There was no polite way to deny her, so I followed her up to Midas’s suite and waited for her to drop the whammy on me. The opening was there, but she didn’t take it, so I struck before she organized her thoughts.
“This is the part where you tell me I’m not good enough for your son, I’m not pack, hands off, etc.”
Given the seating options, she boosted herself onto the bar. After kicking off her sandals and flexing her toes, which were speckled with mud, she began swinging her slender legs.
“I’m afraid not.” Her gaze settled on the sticky feathers at my throat. “Though I must admit I find your taste in attire and perfume…intriguing.”
Tisdale Kinase wore her age well. So well, I couldn’t begin to guess it. Fine lines crept in around her eyes and mouth, but her rogue freckles made her younger somehow. Silver hair spilled around her shoulders, a wavy mass she had passed on to her son. Her sleeveless purple top and matching capris fit a woman of her standing while still giving off the carefree vibe only truly expensive garments can achieve. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a battered locket strung from a chain thick enough to be a collar.
“You can’t disappear me. I’m the POA’s apprentice, and Linus would take exception to that.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay, you got me.” I took one of the folding chairs. “Why are you here?”
“My son likes you.” Hard lines bracketed her mouth. “He doesn’t understand what that means, or what to do about it, but he cares for you. Deeply, if his decision to court you is any indication.”
“Pretty sure he used the courtship thing to call dibs on me so I wouldn’t date Ford.”
“Do you care for Ford?” She caught my look and amended, “Romantically?”
“He’s a good friend, but there’s no spark. I might have dated him, under different circumstances, but it wouldn’t have gone anywhere, and that’s not what he wants from a woman. He’s ready to settle down.”
“You’re not?”
“I have my hands full at the moment.”
“Gwyllgi are long-lived, and Midas is young comparatively.” She hopped down, light on her dainty feet, and stalked over to me. “I, however, am not.”
Throwing up my hands, I threw on the brakes. “I don’t want kids.”
“That’s unfortunate, but we can work around it. My daughter has one child and hopes for several more.” She leaned in, filled her lungs with my scent, not shying from the stink. “You’re a predator. I respect that. You’re a woman in a position of power, and I respect that too.”
“But?”
“You’re the first woman my son has shown interest in for longer than you’ve been alive.” She patted my cheek. “I don’t care if you’re not good enough. No one is as far as I’m concerned, but it’s obvious he feels differently.”
Longer than you’ve been alive.
Just how much fae blood did he have that she dismissed more than a quarter of a century of living?
“I don’t care that you’re not gwyllgi,” she continued. “I had no expectations he would mate with a pack member.”
That was…interesting. Especially given the dating regimen she had prescribed for him. Maybe it had always been intended to drive home the fact he would have to search outside the pack to find happiness? Sneaky. Very, very sneaky.
“Our genes are dominant. Your children, should you choose to have them later on, will be shifters. That’s all that matters to me.” A smile tipped her lips. “As to the fullness of your hands, I prefer not to know what my children get up to in their free time.”
“Good talk.” I fidgeted with the built-in cupholder. “I guess?”
“There is one clichéd threat you overlooked that I’m rather fond of.” The hand on my cheek shifted into a claw she held poised at my throat. “Hurt my little boy, and I will vanish you. Linus will be upset, but he will forgive me.” She rolled her eyes. “Eventually.”
The sharp tip of her claw raked my skin when I swallowed. “Got it.”
“Wonderful.” She lowered her hand. “Midas will see you tonight.”
“We don’t have plans.”
“Now you do.”
Tisdale drifted out, humming under her breath, leaving me alone in her son’s apartment. She must be under the mistaken impression I spent any amount of time here. Though, dang it, she probably did scent me from when Midas asked me up, meaning she assumed it was safe to leave me here unsupervised.
He was lucky I didn’t take her up on her unspoken offer of making myself at home and use his shower to get rid of the stink clinging to me. I bet he would really love that. Too bad it would involve stealing another of his shirts. At that point, he would either shoot me that purely male look that screamed mine for prancing around in his clothes, or he would decide I was a kleptomaniac.
With that happy thought, I locked up and hit the elevator down to my floor. I got lucky and didn’t bump into anyone else, but I had to do some major PR work after this case. The citizens of Atlanta would start questioning their fashion plate POA’s sanity if he left them in the hands of a woman who might have been spotted climbing out of a dumpster while wearing a negligee.
Uncertain how accurate Tisdale’s prediction might prove, I took a scalding shower and sealed the flimsy robe in a gallon size freezer bag until after its owner could be located. I was gooping my hair, deciding how to proceed, when a series of staccato knocks derailed my train of thought.
Since I was heading back out, I did have a bra on under my tank top, but I hadn’t put on my jeans yet. I wrapped a towel around my waist and figured that would do. With Ford knocked out of the running, I only ever had one other visitor.
Ready to tear into Midas for his mother lying in wait to pounce on me as soon as I returned home, I wound myself up for a good fight…and then deflated on the spot.
Dirty and bloody and pale, his golden hair lank and grimy, he was barely standing. “Ford’s awake.”
A peace offering, and a damn good one at that. “I’m glad.”
He shifted his weight, and I swear I heard his bones creaking with exhaustion. “Can I come in?”
“You’re dirty, and you stink.” I stood there, high and mighty, in my towel skirt. “Really badly.”
The curve of his shoulders grew more pronounced. “Night.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t come in.” I caught him by the hand. “I’m saying you’ve got to come in and go straight to the shower. The hot water should have recovered by now. I’ll run upstairs and grab you fresh clothes.”
“I don’t want to put you out,” he said, but he didn’t pull away. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“You’re also going to eat.” I cast my thoughts back on what frozen selections I had available. “I have one chicken pot pie, a couple of mini green bean casseroles, and cheesy mac and cheese. I might also have chicken tenders.”
“Homemade?”
“It’s what I call leftover roulette. I won’t throw out uneaten food, so I dump it in a container, pop it in the freezer, and thaw it out days or weeks or months later and hope it doesn’t kill me.”
“The chicken pot pie sounds good.”
“You’re in luck. I made it last week. Freezer burn hasn’t had a chance to set in yet.”
Docile as a lamb, he let me guide him into my cramped bathroom. I pointed out the towels, bodywash, and shampoo options. They were cheap, but they did the job and smelled good doing it.
“Take your time. I’ll be right back.”
I shut the door on Midas then leaned my forehead against it.
What are you doing? Are you insane? You invited him in, and now he’s getting naked three feet away.
Ambrose must have thought I was talking to him, disturbing me on multiple levels, and mimed gagging.
Ignoring him, I started the oven preheating and pulled out the pie to thaw. With that done, I finished getting dressed then shot up to Midas’s apartment, entered his bedroom, and dug throu
gh the piles of clothes until I pieced together a whole outfit.
Unsure how long it took a guy to shower, I raced back downstairs and entered the bathroom.
I didn’t even peek. Fine. I stared long and hard, but I hadn’t developed x-ray vision during the last thirty seconds, so I got an eyeful of cloudy silhouette on the curtain and that’s it.
“Clothes are on the sink,” I called over the pounding water. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
While I browned the crust on the pie, I checked in with Anca.
Find any dirt on the club?
>>I remember the case. A human girl, one of the dancers, was killed there. The fae who spelled her as a dancer for the night forgot about her. She didn’t eat or drink for days, and eventually she danced herself to death.
That’s brutal.
>>That’s fae for you.
I didn’t realize the POA interacted with them so much.
Linus, being a stickler for the rules, wouldn’t go where the Society forbade him, and fae were as forbidden as it came.
>>There are things he can’t talk about, to anyone, and things you won’t be able to talk about either. One day you’ll open your mouth to answer a question truthfully, and you won’t recognize what comes out. That’s the price of power and the cost of maintaining the balance between factions in a melting pot city like ours.
Now that was an interesting tidbit, and it made me curious who had the power to gag the POA.
>>You won’t recall, but it was also in your oath of office.
You’re right. I don’t recall.
>>Oh, good. That means it’s working properly.
Vows I couldn’t remember but I was magically bound to keep. How could that possibly go wrong?
Do you have an address for me? I’m about to head out and investigate.
>>That’s the problem. I remember the case. It happened, and it was horrid, but there’s no record of it.
Back up. We have no record, or the cleaners have no record?
>>Both.
How is that possible?
>>There are new forms of magic evolving specifically for combating technology in order to preserve the illusion humans are alone in the world. Contact with one of our servers could have infected it and spread out from there, deleting all traces.
I brought Snowball into HQ, into Base Four.
This was my fault. I let her in. I let her interact with Bishop and my team. Linus and I had assumed she was bound by her fae word, but she was half-fae at most. The fact there had been no attacks on the bases or shelters adjacent spoke more to how quickly Snowball met her end than any true magical enforcement of her vow.
The possibility she had passed on that knowledge, by word of mouth or in a report or in her personal notes, terrified me.
>>The reverse is also true. The cleaners’ server could have been infected and spread to every one of its connections, including ours. The witchborn fae are masters of infiltration. Is that not the purpose of their magic?
They could erase something that specific? From property records up to OPA reports?
>>With magic, anything is possible.
Bishop is going to have a stroke when he gets back and realizes someone tampered with his toys.
>>Have I mentioned I intend to take a month off after this?
That she didn’t warn me against hoping caused the embers of hope to fan higher in my chest.
Any clue how I gain access?
>>How did you break the glamour over the meat packing plant?
Ambrose did it for me, but I couldn’t admit that.
I’m all set then. I’ll update as soon as I have news.
I signed off before I stuck my foot into it, if I hadn’t already.
Anca was the most perceptive of the POA team. Not much got past her. I preferred using Bishop as a buffer for that very reason. The longer I spent in her crosshairs, the more seen I felt.
A cloud of damp air breathed warm across the back of my neck, and I turned to find Midas in the bathroom doorway.
The tee I brought him was thin with age, and the jeans had holes in the knees. The toes of his socks were unraveling, and he needed a belt to keep the waistband in place. The surfer-boy waves of his hair were almost curls, and the dampness turned his blond hair shades darker.
He was so beautiful I had trouble swallowing.
His eyes, though. They were grimmer than ever. The darkness there reached into me, down to my own battered soul, and found a kindred spirit. Two broken people raking their jagged edges together in the hopes they might somehow fit.
Lost. He looked so lost standing there, and it broke my jaded heart. “How do you feel about hugs?”
Midas raked his fingers through his hair. “Mom and Lethe force them on me at every opportunity.”
Hip resting against the counter, I gave it to him straight. “You look like you need one.”
“It’s not so bad,” he said, drying his hand off on his pants, “when you touch me.”
“Let’s try it.” I tossed my kitchen towel over my shoulder. “See how you like it.”
The slight bob of his chin granted me permission, and I crossed the couple of feet to him.
“I’m going in.” I held out my arms. “Are you ready?”
A smile tickled the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”
Slowly, I slid my arms around his waist. I gave him a second or two then rested my head on his shoulder. I didn’t link my fingers at his back. I didn’t want him to feel trapped. I just stood there, with as few points of contact as possible, and waited to see if it helped or hurt.
“You smell nice.” He nuzzled the top of my head. “Gardenias.”
A quiver shot through my belly, hot and cold, both at once. The mention of my smell, of him cataloguing my scent, had me rubbing the silver charm ring I never removed with my thumb like it was dial I could turn up or down.
“I’m not awarding points for that.” I started to withdraw. “You could have read it off the bottle.”
Laughter moved through him, through me where we touched, and I didn’t make it far. Holding him felt good. Right. Impossible. Really, really dumb.
“Well?” I forced myself to let go. “What’s the verdict?”
“Voluntary hugs are more pleasant than tackle hugs,” he decided. “As long as they come from you.”
“Aww.” I patted his cheek. “You do like me.”
“Yes.” He stared down at me. “I do.”
Heat worked into my cheeks, so I cleared my throat and returned to the kitchen. “Have a seat.”
While my face cooled, I fixed his plate and a drink then carried it to the table like a good little hostess.
Mother would be so proud.
Ha!
And The Lost World was a fitting sequel to Jurassic Park.
“I have to step out for a few minutes.” I gestured to the futon. “Eat and then sleep. I’ll be back in a few.” I twisted my mouth. “I already said that.”
“Where are you going?” Midas picked up his fork and broke the crust. “It’s getting late.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.” I headed for the door. “I’ll be home before curfew.”
I left with a strange glow in my middle. It was kind of nice having someone to come home to, and wasn’t that a dangerous thought?
Sixteen
Midas gave Hadley a head start. The smell of his mother lingered in the lobby, and he had no doubt she had stalked Hadley and given her an earful. The crackling hostility pinching Hadley’s expression when she opened her apartment door warned him she was about to return the favor. But she took one look at him, bit her tongue, and swallowed her anger.
What had Mom said to Hadley? What had she said to Mom? And did he really want to know either way?
Both women were dominant personalities, and there was bound to be friction there. Especially when he couldn’t seem to stay away from Hadley. All roads, it seemed, led back to her.
Pulling his hair to his nose
, he breathed in her shampoo, but it didn’t smell right. There was an underlayer of his natural scent that skewed the floral toward woodsy.
He was sitting in front of a hot plate, mooning over the woman who had just left, and experienced the urge to bang his forehead on the table. Or on the fork gripped in his fist while he braced it on the table.
Unable to put off what his feral half demanded, he shoveled the food down as fast as he could swallow then washed his plate and silverware, leaving them to drain in the sink. He bagged his clothes for the dumpster, regretting the waste, but the stench of Ford’s sickness would always linger in them, and so would the memories. Quickly, he ducked into his apartment long enough to locate a pair of old sneakers that matched the rest of his tattered attire then hit the elevator. All the upstairs/downstairs he had been doing lately was giving him vertigo, but it allowed him extra time to think.
On the ride to the lobby, he considered going shopping. What he wore now he had owned for ten years or so. He couldn’t remember buying the clothes. He might not have. There was a good chance his sister had taken pity on him and made the purchases. Or his mother. Yeah. Probably Mom.
A sigh pushed through his chest at how Hadley must see him. He was the epitome of a momma’s boy. The conversation his mother had with her, assuming words were all the women had thrown at one another, must have made that clear.
Not since he was a teenager had his mother’s actions embarrassed him. As heir, he ought to expect this. It was the alpha’s right to vet anyone poised to mate into the pack or have influence over its leader. Framing it that way rocked him to his core, made it seem like Hadley and he were a given, when she was afraid a simple hug might send him rabbiting out the door.
Through the glass front door, Midas spotted Hank at his post. The nasty bruising across his left cheek had faded, and Abbott had healed the slight concussion.
“You look better than you did the last time I saw you.” Now that Midas was conscious enough to understand one was owed, Hank deserved an apology. “How are you feeling?”
“Abbott patched me up good.” Hank shrugged off the incident. “I’ve had worse.” He grunted. “Tish.”
Tish was his older sister, far down the list of Midas’s potential mates, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard about her.
Pack of Lies Page 18
