“Seriously?” I demand, stealing several pretzels. “That was work-related research, and you know it.”
He grins. “Any lingering doubts I had that you’re a Fox are gone now.”
I would respond, but we’re already back to the Hummer.
Gray looks up when Jonathan opens the door for me. “What took so long?”
“Madeline was flirting with a security guard,” Jonathan says easily as he slips into the driver’s seat.
I pelt the back of his head with a pretzel. He laughs even though Eric and Gray look confused. Or maybe he laughs because Gray and Eric looks confused.
“Care to explain?” Gray asks as we pull onto the road once again.
I pop a pretzel into my mouth. “Nope.”
The rest of the trip is uneventful, and we finally pull into our hotel at one in the morning.
“Classy place you booked us,” I say, debating whether I’ll just sleep in the car—and that’s before I even notice the doors on the outside of the structure.
Good heavens—it’s a motel.
There’s a chain restaurant next door advertising all you can eat pancakes, and a newer twenty-four-hour gas station across the street.
The area doesn’t look all that bad really, just a popular stop for traveling families. And there’s a Doubletree just a few blocks down, so it can’t be that bad.
Wait—don't they give away cookies? Why aren’t we staying there?
Eric coaxes a sleepy Charles into his carrier and hands the cat back to me. Jonathan pulls out the suitcase I point to, sets it on its wheels, and extends the handle before he gives it to me. With the carrier in one hand, the suitcase in the other, and my father’s credit card in my purse, I head toward the sidewalk that will eventually lead to the Doubletree. I can only hope they’ll have a suite available.
“Hey, princess,” Gray calls. “You’re going the wrong way.”
I ignore him. “I’ll meet you back at the car at nine in the morning.”
“Where is she going?” I hear Eric ask the group.
In response, Gray mutters that I’m a pain in the…something. Lucky for him, I didn’t quite catch that last word.
“She can take care of herself,” Jonathan says. “And I’m exhausted. Let her go.”
Now I’m far enough away, I can’t hear the rest of their conversation.
Charles lets out a disgruntled yowl—probably irritated that he’s with me and not Eric. Ignoring him, I walk into the foyer. My heels click against the marble as I head for the long check-in counter. The lights are low, and there’s only one employee present. She smiles even though it's the middle of the night.
“I’d like a room. Maybe a suite if you have one available.”
“Make that two regular rooms with a connecting door,” Gray says from behind me.
I turn around and glare. It just shows you how tired I am—I didn’t even hear him following me.
He tosses a credit card on the counter and turns to me before I can object. “The guild pays for our accommodations while we’re traveling. They might not question a night here, but a suite will certainly make them raise their eyebrows.”
Too exhausted to argue, I only nod.
A few moments later, the woman hands us our card keys. “I’m so sorry—we’re temporarily out of cookies.”
They’re…what now?
Reading the despair on my face, she finishes, “But you can come back in the morning and get a fresh one.”
Well, all right then.
“Have a pleasant stay,” she says, politely dismissing us.
I start for the elevator. “Where are Jonathan and Eric?”
Without asking, Gray takes my suitcase, pulling it for me. “They didn’t have a problem with the motel.”
“Oh? And you suddenly do?”
He reaches past me, brushing his arm against my shoulder as he pushes the lift button. I go still as the scent of his deodorant wafts to me. No man should smell that good after midnight.
As soon as he presses the button, he backs up, his blue eyes locked on mine. “It’s never a good idea for members of the team to go off on their own.”
“Is that a rule?”
“More like common sense. Especially when the team member in question is twenty-two, blond, and wearing a mini skirt and heels.”
He edges closer, towering over me. So much muscle, so little T-shirt to contain it.
Blinking the thought away, I take a cautious step back, silently urging the elevator to hurry. “Ever had a girlfriend tell you that you’re a wee bit smothering?” I mean it as a joke, but my voice has the strangest breathy quality. Because I’m tired. Breathy-tired. It’s a thing.
He smirks and leans a hair closer. “I don’t do girlfriends, but I’ve never had any complaints from the women I’ve dated.”
As if on cue, the elevator opens.
I leap inside, spooked like a bunny. And not a Bunny like Eric—like an actual skittish, bouncy bunny. The kind with soft fur and a white cotton tail. The kind big, bad wolves like to eat for breakfast.
Gray follows me into the elevator, instantly making me feel like an idiot. Now we’re trapped in this tiny, little bitty space. How was that supposed to be helpful? My knees soften, and my pulse jumps. The walls are mirrored, and everywhere I look, there’s Gray. All angles—his front, sides, and…backside. A very nice backside.
Suddenly, I go still. Is Gray doing this to me? Has he somehow found a way to break through my defenses, making me vulnerable to his charisma? It’s the only thing that makes sense.
Filled with indignation, both for myself and Finn, I poke a finger at his chest. “Knock it off.”
A slightly irritated, but sort of amused, look crosses his face. “Knock what off?”
“That charisma thing you’re doing.” I step forward, narrowing my eyes. “It’s messed up to use it on me, and you know it.”
Slowly—so, so slowly—Gray raises a single eyebrow. “I’m not using charisma on you.”
I think about it for several seconds, letting my eyes fall to the finger I have pressed against his chest. Huh.
Well, now I’ve made a fool of myself.
“Good,” I finally say, putting on a poker face. I take several steps back. “Good. That’s…good.”
And now I’m stuck on repeat.
Cocking his head ever so slightly to the side, Gray stalks forward. “Apparently I don’t need to.”
Warning bells sound in my head. Run, little bunny.
But there’s nowhere for me to go.
Gray closes the space between us, stopping only once my back is against the wall. He cages me in with his arms on either side of my shoulders, his palms against the mirrored panels.
Before this can escalate, I push my hand to his chest…his rock-hard, unyielding chest. Good heavens—does he live in the gym?
“I’m dating your brother,” I remind him, panicking.
“No, you’re not.”
“Excuse me?” The attraction, though still there, is pushed behind my irritation.
“You think you’re dating my brother, but my brother is a player. He’s using you, just as he’s probably stringing along three or four other girls at the same time. I know for a fact that he was on a date last week with a girl named Chastity.”
There’s some irony.
I give Gray a good shove, adding just a touch of magic to assist. His eyes widen, startled by my power—probably more power than a lowly Sparrow should have. He shifts back, but only slightly.
“The thing is,” he continues as if I didn’t just assault him. “If you’re not actually sleeping with him—which you claim you aren’t—what’s he using you for?”
Gray’s jealous of Finn, that’s all. His younger brother has everything—the name, the status, the power.
It’s understandable really, if not a little sad. And by sad, I mean pathetic.
The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors open. Gray watches me for several more heartbeat
s, and then he steps back, freeing me.
With a huff, I push past him, stalking into the hall.
“Madeline,” he calls, using my name. Using it in a dark, rough voice that does funny things to my stomach.
Bracing myself, I turn back.
He points to the crate by his feet. “Forget something?”
Poor Charles.
I hurry forward, snatching both my cat and my suitcase.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Gray promises…or threatens. I’m not sure which. “In the lobby, eight-thirty.”
Refusing to answer, I rush to my room. Gray’s is right next to mine, but he appears to be in no hurry.
I’m so flustered, it takes several swipes of the card key to get the stupid little light to blink green and give me access to the room. Finally, the sound of the lock clicks, and I push inside.
Immediately, I set Charles on the bed, unzip the front flap because he’s already fussing, and move to the adjoining door. I check the lock twice, set up a litter box and bowl of water for my grumpy cat, and then collapse on the bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers or change into pajamas.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Maddie, sweetheart, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Eric says, “but you look like crap.”
“Noted,” I mutter.
After my run-in with Gray last night, I was too amped on adrenaline and doubt—wretched, wretched doubt—to sleep.
And when I called Finn this morning, needing a little reassurance after a truly awful night, Agatha said he couldn’t come to the phone. His Royal Importantness was having a private meeting with some Peacock. A Peacock—a member of the only faction that’s single claim to fame is beauty. Most can’t even conjure a simple light spell because their heads are full of fluff and an entire lifetime of compliments.
So, yes, I look like crap. My hair is up in a messy bun—with emphasis on the messy—I have a hint of raccoon eyes lingering, and my shirt is on inside out…which, of course, I didn’t realize until Gray was dragging me down the hall, telling me I slept in.
Joke’s on him. I didn’t sleep at all. Take that, Gray.
And the worst part? He scooted me out of the hotel so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to ask for my cookie.
Blasted Wolf.
Eric relieves me of Charles. The cat is in desperate need of a little Bunny magic because his mood isn’t much better than mine. Jonathan, bless his tall, dark, and handsome self, hands me a steaming cup of caffeinated goodness, opens my door, and takes my bag. Now that’s service.
“You’re a good boy,” I tell him, breathing in the aroma of…wait.
No, no, no.
“What is this?” I point to the cup, hoping not to look ungrateful though I’m about ready to burst into tears.
“Herbal Chai Latte,” Jonathan says, hefting my bag into the back. “Gray’s orders. He said you tossed and turned all night and needed to cut back on caffeine.”
My eyes lock on Gray. He’s pacing thirty yards away, on the phone. It looks like a serious conversation, so I don’t interrupt him. I wait, ready to pounce as soon as he ends the call.
Before he’s finished, he turns my way and finds me watching him. He gives me a questioning look as he wraps up the conversation, pockets the phone, and takes a long, deliberate sip from a cup that looks identical to mine—a cup that I’m certain contains some form of caffeine.
He totally planned this.
I’m sure I look like a hot mess as I stalk toward him. If we weren’t standing in the parking lot of Jonathan and Eric’s cheap motel, someone might call the cops and claim there’s a deranged woman with dark intentions written all over her face marching across the asphalt. Thankfully, I’m sure they see that sort of thing all the time around here.
As soon as I reach Gray, I snatch the cup from his hand.
I take a sniff and then narrow my eyes. Before he can stop me, I drink a scalding sip of liquid happiness. It’s a simple latte, no sugar, with an extra shot of espresso. Maybe two extra shots. Perfection.
I take a long, deep yoga breath before I meet Gray’s eyes. “Why do you get coffee?”
“Because I slept all night.”
“Oh really?” I take a step closer. “Well, Master of the Wolf Hearing Abilities, if you slept, how did you know I tossed and turned all night?”
He opens his mouth, ready to answer, and then realizes I have him.
That’s right. Point for Madeline.
“Give me back my coffee,” he commands.
I shove the chai latte into his hand.
Through gritted teeth, he says, “My coffee.”
I take another drink of my new beverage. “Hmmm. No.”
Then I turn on my heel and walk back to the Hummer. Gray robbed me of my cookie; I robbed him of his latte. Justice has been served.
Jonathan and Eric stand by the SUV, blatantly watching the show, arms crossed, both looking amused and slightly concerned.
“You two finished?” Jonathan asks. “Can we get to work now?”
“I’m good,” I say, slipping into my seat. Gray shows up a moment later, and I give him an innocent smile. “What about you, Gray? You good?”
He pushes Jonathan away from the driver’s door and steals his seat. “Never better.”
“I take it you’re driving,” Jonathan mutters, getting in next to me.
Gray’s gaze locks with mine in the rearview mirror, and he takes a long drink of the chai, disgust only briefly flickering across his face before he schools the expression.
He’s stubborn. I’ll give him that.
We’re on the road, heading toward our rendezvous with the troll, wherever that might be, when Jonathan leans close. “Eventually, I’d like to drive my own vehicle. Do you think the two of you can learn to get along so we can make that happen?”
“That depends.” I sit primly in my seat, happily sipping my stolen drink. “Next time Gray tells you to order me tea, are you going to listen to him?”
Jonathan gives me a reprimanding look, though his dark eyes are bright. “You realize that you’ve been part of the team for less than twenty-four hours, and you’re already starting a mutiny?”
“What’s your point?”
He shakes his head and bites back a rotten grin. “Unless you ask for it, I won’t order you tea.”
Satisfied, I nod. “Very well. I will try to get along with the Wolf.”
***
I look out my window, growing increasingly concerned. We left the hotel and gas station-lined street, drove through a residential area with trim lawns and flowers growing in well-manicured beds, and at some point, we turned into the neighborhood slum.
Gray follows the coordinates on the GPS, taking turns as he’s instructed. Absently, I think it might be nice to have a Canis in the group—a Hound—someone gifted with navigation.
We stop at a red light next to a liquor store. A woman leans against the side of the building, watching us. A year’s worth of brunette roots show in her frizzy bleached hair. She has on a black tube top with lime green bra straps showing, frayed jean shorts, and a red flannel shirt tied around her waist. She has the look of a woman who’s lived a hard, illegal-substance-filled life.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” I ask Gray, growing increasingly nervous. Not to stereotype, but people who hang out in these sorts of areas don’t generally like girls like me. “I thought you said the troll was harassing tourists. This doesn’t look like much of a tourist trap to me.”
“No, but he lives near here.”
Of course he does.
Eric pivots in his seat as the light turns green and Gray leaves the liquor store behind. “You still have your Taser, don’t you?”
I give him a tight nod.
“Don’t be afraid to use it, you understand? If someone or something threatens you, you take them out.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Jonathan mutters wryly, and Gray flashes him a questioning look in the rearview
mirror. One Jonathan ignores.
“What exactly has the troll been doing?” I ask, figuring I should know what I’m getting myself into.
“Hiding under bridges, jumping out at tourists, snatching purses—that sort of thing,” Jonathan answers, sounding bored, like we’re talking about jaywalkers.
“There’s just no creativity with trolls,” Eric adds, disgusted. “You’d think they’d mix it up a bit, but no. It’s always hiding under the bridge, ‘You may not pass,’ ‘I’m going to boil you and eat your bones,’ blah, blah, blah, etcetera, etcetera.”
I grow a tiny bit queasy. You see, I’ve never, not ever, seen a troll. They don’t exactly hang out in the Royal Guild circles. But I do know that just like sprites, pixies, and most of the other miscreants that came into this world before the thresholds were closed, they love money, and they get great joy in taking it from humans. If they can cause a little chaos and carnage in the process, all the better.
“You know,” I say. “I might just stay in the car with Charles.”
Jonathan’s face hardens. “You don’t want to do that.”
I glance at Eric when Jonathan fails to elaborate.
Eric grins. “This is Jonathan’s sixth Hummer in the last five years. It never fails that we knock on a door, have a nice civil arrest, and come back to find our vehicle trashed. That’s the thing about trolls—you’ll be talking to one of them, and their friend will sneak out the back and strip your car clean.”
Peachy.
According to the GPS, we’re going to reach our destination in four minutes. I clasp my hands in my lap, trying very hard not to pick at my manicure.
We end up in a neighborhood made up of duplexes. There’s a scraggly tree growing on the corner. Other than it and the weeds growing in the patchy gravel, there’s no greenery.
To make up for that, one resident has a flower pot filled with sun-faded fake flowers amidst an interesting, and slightly terrifying, collection of yard gnomes.
In the side yards, there are bicycles, droopy, plastic playhouses, and dilapidated metal swing sets. One man has what can be nothing but a shrine to his beloved football team. His import is spray-painted orange, and there’s a big, drippy number on the side that most likely represents his favorite player. He has bumper stickers galore, and a football flag proudly flies from a pole that makes the Tower of Pisa look straight.
Guild of Secrets Page 6
