I observe all this in the space between fluttered heartbeats.
For his part, Milo does not run his eyes over the length of me. His gaze stays locked on mine, and something behind it tells me that he is not just any wolf shifter.
Milo is an alpha.
One need not be a wolf to see that.
The prospect both excites and terrifies me. I remind myself that I am not here on a date, despite Flora’s earlier rib, but rather, a mission.
He greets my sister and then looks back at me, jerking his chin toward the east side of the bar. “Come on,” he says. “We were just about to start.”
We follow him to a stairwell that is manned by two wolves as large as the one stationed at the front door. Milo nods to them as he passes, telling them that Flora and I are with him.
My sister and I exchange the briefest of looks. Then we follow him down to a closed door, where yet another guard is stationed.
But this one is not a wolf.
This one is a warlock.
One I have met once before. In my bedroom.
Alexandre Antonio Alabaster.
“Triple A!” I say, and then feel like a dork for the exclamation.
The warlock smirks. “Double M,” he replies. He nods at my sister. Then purses his lips and looks at me. “So it seems that all we had to do to get you to come was send the pretty one to get you.”
Now I’m sure my cheeks are flaring. I am going to throw some retort at him when Milo clears his throat.
“Be nice, Alex,” Milo says, and moves past him, nodding me and Flora along. “And stop calling me pretty.”
Alex snorts and smirks as we go by, shutting the door behind us and following us in. I watch as he casts a spell around the door, sealing us in.
Flora and I both open our mouths at the same time, but Alex holds up a hand.
“Relax,” he says as he strolls by. “It’s for your protection, not your entrapment.”
That does little to comfort me, but now I am moving deeper into the large space, which is quiet despite the ruckus taking place upstairs.
Three of the four walls are made entirely of glass, and the dark water of the Delaware River laps about midway up. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I take in the amount of magic that surrounds this place.
Before I can observe much else, a deep voice says, “Welcome, and thank you all for coming.”
A lump forms in my throat as I recognize the speaker.
Akim Algernon, the future alpha and head of the Philadelphia wolf pack.
13
10:30 p.m.
Akim Algernon.
I’ve never met him in person, but a supe from Philly would truly have to live in a bubble in order not to know of him.
The thing is, the wolves have taken the brunt of the human public backlash since the world found out about supernaturals. It doesn’t help that the media keeps portraying them as violent, mindless beasts, drumming up a general sense of fear among the humans.
In fact, wolf shifters have been in the news constantly, and the female standing beside Akim is no exception. Several months back, she’d been caught on a convenience store camera using her supernatural speed and strength. No matter that she was using those abilities to stop an armed gunman from robbing a convenience store. No matter that she’d risked her own life to help the man who’d ultimately turned the footage over to the media and outed her true identity to everyone.
There wasn’t a soul in Philly who didn’t know the name Harper Beauregard. I remember the how bad I’d felt for her when I saw the story on the local evening news. To have everyone know your most intimate secret—a secret that made you a target of hate groups—seemed to me like a violation of basic privacy.
In the months since, hundreds of pictures of Harper had been posted to social media, and in many of them, Akim Algernon had been by her side, so the popular theory is that the two are mates. Another popular narrative is that Akim is next in line to be alpha to the Philadelphia Pack’s throne.
I feel a little guilty as I realize how much I know about the two wolves, and not by any choice of their own. Was this really the world we lived in now?
Ever since the Big Reveal, sometimes things seemed to be moving so fast that I could barely keep my head from spinning.
The urge to run out of here comes over me, a strike to the gut, but some other part of me knows this is the right thing to do.
And there’s the matter of that magical barrier blocking the door.
“All right, everyone,” says Harper Beauregard. “Find something comfortable to sit on and let’s get down to it.”
There are maybe thirty people in the room, mostly wolves, but a few other races as well. There is a fae couple, their features soft and lovely, skin as smooth as silk. They wear a glamour that conceals their true selves, but I am a witch, and as such was kissed at birth by the Goddess’s Blessing, which grants me True Sight and Blessed Being.
So I know the fae for what they are. Masters at deception and bartering, their skin has an alluring glow, the approximation of an aura. Their hair is long, past their waists, flowing and braided, with fluffy, colorful feathers tucked in at various places.
When you look at them with the glamour, their appearances are as vanilla human as can be. Sensible haircuts, jeans and t-shirts, walkable shoes, tightlipped smiles.
They offer a friendly nod as Flora and I claim two of the several wooden chairs that are placed about the room. Like the bar above, the space is arranged with all the chairs facing
