Before Hadley, he thought his role as beta of the pack was difficult. Now he knew better.
And with a bone-deep certainty, he knew he never wanted to be alpha if he could help it.
Four
The video played on a loop in my memory on the ride home, and I let my head fall back against the seat. I stared at the roof, which was marked with a big orange stain in the shape of a cow with three legs, and decided I had to buy a car one day. Convenience was nice and all, but if the Swyft bills didn’t kill me, the cooties might.
“You all right back there, ma’am?”
“Long day at work.” I forced myself upright. “How’s your night going?”
“I can’t complain.” He smiled at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re the potentate, right?”
“I’m his apprentice—” I tugged my tour guide persona in place, smile included, “—until after the trial.”
“I forgot that was coming up,” he admitted, sheepish. “I don’t much follow politics.”
“I try not to, but politics seem to follow me.”
The Faraday loomed outside my window, and I poured myself onto the sidewalk in a puddle.
“You look like crap,” Hank called from his spot by the front door. “You gonna make it in on your own?”
“Yeah.” I thanked my driver and set out for the entrance. “I have hours to go before I sleep.”
“Figured.” His jaw slid back and forth. “I heard what happened to the obstacle course.”
Since the pack had loaned me the property and volunteered free labor to assemble the course, I wasn’t surprised to discover Hank had heard about it. The whole pack would be gossiping about it.
“That’s the least of my problems.” I walked through the door he held open. “See you tomorrow.”
The ride to the top floor left me dragging, but I pulled myself together before the car slowed to a stop.
The elevator doors slid apart to reveal Midas waiting for me on the threshold to our apartment, and my heart squeezed. The scent of takeout cranked the rumble in my stomach to a roar. He heard and smiled.
I was spoiled. And loved. But mostly spoiled.
I truly didn’t deserve Midas.
“Hank called, didn’t he?” I faked a grumble. “Why can’t gwyllgi keep their noses in their own business?”
Rather than answer, Midas crossed to me. His arms came around me in a cage that supported rather than restrained, and I leaned into him. Breathing him in, I decided I could stand here for the rest of my life and be okay with giving up the potentate gig if he kept holding me.
“Cue the footage.” He tipped my head back and brushed his lips over mine. “The TV’s ready.”
“You know me so well.” I rolled onto my tiptoes and kissed him back. “What’s that I smell?”
“Grilled chicken, lamb, and falafel gyros with hummus, baba ganoush, and pita chips.”
“You’re an angel sent from heaven.” I inhaled the rich spices. “Admit it.”
“I’m no angel.” He nipped my jaw. “I only want my mate to stay in fighting shape for what’s ahead.”
The reminder killed my appetite, but he was right. I hadn’t eaten today that I could recall. I skipped the obstacle course, obviously. I hadn’t run either. It was crunch time, but I wasn’t sure that mattered now.
While Midas fixed us plates, I grabbed a quick shower that barely wet my hair. Eager to watch the video, I sped through my bedtime routine and emerged in a cloud of steam dressed in my favorite stolen shirt. He glanced up when I sashayed past, and crimson sparked in his eyes. I wasn’t wearing underwear, and he knew it. I never did when I modeled this Midas-sized tent.
But he let the moment go and set our food on the coffee table so we could watch the big screen together.
The phone and TV were used to playing nice, so it only took seconds to get the footage rolling.
The blogger started out reviewing the food at the restaurant, probably out of boredom. Or maybe to irk his parents, who hadn’t spoken a word to him up to that point. I fast forwarded to where he started racing his escargot across his plate. Screams from outside launched him out of his chair, phone in hand.
“This is Tommy Larkin, and I’m at Marx’s on the Corner.” He panted as he ran to the window overlooking the street. “A black SUV jumped the curb, running into the line of people waiting to get a table.” He zoomed in. “Two guys are getting out, both dressed in black. Damn. This is real. This is happening.” He kept his hand steady, but excitement peppered his words. “They just grabbed some guy and stuck him in the SUV. Shit. They’re beating his boyfriend up, and like no one is stopping them. They’re just standing there.” He kept recording as he ran out the door and yelled, “What the hell, man?”
The vampire who’d beaten Cruz pointed a warning finger at Tommy then hopped in the SUV.
“Did you guys see that?” The kid swallowed audibly then turned the camera toward himself. “Fuck.”
When he turned the camera back around, the crowd had unfrozen. A dozen or more patrons swarmed Cruz, and every person in the shot had their phone in hand. I hoped they were calling 911, but they might have been filming clips for social media. Like Tommy.
“We’ve got a clear shot of Pointer,” I murmured. “We ought to be able to ID him.”
“The guy who took Neely kept his head down. He was smart about it.”
I jumped at the sound of Midas’s voice behind me. I
