Guild of Secrets

by Shannon Lynn Cook

Rafe brings his own water glass to his lips. “If you decide what you’d like to eat, I believe we’re having dinner.”

  I eye him, wary. Surely this isn’t a date.

  “The prime rib is good,” he says, “but the fillet mignon is excellent.”

  Or maybe it is.

  “I know what you’re doing.” I open my menu.

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’re hoping to get back at Gray, perhaps make him jealous.”

  Rafe’s blue stare is unsettling, but not because there’s anything particularly unsettling about him. He’s handsome, and his features are sharp and striking. He’s slightly shorter than Gray, but still tall.

  When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Well? Aren’t you?”

  “That would suggest I had no faith in you keeping your pretty little mouth shut,” he points out. He smirks at my cool smile. “Or I simply know how fast Gray works.”

  I open my clutch, dig out a pen, and pull a crisp, white cocktail napkin over to me. Rafe watches, intrigued, as I write a number on it and then slide it his way.

  “I already have your number,” he points out.

  After clasping my clutch shut, I stand. “It’s Gray’s number. Just in case you don’t have it anymore.”

  Rafe narrows his eyes. “Why would I want Gray’s number?”

  “Call him tomorrow when you know where Trent’s going to be. I’m done.”

  I expect Rafe to call me back, but he doesn’t. I pass our waiter as I’m leaving, and he gives me a lingering look. “Is everything all right, miss?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I do hope you’ll come back,” he says, looking at me in a too-familiar way.

  I give him a tight smile and walk past. My mind is a jumbled mess as I step from the restaurant. Finn hoped I’d fall for Gray? He pawned me off on purpose?

  He never cared for me at all.

  I don’t even notice a man hurrying after me, through the casino, until he matches my steps. Startled, I glance back and then relax when I see who it is.

  “Couldn’t let me make a grand exit, could you?” I ask Rafe.

  “Don’t leave like this.” He flashes me a guilty smile. “I admit I wasn’t my usual charming self, but give me another chance.”

  Before I can tell him I doubt he’s capable of charming, he places his hand on my back and guides me toward the exit. The touch feels wrong—and I know why. He’s not Gray.

  I squirm a little, trying to move from him without making a scene, but he stubbornly stays by my side.

  “We’ll do dinner another time,” he says cordially as he leads me into the almost-cool evening air. “Tonight, let’s go for a walk.

  Rafe’s sudden friendliness is a bit of an overcompensation for his cool indifference at dinner, and I could do without it.

  I stop abruptly, refusing to let him tow me along. “I’m done, Rafe. You and Gray can play your games, but not with me.”

  The man studies me, his eyes quickly moving across my face, darting back and forth. In the dark, they look black instead of blue. Sinister.

  My pulse quickens as I glance around and realize we’re alone on this stretch of sidewalk.

  He chuckles and slides a hand through my hair, letting his fingers caress my scalp. I freeze, too startled to move. Something is wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like someone has possessed Rafe.

  Or is impersonating him.

  I suck in a gasp, stumbling back, but Rafe’s hand grasps my wrist, holding me tight.

  “Trent,” I hiss.

  The pixie grins. “Pretty, pretty girl. Aren’t you a clever thing? It takes most people so much longer.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I’ve been following you since Rafe led you away from Morris. He’s been a double-crossing Fox, hasn’t he? Imagine what Morris will do with him once he finds out.” He cackles, his voice pitched too high. “Poof. No more Rafe.”

  I jerk my wrist, desperately trying to free myself. “Let me go,” I command, punching the words with persuasion.

  Trent laughs, yanking me back, digging his fingers into my flesh as he pulls me against his—Rafe’s—chest. “What a naive little girl you truly are. Don’t you know your silver tongue can’t manipulate me? If one plays in Fox dens, one must protect himself.” Trent pulls a medallion from around his neck and swings it back and forth. “I am safe from your vixen spells.”

  Fear shoots through me; its metallic taste coats my tongue.

  “But we can still play, little Fox,” he practically sings, yanking me closer, walking his fingers down my arm with his free hand. “Never you fear. We can play all night.”

  I stop fighting and dare look into his strange, shifting gaze. It’s like he’s unable to replicate eyes well, the window to the soul.

  I shouldn't have stormed out of the restaurant. Rafe—the real Rafe—has too much pride to come after me. I’m on my own.

  The pixie will kill me if I don’t escape—I have no doubt. And I will do whatever it takes to get away.

  Steeling myself for what I’m about to do, I step in, adding charisma to my voice—knowing he can feel it even if he can fight the urge to obey. “I thought you meant me harm, but you want to…play?”

  My stomach tightens, and I resist the urge to vomit.

  “Pleasure, pain,” he says, his voice confused but intrigued. “They live in the same arena.”

  Gritting my teeth, telling myself I’m braver than I am, I step closer and run my hand down his arm. “And you can change into anyone? Anyone at all?”

  His eyes darken with lust, and a wicked smile plays across his face—Rafe’s face. But it’s not Rafe’s face. The pixie has the expressions all wrong. In a way, it makes the task easier. It’s a stranger in front of me, not the man who spirited me from Morris, not Gray’s ex-partner.

  “You’re a naughty little Fox, aren’t you?” he whispers.

  “I think I could be.” I lower my eyes, hoping to look demure when in fact I’m fighting my gag reflex. Once I compose myself, I lift my eyes to his. “I’ve never had a chance to find out.”

  The pixie searches my face, his eyes dilating as if drugged. “Never?”

  I shake my head.

  “I can be whoever you want,” he says, clutching me close. “Anyone at all. We’re going to have such fun, you and me. So much fun, naughty little vixen.”

  After gulping back my fear, I bite my lip, hoping to look naive and nervous instead of flat-out terrified. “I…I have a picture of the man I’d like you to change into on my phone. Do you think that will be enough for you?”

  He nods too quickly. “Show me.”

  I dig into my clutch. With trembling fingers, I pull out my stun gun, flip the safety, and press it against the unprotected skin at the pixie’s neck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Before the pixie realizes what I’ve done, he’s convulsing on the ground.

  Not wasting any time, I run, stopping only to kick off my heels. My bare feet pound against the sidewalk. Something slices into my foot, but my heart is racing, and I barely register the pain.

  I burst into the resort, startling several people. Gasping for breath, I run for the elevators.

  “Miss!” someone yells. “You’re bleeding!”

  I just catch a lift as the doors are closing, and I collapse on the floor after I punch the button several times. Hugging my knees to my chest, I rock back and forth, clenching my eyes shut.

  The elevator slows, and the bell chimes as it reaches my floor. Somehow, I pull myself to my feet and make it to our room. I rifle through my purse, frantically looking for my card key. When I finally find it, it falls to the floor.

  And I lose it. I beat on the door until Jonathan lets me in.

  He blanches when he sees my bedraggled appearance. “Madeline, what the—”

  Before he can finish, Gray’s pushing past him. “What happened?” he demands, taking me by the shoulders and pulling me into the suite.
<
br />   Eric and Jonathan surround me, and I can feel their anger. It’s primal, intense, and after what happened…a little terrifying.

  Gray’s right in front of me, his eyes demanding answers. But I can’t give them to him, not tonight, not after what Rafe told me. I mean nothing to him.

  So I turn to Eric—safe, sturdy Eric—and throw myself at him. On instinct, he catches me and clutches me close to his chest. His hand moves over my back—big, reassuring circles—like I’m one of his animals in need of soothing.

  “I had him,” I cry against his shirt. “And I ran. I let him get away. He’s going to hurt more people because I panicked.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Eric murmurs over my head.

  “Rafe wouldn’t hurt her,” Jonathan says, confident.

  “No.” I pull myself from Eric, and he lets me go. “Trent—the pixie.”

  And once again, I find myself spilling the night’s events, leaving out the part where Rafe told me Gray slept with his girlfriend. I tell them about dinner and the waiter who must have been Trent keeping an eye on Rafe and me, and then finally the part when the pixie accosted me when I was leaving the casino.

  Jonathan swears when I get to the part about the medallion.

  “What?” I ask, my tears finally drying, my fear ebbing, and my anger taking over.

  “He’s got a clipeum medallion,” Jonathan says to Gray, ignoring me, but not really on purpose.

  Gray shakes his head, signaling that he doesn’t know what that is any more than I do. There’s murder in the Wolf’s eyes. I wouldn’t want to be Trent for anything.

  “They’re leftover from the middle ages,” Jonathan explains, “Back when blacksmithing was as much a form of magic as a science. When worn, they effectively block magic. Nothing can penetrate them. It’s a magic shield of sorts.”

  Eric crosses his arm and nods, looking less concerned. “That’s fine. We’ll just shoot him a few times. Even pixies bleed.”

  Jonathan turns to him. “No, you don’t understand. It blocks magic, masks it. I won’t be able to see it on him. I could walk right past him on the street, and he’d look like an ordinary human.”

  “But he looked like Rafe,” I argue. “How is that possible if it’s blocking the magic?”

  The Griffon turns to me. “Imagine a glass bell jar, all right? Now say you have a tiny oven in the jar—”

  “This better be going somewhere,” Gray interrupts, impatient.

  Jonathan shushes him with a wave of his hand. “Now imagine you bake a chocolate cake.”

  “Uh.” My gaze flickers to Gray before I look back at Jonathan. “Okay.”

  “I’m standing on the outside of the jar,” Jonathan continues. “Can I throw a rock at your cake?”

  Gray makes an impatient noise, but Jonathan shoots him a frustrated look. “Just shut up for a minute and listen.”

  Crossing his arms, obviously thinking the whole thing is ridiculous, Gray nods for Jonathan to continue.

  “Okay.” Jonathan rolls his shoulders, trying to regain his train of thought. “Can I throw a rock at your cake?”

  “No, it would bounce off the jar.”

  “Can I smell the cake?”

  I start to get it, and I begin nodding. “No, the jar is blocking the scent.”

  “But can I see your cake?”

  “Huh,” Eric says. “Nice job, professor.”

  Jonathan holds out his hands, acknowledging the praise.

  “So, in this example, the magic is the scent, correct?” I ask.

  Jonathan nods. “I don’t see magic as much as I sense it. The clipeum medallion blocks that sense.”

  “Wonderful,” Eric says, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Do you know what that tells us?”

  We look at him, a little surprised he’s adding to the conversation. He’s usually more of the go with the flow guy on the team, not the one to make big revelations.

  He waits until we're all looking at him. Then he holds out his hands and says, “It means we’re doomed.”

  ***

  It hits me as I’m leading the guys to the spot where I left Trent that the pixie admitted he knows Rafe’s playing double agent.

  I pull Jonathan aside, letting Gray and Eric move ahead. “We need to warn Rafe. Somehow Trent figured out he was working for the Royal Guild. He’s going to tell Morris.”

  Jonathan tilts back his head and groans. It’s a weary sound, the kind you let out at eleven twenty-seven at night as you’re walking down South Tahoe’s almost empty sidewalks, looking for signs of a half-electrocuted pixie.

  “Do you know how to contact him?” I ask, wondering if there’s a chance Jonathan kept in touch after Rafe left the team. I don't want to talk to the Fox, not after everything that happened.

  Jonathan doesn’t answer.

  “What about Gray?” I ask, taking his silence as a no. “Would he call?”

  Jonathan turns to me as we walk, studying me before he answers. “I highly doubt it.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I say, lowering my voice. We’re far enough behind that even with Gray’s excellent hearing, the Wolf shouldn’t be able to pick up the conversation.

  I limp down the sidewalk, trying not to think about the pain in my foot. Eric, gentle giant that he is, patched up my wound using primitive human things like antiseptic wipes and sticky brown bandages. I have no clue why they bother because it still hurts—even in the pair of ballet flats I traded for my heels.

  “Sure,” Jonathan answers.

  “Rafe said something about Gray, something I’d rather not believe.”

  Jonathan turns to me, his expression grim. “It’s true.”

  “He really slept with Rafe’s girlfriend?” I whisper, still unable to believe it. Gray’s a Wolf. Noble. Reliable.

  “He did.” Jonathan sighs and shoves his hands in his front pockets. “Nicole was a Deer, like your mother. Her healing was an absolute asset to the team, though it made Gray reckless. He knew no matter what he did to himself, she could heal him. As you may well be able to imagine, he got himself hurt all the damn time, and the two spent a lot of private hours together while she fixed him up.”

  I don’t want to hear where the story is headed, but I can’t seem to make myself ask Jonathan to stop.

  “Everything was going well. Our team was gaining a good reputation, and we were making decent money. But Rafe decided he wanted more. He asked Nicole to marry him, but she turned him down. She admitted that over the years, she’d fallen in love with Gray. The two fought, and she broke up with him that night. Nicole ended up at Gray’s place, crying on his shoulder. One thing led to another.” Jonathan lets out a slow breath. “After Rafe found out, he left the team. He and Gray haven’t talked since.”

  “Jonathan?” I ask, hesitant. “Why did you say Nicole was a Deer?”

  He turns his face to the ground, watching the pavement as we walk. “She requested a transfer and ended up working with a team that was looking for pockets of the Entitled in Denver. She was a great healer, but she couldn’t heal herself.”

  I look at Gray, studying his back in the dim light of the streetlights.

  “To this day, Gray blames himself,” Jonathan continues. “He says none of it would have happened—Nicole would still be alive, and we’d still have Rafe—if he hadn’t spent so much time with her.”

  “Did he love her?” I feel like I’ve been gutted. No wonder the two men are at odds.

  “Oh, we all loved Nicole. She was our girl. But was Gray in love with her?” Jonathan shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

  We continue the rest of the walk in silence. As I feared, when we reach the spot where I left Trent, he’s nowhere to be found.

  “Right here,” I say without much enthusiasm, gesturing to the area. Even now, surrounded by the guys, I feel vulnerable. That feeling of raw fear returns, churning in my gut.

  “And here I’d hoped we’d find a toasted pixie,” Eric says.

  Jo
nathan snorts. “Maybe the street sweeper came through.”

  I’m plagued with guilt. This is my fault. I had him.

  And this right here is why I don’t belong on the team. I’m not brave, and like Gray said before, my magic isn’t offensive—it’s not suited for this sort of task.

  I limp a few steps to a nearby bench. I’m not used to pain—not with a Deer for a mother. She never let me suffer, not from something even as little as a paper cut. I’ve been perfectly, horribly coddled.

  Jonathan walks away from the group too, dialing his phone. I stare at the spot where Trent confronted me, choking back the memory of the pixie’s hands digging into my skin.

  “So how are we going to find a pixie that can hide from a Griffon?” I hear Eric ask Gray.

  “I have no idea.”

  A few minutes later, Jonathan walks back. “We have to wait for him to come to us.”

  “How will that work?” I ask, looking up.

  Jonathan almost looks guilty. He’s just about to answer when a man appears behind me. Rafe steps from the shadows, nearly scaring me to death. I leap from the bench, adrenaline spiking in my veins, and dart to Eric’s side, almost tripping over my own feet in the process.

  The Fox’s expression softens. “It’s all right, Lexie. It’s me this time.”

  Gray stares at Rafe, his expression like stone.

  “I called him,” Jonathan admits. Guess he had his number after all. “He needed to know that Trent’s onto him.”

  “Lexie?” Eric asks, confused, but no one answers.

  I know it’s Rafe—I can tell from his expression, from his calm, watchful gaze. Trent’s eyes darted every which way, almost as if he was drugged. But even though I know it’s truly Rafe, I take a step back when he moves our way.

  A hint of concern flickers in his eyes, but he stays put, holding his hands up to show he won’t move any closer.

  And then he shifts his attention to Gray. The two stare at each other, neither yielding. Jonathan casually steps between them. “Now listen. I know this isn’t ideal, but we’re going to have to work together. Rafe’s cover is blown, and he knows more about Trent than any of us. He’s an asset to this hunt, and we’re all going to try to get along.” He looks pointedly at Gray and then Rafe. “Do we understand?”