Staring at Josh’s beautiful gardens and the dogs romping through them, I wondered if enforcers ever slept without nightmares.
* * *
Any thoughts Chris might have had about keeping Josh and Peter in the dark about the mutant virus fled when we entered the kitchen. The two wulfan were busy preparing for a barbecue, but the moment we stepped through the door, complete with one spoiled diva dog and one unruly hound, Peter confronted us.
“So now that you guys have no doubt decided how to manage our sorry asses, how about you fill us in on what the hell is going on?” Peter’s blue eyes flashed fire and his jaw jutted as he stared down Chris.
So Chris sat them at the table while I took over in the kitchen. I stirred the mushrooms and carted the steaks out to the grill. The sight of the prime rib, even bloody and raw, had my stomach rumbling. The chow mein and granola seemed a long time ago, and to my surprise, the wulf in me made a play for control. My gums ached as the teeth threatened to emerge. I fought it back, alarmed in light of what the others were discussing. The last thing I needed was to lose it. Was it a sign of the mutant virus? I refused to believe I’d gone through all this and found balance as a wulfleng, only to face possible death by enforcer—again. I struggled for calm, visualizing the dogs playing in the garden, and had only just succeeded when my phone rang.
Another line from “Demons”—this time about failing dreams. Okay, this lyric thing was getting freaky. I picked up the text.
We’re ten minutes out.
Thoughts of storm gray eyes and a wide smile made my heart leap. I set down the tongs so I could reply. Cooking steak. How do you like yours?
Lightning-quick reply. Bleeding.
I snorted, my thumb busy at the keys. Should it even touch the grill?
Just pass it over the coals.
I smiled but wondered what her thoughts were on this virus thing.
She must have read my mind. Did Chris talk to you?
Yes.
It might be nothing.
Peter had another episode. Now Josh is forgetting.
Radio silence. I pictured her staring at the tiny screen, chewing on her lip. Then she replied, we’ll get to the bottom of this.
Yes.
Almost there. 3 hours with Garrett has me ready to tear into that steak.
I smiled. I had yet to meet Garrett, but I got the feeling he and Sam didn’t see eye to eye. Which, considering the amount of time he spent working alongside her, pleased me. I remembered how possessive Dillon had been about Chloe and experienced a stab of unease.
I moved a steak to the top rack, as far from the flames as possible, then headed to the kitchen to get more sauce. The voices inside were muted, and when I stepped through the door, they fell silent.
Okay, their what-will-we-do-about-Liam-if-he’s-infected discussion couldn’t have been more obvious.
Chris and Peter glared at each other, and Josh picked at something on the tabletop, eyes averted. The energy in the room positively sizzled.
My surroundings narrowed as though I viewed them from the end of a tunnel, with thick walls moving in to shield me while allowing me to process things visually. Avoidance was an automatic coping strategy—I noted the dogs flaked out on the living room floor. It was the first time I’d seen the puppy as anything other than a leaping blur. In a quick glance, I assessed the plethora of breakable and edible items within giant hound reach.
I fetched the sauce from the fridge and walked back past the silent table. “If you value your Star Wars action figures, I’d move them above the four-foot level,” I said.
Pleased with the casual tone of my voice, I retreated to the patio. I let the protective barriers slowly erode as I applied the sauce. They crumbled altogether when a brand-new black Dodge pickup pulled up in the drive. Its grumbling roar revealed a powerful diesel engine within. It looked like it could tow a mountain. Hmm. Good commuting vehicle—not. A small figure exited the truck almost as soon as it rolled to a halt, making my heart do a double flip.
“Hey soldier,” Sam said, bouncing up to me as though preparing to leap into a run, her natural energy barely contained. I figured after a three-hour trip she must be ready to take off like a rocket. “This is Garrett.”
With an effort, I switched my gaze to the tall form following her up the walk. I looked into vivid blue eyes in a chiseled, dark-featured face capable of gracing the cover of a GQ magazine. Garrett had a couple of inches on me, and he was built like a model, with the right amount of muscle on his frame, but it was the slick, not a hair out-of-place look to him, complete with pressed, designer shirt and jeans that set my teeth on edge. That and the polished smile that never met his eyes.
Arrogant prick, thought the human. Tear him a new one, thought the wulf.
“Liam,” I said, smiling and shaking his hand. He tightened his grip for a moment before he let go, assessing me. He must be in on the virus thing, so I bristled at his perusal. And I took a half step into his space, still smiling, but letting him see the teeth behind it. I had to work to make sure they stayed human. Something sparked in his eyes, but he held his ground.
Sam watched the dick-measuring contest with amusement. “How are the steaks going?” she asked. “I hope mine isn’t overdone.”
My phone rang, the ringtone indicating it was the clinic. I frowned. Darlene was on call. She must need my help. I pulled it out and answered.
“I’m sorry to be a bother, Liam, but I need you.” Darlene sounded harassed, which was unusual enough to make me pay attention.
“What’s up?”
“I’m at Burt Kulchinsky’s
