Ranger pushed his face directly into her breasts. “Why is it ye can ignore me, lass?” he crooned.
Waves of shock rolled through Wrenn. He nuzzled and rubbed and murmured but didn’t harm. But he was harming. He held her hands. And—
Behind them, the Andersons laughed.
“Let. Go. Ranger!” Wrenn yelled directly into his ear.
Ranger chuckled as he rubbed his face against her chest again.
“Let go of the lady, Ranger,” the officer called.
Ranger pulled his face out long enough to wink up at Wrenn. “Ye’ve nae say in this, little man,” he growled.
The officer primed his gun. “Yes, I do.”
Ranger’s grip tightened to the point it hurt. “Oh, lassie—” He blinked and rolled her wrist without the sword so he could see the inside. “A token.” He looked up at her. “Because ye’re a witch, eh?”
What difference did her Heartway tokens make? “This will not end well for you,” Wrenn growled.
Ranger chuckled. “It’s cute ye think there’s an alternative.” He nodded toward the officer.
She leaned her head down. “You answer my questions and I will ask the King for lenience.”
He lifted his head. “Ye hear that, lads? The King’s gonnae go easy on dear ol’ me!” He laughed. “I’m here because o’ my King.”
His King? “Our Kings are the same king.”
His eyebrows arched and he loosened his grip slightly. Not enough to get away, but enough to indicate he was listening. “D’ye really think we dinnae have our own king? Tsk. Tsk.”
“Roll back your enthralling on these boys so we can discuss this like adults,” Wrenn said.
“Oh, luv, I only worry about th’ ones wi’ th’ downward points,” He curled his lip.
Vampires.
The officer’s radio buzzed. “Copy that,” the officer said. He flicked the light toward the Andersons. “I want you boys to sit down on the snow. Drop your asses right where you are and test out the quality of those suits you’re wearing. Got it?”
None of them moved.
Ranger blinked. His brow contorted again, and he peered at the officer. Then he looked back at the Andersons. “They said one o’ ye like he’s some kind of invader or somethin’, didnae they?”
“Let go of me, Ranger,” Wrenn said.
He shook his head. “What’s yer name, sir?” he called.
“Alfheim County Sheriff’s Department,” the officer said.
One of the Andersons pointed at the officer again. “That there is Ed-whar-do Mar-tine-ez,” he snarled out, giving extra emphasis on the syllables that must have sounded the most Spanish to their Anderson ears.
Ranger’s eyes and mouth rounded. “Well, hot damn, my friend!” He pushed Wrenn away without trying to strip the sword. “Ye’re famous all along the Gulf Coast.”
The American vampires knew this man.
She should skewer Ranger right here and now. Just run him through, disrupt the enthralling, and keep him from harming the mundanes.
But she needed answers. She still didn’t know what the kelpies had tried to steal, or anything at all about the blood syndicate.
“Magnus Freyrsson just brought home a couple Australian kelpies.” More than a hint of Texas drawl infused the officer’s accent. “I wonder if one of them’s named Ranger.”
He emphasized the Freyr part. They must have an elder Freyr elf in this enclave. Ranger was about to get his ass kicked, for sure.
One of the Anderson boys pointed. “Your pop’s gave you a dog name, dude!”
Ranger’s eyes narrowed.
“And here I thought your name was Dumbass McHorseface,” the officer said.
Ranger had hit a nerve with his mention of the Gulf Coast vamps. A nerve that put Officer Martinez on an even more precarious edge.
“I think you should return to your vehicle, Sheriff, and allow me to handle Ranger,” she said.
He tipped his head to the side as if to remind her about the strength of Ranger’s grip.
“Yeah!” one of the Andersons yelled. “How’d some damned illegal get a job as sheriff anyway? I didn’t vote for ya!”
“Yeah!” another yelled. “How’d you rig the election, huh?”
Sheriff Martinez pointed the light right at Father Anderson’s face. “Sit. Your ass. Down!”
Ranger’s lip curled. Red demon flame leaked from the sides of his eyes as he stared at the Sheriff. His muscles tensed.
He was going to attack Martinez. His body language screamed his intention so loudly the mundanes all shifted as if they’d noticed.
He might have blinked before he lunged. Maybe. He might have yelled, or sworn in Scottish, or done any of the other flamboyant things she’d come to expect from a kelpie.
But something was clear: He’d decided that the Sheriff was more valuable than enthralling the Andersons, or egging on Wrenn, or even his mysterious reasons for attacking the Gallery.
And he was instantly outside of strike range and well within Martinez’s blast range.
“Don’t!” Wrenn yelled.
Don’t shoot the kelpie, she thought. Don’t make him more frightened than he already is.
Because fear was the root of his behavior. All the anger, all the posturing, all the evil behavior rose out of terror. It did with all the fae. It did with everyone, even her.
The blast hit Ranger directly in the chest.
And she couldn’t stop him if the terror overwhelmed his nasty kelpie mind.
He gulped and looked down at the hole in his polo shirt. He snarled. Then he dropped to his knees. “Cold iron an’ silver. I think I love ye so much I’m gonnae tell my friends where t’ find ye, Santo Guijarro County Deputy Eduardo Martinez.”
Ranger was a kelpie. He shouldn’t know anything about this man’s past. Which meant the Gulf Coast clans had a bounty out on the elves’ sheriff—and that Ranger had enough connections to the clan to pick up this particular bit of information. There was no other explanation.
That vamped kelpie hadn’t been an anomaly, like Robin had suggested. Dark fae—kelpies—were trafficking for a blood syndicate. Ranger and his big mouth were her proof.
And Ranger threatening a mundane law enforcement officer in elf territory made this entire situation a thousand times worse than she’d thought.
Sheriff Martinez primed his shotgun again.
“Don’t!” Wrenn swished the sword in the Andersons’ direction. “You! On your
