“I’m here on SOA business, not pack business. You didn’t need to show up with the welcome committee like this,” Patrick said.
The woman didn’t blink, merely gave a careless, one-shoulder shrug at his statement. She was dressed in a business suit, a long camel-colored wool coat draped over the low table in front of her. Her Afro was teased out a couple of inches from her skull, bleached and dyed to a honey brown. The shade matched the nude color of her lipstick and the high-heeled boots she wore.
“You’re still in our territory without permission,” she said.
Patrick tapped the badge hanging from around his neck. “This gives me all the permission I need.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Pack law still matters, whether you’re a federal agent or not. Our god pack alphas want to see you.”
“What happens if I say no and go upstairs to my hotel room to order room service?”
“Are you?” Wade asked, perking up. “Because I’m starving and I want a hot dog.”
“Room service doesn’t offer that dish. Should’ve ordered delivery.”
“Aw, man.”
The woman’s gaze darted from Patrick to Wade, lingering on the teenager in a way Patrick didn’t like. To Patrick, Wade seemed human, his aura dimmed down to how he’d been taught to project it in order to pass as something he wasn’t. Maybe the werecreatures smelled something different that was tipping them off.
Wade was their pack’s ace in the hole, because no one ever expected a dragon to show up for a fight. They wanted him to keep what he was a secret not only as a last resort, but also so he could live as normal a life as possible. It was why, whenever General Reed asked about Wade, Patrick always changed the subject. If the military wanted Wade, they’d have to go through Patrick first.
“I’m here at the request of my alphas to bring you before them for trespassing,” the woman said.
Patrick weighed her words and the intent behind them, picking through all the ranks of werecreatures he could be talking to and coming up with just one. “Dire?”
She smiled in a way that showed off just a hint of fangs, but the look in her bright amber eyes reminded him of Sage at her most implacable. “Good guess. Monica Woodard, though I’m not at your service.”
“And the rest of your pack?”
“You don’t need to know their names.”
Patrick shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Too many out there who called the preternatural world home took currency in names. The whole mess in December just proved it was a shitty payment system. Patrick couldn’t be mad about someone not wanting to give out a name that didn’t belong to them.
“How are we doing this? Are your alphas coming here? Is that why you have such a huge entourage?” Patrick asked.
“They don’t come to you. You go to them.”
“Nah, I don’t play that game. We’ll meet on neutral ground. I’m here for work, but if you want me here as a god pack alpha, then you need to respect that rank.”
Monica’s mouth curled in disdain. “You are no werecreature.”
“I’m still pack, and everyone in New York who we protect considers me an alpha the same way Jono is. You either treat me as an alpha or the meeting you want isn’t happening. I’m here in Chicago for my job, not to make trouble.”
“The way I hear it, trouble follows you wherever you go,” the man sitting to Monica’s left said.
Wade slowly ripped open a box of Pop-Tarts, the sound of tearing cardboard drawing everyone’s attention to him. Patrick watched him wiggle his fingers over the packets inside before choosing one from the middle. He tore it open, pulled a Pop-Tart out, and took a large bite of the corner, flashing sharp teeth in a not so subtle way.
“Put your teeth away,” Patrick told him.
“They are away,” Wade retorted around a mouthful of food.
His eyes were still brown, with human pupils, and no hint of red scales was showing through his skin. It was a miniscule shift of mass to change his teeth, but it was enough for a flicker of unease to cross Monica’s face. She leaned back on the couch, her gaze lingering on Wade for a few more seconds before she focused on Patrick.
“What is he?” she asked.
“He’s pack,” Patrick replied, deliberately misinterpreting the question.
Monica narrowed her eyes. “My alphas will deal with you alone.”
“I don’t think so,” Wade said, brushing crumbs off his shirt. He poured out the packets of Pop-Tarts and twisted around to shove them in his jacket pockets before getting to his feet. “I go where Patrick goes. You don’t like it, then oh fucking well.”
Wade glared at the god pack werecreatures with an intensity that made some of the surrounding werecreatures drift closer, sensing a threat. Patrick leaned over to grab Wade’s jacket off the couch and hand it to him.
“Put your jacket on,” he said.
Wade made a face. “Does that mean no room service?”
“Jacket now. Room service later.”
Wade grumbled under his breath before making a show about putting it on. He left his garbage where it was, and Patrick would’ve told him to pick up after himself, but he figured the werecreatures on staff could deal with the mess.
Patrick turned to look at Monica. “Neutral ground, or I’m going upstairs and staying there, and anyone who tries to get inside my room is going to regret it.”
Her mouth flattened into a tight line before her gaze strayed back to Wade. Whatever she thought he was, it was enough of a threat to get her to agree. Patrick wasn’t mad she didn’t consider him a threat, but the teenager with a bottomless pit for a stomach scaring her almost made him laugh.
“Your manners are terrible,” Monica said as she stood.
“So I’ve been told. What’s it going
