Page 63 of The Runaway Mate

“No!” Shya yanked her arm free and slid into the booth. “Dad, you need to hear this, too. It’s Tristan—he’s the one behind all this.”

All of us went silent, then Tristan growled, “Shya, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to leave.”

“Don’t even, Tristan!” she spat back at him.

“Tristan is right, Shya, you have no business being here,” Michael said, his words full of anger.

“You always do that, Dad. Just dismiss what I have to say. I tried to tell you that things were not right in our Pack. That Tristan was working against you. But you wouldn’t listen to me. Too hell-bent on getting me to accept Tristan as my mate because you decided he was the best choice for me. But you have blinkers on, Dad. Every time you decide something, you ignore what anyone tells you that contradicts that decision. This is why I went to Derek six months ago. It’s why I’ve been his informant since then.”

Oh, boy.

“You’ve been what?” Michael spat out, his voice rising in a mixture of disbelief and fury. He turned to Derek, betrayal etching lines into his forehead. “And you—”

“Hear her out, Michael,” Derek interrupted calmly, though I could see his jaw clenching. The revelation that Derek’s informant was Shya was a shocker, not just for Michael but for all of us.

“You involved my daughter in your games of subterfuge, Derek?” His voice was low, but the tension in his muscles pointed to a wolf about to break free.

Shya met her father’s gaze without flinching. “This isn’t about games, Dad. This is about our Pack. Tristan has been playing you. You know something isn’t right in the Pack. You know, that’s why you’re here. But Tristan’s been feeding you lies. He’s the one behind the unrest in our Pack. He’s the one who’s been stirring things up between the Packs, pitting us against each other. Telling you crap about the state of the Three Rivers. It’s not true, Dad. None of it is. But he’s fed you that crap, and you believed it. He wants you to attack the Three Rivers Pack. To start a war.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Michael demanded.

“Tristan’s been conspiring with Brock Madden from the Three Rivers.” Her eyes flickered over to Jem before going back to her father. “They’ve been working together. They were the ones who framed Carson.” The words hung in the air, heavy and irrefutable, and I felt the tension in the room spike.

Michael scowled, disbelief etched into his every feature. “Tristan?”

“Yes, your precious Tristan, Dad,” Shya affirmed, her voice unwavering. “They’ve been orchestrating all of this for months.”

Michael swung his gaze to his Beta. Tristan was leaning back in his seat, watching the show. He didn’t look or smell worried. If anything, he smelled excited.

“You know, Shya,” Tristan smirked at her, “you really shouldn’t get yourself involved in these things. When we’re mated, I’ll make sure you’re not allowed to run around sniffing into other people’s business.”

“What the fuck, Tristan?” Michael demanded.

“What the fuck, indeed,” he replied. “I got tired of waiting, Michael. Shya’s my mate. I told you that for two years. She should have been wrapped up in a bow and delivered to my bed. Instead, you told me to wait. That she would come around. Well, she didn’t come around, Michael, and I’ve been left holding my dick for two years when I could be an Alpha.”

“You want to be the Alpha? Challenge me like a proper wolf!”

“Oh, I intended to, once I got the power boost coming my way from having Shya in my bed twenty-four-seven. But that didn’t happen. Not yet, anyway. Now, I’ll just have to take what I’m owed. And then I’m going to show the world that we’re not some prissy little Pack that caters to every human who strolls in here wanting a good time. We’re werewolves, not a Disney show. I’m going to make sure every human knows that.”

Michael’s face snapped into a calm mask. “You’re out of your mind if you think you’re getting out of here alive.”

“Sure, I will.” Tristan smiled, then flicked his fingers.

It was a sign. As soon as he made that gesture, the front and back doors banged open, and ten, no fifteen, werewolves flooded in.

Chapter forty

Mai

Anxiety gnawed at me as I sat in my car, parked inconspicuously a little down the street from Reynold’s. I could feel the pulse of my heartbeat in my fingertips, the tension of the situation looming over me like a tangible thing. Jem had taken Ryan and Derek to meet with Michael. Jem would need both Shaw brothers if things went south. They were supposed to be back in time to check out the meeting between Brock and Tristan.

Jem’s meeting with Michael was at noon. It was one-fifty now. Ryan promised he’d call as soon as the meet was over, and they were on their way back. I’d waited until one-fifteen, then persuaded the others that someone had to be here to check out Brock. Despite Ryan’s instructions not to leave the house, Sofia, Jase, and Wally hadn’t taken much persuading, to be honest. They all loved Jem and knew how important this was.

Unease snaked its way around my stomach. My eyes kept straying to my phone, set on the dashboard. Each time, the screen remained blank; a fresh wave of worry washed over me. I pushed the unease away for the umpteenth time. I had to focus. I was here to do a job, and I had to make sure things didn’t go wrong at this end. Our plan was simple: listen in to the meeting between Brock and Tristan and report back. I wasn’t going to be seen, and I wasn’t going to engage, not unless it was absolutely necessary.

Brock had booked a table on the rooftop terrace. My car was angled so I had a clear view of the glass elevator that led up there, its ascent and descent marked by a soft, golden glow. You could only access the elevator from the inside of the building, so we kept an eye on the front entrance opening and closing as people ventured in for an early meal or a few drinks. Sofia and Jase, their car parked around the back, were the fail-safe. They could see the rear door into the restaurant and could tag Brock if he slipped out the back again. If he did, they were going to follow him, nothing more. We needed to know where he went after this meeting.

Sofia and Jase knew the manageress of Reynold’s. She’d dated a guy on Jase’s football team. They’d been able to persuade her to part with the table number that Brock and Tristan would be sitting at. Apparently, whoever made the booking had specially requested that table. Sofia checked it out—it was in the back of the terrace and out of sight of the road. Someone had been here before and knew which table to ask for.

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