by Juniper Hart
It didn’t change the fact that Damon’s mind was brilliant, even if he wasn’t entirely coherent all the time. It was only a matter of separating the fiction from reality sometimes, that was all.
“You’re not actually late,” Alma commented. Bryn snorted.
“I don’t care,” she answered truthfully, turning her attention to their headquarters. “What have we got?” Chester licked his lips, and even though her eyes were fixed on the bulletin board ahead, Bryn could still feel him staring at her.
Amelia thinks Damon is weird, she thought, when it’s Chester who’s getting creepy. He’s stalker material for sure. I’ll see about having him replaced.
Chester was the least important of their group. Muscle was easy to come by, and that was all Chester supplied. Although Bryn could easily do his job, she dared not voice her irritation aloud, bitterly swallowing her words.
“Hollyfield.”
Bryn’s eyes widened with interested concern. Uh-oh. This again. Am I ready for it?
“Hollyfield,” she repeated, the paperwork pinned before her suddenly making sense as she rose to study it with more scrutiny. “Haven’t we crossed this off our list before?”
“Things have changed,” Alma explained. “I’ll walk you through it.”
Alma was a tech genius and hacker from a time before computers even existed as commonplace. She was almost forty-five, though anyone who guessed that would have to possess immortal talents. Her blonde hair did not depict a single silver strand, and her pale face remained wrinkle-free. Bryn was certain she shared her DNA with some sort of sprite, but Alma probably didn’t know that.
“Later,” Bryn said, waving her hand dismissively. “Show me the layout.”
Damon looked at her worriedly. “What do you mean? You know the layout! You’ve seen it! It was your idea—”
“Damon, you need to calm down,” Bryn told him calmly. “I just want to go over it again. To be cautious, okay?”
He seemed to like that answer. His paranoia demanded a certain amount of caution.
“Okay,” he agreed, a renowned flash of interest filling his eyes as he hurried closer to gesture at his handiwork. “This is how it works.”
For the next ten minutes, no one but Damon spoke as he animatedly took over the musky garage with his rapid-fire speech. When he had concluded, mostly because he was out of breath, Bryn stared at him approvingly, even though the others seemed dizzy by his diatribe. Then again, that was probably because they hadn’t understood a word he had just said.
“Very good work,” Bryn said, surprisingly pleased as she nodded at Alma to take the lead. I don’t know why you’re shocked. This is why you work with them, despite all their shortcomings. I wish my group in the Hollows was as well-versed as these guys. Those guys are just sell-swords and common thieves. They’re never in it for the long haul. The mortals, well, they’re different.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had the thought, and Bryn idly wondered what would happen if she smuggled them in.
You know what would happen, she reminded herself shortly. Damon would lose it completely, Chester would get himself killed, and Alma, well, she’d probably never leave. No, there’s a reason I do things the way I do.
“And that’s basically it,” Alma finished, waving a manicured hand about. “Make sense?”
Bryn chuckled dryly. “Not in the least,” she replied. “But that’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
Alma shifted her eyes downward, and although she smiled, Bryn was consumed with a sharp sense of apprehension. A warning surged through her, and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Bryn decided to ignore it for the moment, but she would get to the bottom of the tension she could feel ebbing into the room.
“What else?” she asked instead, turning to Chester, who had resumed his shameless staring as he studied her. Bryn checked her temper. As much as she wanted to punch him in the face, she still needed him. Especially if they were doing Hollyfield now.
She was going to need more than just Chester. She was going to need at least another two or three.
It’s time to pull out the contacts, Bryn realized, but as she thought it, she groaned to herself. She instantly remembered her encounter with Keppler Parker and her vow to lay low. She couldn’t risk slipping back into the Hollows, at least not for a few days. I’ll have to recruit mortals for this.
She didn’t feel as confident about her choice, but what else could she do? The last thing she needed was Keppler asking questions about her. She remembered his eyes boring into hers, and a warm flush unexpectedly tickled her body. Bryn realized she’d been more flattered by what had happened than she cared to admit.
She shook her head to herself. She was acting like a dumbass.
“Well?” Damon asked, and Bryn saw the group was waiting for her response. “When?”
She weighed the question in her mind, eyeing them carefully. If they waited a few days, she could get back into the Hollows and find a couple of Lycans. But the danger in waiting was that Damon would lose his nerve.
No, Bryn decided firmly. We need the momentum. We strike sooner rather than later. Mortals will be fine. It will have to be fine.
“Case it for another day, and then we’ll go on Wednesday night.”
“I’ve cased it for a week!” Chester protested. “I wouldn’t have brought it forward if I wasn’t ready.”
His petulant tone annoyed her. Had he always been this whiny?
Bryn reminded herself this was the final time she would use his services. Still, a part of her didn’t want to indulge him, even this last time. He didn’t deserve a payout like that when he was acting like a spoiled brat.
“Then you should have no problem doing it again,” she retorted evenly. “Case it out for one more day. Or is that going to be an issue for you?”
“No,” Chester muttered quickly.
As Bryn turned away, she caught something in her peripheral vision. Alma and Chester exchanged a long look that seemed to spell out only trouble. Bryn had a feeling that she was about to face some retaliation from them, perhaps even a mutiny.
Let them do their best, she thought. They have no idea who they’re messing with.
2
The waves were higher than they’d been in a long time, and Keppler felt out of practice. It was almost as if he’d forgotten how to angle in the time he’d taken off from the A-frame waves of the Pacific Ocean, and his companions noticed.
“I hope she’s worth it!” Carmine called mockingly as he paddled toward the shore on his stomach. “You suck!”
“Who?” Keppler demanded, his brow furrowed in confusion. He tipped his head to the side, trying to shake the salt water seeping inside his ears.
“The girl who’s keeping you from surfing,” said Carmine. “I assume that’s why you’re never around anymore. Some Grade A piece of—”
“If you finish that sentence, Carmine, so help me gods, I’ll beat you with my surfboard,” Keppler admonished him. Carmine was one of the only mortals whom he considered a friend, but sometimes, his filthy mouth offended even the eternally seasoned dragon.
No matter how many eons pass, I’ll never get used to hearing men treat women like pieces of meat, he mused, dipping his strong hands into the saline green waters to follow his friend back to shore. It wasn’t that Keppler was a prude in any way. He simply didn’t subscribe to the somewhat misogynistic way of speaking that seemed to come so freely to his friends; sometimes even to his brothers.
Carmine glanced leeringly over his shoulder as a wave gently splashed him in the face, his dark hair plastered to his face.
“Oh, it sounds serious,” he taunted. “Who is she? Is she local? Does she surf?”
Keppler ignored him, moving his arms faster to beat his buddy to the shore. He couldn’t help thinking about the jogger he’d seen that morning in Glen Canyon Park, her shockingly beautiful face replaying in his mind like a movie on a loop. It had not just been a line he had fed her about seeing her befo
re. She had seemed immanently familiar to him, but Keppler could not place her.
How many millions have there been in the Hollows? he mused. If I tried to remember everyone I’ve ever met since the take-over…
Typically speaking, it was not a struggle to know a resident of the Hollows when he encountered them in the Sunside, but this woman was different. He wasn’t sure what kind of otherworldly being she was, or even if she was an otherworldly being.
She certainly seemed to possess an aura of mysticism, though Keppler wasn’t sure what talent she hid beneath the surface of that determined expression and those vivid blue eyes. It bothered him because it should have been immediately evident.
“You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?”
Keppler’s feet stepped into the sandy shore, and he rose, pulling his board along with him. “Do you think of anything other than sex, ever? Do you think about anything intellectual?”
“Why would I?” Carmine protested, seeming offended by the question. “What else is there besides sex and surfing? And yeah, I’d bang a brainy broad, too. I’m not picky—as long as she has a hot ass. You know me, bro, all about that ass.”
“I guess if you were getting some, you wouldn’t be thinking about it all the time,” Keppler mocked, and Carmine snorted defensively.
“I do just fine, thank you. I—” He stopped talking as his eyes shifted toward the sand, his face paling slightly. Keppler’s gaze followed, and he felt his jaw tense immediately.
“What the hell is he doing here now?” Keppler muttered, dropping his board and casting Carmine a nervous look. His friend didn’t meet his eyes, focussing fully on the sand at his feet, as if they had been caught skipping school by their father. Keppler didn’t blame Carmine. No one wanted to deal with the figure who stood glaring at them from the edge of the parking lot.
With a long finger, Wilder gestured for his brother to approach, and Keppler stifled a groan of annoyance.
“I’ll be right back.” Keppler broke into a run, ensuring that his brother didn’t step closer. Nothing good ever came of Wilder’s presence, and judging by the way his brother glowered, even from a distance, Keppler could only imagine what was about to spring from his lips.
“Why are you here, Wilder?” Keppler mumbled, his good mood completely dissolving. There really was no reprieve from the Hollows.
“Looking for you, obviously,” Wilder said. “Unlike you, I don’t waste my days pretending to be twenty.”
Keppler could not hold back an annoyed sigh, and he folded his arms to peer at Wilder in defiance.
“We don’t have a meeting scheduled today,” he reminded his brother. “What’s the problem?”
Wilder smiled humorlessly, and Keppler sensed he was about to get a tongue lashing. What was it about Wilder that could make an immortal soul feel like he was six years old and caught with his hand in the cookie jar? It was a talent, really, one that Keppler couldn’t find himself appreciative of at that moment.
We’ve let him get like this, he reminded himself, but he shoved away his misgivings. Of all the princes, he was by far the easiest going and unofficially the peacemaker of the group. No matter how tyrannical Wilder could become, Keppler tended to check his mild temper around him.
“Emergency meeting,” Wilder announced, his blue eyes darting toward Carmine before shifting back to Keppler. “Why do you continue to hang out with men like that?”
Keppler couldn’t begin to imagine what it was about Carmine that annoyed Wilder. It could have been anything from his boyish innocence to his wetsuit. It didn’t take much to bother his overbearing brother. It gave Keppler a perverse stab of pleasure to know he was irritated by Carmine’s presence.
“Fine,” Keppler agreed amiably. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“No,” Wilder protested, “you’ll come with me now. We’re in danger.”
Keppler scoffed and rolled his eyes. It was almost a constant refrain from Wilder, whose desire to hold absolute power seemed to override his good sense.
It wasn’t that Wilder was paranoid; his memory was simply too sharp, and he recalled what had happened in the past with far too much clarity. It was what made him such a shrewd businessman, but it was also what made him such a royal pain in the ass.
“I can’t come now,” Keppler explained. “I have to check in—”
“It can wait, whatever it is,” Wilder insisted. “Your hippie customers run on their own time, don’t they?”
Wilder lowered his voice and leaned in closer when he spoke, as if he was afraid that Carmine would overhear. Carmine remained rooted in place a fair distance away from them. Keppler didn’t know why he expected otherwise; his friend had only met Wilder once, and that was more than enough for him to know to keep his distance.
That’s enough for anyone to know to keep their distance, Keppler thought ruefully. Sometimes he wondered if Wilder would be as formidable had they not been born with dragon blood. Probably. There’s just something about him that screams pompous ass, even before it was trendy to be one.
“If it was your business, you wouldn’t make it wait,” Keppler replied firmly. “I have to check in on some things, and then I’ll meet you back at the palace.”
Wilder scowled, and he eyed Carmine again. “Doesn’t look like you’re doing much work,” he grumbled. “Looks like you’re wasting your time frolicking in the water with your mortal friends.”
Keppler’s back tensed, but he maintained the nonchalant smirk on his face, not wanting his brother to sense his irritation. He knew Wilder better than the rest of his brothers. Wilder knew how to push buttons, and he strove for heated reactions. The key was to remain calm in his presence.
“I shouldn’t need to remind you that my business depends on both the mortals and this ‘frolicking’ you’re talking about,” Keppler said. “I shouldn’t need to because you seem so well schooled in my business.” Wilder’s face turned pale at the jab.
“I have no idea why you feel the need to focus all your attention on the Sunside,” he growled. “The profits are much better in the Hollows, and—”
“You know, as much as I appreciate your two cents on all matters of my life,” Keppler interjected with mild sarcasm, “I have a financial advisor and accountant who helps keep my business in proper working order. Moreover, the seas in the Hollows don’t offer much in the way of good surfing, considering there is no moon to guide the tides.”
“Surfing,” Wilder snorted contemptuously. “How passé.”
“Okay, bro,” Keppler chuckled. “See you at the palace in two, three hours?” He hoped his words were dismissive enough to satisfy his brother, and to his relief, Wilder grumbled something incoherent as he spun to leave. “What?” Keppler called after him.
“Two hours, not three!” Wilder repeated, casting Keppler a baleful look over his shoulder. “This is important!”
“You know,” Keppler yelled back, “if you didn’t want to leave the comfort of your throne, next time you could just text!”
Wilder didn’t respond, but Keppler sensed he had properly annoyed his brother.
“What did he want?” Carmine rejoined Keppler’s side, watching as Wilder entered his vehicle and disappeared from the parking lot in a squeal of tires.
“Family meeting,” Keppler said lightly. “The usual crap.”
Carmine was silent for a moment before clearing his throat. “Your family is… interesting. I’m kinda glad I haven’t met your other brothers.”
Keppler didn’t answer, turning back to retrieve his board, but he couldn’t help smirking at the comment. None of us are without our flaws, he thought dryly.
“I’ve gotta go,” Carmine said when he returned. Keppler suspected he hadn’t realized his need to be anywhere else until Wilder’s appearance.
“Yeah, me too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go check on some of the shops. Thanks for joining me today.”
“Anytime, brother,” Carmine chirped. “Say hi to that p
iece of ass you’re tapping for me.”
Keppler groaned and pushed his friend on the shoulder, even as another fleeting image of the raven-haired jogger flittered through his mind on his way to his Jeep.
I’ll have to remember to search for her in the Hollows tonight when I get back there, he thought. I’ll give Castor her description. He knows everyone, and even if he doesn’t, he’s got that contact at the registrar’s office.
Every being in the Hollows was in the registry and had been since the beginning of time. There were keepers of the Great Library of Records, but nowadays, everything was downloaded into the cloud to make things easier.
The problem was that Keppler wasn’t sure the woman was from the Hollows at all. The only thing of which he was certain was that he had seen her before. Of course, that could have been anywhere. His businesses spanned all over the west coast of the Sunside, a compilation of surf shops, restaurants, and small hotels.
Securing the JB-1 atop the roof rack, Keppler dusted the sand off his clothes and slipped his discarded white tank top over his ripped chest, his abs moving with the motion. The morning sun was peaking, and his mess of sandy brown hair was already drying when he slipped into the driver’s seat. He welcomed the feel of the air conditioning against his face, even as it shot through the vents in bursts of hot air at first. Soon, his brand-new Jeep was providing a steady stream of cold to his already sweating face.
Keppler honked and waved at Carmine as they exited the lot, but his mind had splayed into multiple avenues. He was thinking about inventory costs at his shops along the coastline. Suppliers were upping their costs for reasons Keppler couldn’t quite fathom through all the double talk, and his bottom line was taking a hit as a result.
Not that I can’t afford it, he thought. I’m not losing any of my houses over it. At least not yet.
Still, Keppler wondered how Wilder would handle being jerked around by his suppliers. He suspected his brother would have a very different approach. That brought his mind to the matter of Wilder.
