He was aware from their body language that the blond-haired man was the leader of the group. Reykon turned to him, ignoring the others.
“Who are you?”
The leader raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “What’s it to you?”
Reykon glanced around at the motley crew one more time. They certainly weren’t strongbloods, nor anybody affiliated with casters and vampires. They looked like farm boys and small-town ex-jocks. When Reykon picked out the edge of a tribal wolf tattoo, the dots connected. “Werewolves…”
“Bingo,” the tank chuckled.
Reykon licked his lips, dry and cracked. “Let me guess…” he said, yanking on the cords one more time for good measure, now that he was fully awake. “Wilson Pack?”
“Wrong.”
Reykon frowned and searched for any connection that he’d had with werewolves. There was none. Truly, he hadn’t anticipated this outcome at all. Two mistakes in one night was not a good sign for his esteemed track record.
It took him a moment to discover, but he let out a laugh as he finally realized his massive oversight: Lucidia had spent an extended vacation with the Pacific Northwestern wolves, helping them clear up their aristocracy issues. She must have had allies leftover from her time there. “That clever bitch,” he muttered.
“Yahtzee,” the dark-haired woman teased.
The bright side: he’d never make that mistake again, either. He’d be sure to research his enemies as well as his targets more thoroughly.
The leader sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, two feet away from Reykon. “My name is Clay Brooks. Lucidia sent us for you and your traveling companion.”
“Right,” Reykon said calmly. “Speaking of…”
Clay narrowed his eyes, maintaining a falsely pleasant smile. “We were hoping you could help us out with that one. When we got here, you were knocked on your ass, and she was nowhere to be found.”
Reykon’s mind was bombarded by a million questions. It was clear to him how she’d escaped; he’d been sloppy, getting carried away with that pesky gut feeling that something about their environment had been off. Turned out, he hadn’t been wrong. In all seriousness, though, he couldn’t be angry at Robin; it was understandable that she’d taken her shot.
Understandable, but unacceptable, from a professional standpoint. It certainly wouldn’t happen again once he’d found her.
But the problem now was where she’d gone.
He knew that if the leader and his few trusted people were here in the room with him, there had to be more out there, looking for her. And werewolves were admittedly the greatest trackers of all the supernatural creatures. She’d only stand a chance if she’d taken the car. A glance to his pocket, to the lump where his keys should have been, confirmed it. Smart girl, he thought again.
So there was hope.
If she’d had the foresight to take the keys rather than call the police from the hotel, he surmised that she’d taken both the jacket and the backpack. That was bad for him. All of his materials, his weapons, his tools. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d have to MacGyver something, but it certainly made his life a little harder.
He just hoped that she’d be able to evade them long enough for him to get to her location.
No doubt Lucidia had ordered her wolf allies to kill Robin; it was by far the smart call. Something inside of Reykon tensed at that thought that she was out there, speeding away in the dark, or running through pitch-black woods, terrified, ready to be mauled by-
“Hey, wonder boy,” Clay said firmly, “where’d she go?”
“Does it look like I know? She knocked me out. You’re the bloodhounds.”
Clay smiled. “We’ve got people looking for her. It’s only a matter of time.”
“And when you find her?” he asked in a level tone.
“What?” Clay said, narrowing his eyes.
“Seems like you’re taking orders from a strongblood. She holds your leash, is that it? So what did Lucidia tell you to do with her?”
Clay laughed. “Trying to bruise my ego? Try again. We don’t take orders, we help our friends out. And we certainly don’t mow down innocents caught in a vampire’s sadistic crosshairs. I believe that’s your job.” Clay approached him slowly, arrogantly, and planted both hands on either side of the chair. “If anybody’s leashed up, it’s you. Strongbloods are really just glorified lapdogs to their masters, right? Tell me: does Magnus let you eat scraps at his table, or do you have to stay outside with the rest of the half-breeds?”
Reykon gave a small smile. “Speaking of my master: this little party we’re having right here is an act of war. I’m an established agent for House Demonte, and werewolves are a subject race to the vampires.”
The three others stiffened. Reykon was certain that the big guy was going to cave his face in. Clay held a hand out, cautioning them.
“This little party doesn’t exist. We’re not operating as the Brooks Pack, we’re freelancing for a friend that we owe a debt to.”
“Still, when I get out of here and tell my house what went down… that doesn’t bode well for the pack, now does it?”
“Who says you’re getting out of here?” Clay replied in a blunt voice.
Reykon smiled again. “I did.”
“Gotta say,” Clay chuckled, “you’ve got heart, I’ll give you that.”
“I appreciate it,” Reykon said with fake gratitude. “So, if you are going to kill me, what are you waiting for?”
“Lucidia wants a word.”
He mulled this over, staying quiet and figuring out his escape plan. Minutes ticked by with no sound other than the werewolves talking quietly across the room.
After a while, Reykon got antsy, wanting more information.
“You never answered my question,” he called.
“Which one?”
“What are your orders for Robin?”
Clay frowned. “What do you think they are, blood boy?”
“Kill. It’s the only smart call for Lucidia’s position.”
“She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and she was very adamant on keeping the girl alive. Maybe you are losing your edge.”
Reykon paused, and then shook his head. “Why?”
Clay gave a puzzled expression. “Which part is confusing to you? Pretty sure I
