My cellphone records the fight between a bear and a fox shifter. They both appear smudged when I look at them, but when I check my phone, they look normal. That’s odd as fuck. The drug lord’s dark, tainted mind led me here to an underground, and very illegal, shifter fighting ring. I had to dig around in that trash nugget’s head for a while before finding the fights buried in his mind. The memories had been blocked off with a spell, so he wouldn’t have been able to access them on his own. Which meant he was a pawn—a demonic pawn.
While I knew these fights existed, this particular fight isn’t what I expected. It had taken me a month to pinpoint the exact location of this fighting ring from Ian’s head. The memory he had was of a bout in Boston, but since fighting rings move around to avoid detection, it had been relocated by the time I was able to get to the site on the shorefront. This fight is taking place in Connecticut, near one of the popular casinos.
I inhale deeply, trying to take in as many scents as possible. Douche canoe, I’ve found you. Morgan is here. I search the crowd, but I can’t see him. His scent is strong enough to suggest he was here recently, but I must have missed him. I drag my gaze back to the fight once again, feeling little red flags rise in my mind. I think I know why they appear smudged. At least, I’m supposed to know. I shake my head and curse, knowing the information is just beyond my reach.
I feel like we should know this. Why don’t we know this? I mentally nudge my dragon.
I’m not sure. It feels so obvious. I glance between the fight and my phone again. Still nothing on my phone. Damn it. I close my eyes and allow my magic to ease out into the room, but I’m instantly blasted with cold, dark energy. It’s not magic, it’s demonic power. My eyes snap open, quickly scanning the space again, but I don’t spot any demons. I can sense their energies, but they aren’t physically here.
I see a female from the pack. I don’t know her, and I’ve only seen her around Boston, but she’s a member of the New England Pack. She’s stumbling and leaning against a tall man. Making my way over to the pair, I notice the man has a death grip on her. I bump into them, putting my hands on the female’s shoulders.
“Hey! I’ve been looking for you everywhere, girl!” I plaster a smile on my face. “Where did you run off to?”
“Back off!” The male’s voice is gruff, and his body language screams hostility. Judging by his scent, he’s a tiger.
“I came here with my friend. She doesn’t look so good. I think we should head home now,” I state in a firm, no-nonsense tone.
“I said back off.” His body ripples as he struggles to suppress the shift. “She’s been paid for. Now get lost.”
Paid for? Now I’m the one struggling to suppress the shift. Oh, no. Absolutely not. Not on my watch. With a lightning-fast punch to the throat, I have the tiger on the floor gasping for air. For good measure, and to make me feel better as a female, I slam my foot down on his crotch. Given how drugged up the woman now leaning against me is, there’s no way this is a consensual thing. I carefully drag the female away from the downed shifter. Thankfully, no one seems to be paying any attention to us with the fight that’s still raging between the bear and the fox.
What the fuck is going on?
One week ago.
“What the hell are you doing here, bitch?” Morgan growls as I walk into his office. We’ve had a few run-ins in the past since I’m the only local attorney who deals exclusively with the supernatural communities. He’s not my biggest fan. Morgan is the shiftiest motherfucker I’ve ever met, so the feeling is absolutely mutual. There have been several complaints against him from neighboring packs based on his aggressive behavior, and I’ve been the mediator at all of those meetings. I’ve ultimately ruled in favor of the other packs, thereby taking away any shot Morgan had at absorbing those packs into his own.
“Morgan, I’m just here to talk.” I hold my hands up, palms out, as a gesture that I come in peace.
“You always come just to ‘talk.’ What the fuck is it this time?”
“I’ve heard about the missing females—”
“That’s none of your business. You aren’t pack.”
“Not technically, no. But, Morgan—”
“I said this is none of your damn business, latent trash.” Spit comes flying from his mouth at the force of his scream. Gross. I blink, my mind reeling with the confirmation that he knows what’s actually going on. He wouldn’t put up this kind of a fuss otherwise. His scent at the fight wasn’t a coincidence.
I calm myself and try to read his aura. There’s something off about him. He’s not quite smudged like the fighters at the ring the other night, but he still doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure what it is, and I can’t get a good enough look at his aura right now to tell either. He’s right in my face, and I refuse to close my eyes for a second. My protective instincts are screaming at me.
“Look, I’m just trying to make sure no one else gets hurt.”
He comes flying at me, and I let him, I won’t blow my cover. He wraps his hands around my neck.
“See here, you latent bitch, I don’t need you asking questions.” Oh, good, he’s used both his favorite words for me in one sentence, how thoughtful.
“There’s talk of going to war with the witches.” I keep my statement calm even though he squeezes his hands tighter.
“That’s right. I’m going to fucking wipe those witch bastards out.” His eyes are wild and there’s a hint of insanity creeping into his tone.
Shock sends icy tendrils through my veins. He just admitted he’s going to cause an all-out war with the witches. Is he fucking crazy? Or brain damaged. Both? Both.
My dragon roars in protest. The witches have done nothing wrong and he wants to go to war with them? We can’t let this happen! My dragon struggles to get free, wanting to rip Morgan limb from limb.
“Over my dead fucking body, you piece of flaming garbage,” I hiss.
“Over your dead body, latent trash? Is that a challenge?” That smug look on his face is going to be the first thing I rip from his corpse.
“It’s a promise, you twat.” So much for being careful.
“I’m sorry…You did what?” Olivia’s voice hits an interesting octave as she paces in my living room.
“I challenged Morgan.”
“For alpha?”
“She didn’t exactly challenge him to a chess game, Liv.” Kelly is leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “So it’s reasonable to assume that Ayla challenged for alpha.” There’s a teasing lilt to her tone.
“But…” Olivia gestures to my entire body. “You’re latent.”
I simply arch an eyebrow in response.
“You are latent, aren’t you?” Olivia steps closer to me, her nostrils flaring as she takes in my scent. “What the hell are you?”
“I’m about to be your damn alpha. Calm your tits.”
“My tits are calm. The rest of me is freaking out. I can’t even tell if you’re dominant or not. Christ.” Olivia runs her hand through her hair and starts pacing again.