They stared at each other in silence.
More silence.
Dean stared at him.
Quince scowled.
Quince waited for it. When Dean slapped him across the face but kept his claws sheathed, Quince knew he’d gotten off easy.
Quince shook off the blow, then returned one of his own that knocked Dean on his ass.
Another casualty of Lex’s coup. Miles, Quince’s one-time best friend, actually believed Quince had turned against Michael. That distrust and animosity still hurt.
Dean paused.
Was he ever.
Chapter Two
Quince spent the next day about twenty miles west of Cougar Falls, in Whitefish, avoiding the pregnant females of the pride, dodging the aggravating gray wolf mooning after some woman with the sense not to give him the time of day, and conspiring with Dean. Late last night, he’d quietly spoken with Dean’s older brother. Protocol demanded he deal with the local pride leader while in town. Burke Chastell fit the role easily. Strong, confident, smart.
The way Michael used to be.
Quince experienced another pang of homesickness, wishing for a past that could never be. Better to focus on the now, he thought as he hid in the feminine day spa catering to Ac-taw and humans alike. Thanks to the Hunter’s mist he’d sprayed over himself to mask his scent, he was all but invisible. And if Dean hadn’t totally fucked him over, he might just have a shot at getting Joy under his hot, hungry hands. A glance at his cell phone told him he had another five to ten minutes before she was due to show.
His cell phone buzzed. Noting the familiar number, he swallowed a groan and answered in a low voice, “What now?”
“Easy, big guy.” He clearly heard his lieutenant’s amusement. Quince could imagine Jace Alexander kicked back in his chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his feet on the ancient scarred desk in Quince’s office. The big blond was deceptively lazy, but he could move like lightning when prodded. “Just checking in, as ordered.”
“Any problems with Ayers or Watson?”
“Nope. Greg, Darren and their weak-ass posse are keeping quiet. Too quiet, if you ask me, but Ellis and I have it covered. When are you getting a third lieutenant to help out, anyway? This domestic crap is uber annoying.”
“Excuse me? Have you raised my salary when I wasn’t looking? ‘Cause I’m thinking that telling Genevieve she can’t buy a new car with pride money to make Karen jealous and handling Alicia’s pissy attitude about Susan mating her brother should net me some fucking hazard pay.”
Not having the patience to deal with any females other than Joy at the moment, Quince muttered a hasty, “I’m busy.”
“I’ll bet you are. Busy with that fine Joy Bermin.” Jace whistled, and Quince wanted to jack him up by his throat.
“Talk to you later,” he snarled, hung up on Jace’s laughter, then pocketed his phone.
His friends at home thought his plight with Joy was the funniest thing going. Quince knew the bastards had been betting on how long it would take him to nab the sly female. That’s
Joy needed to be wooed. He knew that. Problem was, the woman wouldn’t sit still long enough to let him court her. Date her. Fuck her. Hell, he’d do
And good old Miles. The prick was a stand-up guy most of the time. Had a terrific sense of humor, great luck with the ladies and money coming out his ass. Too bad his head was stuck so far up that particular orifice that he couldn’t see the truth for what it was. Quince had a bad feeling he and Miles would come to blows before the idiot would see how mistaken he’d been about Quince’s part in Michael’s death and the pride takeover.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, sensing a tension headache growing.