Shifter Wars: Supernatural Battle (Werewolf Dens Book 1) Read online

“Almost definitely, if they’re following their usual pattern.”

  Great.

  “You’re a natural leader,” Herc said next.

  These were words for Rhona, and I tried to hide my discomfort.

  “Representing our family and leading the stewards,” he continued, “is about management and leadership. You must have the ability to convince any steward to enter the grid and work in the best interest of this tribe and this land. If they’re fearful, you must undo that fear. If they’re arrogant, you must humble them. If they are strong-willed, you must walk the line of discipline and offering choice. Simultaneously, you must inspire those around you. By your actions and example alone, even the strongest stewards will push to emulate you. Your strength is indisputable, Rhona. That is something you’ve shown every steward since fifteen.”

  Rhona was a literal badass, and I couldn’t argue with that. But if I was honest, the rest didn’t describe her at all.

  “Your weaknesses lay in the management of people,” he said.

  I nodded.

  Herc extracted an old workbook from the top desk drawer. “My father gave me this a year before his death. I hated working through it. Until I stood in front of the Luthers and our stewards at the reading of his will. Then I’d never been more grateful to know something of how to lead.”

  He pushed the book to me along with a pen and paper. “Page one, exercise one.”

  I opened the book and read aloud, “Your peer isn’t completing their job to an acceptable standard. How do you approach this issue?”

  “Remember, always, that these lands contain the bones of our ancestors. That shapes your every decision. Your personal feelings and problems cannot cloud how you react or analyse a problem.”

  Business was business. I understood.

  Taking up the pen, I thought for a moment before jotting down an answer. We’d covered employee and conflict management last year, but I was rusty. After the first two lines, my memory dredged up some finer points, so I added those.

  I slid the paper back, almost nervous as Herc read my answer.

  He stared. And stared some more.

  Glancing at me, Herc cleared his throat. “Meet with the peer as soon as possible, taking quantifiable data of their poor performance. Clearly outline the result they need to reach. Brainstorm solutions with the peer. Consider external stresses and their motivation, and/or training level. Listen so they feel valued. Don’t close the meeting until the peer clearly understands how to proceed.”

  A textbook answer.

  Herc’s lips twitched. “How long are you going to keep this up, Andie?”

  My cheeks heated. Snapped.

  I winced. “Was it obvious?”

  He drew another slip of paper from the top drawer. “Rhona’s answer to the same question… Make them stand in freezing water and beat them with reeds, just like old times.”

  I pressed my lips together. “That’s Plan B. You got me. Challenges are my weakness.”

  Give me a sudoku any day of the week.

  He regarded me. “A weakness not many possess. Gerry tells me you train hard.”

  “I didn’t know he spoke.”

  “Pascal reports you memorised 70 percent of the traps in Clay after your first virtual reality training this morning.”

  That many? Probably because I was so damn determined not to be a liability. I would have expected 20 or 30 percent.

  I sat, unsure how to respond.

  “Humility and integrity,” Herc said, reaching to take the exercise book back. He slid it away, along with my answer and Rhona’s. “Those qualities are just as important as physical strength, Andie. Don’t forget it.”

  …Okay? “Where did my Rhona impersonation go wrong?”

  Herc smiled. “I can tell you that looking at gruesome werewolf injuries doesn’t make her flinch.”

  Ugh, I did do that.

  He rested a hand on the boxes. “It’s nice to see you two getting along. Makes me think about the childhood you both could have had if things were different with Ragna.”

  The thought plagued me, too, especially after talking with Jiani. So much could be different. I’d have Mum’s and Murphy’s family. A father who I could turn to. A mother who kicked ass and protected me.

  What a dream.

  A horrible, bitter dream.

  “Life could have been easier…” I trailed off. Rising, I grabbed at the closest box. “Thanks for these. I really don’t know what to say.”

  Herc rested a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t need to say anything. I hope they give you whatever you’re looking for.”

  An answer.

  That’s what I wanted.

  What happened to my mother?

  17

  Good as fucking gold.

  That’s how the Luthers looked when I entered The Dens just before 6:00 p.m.

  An entire cliff face fell on them, and not a single bruise showed. Though I noticed Hairy and one of the bouncers weren’t in attendance. No wonder. Hairy’s leg hung by a thread when I saw him during the video conference.

  Bile rose in my throat all over again.

  I gripped my sax, far calmer for clinging to it as I approached the bar. “Hey, Mandy.”

  She shot me a flat look. “Hi.”

  I frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “Just tired. Want a water?”

  Depends. Would she poison it? “Yeah, thanks. Big crowd tonight.”

  I was here last Thursday, but Leroy’s thieving ways distracted me.

  “There’s a poker tournament on.” She slid a water before me, adding two lemon slices like last time.

  Poker. I wrinkled my nose. “Right. I’ll see you after.”

  She was already moving away. Interesting. Was that disappointment, resentment, or fatigue?

  Maybe the avalanches broke both her legs and Mandy spent all night recovering.

  I shivered.

  Thursdays might not be the best day to fish for information if the Luthers lost Grids.

  Was Sascha here tonight?

  I’d dressed to impress just in case, putting in extra effort because he’d pissed me off. Had he laughed each time I called him Alarick? It really, really annoyed me.

  I’d selected my third sexiest dress for the occasion. Black stilettos and a coiled half-up and half-down hair style—yep, temptation never looked so good.

  The silk forest-green dress clung from lower back to just below my knees, ensuring my steps were small. The neckline hung in lazy folds, but my back was bare for all to see, only criss-crossing satin straps holding the front of the dress in place.

  I stepped onto the gold stage, setting my water on the black stool. I wet my reed. Tightening my neck strap, I tucked my chin to check the position.

  Perfect.

  The hairs raised on the back of my neck. Stilling, I scanned the bar, almost snapping onto Sascha Greyson’s honey gaze. He lurked across the bar outside the staff door, leaning on the bar.

  Last night, the white chalk made him look like some ancient Viking. He’d been near the forefront of that attack, and he alone made it to the top of the cliffs to fight.

  I arched a brow at him.

  You have a reason to be standoffish. He can’t read into this exchange.

  He nodded at me before talking to Leroy.

  He’d sneak a peek sooner or later. I pivoted to take a sip of my drink, showing him every inch of my displayed skin while smiling at the closest patrons.

  Closing my eyes, I began.

  “Try Just a Little Bit Harder” by one of my all-time favourite artists, Janis Joplin. Vocal covers of this song never convinced me. This song required the undiluted gravel that only Janis could provide.

  After a few bars, my eyes flew open.

  This was an absolutely terrible choice of song. The Luthers were buried alive last night, and I was playing a song telling them to put more effort in.

  Shit. What were the odds no one knew the song?

  I belted ou
t the last few notes and dipped my head in thanks at the applause. Thank fuck I didn’t play “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac.

  Maybe a little more thought on song choice was warranted…

  “Warwick Avenue.” Duffy.

  Perfectly neutral.

  The shift passed as quickly as the first. This werewolf bullshit hadn’t affected my music at least, and that warmed my heart. Relaxing, my mind drifted to the boxes of Mum’s stuff that I had a chance to dig through.

  She started journaling at twelve years old.

  Dad said I have to do this each day. A whole page. Whhhy?

  Mum had kept her handwriting large to use as much of her one-page quota as possible with minimal words.

  I swung my hair forward to hide my smile as the last note of “In the Air” by l.a.b. faded. Child Mum was pretty hilarious. She hadn’t known about werewolves at that age, and the entries were about trips to the lake with Herc and baking with her mother. Her words were nonsensical for the most part.

  Those nonsensical words were so important to me.

  She was happy once—through and through. That soothed me on a level even my saxophone couldn’t reach.

  The words devastated in equal measure. I wish someone had protected that version of her, or that I could have safeguarded her joyful spirit somehow, to preserve her happiness in life.

  Whatever I did for her wasn’t enough.

  Things could have been so different if I succeeded. Not just with her addiction. Maybe we would have had money to pay for all the cancer treatments insurance didn’t cover.

  Maybe she’d still be here now.

  I checked my phone, spotting a missed call from Roy.

  The open home was today! I completely forgot.

  Hopefully he was still awake for a call after this last song.

  Scanning the crowd, I absorbed the edgy excitement. The more alcohol that flowed, the louder they got—and my music contributed to that effect.

  “Dance Monkey” by Tones and I.

  A whoop went up from the younger members of the audience, and I winked at them. Please don’t let the gambling get its hooks into you.

  Turning on the spot to work the other half of the audience, I spotted Sascha at the bar again. His expression was grim as he sipped on Johnnie Walker.

  None of the wolves had smiled tonight. Definitely not a night to dig for information.

  Drawing the upbeat song to a close, I thanked the audience and took a quick bow to their applause before dismantling my sax.

  Case and drink in hand, I wedged myself into the far corner of the bar beside a group of women trying to catch the attention of…

  I squinted across the bar.

  Sascha Greyson.

  For fuck’s sake. I pulled out my phone to text Roy back.

  Free for a call in ten?

  Mandy swiped up my empty glass. “Need another?”

  “I’m good,” I told her.

  She walked off without another word. Mandy was plenty vocal during the video conference in defence of her pack. The injuries to loved ones had hit her hard. I was sure the whole pack was pissed. Mandy just wasn’t as adept at hiding her emotions.

  “Oh my god. Shh, he’s coming!” the woman next to me screeched.

  She repositioned herself on the stool, knocking me off mine.

  A hand under my elbow steadied me.

  The electric shock gave him away immediately.

  Dang it. I looked up into honey eyes. This time, they didn’t hold a flame to the fire-breathing glare from my neighbour.

  “Your playing tonight was breathtaking,” Sascha murmured. “What was the last song? I didn’t recognise it.”

  Because you’re old as shit.

  I righted myself, pulling from his grip. “‘Dance Monkey’ by Tones and I. There are apps you can use to identify songs, you know.”

  The woman next to me flicked her blonde hair, sending Sascha a look I could only describe as visionary reverse cowgirl. Sascha leaned against the bar on my other side, ignoring her.

  Let me guess. Females fawned over him all the time.

  Vomit.

  They wouldn’t do that if they saw what I did last night. My breath quickened. I felt his eyes on me. Could he hear my heart?

  Think fast.

  I cleared my throat. “Do you guys have a printer I could use?”

  Printers always ramped up the heartbeat. Jesus, Andie.

  His quiet voice flowed through my blood like a lullaby, nothing like the hair-raising howl last night. “Of course. I can connect you now if you like. It’s wireless.”

  “Thanks. I’ll download the application.”

  I logged into the university website, cursing softly as I navigated the menu on my phone. My laptop may be a hunk of shit that took twenty minutes to do anything, but at least the screen was bigger.

  “You’re applying for more work in the valley.”

  Did he realise questions had question marks? “No. Applications for this semester close tomorrow.”

  He moved closer. “You study.”

  Straightening, I flicked him a look. “Is that surprising?”

  His gaze landed on my saxophone case. “I should ask instead what you study.”

  “I’m in my last year of a business and communications degree.”

  “Business. What drew you to that?”

  Oh, he did know how to ask questions.

  “Controlling your own money is a very good idea.” I clicked the download button next to the correct form.

  Sascha shifted closer, demanding my attention.

  What was it about him that made me so damn aware of his every twitch? Was it the sigma thing? The hairs on the back of my neck lifted when he entered the room. Earlier, I knew he was at the bar before seeing him.

  “I have a business and communications degree,” he said. “I finished several years ago.”

  I bit back a smile with effort. In the context of Grids, a degree in business made complete sense. An immortal must have ample time to complete extra studies too.

  But… a wolf reading a book. With glasses on.

  My shoulders shook. Dang. The punishing training this morning and this entire fiasco had left me loopy.

  He inhaled deeply.

  I stilled. What the fuck?

  He was fucking sniffing me.

  “What are your thoughts on this establishment?”

  I scrunched my face. “Aside from it being a casino?”

  “Yes. Aside from the fact you hate it.”

  My initial impression of The Dens? “Your branding is exceptional. Whatever marketing you invest in to bring these crowds so far out is, frankly, awe-inspiring. If transportation out here wasn’t so difficult, the crowd would be insane. Though perhaps the location lends an exclusivity to The Dens that adds to the allure.”

  “What could be done to draw in more customers?” His eyes were glued to my face.

  When did we get this close?

  I joked. “How about an airport?”

  Sascha froze.

  What did I say? “If you want more ideas, you’ll need to hire me as a consultant.”

  His mouth spread in a slow grin that only served as a reminder of the way I’d clutched him to me post orgasm, panting for air.

  His nostrils flared.

  Seriously. Was I just noticing all these wolf traits now or had he ramped them up?

  Fidgeting, I checked my download. Complete. I opened my wi-fi settings, turning the screen toward him.

  The werewolf tapped in the password before passing it back.

  I sent the application form to The Dens Printer. Original. “Thanks for that.”

  “Leaving your application until the day before is cutting things fine.”

  The DJ started his set and I seized the opportunity to look there. “Tell me about it.”

  A table of raucous thirty-somethings quietened suddenly. I peeked over my shoulder to find Sascha’s attention on them.

  Just like that, the
y stopped shouting. Without looking or knowing the werewolf was there, they’d sensed and responded to his threat.

  Impossible. And definitely the source of the dangerous undercurrent in the bar.

  No wonder I could sense the guy when he walked into the room. That was a relief.

  My phone vibrated. Roy. Shoot. “Excuse me, please.”

  Sascha’s gaze snapped to my phone where the name was clearly visible.

  I slipped off the stool.

  My heel caught, and I reached for the bar, but Sascha intercepted the movement, cradling my elbow again.

  I blurted, recovering my feet, “Downside to heels like this.”

  The words gave him permission to look at the black stilettos and he wasted no time doing just that. He inhaled, his grip slackening.

  “Roy. Hi,” I said, cupping my hand around the speaker as I walked away. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”

  “This is the only time I get anything done. Don’t have children, Andie. Live for all of us.”

  I checked over my shoulder. Sascha was gone. Good. I didn’t want him to overhear. The DJ’s music would probably cover me if I spoke quietly.

  “How did things go?” Please, please, please.

  He exhaled. “Well, we got an offer.”

  My heart sank. “Someone low-balled me.”

  “An investor. They normally don’t show on the scene for a few months, but I’m legally obligated to present all offers, which the guy wasted no time in reminding me of, so for your information, he offered two-hundred and ninety.”

  That was outrageous. “Yeah. No.”

  “So I assumed. A couple viewed the property but felt the kitchen was on the small side. An older woman loved the house, but she couldn’t maintain the garden.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “No one else walked through?”

  “No, but I have another open home booked for this Sunday. Weekend viewings always bring in more.”

  Three days. “Okay. Thanks, Roy.”

  “I’ll keep you updated.”

  I hung up.

  Fuck. Two-hundred-and-ninety thousand dollars would not cut the loan repayment.

  Spinning back to the bar, I yelped, whipping out a hand to prevent myself smashing into Sascha.

  I pounded on his chest. “You scared me.”

  How much did you fucking hear?