If he thought I was going to drive him into town, he was dead wrong. I was locking the door and his sorry ass could walk.
“No, that’s not going to happen,” I said, and pushed the door closed.
But he stuck his arm in through the crack before it clicked shut.
“It’s right there,” Wafflick said, poking at the envelope that was still tucked between my arms. “We’re partners!”
Chapter Three
Valerie
As I crossed the threshold and started down the stairwell into the basement of the pack house, I was greeted by a familiar scent—one of old books and memories.
The pack archives had been my favorite place to play when I was little. Clara and I would take turns hiding my favorite plushie, Woof the wolf, in the shelves of ancient arcane books while the other would try to find him. Mom and her friend Cynthia Albright would chat for hours down here while we played.
Dad was always busy running the pack meetings upstairs.
As an adult, I preferred attending the meetings to spending time amongst the old books. My place was by my father’s side, helping make decisions for my pack. And as a human amongst shifters, I had to work twice as hard as anyone else to earn respect.
The basement of the pack house had been specially designed for housing magical artifacts for the entire northwest.
There were ten-foot ceilings and rows upon rows of tightly spaced shelves surrounding a reading area with a long cherrywood table and matching chairs. Books, documents, antiques, and prized possessions from the past filled the warehouse-like space. Despite its utilitarian design, the place was state-of-the-art. The climate and lighting were carefully controlled to preserve the history housed here.
We had been entrusted by the Tribunal to watch over the spell books and scrolls because of my mother’s bloodline—that of witches.
No one had told them after she died that there was only me. No one told them that I was powerless.
I nearly reached the bottom of the stairs when I heard my father’s voice. He was using his alpha tone—not quite yelling, but damned close. “—hell did you let her go?”
I froze.
“I’m sorry, sir,” a male voice answered. I didn’t know who was on duty, but it sounded like Roger.
My father sighed. “Start from the beginning.”
“I was guarding the door like I was supposed to, when I heard like, a crash. So I come down and I see her tossing shit all over the floor. I says, ‘Hey, what the hell are you doing?’ and she just looks at me and then next thing I know, I’m on the ground. I mean, she was fast.”
It had been a mistake to let Roger guard anything, but there weren’t many choices with the pack away, and Clara had taken day shift.
“You’re telling me a sixty-year-old human woman overpowered you?” my father asked. It didn’t seem likely. Now I understood why he was using the alpha tone. Worse, I knew he had to be talking about Ms. Albright. But Ms. Albright doing anything wrong made no sense whatsoever.
“She wasn’t no human, no way. Gotta be a vampire. That’s why I called the Tribunal.”
“You what?”
“Was that wrong?”
“Do you smell any undead? Any supernaturals of any kind?”
Roger was silent and it wasn’t helping his case. Finally he spoke. “...No.”
“How much have you had to drink, Roger?”
“I swear, it’s not like that, she was some kinda freak.”
My hand stung. I looked down at my hand gripping the banister so hard my knuckles were white. Ms. Albright was no freak. She was sweet, always had been. She’d been with us my entire life, and if she did something, if what Roger was saying was true, well there had to be an explanation. I forced myself to let go of the railing and eased my aching fingers.
“This is pack business, and the pack needs to take care of it. Clean this shit up. We won’t have long before the agents get here.”
“But shouldn’t we leave the crime scene undisturbed?”
My father growled.
“Okay, okay,” he said, and began scooping books and papers from the floor.
I stepped out from the stairwell, ready to make a case for Ms. Albright. I shouldn’t have had to, but I couldn’t not stand up for her.
I only made a few steps before I heard the basement door swing open.
I took a step farther and peered around to see who was joining us.
In from the darkness stepped a giant of a man.
My breath caught.
Standing across the room was the man of my dreams.
Literally.
His white t-shirt was like a second skin, clinging to his wide shoulders and firm pecs. I could almost feel his muscles beneath my palms. Loose, dark jeans covered his legs, but I still remembered the image of his muscular thighs, of the massive cock between them.
His eyes were brighter than they’d been in the dream...unless…
I looked at my fingers and counted. There were only ten. I pinched my nose, and I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t a dream, and he wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.
He was real.
Real, and gorgeous, and standing in my basement.
Heat rose up in my cheeks. I’d thought it had all been just a dream, but he was real. That would most definitely be an awkward conversation—hey I dreamed about boning you before we met. Better to keep that to myself.
I ducked a little farther behind the bookshelf. Sure, they could probably all smell me with their super-scenting shifter noses, but maybe he wouldn’t recognize my scent. Of course he wouldn’t—it was just a dream.
I wasn’t ready to talk to him just yet.
Bear-man towered over my dad, something I wasn’t used to seeing. My father seemed nervous—something else I wasn’t used to seeing.
“Deckard Reid, Therion Tribunal,” the giant said, holding out his hand. Deckard. His name was Deckard. Not what I had been expecting, though I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting. It had a rustic charm, and I wondered if he did, too.
“Timothy Carlisle, pack alpha.”
“What happened here?” Deckard was all business, so different from the passionate grizzly I’d met hours before.
But then again, we hadn’t met. No way that was real, right? Had that really been him or some kind of fortuitous dream, my witchy powers finally blossoming into existence? It was a bittersweet thought—sweet in that there’d be no awkward ‘hey, it’s my almost-fuck friend’ but also bitter in that Snakeman might actually exist, too.
It was decided—we hadn’t met. There was no need to worry that he’d know I nearly screwed his brains out because it was only a dream.
“Only one journal was taken without permission from the archives,” my father said.
I’d nearly forgotten they were talking. But a journal—it had to be my mother’s.
“You mean stolen,” Deckard said. He had down that icy alpha tone as well as my father did, one of complete command, one that demanded submission. “Who do you suspect?”
“We haven’t determined that yet.”
Roger stopped shuffling papers on the floor and raised his hand like a schoolboy waiting to be called on by the teacher. He waved it around as he stared in Deckard’s direction. “It was Cynthia Albright, she’s some kinda mutant or something!”
“Mind your place, Roger,” my father growled.
Roger cowered from his seat on the floor.
“Let him speak,” Deckard said.
“Thank you, sir.” Roger rose to his feet. “She was crazy fast, she knocked me out like it was nothing.”
“Is she a shifter?”
“She’s human,” my father interjected.
With narrowed eyes, Deckard’s attention flicked back to him. “Why was a human given access to the archives?”
“She’s something of the pack historian. An old friend of my wife who has been like family for years.” Dad was standing his ground, head held high. But I knew he was worri
ed, not just about Ms. Albright, but about what would happen when the Tribunal realized there was no witch defending the artifacts.
“Like family? You know the rules. Humans are not to know of our existence. Was she a shifter’s mate, a shifter’s child?”
“No, but—”
“Has your witch ensured everything magical is still locked down? What was stolen? Enchanted or cursed objects? Spellbooks?” Deckard flipped through the pile of papers Roger had stacked on the table.
“Nothing like that,” My father said. “Everything magical is secure.”
“That’s good. If you’re lucky, your witch wife won’t join you in the Meat Locker when this is all over.”
Oh, hell no.
Fury filled my veins. Deckard Reid wasn’t just super sexy, he was a super big asshat. And no one threatened my father. I stormed out from behind the shelves. Deckard turned just in time to get my finger jabbed into his hard chest.
“Who do you think you are?”
Deckard looked down and froze.
“I knew it. Just like a bully. All tough until someone calls you on your shit.”
He just continued to stare at me, saying nothing.
I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and I was furious. “You can’t just walk in here and disrespect the alpha of—”
My father shoved his way between us. He looked down at me with sorrow. I understood, the Tribunal being here meant they could find out about Mom. It meant they could take everything magical away, everything that had belonged to her.
“Valerie, please.” Dad turned to Deckard. “I’m sorry. This is my daughter, Valerie. She doesn’t understand the gravity of a Tribunal investigation.”
That was bullshit, and we both knew it.
“Because I’m not a shifter?” That’s what it always came down to. I’d worked my ass off to earn my place, twice as hard as anyone else in the pack, and I was still treated as less. “I’m just as much a member of this pack as anyone, and I won’t have this...thug pushing us around.”
My father’s lips thinned, but he said nothing.
Deckard’s eyes darkened and I waited for his reaction, waited for him to blow up and haul me off to shifter prison at any moment.
But he didn’t.
He just stood there, staring.
Someone had to say something.
Deckard and Dad turned, hearing something I missed.
The back door opened and a man entered from the dark night. I didn’t recognize him.
He was skinny with long, bony features, and he leaned over and held his chest. His cheeks were flushed, and he appeared to be breathing heavily. He wore an ill-fitted blue suit, and his eyes were wide as he scanned the room. Built like that, he had to be human, but then the question was, what was he doing here?
“Who are you?” my father asked.
The newcomer shut the door and smiled at Deckard. Then he looked to my father and rushed across the room to meet him.
“Agent Wafflick, Therion Tribunal.” So the Tribunal had branched out from just shifters…or…Maybe he was a witch, which was possibly worse than just another shifter. And Wafflick? What kind of name was Wafflick?
“You must be Joseph Carlisle, pleased to meet you.” He didn’t seem to have the same callous demeanor as Deckard. Guess he was the ‘good cop.’
My father and Wafflick shook hands.
Deckard closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“Hey, Deck, glad I found you. You forgot to wait for me back at the gas station. You know, after you sent me inside to pay?”
Okay, maybe more like bad cop, dumb cop. I suppressed a snicker.
Deckard’s jaw ticked and his muscles tensed, but he said nothing to the other agent.
When Deckard finally spoke again, it was to my father. “Keep the witness out of the archives until further notice, and give me this woman’s address.”
I stepped in again before my father could oblige. “I’m going with you. There’s no way I’m going to let you bully Ms. Albright.”
Deckard refused to look at me, and instead spoke to my father. “That’s not a good idea. There’s no telling what I’m up against.”
“Valerie will remain here,” my father agreed.
“Valerie is an adult and can make her own decisions,” I said.
“Not when the Tribunal is involved.” My father looked at me, not with anger, not with command, just with sadness. We both knew this was not going to end well for the pack, and that he wanted to protect me. I didn’t need protecting, and I knew I could help. I’d help Ms. Albright, and I’d help my father get out of this mess, even if he didn’t want me to.
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Wafflick stepped up beside me and clapped me on the shoulder like I was an old drinking buddy. “As an official Tribunal agent, I authorize you to be our guide to...what’s your town called?”
“North Bend,” I said.
“Great. You can be our guide to North Bend.”
Deckard turned his fiery gaze in my direction and let out a low growl.
It was probably supposed to be a sound of frustration, or maybe a threat. But it felt like a claim, the kind of growl he’d made when I’d almost screwed his brains out. The kind of claim I’d wanted him to place on me.
But that had only been a dream…hadn’t it?
Chapter Four
Deckard
I should have owned a car instead of a truck—a car with one bucket seat instead of a long bench.
As it was, Wafflick was sitting way too damned close to me. I should have made him ride in the bed, but if it had been a car, I could have forced him into the trunk.
The road ahead was narrow and dark, with no light to be seen beyond the headlights of my truck on the way into town. It took a few miles before there was any sign of civilization instead of just forest and fields and a single gas station where I filled up the tank.
“Oh, hey, Deck,” Wafflick said. “I almost forgot, I got you this cheesesteak burrito while I was in the gas station. Figured a big hungry bear like yourself needs it.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flaccid greasy tube and pushed it toward me. I was somewhat relieved that what I had been smelling wasn’t him. When I didn’t move, he waved it under my nose. I smacked it with the back of my hand, and the burrito sailed out the window, splattering orange cheese on the dark road behind us.
“Oopsie,” Wafflick said. “You dropped it. Don’t worry, I’ll get you another on the way back.”
Valerie leaned forward to see around the idiot. “Is this what it’s always like for the Tribunal? Harassing peaceful packs and littering their towns with junk food?”
I growled and gripped the wheel tighter. She was right. This mission had been anything but professional.
It was only going to get worse.
Between the urge to strangle the idiot beside me and Valerie’s alluring scent filling the confined space, I was ready to roar. I couldn’t be this close to her, not with the memory of the dream still filling my head—her creamy skin, her pert breasts, the need to claim her—
“What it’s always like? Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Wafflick said. “This is my very first assignment. I sure hope me and Deck get to partner up again, though.”
I could feel Valerie’s eyes on me as she spoke. “Me too, Wafflick, me too.”
“Please, call me Joey.”
“Okay, Joey,” Valerie said. “What kind of a name is Wafflick?”
Breakfast.
“Well my family’s from all over. But my surname’s Hungarian.”
“Hungary, interesting.” I could hear the smile in her words, could feel her gaze on me as she took pleasure in my suffering.
It was only three in the morning and I already knew, this was going to be the day from hell. With any luck that’d be all this job would take, one single day, and I could go home and forget any of this had ever happened. I could return to my cabin and forget her…or at least I could try.
�
��Tell me about the journal,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed forward.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Valerie said. “My mom kept a journal.”
“Kept? She doesn’t anymore?” I asked.
“Nope. And there’s nothing sensitive in there, so don’t get the wrong idea. If Ms. Albright took it, it was probably just to look over something. Some memory.”
“A memory of your mother?” I asked. The entire situation was suspicious. Why would Mrs. Carlisle keep her journal in the archives? And why would she not have come down with her husband and daughter?
“Don’t read into it,” Valerie said.
“I like journaling, too,” Wafflick said. “Scrapbooking, with the stickers, and the…”
I stopped listening.
There wasn’t much to see as we drove through the town of North Bend. And not just because it was dark.
Valerie gave directions while Wafflick spewed nonstop verbal garbage.
“Colonial. Dutch Colonial Revival. Ranch. I grew up in a rancher—modest, nothing like your mansion, Valerie.”
“It’s a pack house,” she replied. “Not just for my family.”
I glanced over, but all I could see was Wafflick between us.
“Still a mansion. Cape Cod...ooooh.”
I ignored Wafflick and the nagging urge to ask Valerie to tell me more about her. Did she have any siblings? What was her pack like? I already knew her mother was a witch, but was Valerie one as well? She had to be, didn’t she? To cause the dream we had shared? Did she sense that I was her mate the way I knew she was mine?
I tried to silence my brain, but it was impossible with her sweet cherry scent in the confined space.
None of it was relevant to the case anyway. And if I got to know her, it would only hurt more when I left. I had to leave. No good could come to her from having me in her life. I was pain, destruction.
I focused on the dirt road, on the dark mountains in the distance, on anything but her.
Wafflick’s knee bumped mine. Okay, I didn’t want to focus on him either.
I pulled away and watched the mailboxes and driveways pass. The houses were all as dark inside, and a few left their porch lights on.
I Dream of Grizzly: A Werebear Shifter and Witch Romance (The Protectors Quick Bites Book 2) Page 2
