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“Mr. Cordova,” I said, uncertain if I should move further. He was directly in my path, and I would have to steer the chair aside to avoid him.
He tore his gaze from Derrick’s mother to give me the barest of nods. “Miss Grayson, how pleasant to see you again.”
I tried for a smile and stuck to courtesy. “The pleasure’s mine.”
His mouth twitched at the corners. “Somehow I doubt that.”
There was something in his voice that didn’t quite sound like humor and I lost my smile.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said and steered Janice around him.
He followed me until I found a shady spot under a tall beech tree to watch the game. Because I did not want to give him any advantages, I chose to stand rather than sit and I kept Janice on the other side of me, blocking his view of the older woman. If he noticed these defensive strategies, he did not seem to mind. He stood beside me, leaning slightly forward into his cane, which I noticed had a boar’s head on the handle and a copper tip buried into the dirt.
The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, and I could see a small sunburst tattoo positioned near his heart. His skin was a pasty sort of pale, which made the dark stain of tattoo all the easier to see, and with a jolt I realized he couldn’t possibly be a werewolf. Next to Derrick and Brock and their healthy bulk, Levi was spectacularly skinny.
But what was he?
Grimacing, I clenched my fist, letting the runestone rub against bone until it hurt. Was he the warlock who made the curse? By all appearances he was a guest here, not an employee, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t to blame. It was entirely possible that he was invited here as a business venture, like everything else in the Leslie’s life, and he sold his runestones to them wholesale or something.
The thought made me want to punch something.
“It is a dangerous game young Derrick is playing,” Levi said into the silence.
I suspected he didn’t mean football, but kept my eyes fixed on Derrick as the teams took to their sides of the field. He stripped to the waist, putting the hard length of him on display as he tossed his shirt into the grass, and I took an involuntary breath.
Maker help me, he was beautifully made. The constable tattoos coiling around his torso were in full view and I recognized the binding pattern they made as they glistened in the sunlight. He exuded power, both physical and magical, and several of the wolves on the opposing team scowled at him.
“I’ve had clients injured from football,” I said, unable to look away from Derrick. “One man took such a hit in the head it required a Fae healer to fix him. His wife was furious.”
Levi hummed a noncommittal response, and when I glanced at him, he was eyeing the field as well. Both teams took position. The mechanics of the game were lost to me, but I gathered that Brock was a team leader because he was shouting something to his compatriots, glancing up and down the line of men while crouched down. At a final word, the ball was snapped into play and the field surged with movement.
The two lines of men collided with a violence I was unprepared for. There was a meaty smack of bones and many grunts of effort, and I realized at once that they were using their full werewolf strength against one another.
Maureen must not be worried about any human witnesses, and I wondered how much she had paid to keep the lake private.
Derrick peeled off from the cluster of men, racing down field with preternatural speed. Brock sent the ball soaring in Derrick’s direction, and I held my breath. Two others had seen the opening and sped toward Derrick, but it was too late. Derrick caught the ball and pivoted, charging toward the far end of the field.
“Humans wear gear,” Levi said thoughtfully, his gaze tracking Derrick.
The length of the field was larger than I expected, and I could see Derrick straining to keep distance from his pursuers. He took long, agile strides, the ball tucked under one arm, his feet digging up clumps of dirt that flung back in his wake. He looked magnificently athletic, and I caught myself holding my breath, silently urging him toward wherever the finish line was.
One of his pursuers launched toward him, closing the distance while airborne to grab him by the waist. I gasped as Derrick crashed into the ground, his legs summarily bound by the other man’s weight. He tucked his body at the last second, turning so that his shoulder took the brunt of impact, but the speed and velocity of the collision was jaw-droppingly evident. The two men skidded across the field, their bodies digging a horrific gorge through dirt and grass until at last they jolted to a stop.
Pressing my hand to my mouth, I stared wide-eyed as the literal dust settled on the field. “Maker save him,” I murmured, my words muffled.
A heartbeat later, Derrick raised one arm and held the ball aloft.
It seemed to be some sort of signal because his team burst into cheers and went racing for him.
“Like I said,” Levi sighed and shook his head, “the humans at least wear gear to protect them.”
My heart quickened and I watched as Brock helped Derrick to his feet. There were gashes across his torso, bleeding freely, and he was grinning. The man who tackled him looked equally bad, his shirt tattered, his nose broken, and I took back every word of support I’d given in my study.
Football was brutal. It was horrible. No husband should expect his wife to be pleased by such a display regardless of who won.
“This is madness,” I breathed.
“Yes. But we cannot judge young men too harshly. They will always find a way to bloody themselves.” Levi slanted a look at me. We were near the same height, though he did stand a half inch taller. His too-pale eyes caught mine. “The bystanders are what concern me.”
