The Thing About Weres

his scent … Cordelia, did you catch it?” When she shook her head, Trowbridge went over to Knox’s effects and uncapped the bottle of liquid. He took a sniff and then swore—rather fluently, in Merenwynian.

Lexi’s nostrils flared and then his shoulders shook in silent mirth. “Looks like I’m not the only Fae in this realm.”

“What is it?” asked Harry.

“Sun potion,” Trowbridge answered. “How did this stuff fall into the NAW’s hands?”

He looked at me. As if I’d been going back and forth between Merenwyn and Creemore with a tote bag and a guilty look. A sour taste filled my mouth.

I crouched beside my twin. “You okay?”

He nodded. “For now.”

“We’re so screwed,” repeated Biggs.

Oh so predictable. Biggs moaning doom and gloom. Harry’s jaw set, ready for action. Cordelia’s gaze shuttered, her thoughts her own. The pack outside, hungry wolves hidden inside human skin. Learn the way of the Were, I thought.

“No, we’re not screwed. There’s a way out of this,” said Trowbridge. “I have a mate, don’t I?” Then instead of turning toward me, his head swung in Cordelia’s direction. “Didn’t you help me say the vows?”

She flinched.

Enough. Too much collateral hurt. “You were dying in my arms,” I said, grateful for my sudden icy detachment. “So she did what she had to. Without my Fae blood in your veins, the portal’s doors would have closed on you and you would have died, just like Mannus.”

Pity about that, my gaze said.

“So,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. “Instead you sent me into the Fae realm for eternity.”

“Back then I wanted you to live.”

A flush crawled over his cheeks.

“Biggs,” he said. “Take the shotgun and the Fae to the kitchen. Shoot him if he moves.” Then he walked to the doorway. “The rest of us are going out there as a solid unit. Whatever we’re thinking in our heads doesn’t show out there, got it? There’s only way out of this, and everything depends on our solidarity.” The Alpha of Creemore favored me with a long look of anger tinged with male frustration.

I took his evil stare, wrapped it with silver paper, put a bow on it, and sent it back to him.

Take that.

“Come with me,” he said, too softly.

Chapter Seventeen

We filed onto the front porch, a Royal Family without the coronets, medals, and swords. Trowbridge in the front, me on his right, Cordelia and the others filling in the background. The crowd fell silent, except for two teenagers in the back. One of the Weres turned to shush them.

So there they are. My would-be murderers. A collection of plaid shirts, Lululemon yoga pants, and white T-shirts. The guy who’d wrapped the chain around me slunk back to the rear of the pack. A couple of the Danvers females returned my cool gaze with a belligerence that seemed crazy-ass stupid, considering their Alpha’s paw rested on the small of my back.

I allowed my gaze to roam over the rest of the motley crew, letting my eyes do the talking.

I hate you, each and every one of you.

It had been an exercise in futility—trying to learn the way of the Were. Every time I’d tried to mimic their wolfish ways, I’d felt foreign and forced. A lousy imitation hoping to pass. All thumbs and dumb confusion, trying to slide a poorly fitted wolf pelt over my own too tight skin. Fae Stars, I have a Were in my belly, and a Fae in my gut. On the best possible day, when everyone is getting along, my skin feels stretched to the point of ripping.

I don’t belong here. I never did, I never will. I dragged my tongue over the top of my lower teeth and it gave a nudge to my salivary glands—my throat still painful from the tears I refused to shed. Water flooded my mouth, and the ache eased a fraction.

“I am Robson Trowbridge, son of Jacob Trowbridge, grandson of Stephen Trowbridge, great-grandson of William Trowbridge.” The Alpha of Creemore snared my hand in his. “Who wishes to challenge my claim?”

His palm was callused and warm.

Nobody stepped forward—evidence that none among the pack had the balls or the wish to lose them. Though there were a few sidelong glances followed by lowered eyes. It’s all stealth attacks on the weak and wounded with Weres, isn’t it?

Rachel Scawens stepped out of the throng. “Welcome back, baby brother.”

He nodded. “Rach.”

“I want it to be understood that I am not contesting my brother’s claim to the title,” she said, more for the pack than for her sibling. “There is no one among us—man or woman—who is ready to challenge him. And as of yet, there is no Were among us who can fully demonstrate the authentic blue light of an Alpha, other than my brother.” Rachel eyed me for a second—all squinty-eyed and accusing—before she lifted her shoulders. “I acknowledge that. I just wonder if it’s time for the Weres of Creemore to stop thinking like wolves and start thinking like people.”

Good luck with that. Merry stirred inside my shirt.

No one hissed “Rebellion!” but the scent of the crowd sharpened. It frightened my inner-bitch—the last time we’d smelled this mixture of anger and anticipation we’d found ourselves tied to the old oak—and she sent me a silent plea to submit. Like hell. I locked my knees and stiffened my spine.

At which Trowbridge gave my hand a soft squeeze.

Screw you, Son of Lukynae.

Emboldened, Rachel continued, “Last night our new Alpha killed the NAW’s envoy, and then he led our wolves on the hunt for Knox’s men.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know their names, or what town they came from. For all I know, they could have family waiting for them. I followed the hunt because I was wolf, and my wolf wanted to please her Alpha. To her, those men were just…” A sick expression flitted across her face. “Prey. I’ve never hunted one of our kind before, have any of you?” The guy who called himself Tank scratched the side of his cheek and tried to look invisible. “This morning I woke up as me.” She thumped her chest twice. “Me, Rachel Scawens. And it’s me who has to live with the consequences of my wolf’s actions.”

Bring me a hankie.

“What we did last night—what we participated in—will certainly bring the NAW to Creemore. And mark my words, they will extract justice for their losses. You don’t need to be psychic to predict that the next person to die in this town will be one of ours.” Trowbridge’s sister looked blindly at the ground. “When the bloodletting is over and you are mourning one of your children, the NAW will still be here. Trust me. They’ll use this opportunity to absorb the Weres of Ontario into Quebec.”

Anu yawned.

Trowbridge held up his hand. The left one—all perfect fingers splayed open. “My sister is assuming that our actions were illegal, and that we will lose in any contest against the NAW.”

“Of course we’ll lose,” she scoffed. “Look at us. We’re shopkeepers and accountants. Salesmen and factory workers. Our game is deer and rabbits, not other Weres. We don’t know how to fight against the NAW’s enforcers.”

“It’s never going to come down to a fight.” Trowbridge’s tone was unruffled and totally at odds with the beard, the dreads, and the scent of dominance wafting from him. “Everything my pack did last night will hold up when the Council reviews our case.” He raised his right hand—and therefore mine—high enough to lift me to my toes. Teetering slightly, I gazed resentfully up toward the symbol of our love and unity. Talk about imbalance, his paw nearly swallowed mine. “Hedi is my mate. We have said the words. For the rest of our lives, we are bonded.”

You could almost see the “uh-oh” thought bubble over the rest of the pack. “Shit. Time to