Dante brushed his hair back with one hand while pointing to the rock that lined the edge of a cliff. "The scent trail ends here, but that's where it gets interesting." He glanced at his brother. "Didn't you pick up on that slightly burnt, exotic spice scent? Let me give you a hint. Remember years ago back in Peru when we met that interesting nomad?"
“Where? In Lima? Huanchaco? You can’t throw a potato without hitting some damn blanquito who thinks they’re a visionary vagabond or some shit.”
Dante shook his head. “I said interesting, not annoying. Think Cuzco.”
Nacho's mouth fell open. "No shit? You smelled a dragon?" He walked over to the edge and peered down at the empty, moonlit beach. "That would definitely explain why the trail ended so abruptly. Nobody fell or got pushed. There wasn't some cinema-worthy escape by helicopter. Nah, we're dealing with a fucking dragon here."
Dante slowly nodded. "Si. That's the good news."
Since Vasily looked dumbstruck, I decided to ask the obvious question. "What's the bad news, Dante?"
He glanced my way and shrugged. "Isn't it obvious? My brother and I are the best trackers on four legs. Unfortunately, we don't have wings and the majority of bird shifters aren't blessed with our tracking abilities. The bad news is the only way to track your dragon is to find another one who is willing to help. Not only can they fly, but they have ways of finding each other that even I don't completely understand."
Nacho held his hands out. "So unless you know any dragons, the trail ends here. I don't know what you're going to tell the O'Malley family, but there's nothing else my brother and I can do."
Vasily and I glanced at each other, careful not to give anything away. Pops had made it very clear that we were to tell nobody about our connection to the Chen family. River was eyeing us hard but he didn't say anything. Finally, Vasily tipped his head toward the tree line. "Sounds like our job here is done then. I'll give Pops a call from the car."
"Good idea, bro. See if Pops wants to talk to Rory and give him the bad news or if he wants us to deliver it. Either way, I'm going back over there tonight. The timing sucks, but I'd like to have at least a five-minute chat with my mate."
Vasily snorted. "You can try. While we're in the car, you might want to ask River for advice. He is what you might call an expert on badass omegas getting surprised by having a fated mate drop in their path."
3
Rory
Now that we’d had at least some forward motion on Da’s disappearance, the house was quieter. Not as quiet as I’d prefer, that wasn’t possible here. If there were more than two O’Malleys in a room, the possibility of “quiet” flew right out the proverbial window.
Especially when my family’s preferred mode of releasing tension was to drink whiskey and fuck with each other.
I clutched my phone, waiting for updates from Misha. We’d exchanged numbers before he and Vasily had left. For the first hour, he’d blasted me non-stop with memes and goofy gifs. Nothing serious. Nothing lovey dovey, and nothing that made light of the situation. But just the right level of amusement that I knew was meant to keep my spirits up. Not to make me forget about the danger Da was in, but enough to remind me that there was more than worry and danger out there.
At least, I think that was his intention. And damn him if it didn’t work. Even though I didn’t respond, about every five minutes my phone dinged with a new one. He’d let me know when they reached the park and then… silence. It had been an hour since I’d last heard from him. Certainly too early for him to come striding back in the house, and he would have met my fist with his face if he had driven all the way back home without messaging.
Unless… what if they’d found Da, and the news wasn’t good. Was Misha the type to deliver bad news as soon as possible, or did he think that needed to be in person?
It suddenly seemed so important to know which kind of man he was. But which did I want him to be?
It didn’t matter. Because Da wasn’t dead. Which meant Misha wasn’t deciding how to deliver the news to me. Because he was busy tracking down information. I couldn’t accept any other possibility.
Patrick went to pour himself another glass of Jameson and frowned when only a couple of drops fell out. “Oy! Who finished the bottle and didn’t replace it?”
“That’d be you, smartarse,” Jack said, tossing a rolled-up sock at Patrick’s head, and missing. Where had he gotten a—oh. Jack lifted his bare foot and stretched it onto the coffee table, then removed his other sock, the bottom gray brown with dirt and age. Connor wrinkled his nose beside him.
“Jesus, Jack! When did you last wash those monstrosities?”
Jack held the sock to his face and sniffed, wrinkling his nose slightly, then shrugged. “Don’t smell all that bad. Could go another day or three if needs be.”
Connor gagged. “That’s an atrocity.”
Patrick raised his empty glass in the air. “The real atrocity is this here empty glass. Liam! How abouts you get us another bottle of Jamo?”
“Why don’t you get it yourself, you lazy lummox?” Liam nursed a nearly full glass.
“Because I’m older than you is why. Someone hand me Jack’s sock so I can punt Liam with it.” Patrick waved his hand in the air, waiting for someone to hand him the sock.
Mark shook his head. “As if any of us have a desire to touch Jacky-boy’s rotting footwear. I’m not sure whether we ought to call in a hazardous substances team or an archeologist to deal with it.”
Patrick gave a huff of frustration. “Forget Jack’s sock. The important thing is, who’s going to get the next bottle?”
“You are,” half the room responded.
I folded my hands in front of my lips, as if that could soften my displeasure. “Do you really think this is the best time to be drinking?”
Patrick blinked rapidly, as if not processing what I’d said. “When isn’t it the best time to be drinking? I mean, as long as it’s whiskey.”
“What if the Novaks call and they need us to jump in a car and save Da?”
Patrick spread his hands innocently. “Isn’t that why we have you, Rory? You’re the DD. The designated downer. Besides, we O’Malleys fight better with a little liquid fire in our veins, don’t we, boys?” He pounded his chest and everyone else raised their glass to that.
“No, you just think—” My phone buzzed and I quickly raised it. Misha had put himself into my phone with three hearts following his name. I held a finger up to the others as I swiped to answer. “Yes?”
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first, Irish?”
My heart seized in my chest. “Bad news. Always the bad news first.”
“We’ve got an in with the dragons, but that isn’t a guarantee of anything.”
“What?” I shook my head. Had I missed part of what Misha had said? “Are you fucking with me, Novak?”
“Shoulda asked for the good news first. We didn’t find your da, but we did scent him where they took the photo and we tracked them.”