When they walked into the bedroom, his brother was walking out of the bathroom, freshly showered and shaved. “How about some breakfast, son?” Daric asked. “What would you like?”
Gunnar rubbed a towel down his face. “Chinese food. Emerald Dragon’s egg rolls.”
“We’ll have it ready for you by the time you finish getting dressed.”
So they did, and as they ate, Gunnar gave them as much detail as he could about his vision. When they finished, Daric stood up. “I think I may have an idea where you can begin looking, Cross. But I need to check something out first. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of all of this.” With that, their father disappeared.
“Do you need me to stay or get you anything, Gunnar?”
“Cross.” His brother’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist. “There’s something …”
Gunnar’s grip was deathly tight. “What is it? What’s wrong? You can tell me.”
“I … I didn’t tell you everything. About the vision.”
“What? Why would you keep anything from me and Dad?”
“It’s not you … it’s Dad.” He withdrew his hand and curled his shoulders inward, bent his head down. “I thought … I wasn’t sure if I should have told you, but I think you should know something.”
“What is it?”
Gunnar slowly lifted his head. “Cross … that woman. In the vision.”
“What about her?”
“She’s there because of you.”
“Why?”
His whiskey-brown eyes turned dark. “Because she’s yours.”
“Mine?” His heart thudded in his chest. “What do you mean, mine?”
“Your True Mate.”
Three months later …
Despite being called The City That Never Sleeps, Cross knew that New York, did in fact, sleep, at least pockets of it did. On this particular September early morning, this part of the Upper West Side was waking up—the garbage truck was chugging along, collecting bins left on the street, workers at the corner coffee shop were coming in for their morning shift, and of course, right on time—Deedee Creed was hopping down the steps of her brownstone home, about to head into work. It had been months since he’d seen his best friend or even talked to her, so he thought he might surprise her and take her out to breakfast. Then maybe they could make plans for dinner with his sister Astrid. Growing up, they’d been a tightly-knit trio, and he’d missed their company after being away for so long.
She was just across the street, walking toward the subway stop on Eighty-Sixth, so he crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk, making a beeline for—
“Whoops! Pardon me.”
Someone had bumped right into him as he tried to cross the street. He whipped around and saw that someone walking away from him, going the opposite direction as Deedee. At first, he turned back to chase after Deedee, who had nearly reached the corner, but something made him turn around. It was the scent of apple cider and fresh snow. It made his inner wolf freeze, then raise its head in the air, sniffing for more of that delicious scent. The person that bumped into him—a woman, he realized—was nearing the other end of the street.
Before he knew it, he was walking behind her. She was wearing a light trench coat, and her hair was hidden under a cap. She turned uptown, and he followed her for a few more blocks, taking the trace scents of her, following it like breadcrumbs leading to … what exactly?
He stopped, realizing that he’d walked over ten city blocks following this woman. Some might say he was acting like a stalker. Rubbing a hand down his face, he made a motion to turn around when she stopped, then walked into one of the coffee shops along Amsterdam Avenue.
His wolf urged him forward, and he found himself reaching for the shop’s door when he looked up at the sign overhead. “Wicked Brew,” he muttered to himself. The logo of the coffee shop had, of all things, a silhouette of a witch on a broomstick.
Instead of going in, he withdrew his hand and stepped aside when someone behind him cleared their throat. However, he couldn’t help but glance inside the shop. He saw the trench coat draped over the back of a chair in the corner, but no sign of the woman.
Quickly, he pivoted on his heel and walked away. His wolf scratched and whined at him. What is it? But his wolf didn’t exactly talk back. As he moved farther and farther away from the coffee shop, it quieted down, so he continued to walk, trying to clear his head of the apple cider and snow scent. He didn’t realize how far he’d walked or how late it was until he saw Columbus Circle up ahead.
“Damn.” Checking his watch, he knew he was going to be late for his meeting with his father and the Alpha unless he left right this moment. He ducked into the Time Warner Center, then headed towards the bathrooms and into one of the stalls. He pictured the Alpha’s office in his mind, imagining that spot behind him with the large windows that faced Central Park. And in seconds, he was there.
“Apologies, Primul,” he said, using the traditional honorific a Lycan used for his Alpha. “I was running late.”
The leather chair swiveled around to face him. “No worries, Cross,” he said. “Have a seat.”
Daric, not surprisingly, was already there, sitting on the chair opposite Grant Anderson. He merely lifted a blond brow, but said nothing as Cross sat next to him. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll get right to it. As you know, I’ve been looking through the archives of several libraries around the world.”
“Did you find any more information?”
He looked at Daric, who gave him a slight nod. “Yes, Alpha. And I have reason to believe that the things that were in G—Grandmother’s and Dad’s vision are three artifacts that were owned by a powerful mage named Magus Aurelius.”
“Magus Aurelius?” Grant’s brows snapped together. “Never heard of him.”
“He lived
