by Lynn Graeme
“Y’ know,” she said, “you really need to get better food around here.”
“Your aunt has a kitchen.”
“I know. I can bring you back something to eat. Show you how to make a better sandwich.”
Liam gave her a hard look. Naley obligingly took another bite of mayo-slathered bread.
*
Isobel Saba glared as she listened to the voicemail greeting playing over her earpiece.
“You’re out of luck!” trilled Kaya’s sing-song voice. “I’m either out soaking up the Sri Lankan sun or photographing elephants in Thailand. Depends what day of the week it is. Leave a message and maybe I’ll get back to you.”
“Kaya,” Isobel barked. “Naley’s turned up at my place, alone. Explain yourself. Call me now.”
She hung up, seething. She’d just emerged fresh from battle and already her fists were itching to punch something—or someone—all over again. Isobel usually prided herself on keeping her cool, but her sister was the only person in the world who could get her blood boiling.
The other agents caught sight of her expression and gave her a wide berth as they rounded up the last of the captives. They moved the apprehended faction members into the handful of retrieval units surrounding the swale where the raid had taken place.
Isobel scrubbed a hand over her face, smothering a litany of curses. It had already been a hell of a day. They’d managed to capture the remaining members of a faction that had been terrorizing Bloodhaven for months, but the faction leader himself, Rupert Ogden, had managed to escape during the melee, along with his son.
Ogden was leading them on a merry chase, Isobel thought darkly. For the past few weeks, Council agents had tracked him down to each and every one of his hideouts in and outside Bloodhaven. Every time they’d conducted a raid, they’d capture other faction members who’d been hiding there, but narrowly miss Ogden himself, sometimes by a mere ten minutes.
Then two days ago, they’d observed him and his son Pierry seeking refuge at a shanty located at the base of a shale on the east outskirts of the city. After extensive reconnaissance and planning, Isobel had been dispatched this morning with a team of agents to conduct the raid against the Ogdens and the remaining faction members holed up with them.
The team hit the ground hard and fast, taking their targets by surprise. The mission very nearly went without a hitch. Then Tony “Lewski” Ponalewski had screwed it up.
Isobel could’ve throttled the rookie. They’d had the final few faction members, including both Ogdens, within their grasp. After snapping suppression collars around the captives’ necks to prevent them from shifting, Isobel had assigned Lewski and Jamal the task of putting restraints on them while other agents consulted her on processing the rest of the scene.
Jamal Mousenn, the next senior agent on site after Isobel, had seen to his half of the detainees effectively. Lewski, however, hadn’t secured the restraints properly, and as a result, his half of the captives had broken free.
It’d been a hell of a free-for-all. In the end, the agents had managed to corral the escapees, but Rupert and Pierry Ogden got away in the confusion.
The only positive to be found, Isobel thought balefully, was that the Ogdens couldn’t remove their suppression collars. The collars only responded to the prints of senior-level agents. Without either Isobel’s or Jamal’s prints to release the locking mechanism, the Ogdens couldn’t escape the collars to shift into their tiger forms.
Father and son could only remain in hiding for now. Anyone who spotted them in their collars would instantly know they’d escaped from the Council.
The Council could also track down the collars via GPS, so it was only a matter of time before the agents found the two escapees and threw them into the cells to rot. Once somebody wound up in the Council cells, there was no leaving. Ever.
Bloodhaven’s Council was ruthless when it came to factions and rogue shifters, and with good reason. It was only within the last handful of years that shifters had finally achieved equal rights to humans. That piece of legislation had followed a series of very bloody human-shifter wars, and nobody wanted to return to such darkness again.
Tensions still bubbled at the surface, and shifter Councils across the country knew they couldn’t afford to become complacent. Humans were a skittish lot as a rule; they tended to feel threatened whenever anybody turned fur. Tasked with maintaining order among the shifter community, the Councils knew they couldn’t give humans a reason to go back to the old days. They subsequently meted out harsh sentences to make sure their fellow shifters toed the line. A rogue could potentially be rehabilitated, after first enduring brutal punishment. A convicted faction member, however, never saw the light of day.
The factions—radical anti-human groups bent on obliterating human-shifter co-existence—were convinced that humans deserved to suffer for oppressing them over the years. Their hate had spread like a putrefying disease, so intent were they on inflicting vengeance. Left unchecked, such resentment would lead to war all over again, and no Council was willing to let that come to pass.
Each Council had their own way of dealing with their jurisdiction. Bloodhaven’s chose to be merciless. Any faction members who had exhausted their uses and could no longer provide information were executed at Council HQ, in the wing morbidly nicknamed by the agents as “the slaughterhouse.”
Isobel had no problem with that. The last faction she’d taken down had conducted sick, unimaginable experiments on live human beings. Moreover, it had threatened the life of her friend’s mate. Since his mate was human, that in turn had turned him into a growly pain in the ass.
Wolves, Isobel thought dryly. Always so overboard with the protective instinct.
That reminded her. Isobel texted Grayson to cancel their get-together later that evening. Things had been tense between them ever since she’d tried to bring his mate in for questioning, and tonight’s dinner was supposed to have been the first step in reestablishing their previously close friendship.
This cancellation would only prolong the strain between them, but it couldn’t be helped. She had to get back home to Naley.
The ping alerted her to his texted reply, a terse one-word acknowledgment. Isobel shook her head and pocketed her phone.
Today was supposed to have been a coup. The agents had been so close to capturing Ogden and all his pathetic underlings. Instead of victory, however, they were faced with the fact that Ogden and son had managed to give them the slip.
Brilliant.
Isobel glimpsed Lewski out of the corner of her eye. She barely refrained from emitting a snarl.
“Hey, Saba.”
Isobel turned to see Malcolm Rhodes approaching her, hand raised in greeting. Her fellow agent looked impeccable, not a hair out of place, as if he hadn’t just taken down a bear-shifter fifteen minutes ago.
“Heard you didn’t go with Jamal,” he commented conversationally. “Hanging around to make sure Lewski doesn’t fuck up again?”
Isobel grimaced. Jamal had departed not too long ago, taking a team of agents with him to track down the Ogdens. Normally Isobel would’ve gone with them—hell, she would’ve headed the team herself—but learning about Naley had drastically altered her plans. She couldn’t very well embark on a mission now, not if it meant leaving Naley on her own while Isobel disappeared and wound up incommunicado for several days in a row. Unlike her sister, Isobel refused to leave her family in the lurch.
Malcolm glanced at Lewski, who stood miserably next to one of the retrieval vans while other agents cast him disdainful looks. “Were we ever that young?”
“Never,” Isobel muttered. “We were old and jaded with jaundiced eyes the minute we exited the womb.”
Malcolm chuckled. “Bet you’re looking forward to writing this one up.”
“Don’t even start.” She’d have to address all of today’s events when writing up her report tomorrow. Blasted paperwork. Isobel rubbed the back of her neck and grimaced.
The smile on Mal
colm’s handsome face turned familiar. He reached up to cover the hand on the back of her neck with his. “Relax. We’re close to wrapping up this mission.”
Isobel moved away from him. Malcolm’s hand fell back.
“I’ll relax when Rupert Ogden is in his cell or dead and buried,” she said curtly. “I don’t care which. Could you take over for me here? I have to leave.”
“Sure. Feel like unwinding later tonight?”
“Sorry, Mal. Something’s come up.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Well, let me know. I’m off night shifts until Tuesday.”
Isobel strode off to hitch a ride with one of the departing retrieval units. She had to head home, and her bike was still parked at Council HQ.
Malcolm’s little move had only worsened her mood. He was taking far too many liberties of late, she noted. Malcolm knew very well that whatever bedroom activities Isobel engaged in, she didn’t tolerate physical displays of affection while on the job.
She and Malcolm had had some good times together, but even if Naley hadn’t been waiting for her at home, and even if the Ogdens had been successfully captured, she still would’ve refused his offer tonight.
He was all right in the sack, but that was it: just all right. Isobel saw no sense in wasting her time on sex that bordered on the routine. If she was going to spend time screening potential bed partners to make sure they were in no position to compromise potential investigations, they’d better be damn well worth it.
When it came to sex, Isobel didn’t believe in settling.
She had long dropped Malcolm from her go-to list of sexual partners. They hadn’t hooked up in the last six months, so Isobel was surprised he’d approached her now. Eternal male optimism, she supposed.
It wasn’t uncommon for Council agents to turn to each other for physical pleasure. They had to take it wherever and whenever they could. If they chose to take a civilian lover, they had to screen that person five times over to make sure he or she wasn’t a threat or had an ulterior motive. The several rounds of background checks took a lot of mystique out of the attraction.
Though it wasn’t as if Council agents could afford to be sentimental. They knew the score when it came to work and meaningful relationships: there was no time for the latter.
The job was all-consuming. Few agents had a mate, let alone a family of cubs or pups. There was no way to maintain a balance between the personal and the professional—something had to give. More often, it was the personal that fell to the wayside.
Isobel had seen her colleagues suffer for it. A couple of them had even left the Council in order to try and pursue a normal life. The first one managed with some degree of success. The second had returned to the Council a few years later, bitter and alone.
Isobel knew the score all too well. It was why she didn’t do relationships. She liked her job, knew she was the best at what she did. She had no time to cosset the feelings of a prospective mate.
In any case, it worked out just fine. She kept her bedtime pleasures transitory and separate from the rest of her life. If she had an itch, she scratched it. A hard, fast roll in the hay—or up against the wall—did the job without messing with anybody’s head or emotions. Friends with benefits, as it were.
Or rather, coworkers with benefits. They didn’t necessarily have to be friends.
Isobel disembarked at HQ and was heading for the underground parking structure where she’d stashed her bike when her earpiece buzzed, indicating an incoming call.
She answered, ready to wring her sister’s neck. “Kaya, what the hell’s going on?”
“Aunt Iz?”
Naley’s voice was soft and uncertain. Isobel closed her eyes.
“Hey, cub.” She forcibly injected lightness into her tone. “You okay over there?”
“’Course.”
“Still at Liam’s?”
“Yeah. He’s letting me hang out while he works on stuff.”
The “stuff” Liam Whelan worked on was in high demand among Bloodhaven’s elite, but Isobel didn’t correct her niece.
“Good. I’m glad.” She paused. “Why don’t you head back to my place and make yourself at home? You know the code. There should be plenty of snacks in the kitchen.”
“I did. I even brought food over so Liam and I could eat together. Liam said it was okay for me to hang around until you came home.”
Isobel doubted her reticent tenant would’ve said exactly that—he tended not to use sentences in excess of six words at a time if he could help it—but she didn’t say so. She also didn’t miss the defensiveness in Naley’s tone.
“Are you comfortable being around Liam?” she asked carefully.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“’Course I am.” Naley sounded genuinely confused. “Why wouldn’t I be? He has poor eating habits, but he can’t help that. Well,” she added thoughtfully, “I guess he can. He just doesn’t know any better. Don’t tell him I said so. I think he’s sensitive about it.”
Isobel supposed Naley must be feeling better, if she was returning to her usual verbose self. She knew her niece had encountered Liam a time or two the previous times she’d stayed over, and had been fascinated by the strange wolf taking residence on her aunt’s property. Isobel had observed their interactions closely in the beginning to ensure no inappropriate attachments formed, but she needn’t have worried. If anything, Liam had appeared more unnerved by the teenager than the other way around. It was like watching a bullmastiff trying to escape a very persistent duckling.
Isobel sighed. Her niece was lonely, and she knew it. Isobel couldn’t be there with her right now, so if Naley found solace in Liam’s company and in watching him work on his “stuff,” who was Isobel to take that away from her?
Besides, she could understand the sentiment herself. She’d stopped in on Liam enough times in the past—whether to collect rent, listen to his progress reports on the general upkeep of the land, or make sure his hermit self was still alive—and there was something reassuring in that strong and silent demeanor of his.
The man might be hopeless at conversation, but he was as steady as a rock. The fact that he wasn’t hard on the eyes either was just a little bonus.
Isobel knew from the multiple background checks she’d performed on Liam that he was a good man. More importantly, he was a good wolf. He had that protective instinct going for him, so Isobel knew Naley would be safe in his care.
“Okay, then. As long as Liam’s fine with it.” Isobel reached her bike and retrieved her helmet from the seat. “Try to keep out of his way, though. He can be a little … shy.”
Naley snorted. “Only around you.”
“Funny. Is he there now?”
“He’s outside sawing stuff. I’m in the kitchen. Aunt Iz, his place is tiny.”
Isobel winced. “He wanted the place, cub. I did try to dissuade him.”
“You mean warn him off. And he has nothing to eat!”
“You know my kitchen is stockpiled until kingdom come.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I want you inside the house—my house—by seven. I don’t care what Liam says.” Or doesn’t say. The man might be as steady as a rock, but he was also as silent as one.
“’Kay. Um, Aunt Iz, could you pick up my clothes and backpack from school? I, uh, kinda left them there after today’s match.”
“Sure, no prob—” Isobel stopped. “Wait, you shifted at school? So you ran all the way… .”
Naley was silent.
Isobel pinched the bridge of her nose. “You want to tell me what happened?”
No answer. Isobel heard what sounded like the fridge door shutting.
“Not right now,” Naley finally said.
“We’re going to have a talk when I get back. You know that, don’t you?”
“Whoops, gotta go. I think I heard Liam lose an arm. Bye.”
Isobel sighed as Naley hung up.
Chapter Two
It was much l
ater than she’d anticipated when Isobel finally took the exit off the highway leading toward home.
She lived an hour outside of Bloodhaven, on a piece of land she’d found three years ago while tracking down a rogue. Before returning to the hunt, Isobel had taken note of the fifteen acres out in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by dense, untamed forest on three sides, it sharply abutted the base of a mountain ridge on the fourth.
The original owner had been an elderly man who’d lived through two of the last human-shifter wars. He’d built his shack out in the wilderness, hunkered down with a rusty shotgun, and threatened any outsiders unfortunate enough to wind up on his land. Five years later, the solitude got too much for him and he ended up moving west to live with his grandchildren. He’d been only too happy to sell the place to Isobel when she’d tracked him down.
The shack he’d lived in had been a flimsy old thing, essentially in shambles, and totally useless as any sort of foundation. In any case, Isobel had preferred to construct her new home on the south side of the property, at the top of a knoll leading up to the mountains. Not only did it have a better view of the sunrise, the location itself provided the perfect range of vision over the land as well as the surrounding forest.
Isobel now turned off the main road into the familiar dirt path that bisected the woods. Moonlight failed to pierce the overhead canopy, and even with her keen shifter sight, Isobel navigated the woods more out of memory than anything else.
Finally the trees cleared to reveal the edge of her property. There was no fencing around the perimeter—what was the point of having a sanctuary in the middle of nowhere if she converted it into a prison?—but there were hidden receptors set up to alert Isobel whenever they registered an unusual collection of heat signatures. The receptors were programmed to accept both Liam’s and Naley’s presence, which was why Isobel hadn’t received a notification earlier when Naley had unexpectedly shown up. Otherwise, depending on the nature of the invasion, the receptors would either text Isobel an alert or send a paralyzing jolt through the intruder’s nervous system.
Most Council agents went with the requisite seven levels of security. Isobel went with nine. It never hurt to be too careful.
