t wait.”

“Yes, well,” Bertie nodded over Rik’s shoulder, “You’ve got some work to do.”

Glancing over, Rik groaned when he caught sight of a rather scruffy looking Travis walking into the restaurant. The wolf looked rough, his hair shaggy, his beard a bit ragged, and his eyes heavy. Even the t-shirt and jeans the man was wearing looked rumpled, as if he had slept in them.

“Shit,” Rik muttered, letting Bertie return to the kitchen as he headed over to intercept the wolf.

“Morning, man, you look like crap,” Rik said as he walked up.

Shrugging, Travis turned red-stained eyes to meet Rik's as he muttered, “Sorry, long night.”

Clasping the younger man’s shoulder, Rik steered him toward the table his grandparents were still seated at. The older couple looked up as Rik and Travis approached.

“Grand-père, Grand-mère, allow me to introduce Travis Wylde, Audrick’s nominee for Landsmaster,” Rik turned to the wolf. “Travis, these are my grandparents and the owners of Cœur de Lyon, Jean-Paul and Judith Leon.”

Travis shook the hands of both elder Sidhe, “A pleasure. Sorry, I went for a run last night and got a bit lost.”

Jean-Paul waved the young wolf into a chair with a chuckle, “Easily understood. Please, sit. You look like you could use some coffee and breakfast before Rik drags you around to show you the grounds.”

Sitting with a reluctant grin, Travis nodded, “Thank you, coffee sounds good.”

As they waited for the server to bring them a fresh pot of coffee, Rik’s grandparents gently, but thoroughly, grilled the young man who stoically withstood the onslaught. Finally, after getting a few cups of coffee into the man, and a rather hearty, full breakfast to make any growing shifter proud, Travis looked “human” again.

After Jean-Paul and Judith excused themselves, Rik turned to Travis. “Okay, so we’ve got a few hours before I need to head down to the Village and meet up with some friends. Audrick told me he had sent you the plans and general details of the Estates and Village, and I’ve already seen by your resume and portfolio that you’ll be a good fit.

“I should also tell you that there’s another applicant that my grandparents wanted me to look at,” Rik admitted as he finished up his coffee. A sudden, sharp intake of breath from Travis drew his attention.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Travis muttered, staring into his coffee mug.

“Did you know her? Samantha Kelly?” Rik pressed, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the wolf. “She worked for Wylde Industries.”

Still not meeting Rik’s eyes, Travis nodded and shrugged, “Yeah, I knew her. Was hoping to run into her. What happened to her was part of the reason I left the company.”

“What did happen to her?”

Finally looking up, the raw pain and frustration in the young wolf’s gaze startled Rik. “Wylde Industries is run by my father, the Alpha of the Wylde Wolf Pack of Portland. There was an…incident…at the Sanctuary that Sam had worked on, and to hide it from Mortal authorities, it was made to look like Sam’s fault. Later, I found out that my father had been involved in the incident and the cover-up, working with some renegade Unseelie.”

Travis looked away. “I’m not strong enough to face my father, I couldn’t stand against his strength or power, and would lose in a Challenge, so I sought sanctuary with Audrick. He suggested I come here, said that it would be beneficial for everyone involved while he sent the Watchers to investigate what’s going on out in the Pacific Northwest region.”

Drumming his fingers on the table, Rik stared at the young wolf shifter. There was another question he wanted to ask, but deciding he really didn’t want to know the answer, Rik instead said, “Okay. The past is the past then. As of right now, you can start from scratch. You can choose to join one of the local packs, you can remain a Lone Wolf, or you can oathbond with my family.”

“What does being oathbound entail?” Travis asked, his curiosity visible on his face.

“It’s similar to swearing allegiance to an Alpha, only instead of sharing your bond with packmates, it would be a lighter bond with Clan Leon here. My grandparents are head of Clan Leon here in North America, so they spend a good bit of the year traveling to our various holdings. My father stepped aside, and currently serves as a liaison for the Fae on the High Council. My aunt and uncle are also not interested in leading, for their own reasons. My anam cara and I will serve as head of the clan once my grandparents decide to retire.”

Leaning forward, Rik rested his hands on the table and, for the first time, met Travis’s gaze directly, knowing that as a dominant wolf, Travis wouldn’t serve anyone who was less dominant. Rik released his hold on his personal glamour, and within heartbeats, Travis looked away—visibly pale from what he had seen in Rik’s eyes.

Many of the young ones, those less than a few centuries old, and very few of those born in the Americas remembered that the Fae were also predators. All of them. And the Sidhe led the Fae. The Fae were the inspiration behind many of the stories of so-called demons, the lore twisted in Mortal stories, until the Fae had become little more than literal fairy tales. At the time, it had been glamour hiding the Sidhe and Fae from extermination, and it had worked a little too well.

The truth was that although the Sidhe and Fae drew upon glamour, were born of the mystical connection between Otherworlds and the Mortal Realm, Fae needed humanity to survive. Mortals were sustenance, in one way or another, depending on the nature of the Fae. Some Fae fed off emotions, others off of dreams, while others needed blood or life force.

It was something the Fae concealed from all, though many of the eldest supernaturals knew the truth. To survive in the Mortal Realm, the Fae needed humans. How they preferred to feed, what they preferred to feed on, was what defined whether a Fae was considered Seelie or Unseelie by others.

The truth wasn’t as simple as that, as it rarely was.

The Sidhe drew more heavily on glamour than other Fae, were more intimately tied to the natural world, but even they needed humans. Most Sidhe tended to have esoteric needs, such as dreams or emotions. The Leon Sidhe fed off fantasies, one of the reasons his grandparents both wrote fiction, and one reason they had opened Cœur de Lyon Village as a permanent Renaissance and Fantasy Village. They didn’t require much, just a hit now and then, though some Unseelie Leon could, and would, drain all the creativity from an individual, leaving them an empty husk.

That predator that lurked within Rik is what cowed Travis, a young, dominant wolf unprepared for the reality of facing a Sidhe Noble’s true self. In a few heartbeats, dominance had been determined.

“Well then,” Rik said, his voice friendly, “Let me know what you decide. Until then, let’s get started on that tour. If you’re going to stick around, we need to get you introduced to the staff and the actual lay of the land.”

Finishing off his coffee, Travis rose to his feet and managed a small grin. “Let’s go…Big Bad Boss Man.”

Fuck, Rik thought ruefully, I’m never going to live that title down, am I?