I shrank away from her touch. “I don’t know. I just need to get—”
“You son of bitch,” growled Trowbridge. “You filthy son of a whore.”
“I’m not the one who broke her heart!” Lexi grabbed the brass lamp from the table and tore the electric cord from the wall. “Come on,” he taunted, waving the heavy end.
“I don’t come at your bidding anymore.” Trowbridge smiled. “My realm, my rules.”
Stupid with pride, Lexi made a blind rush and a swing, which was countered by Trowbridge’s quick side turn and crouch. If my brother had had a lick of sense, he would have stopped there—Trowbridge had always been graceful and quick with the fists, but now he had wicked timing and heavy muscle.
Lexi charged again.
Trowbridge delivered a gut-wrenching punch into my brother’s stomach.
Lexi stumbled backward—almost tripping himself with the lamp cord—but recovered. He eyed Trowbridge with utter hatred, mixed with a whole bunch of busted manly vanity.
“Where are your hunters now?” asked Trowbridge softly, circling my brother.
Lexi threw the lamp at him and lunged, drawing his fist back for a blow. But he was too slow and clumsy compared to Trowbridge, who pivoted on one foot and spun. Before my brother even realized that his intended target had pulled another Houdini, Trowbridge had joined his fists and brought them down with bruising force, landing a blow to Lexi’s back, right between the shoulder blades.
That was the end of it, really. The rest was blurred. Blows—some blocked, some not. But within a few seconds, Lexi’s fine shirt was torn, and he was down for good. Trowbridge bent over and relieved my brother of his shiny flask.
He uncapped the bottle of sun potion, tipped it upside down, and watched my brother’s face twist as the contents splattered to the floor. Expressionlessly, the Alpha of Creemore tossed the empty flask into the corner. “Come the next moonrise, your sister will finally see the animal in you should you live that long.” He tilted his head. “Let her judge whose wolf is worse.”
And then … at last, I really was completely and absolutely numb. For 132 “Mississippis,” I heard nothing. Saw nothing. Felt nothing except that heavy thing growing ever denser in my chest. In the background, I dimly understood that words were said, challenges exchanged, and threats and counterthreats issued, but all of it blurred into a meaningless hum, until—
“Cars!” Biggs exclaimed from the doorway. “Harry’s truck’s in front, but there’s about nine more behind him—no, make that twelve. Oh man.” He sighed. “The rest of them are behind that. The pack’s coming.”
“Wonderful,” said Cordelia.
And so they came. In cars. In trucks. Hastily dressed. Eager to speak in words, not wolf thoughts. Questions—there’d be lots of those. But there were no clear answers, were there? Just half lies that would lead to more questions and more confusion. I stood, almost steady on my feet, watching my twin, thinking that the blue shadows under his eyes were the only thing left of color to his face.
Vehicle doors slammed—bang, bang, bang.
Gravel crunched beneath booted feet.
“All of you get back,” said Harry. “You have no business on the Alpha’s front porch.”
“Is it true the Fae are coming?” some Were demanded.
“You guys are worse than a bunch of old women,” Harry bitched. “Now get back. You go wait over by the grass until your Alpha’s ready to speak to you.” A squeak of the front door, then my old second-in-command poked his head in the room. “Cleanup’s finished, boss. We’ve taken care of the bodies and the scene, but I need a word with you.”
“Biggs,” Trowbridge said. “Go tell someone to jack up the volume on their radio. Hey, Cordelia? Can you check my old room and see if there’s any jeans left?” The little brown wolf made a noise somewhat like a car having problems to start. My mate murmured, “Easul.” She settled, but she used her back leg to satisfy an itch and demonstrate her canine angst. She still wore the Royal Amulet, and Ralph bounced—throwing out sparks of indignation—with each thump, thump of her scratching.
“I’ll get him back, Merry,” I whispered.
Trowbridge swung around at the sound of my voice, and for a moment—just for the briefest little nanosecond—I thought I read something there. Hope? Entreaty? But whatever communique he sought to send me was lost in transit—along with that solitary blue comet that had briefly glimmered—when my brother said something low and fierce in our mother’s tongue.
“We’re in my world now,” said Trowbridge. “Your threats aren’t worth shit.”
A bit of static, and then a station was chosen. “It’s Intrepid Ian. Next up, Temple of the Dog’s ‘Hunger Strike.’”
“Seriously?” Biggs muttered from the door. “I’ll tell them to change it.”
“Forget it.” Robson Trowbridge moved to the bank of windows. “Crank it up,” he ordered. Faster than a minion could snap his fingers and say, “Sure, boss,” I heard the opening lines. One guitar? Then Cornell’s voice, low and plaintive. The Alpha of Creemore listened for a bit—his arm braced on the sash, his belly lean, his shoulders taut—then he heaved a heavy sigh and closed the windows, one by one.
“What’s the problem?” he asked Harry.
Harry dug a cell phone out of his pocket. “I found this in Knox’s jeans.” He offered it to his Alpha, then he busied himself divesting his other pockets of the rest of Knox’s stuff: a brown wallet, an ugly ring, a silver-toned necklace, and a small glass bottle half filled with colorless liquid. “You’re going to want to watch the video,” he told Trowbridge.
Forehead pleated, Trowbridge stared at the device.
Harry stepped closer. “Here, I’ll show—”
The Alpha jerked his hand away. “I remember how to use a cell phone.”
“That green ball of light came before the voice,” said Harry, peering over Trowbridge’s shoulder. “Okay, this next part’s blurry. Knox was walking over to the edge to get a better picture.” I heard Casperella hit the high note on the portal song. “And there’s the money shot—he’s got you coming through the gates with the Fae.”
Cordelia swayed into the room, carrying a pair of jeans. “God, it stinks in here.” Trowbridge accepted the Lees and dropped the cell on the couch.
Biggs asked, “Did he have time to send it before—”
“Yes,” drawled Harry. “To some girl by the name of Brenda Pritty.”
“Who is she?” Trowbridge asked, putting a foot into a pants leg.
His new second shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
The Alpha of Creemore flung his dreads over his shoulder again—
Trowbridge hadn’t looked in my direction once since he’d shut the windows. Which, come to think of it, must have required some mental discipline since the room wasn’t that large. Why was that? Was he worried that one glance from him was going to send me snivelling into a handkerchief?
Harry lifted a shoulder. “We have one more night.”
“We should try to sneak out of town,” mumbled Biggs. “Before the NAW sends people.”
Lexi’s gaze was riveted on the puddle of sun potion by Trowbridge’s foot.
“Yes,” I said, with thick sarcasm. “Let’s do that. We’ll fire up the GPS, load the car full of hamburgers and dog treats, and take a family road trip.”
At that, Trowbridge gave me a quick searching look, then firmed his mouth. “No one will want to shelter us.” He tucked the phone into his front right pocket. “In the meantime—Harry, find out everything you can about Brenda Pritty.”
Biggs heaved a sigh and sank onto the stair’s bottom step. “Why did this have to happen? We were going along pretty good until the NAW got interested in us. Who rattled their cage?”
“I didn’t get any sense of an Alpha power from Knox.” Harry scowled. “Though there was something about
