Page 66 of Bound

Brody shook his head, mouth flattening into a thin line.

“No, please. If you think it’s creepy as hell when I do that, why not just say it out loud?”

“Enough,” West said sharply. “Both of you.”

Our eyes met from across the room. Instantly his gaze flitted away, but not before I caught the hint of color rising in his cheeks, felt the twist of shame he wasn’t fast enough to suppress through our bond. Brody could manipulate moon magic in much the same way Ben Caldwell had, could slow pulse rates, make your vision go black so that you dropped to the ground if you were about to melt down and go Beowulf in a crowded parking lot. Not proud of that moment, by the way. It was embarrassing as hell getting tossed into the back of a truck by your Alpha, then finding gravel in your hair later, all because you were about to wolf out and bite someone. But I digressed.

Brody’s power was greatly limited. West told me once that using it for more than a few minutes wiped him out for days. He was gifted, technically. But compared to a powerful projector like his mother, or River, who Guillermo had aggressively recruited from the time he manifested as a neuro-manipulator at age twelve, his abilities within the family hierarchy were an afterthought, and that had to rankle. Brody couldn’t understand what it was like to carry West’s burden, much less River’s, and every careless remark he threw out reinforced the deeply buried belief West held that on some level he was damaged. Unlovable. A monster.

“West,” I started just as a white-hot flash ignited in the back of my mind, announcing the vampires had arrived.

Vlad entered first, smirking, as usual, in a leather jacket and dark jeans. The blue tips of his hair had been spiked with gel, and he’d brought a six-pack of Brody’s favorite beer as a welcoming gift.

“So much for being too freaked out to join us,” I muttered, rising with the others to greet his party.

August elbowed me good-naturedly.

London Blake walked in next, her white-blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She pulled a white paper sack from the pocket of her canvas jacket and tossed it to Brody. Nearly took his head off was more like it. I sniffed the air, wondering if she’d filled the bag with nails or maybe anthrax, but only came up with some kind of jerky plus a whiff of cat.

Brody growled, eyes flashing wolf gold. “Stay away from my dog.”

“Heard you upgraded your alarm system. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Stop breaking into my house, painting Major’s goddamn nails and feeding him cookies. You’re confusing his police training.”

August stifled a cough. Unless by police training, Brody meant Major stealthily eating two hotdogs off the platter at Dallas and Lacey’s the other day before he was caught, I sort of had to agree.

London rolled her eyes. “Please. Major loves me.”

“He’s a golden retriever. He’d be besties with the town serial killer if she showed up with dog biscuits and a mani-pedi kit.”

And… three, two, one…

“Then you might want to check the lock on your garage door.”

West choked. The tips of Brody’s ears went scarlet, but he bit back whatever he was about to say as Not-Emma-Stone followed London into the room. Today she had on cherry-red Chucks and a retro Doctor Who t-shirt, and had slung a laptop carrying case over one shoulder, total geek-chic.

“Your pack isn’t quite what we were expecting,” Vlad said mildly, eyeing the table that was on the verge of collapse under foil-wrapped pans of food from The Rusty Spoke. “I see you weren’t kidding about the food.”

Brody nodded. “Everyone, grab a plate. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

As usual, Dallas had gone all out. In addition to slow-smoked beef ribs and barbecued chicken, he’d sent over tender sliced brisket, Texas baked beans, his signature potato salad made with sour cream and fresh celery, and macaroni baked in applewood bacon and bleu cheese. Four loaves of homemade bread from Blair’s, half wheat and half white, had been packed in with the order for making sandwiches, along with pickles, onions, several jugs of sweet tea, and The Spoke’s signature barbecue sauce.

In the dessert department, Lacey had sent over two dozen banana hazelnut cupcakes, each one topped with swirls of rich whipped buttercream, chopped nuts, and a single vanilla wafer. I filled my plate until it was about to collapse. Beside me, West did the same. Everyone took their seats.

Vlad cleared his throat. “We’ve decided we’re willing to take you into Zara’s compound and extract Kieran Greer.”

River said, “Just like that?”

Brody held up a hand. “Without anything in return?”

“Yes,” Vlad said. “Rowan wanted to come tonight because she felt it was important you hear her experience. This is larger than just one person’s suffering. It isn’t just one life at stake.”

“You’re a varewolf,” West said carefully.

Rowan toyed with her fork, tucking a shimmery curtain of hair behind one ear. “I was raised as the daughter of Zara. Royalty among vampires. I always knew that I was different, that I was half wolf. From the time I was little, my mother explained that a wolf had attacked her and that my birth was the result. That was why I was different from my brothers. Of course, none of it was true. My childhood was a glass house carefully built on lies. I was never without a bodyguard. I was told this was because of our position within the coven and my status as the only daughter.”

River shook his head. “I’m surprised they’d allow you any freedom at all.”