by Lola Dodge
I would’ve given a few half-hearted waves, but Quan clamped my hand tight and used his massive size to push through the crowd. “Make way!”
The reporters all called out, asking who my escort was, but I kept my lips pressed tight. I could feel the amusement vibrating off Quan.
Was it the bodyguard act that amused him? Or seeing me squirm?
Either way, I preferred the perversely entertained panther to the sullen, aggressive one.
Even if the amusement was at my expense.
Quan
Damn, this was fun.
I’d had zero expectations for the day, but when I woke up to suits hanging on my door, I was mellowed. All this acrylic, man-made, artificial shit didn’t do it for me, but a fine suit that actually fit?
Even I could appreciate the finer things.
And Angel was right about the bodyguard look. As soon as the concierge’s eyes flicked to the ground in fear, I’d known this was going to be a hell of a good time. The crowds of students gaped with wide eyes as they took cell phone videos. I couldn’t see the photographers’ faces behind their pro cameras, but the sweet scent of fear wafted on the breeze.
Most excellent.
Their scents and expressions shifted as Angel came into view. Respect. Awe.
Angel smelled as even as usual, and only her slightly damp palm gave away her nerves. She shot me an appraising glare, like she knew exactly what I was playing at, but didn’t try to pull away from me.
“Give her some space.” I shouldered through the crowd, using my body to shield Angel from some of the cameras.
They wanted a piece of her, and with this new job description, I had a built-in excuse to dropkick anyone who got too close.
I’d known Panther’s crew was a big deal, but I hadn’t expected…this. It kind of explained Angel. Not every woman could handle this shit.
Whether I got to do some dropkicking or finally saw Angel blow her lid, this day might come out a win—and even if I didn’t get to let loose, I had a feeling that Angel’s out-of-control expressions would be delicious.
The start of a purr rumbled in my chest.
I’d get to her before the end of the day.
Chapter Six
Angel
I finally exhaled when the sliding doors closed behind us. Quan released my hand as we entered the glass lobby and hit the second wave of crowding. At least this group was unaggressive. The representatives of the various hero crews milled around, waiting for the next set of doors to be opened for us.
I surreptitiously rubbed my palm against my jacket, but the sensation of Quan’s warm fingers wouldn’t fade.
My back hits the carpet as blazing eyes bear down—
Not now. I’d be useless if I spent the day lost in the past.
Scanning the room, I recognized a few faces, but with Quan hovering over my shoulder, none of my acquaintances approached. Most crews had sent two or three of their flashiest heroes and heroines with an attaché of aides.
A few of them shot dirty looks, but I let the envy roll off. The M10 was the best, and we didn’t need to show off to get applications.
Sneakers squeaked against the lobby floor and a tiny blonde form threw itself at me. “Angel!”
For someone so small, Pixie almost knocked me over. She didn’t look like she’d have super strength, but she kept her grip light to avoid cracking my ribs.
“Pix.” I gave her a much gentler, but no less sincere squeeze. “I missed you.”
She released me, giving the full view of her latest haircut. It was boy-cut, bleach blonde with black streaks for good measure and spiked into a faux hawk. A few new piercings dotted her ear cartilage and she wore all black as usual, but with her sparkling blue eyes, full lashes and pouty pink lips, she looked like the same old cheerleader in Goth gear that I adored. “You look fantastic.”
“So do you, Miss Business Thang.” Pix’s gaze swept me up and down. “Totally fierce, as usual.”
If she said so. “I didn’t think you’d be here. Are you representing the Pack?”
“Just for today.” Pix’s gaze slid over my shoulder to Quan, who hovered like my shadow. “Who’s your mercenary?”
At least I could tell Pix the truth. “Panther’s brother, Tequani. He’s playing my bodyguard for a few days.”
“Does he fight?”
Quan stepped closer. He loomed over me, but he absolutely dwarfed Pixie. “Fight you? But you’re so cu—”
I elbowed him in the ribs before Pix started breathing fire. “Excuse the man from the jungle.” I nodded toward the opening doors. “We’ll catch up with you inside? I need to talk some business with you later too.” She was my in to the Pack headquarters, and I fully intended to do some snooping.
Pixie nodded, but shot Quan a glare. “You bet.”
“What?” Quan asked after she’d walked away.
“Just don’t ever call a woman with super strength cute.”
“But she is.”
“Maybe, but she’ll cutely hand you your ass for saying so.” I’d have to keep them apart or there’d be blood and property damage.
Just like home.
Quan lifted his sunglasses to give me a clear view as his gaze flicked up and down my body from the heels of my Chanel pumps to the crown of my French twist. “Can I call you cute?”
His strong thighs pressing against my hips. The heat of his breath on my neck—
I swallowed, but my voice came out slightly scratchy. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“No?” The corner of his full lips tilted. “What then?”
“Angel is fine.” Madre de Dios. Was my voice breathy? “Let’s hurry inside.” My feet moved faster than expected, and I had to force myself not to scurry away from him. Instead, I took smooth, precise steps and pretended I couldn’t feel Quan’s energy against my back.
I didn’t need to be this nervous around him. We’d be together for a few days and then Quan would head back to the jungle. It shouldn’t be so hard to keep my composure.
I tried to clear my mind as we followed the crowd into the presentation space. Round tables were set with crisp white tablecloths and pitchers of coffee, and the ceiling-height windows let sunshine spill past the stage and podium. I was fully prepared to slip into a seat at the back-most table, but a server approached my side. “Your seat is this way, Ms. Angel.”
Of course it is. I shouldn’t have even pretended I’d be allowed to blend into the background.
The woman placed me at the front and center table as the other groups filtered to their seats unescorted. Instead of sitting next to me, Quan drifted to the side of the room, taking up a post near a secondary door. I angled my body so I wasn’t staring at him but could check on him from the corner of my eye. Just because he was getting under my skin didn’t mean I could leave him unsupervised.
As a server poured me a cup of much-needed coffee, I flipped open the folder waiting in my place. Someone had changed my itinerary. After the keynote speech, all visitors were scheduled for a walking tour of campus and lunch at a private reception. The afternoon would be spent here, holding an information panel for prospective applicants, both current students and alumni. Dinner with the faculty had been stricken out of my new schedule; now I was booked for a private evening with the university president.
Yikes. Why ever for? It couldn’t be just the two of us.
“Ms. Márquez?” A man pulled out the chair next to mine.
I’d never seen him in person, but his photo had come across my desk more than once, and even without my memory, I wouldn’t have forgotten the boy-next-door blue eyes behind Richard Card’s thick black glasses.
“Mr. Card. So nice to meet you in person.” I’d always wanted to meet my L.A. Pack equivalent—he came highly recommended.
“Call me Rich.” He offered a firm handshake, and I co
uldn’t help but return his friendly smile.
“Please call me Angel.”
“Angel, then.” Rich smoothed the lapels of his tailored brown suit. “You’ve got everyone stirred up. No one expected the M10 to show this year.”
“We didn’t expect to attend.” I flattened the cloth napkin over my lap. “Roster changes are always a surprise.”
“I heard Cyclone jumped ship.”
I bunched my fists in the cloth napkin. Idiot Cyclone. When the Manhattan Ten’s flakiest hero broke his contract to go searching for his mermaid true love, I hadn’t been able to keep the story from the press. “And now we need a replacement.”
Rich’s gaze shifted past me to Quan. “Isn’t he it?”
“Not quite.” I wasn’t planning to spread the truth around, but if anyone understood, it would be Rich—he knew what a rollercoaster the job was. I’d need his trust and his contacts for investigating the Pack. “He’s playing bodyguard, but it’s a favor for Panther. They’re brothers.”
Rich shook his head, flashing a wry smile. “Typical, right? I already had to change our schedule this morning and haul Pixie awake—Haze took a midnight flight to go base jumping off the Burj Khalifa.”
“Heroes.” I shook my head. Nothing was ever dull.
Rich exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair. His exhaustion showed in the deep circles under his eyes. “It’s like babysitting toddlers. They never think of the consequences.”
“Can’t argue that.” I spared Quan a quick glance. The way he leaned against the wall, all coiled aggression, it was impossible to think of him as a child—he looked more apt to take over a government than to pillage a cookie jar. However they looked, all heroes had their moments of carelessness. “Some days I feel like a glorified maid.”
“Don’t we all?” Rich glanced from side to side and leaned toward me. “If you—”
I didn’t get to hear whatever else he wanted to say.
“Hey, Brainboy.” Pixie plopped into the seat at Rich’s side and reached for the coffee carafe. “You flirting with my girl over here?”
“Pix.” I tsked. It was common knowledge that Rich hated his sidekick-style nickname. I’d hate having that kind of name too.
“I woke her up at five.” Rick waved away the slight, but his features seemed a little pinched. “She hasn’t forgiven me yet.”
“We’ll be square after five or six more cups of caffeine.” Pixie spooned sugar into her mug.
“Good morning, everyone.” The Dean of Heroics, Leila Wendland, leaned over the mic at the podium. “If you can all settle down, we’ll begin the program.” In her sleek two-piece business suit, with her dark braids pulled back into a bun, she looked almost the same as I remembered. She shot me a subtle smile.
Still my favorite professor at UCLA. “Please help me in welcoming our esteemed President, Ms. Mary Donovan.”
In the wake of a round of applause, the president took the steps in all her glory, wearing a flawless pantsuit and her trademark gray-blonde bob. Even well into her fifties, her skin still looked like porcelain. “Good morning.” She set down her notebook and looked over the crowd, her gaze stopping on me. “It’s lovely to see so many new and familiar faces.”
I couldn’t miss that not-so-subtle nod my way, and neither did the crowd. I didn’t quite shrink down in my chair, but I had to wonder—why the extra attention?
As President Donovan went on about our responsibilities to the next generation of heroes, I couldn’t help but drift. What was the subtext here?
Although, I’d certainly find out. Likely at this private dinner function. I clapped when the others clapped, ready to get on with the day.
I wanted to skip the campus tour and check my e-mail—Lord knew I remembered how to find the dining hall—but that would be poor etiquette. I had to go along with the plan today.
Quan’s imposing form hovered at the edge of my vision as a chipper undergrad separated us into tour groups. Thank goodness he was behaving.
His smooth, bare skin—
Oh, please. My brain and I were not going there.
I shifted my attention from him to our tour guide and did my best to get through the morning. Every step sparked a new memory.
A Frisbee landing at Pix’s feet—she tosses it back to the guys on the quad, sending it soaring across the quad to land on the roof of Powell Library. French toast sticks at brunch. Slapping Dave Penbroke’s hand away when he tried to feel me up at the Homecoming mixer—his bloodshot eyes and the creepy-crawlies that lingered on my skin.
Even now it made me shudder.
Given the choice, I’d rather flash back to Quan, but that was the problem with my power. I didn’t get a choice.
Quan
“This one is for Angel. What are you looking for in an ideal recruit?”
Another one. The rest of the suits and heroes on the panel sat either stone-faced or bored off their asses. Nine out of ten questions went directly to Angel and the tenth guy usually hoped she’d answer anyway.
Up on the podium, Angel rubbed her forehead. “I think I’ve already answered a similar question. Maybe someone else could field this one?” She glanced hopefully along the table.
“I’d really like to hear more about the M10.” The student girl bounced on her toes. “You’re my first choice crew.”
They were probably missing Angel’s irritation, but her lines screamed tension now that I knew what to look for. I’d been watching close. Her tells were subtle, but I was pretty sure when she tapped her pen against the table, she was imagining strangling the shit out of some of these undergrads.
Even though I was hanging back to observe the woman, I couldn’t figure her. I’d thought she was cold, but cool was closer to the truth. She could get put off or flustered—she just bounced back so fast the signs were easy to miss.
Not a robot. Just tightly coiled.
But what would happen when she got sprung? I licked my lips.
Maybe I could do the springing.
Angel launched into the same list of facts she’d been repeating all afternoon, but the crowd leaned in like she was offering the secrets to long life and fortune. The question girl finally sat down all flushed with new knowledge.
Weird-ass college kids.
The moderator asked for the next question, but the dude needed to reevaluate. I didn’t hang around many college info sessions, but even I knew he was supposed to make sure that everyone got a chance to speak.
A guy surrounded by his whispering buddies got pushed to his feet and took the mic.
“Uh…” He glanced back at his posse, who hissed whispers. “Is Steel really dating the Princess of Monaco?”
Angel turned to the moderator, but he gave her a dead fish stare that said he wasn’t doing shit about the question. Maybe he wanted the answer too.
Angel stopped tapping her pen and gripped it so hard her knuckles turned white.
This gets better and better. What was she going to do?
“I’m not at liberty to speak about our members’ personal lives, and even if I were, this wouldn’t be the appropriate venue. Do you have another question?”
One hit kill.
“Yeah…” The boy faded under Angel’s gaze, but a glance back at his supporters made him straighten. “Will there be a Temptress photo book?”
Ho. Ly. Shit.
I leaned forward and I couldn’t help a grin. That controlled shell shattered as Angel’s eyes blazed. Just that look and the asshole fell back into his chair.
“What’s your name?” Her voice was even, but something in her undertone said she was about to blacklist this kid from the Manhattan Ten and anywhere else she had sway. So probably everywhere. Kiss your future goodbye, kid.
He tried to huddle down, but Angel didn’t break her gaze, and he gave like the whole audience knew
he would. The sweet stench of his fear cut through every other scent. “Mitchell Carey.”
“If you’re here today because you want to be a hero, I suggest you get serious about it. These heroes and heroines you gossip about are working every day to keep you and all of us safe, and they might be your coworkers someday. They and I both deserve your respect.” Angel scribbled something on the paper in front of her. “Next question.”
Heavy silence fell as a cloud of guilt rose.
Nice.
I’d always thought I could quiet a room, but this was a new level.
Angel scanned the crowd, and her gaze found mine. Her eyes narrowed.
Yeah. I was grinning. Running my tongue over my teeth, I felt the familiar jab of fangs. Shifting wasn’t in my plans for the day, but it was hard to stop a little cat from slipping through when I was having such a good time listening to Angel eviscerate kids.
I stepped off the wall, ready to get a piece of the action. According to our little game, I was Angel’s bodyguard.
Who better to back her up?
Time to have a chat with my boy, Mitch.
Chapter Seven
Angel
I sensed Quan becoming a problem before I saw him. I should’ve been paying closer attention to him all afternoon, but honestly. How many times could I answer the same question and steal the spotlight?
And a Temptress photo book?
Jenny lays on the couch in Tank’s office, blonde curls sprawling. Her perky peach sundress. Twining her fingers with Tank’s over lunch in the cafeteria, secret smiles on both their faces—
Even my patience was frayed.
Quan stood at the back of the room grinning and obviously plotting. My shoulders sank as he stalked down the aisle between chairs, turning the students’ heads.
What’s he doing?
He stopped in front of Mitchell Carey, who I’d already written off as useless. Quan spoke so low that his voice didn’t carry over the whispers in the crowd. I couldn’t see his face, but his muscles were taut with threat.
Professor Rogers was supposed to be in charge, but he hadn’t done his job since introducing the panel members, so why should he start now? Not that the non-super-powered old gentleman would be much of a match for Quan, who was hauling Mitchell up by his shirt.
