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“Finnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne.” I groaned once we’d left the bedroom and were in the hallway, and I was still on my sheet-barge and I was forced to accept a shower would have to wait. I crawled to my feet and stumbled after him into the much too bright kitchen. Even though my hair was a biohazard and I shed glitter everywhere.
“Do you have glitter on your cock?” I asked barbishly. Because I had it between my thighs.
He glanced inside his half-done pants. “Yes. And for the record, glitter under the foreskin is not something I recommend.”
“Yes, but let’s talk about glittery disco balls…”
“Do you really want to ingest glitter?” He raised a brow.
I pointed at my hair. “You say that like I haven’t already.”
He frowned, moved his jaw, dramatically fished around in his mouth, and pulled out a speck of glitter.
This wolf. I swear.
Sterling shook some oatmeal into a bowl for me, then took down a box of brightly-colored sugar-laden kiddie cereal. So he was the one who ate that stuff. I’d been blaming Jun’s garbage gut.
The oatmeal looked disgusting. Cereal looked more promising than oatmeal until I watched him pour almond milk on his, then add a scoop of chocolate protein powder.
I managed three bites of my oatmeal while not looking at (or trying to hear) him crunching on his breakfast monstrosity.
After few glasses of water, Sterling finally let me have a shower, even though he lurked around outside to make sure I didn’t faint and crack my skull. By the time I’d washed my hair, my liver had returned from its break and the oatmeal had soaked up the slimy feeling in my stomach. Clear perk of my regenerative werewolf metabolism and lymph system.
I got out of the shower in time to hear the bell ring. I shrugged a robe over my shoulders, wet hair in a towel, and peeked around the wall into the main room. Sterling was already closing the door and tearing open an envelope.
“Who is that from?” I asked.
“Courier from my father. Looks like a network address and time. I imagine the encryption keys have been forwarded to my phone.” He glanced around. “Where are our phones? I need to do this before the address expires.”
We had to rummage around for our phones—his was under the couch, and mine had ended up in the coat closet. He thumbed through his, then found his laptop, and attached his phone by cable. Whatever Garrett had sent was behind a few layers of tinfoil hat level encryption that would make a CIA agent drool. But the result was a massive trove of files.
There was a directory named APHARIA. Along with dozens of others. “It must be his entire portfolio and then some. Some of these deals are dead and didn’t close. There are even email archives and documents older than I am.”
He closed the lid and turned away, thumb moving over his phone screen as he typed out a text to his father. “I’m going to go shower.”
I sighed and checked my own phone.
Someone had left a voicemail at three from my family’s landline.
If I hadn’t already been sober, that would have done the job.
I tucked myself onto the bare mattress and held the phone to my ear, fearing who I’d hear whispering back.
“Winter,” a female voice I didn’t recognize said, tone very, very low, “This is Chronicler Anais of EarthSpine. Your mother left something for you in the Archives. Your brother doesn’t intend to let you have it. Call my Alpha. He will tell you the rest.”
Click. End of message.
Anais was an adjunct, regionally closest to SilverPaw. No surprise she’d been sent to secure, validate, and retrieve the Archives in the basement. Except EarthSpine had no love for SilverPaw. They’d made their home in western Montana and Canada for years as a large, middle-of-the-road pack until SilverPaw had decided to take the Montana territory for themselves. EarthSpine had been driven several hundred miles east after a bitter conflict.
So Anais needed my help? I couldn’t help myself out of a paper bag these days.
I mulled over if I should return the call or not, but that lasted about two minutes before I dialed the number Anais had left. A female voice picked up, passed me off to another, and another, and another until a male voice with a Canadian accent spoke in my ear. “Luna. Thank you for calling so promptly.”
I twirled a strand of hair around my index finger. I’d met this Alpha a few times. My mind recalled a tall, grave wolf my father’s age. Not much for words. His mate was the bubbly one. I’d heard he had been more chatty before their oldest pup had died, and that the loss had taken much of his voice with her.
“Anais has said she needs extraction from SilverPaw,” he said.
I did not like the sound of this. “She’s there as a Chronicler, not an EarthSpine. She should not need extraction.”
