Page 43 of Hidden

“A story,” the werecougar replied. “And, frankly, there are enough terrifying things out there without a drug trade aimed at our people. If I can do something to stop it, I’m in.”

“We’re dealing with fae,” Izetta said. “Their magic makes this next-level dangerous. You know that, right?”

Errata tapped the pendant she wore. “I got this amulet from a witch friend of mine. The core is ancient iron. It cuts through fae spells.”

“Keep it close,” Izetta replied. “But don’t count on anything they can take away.”

Conversation faded as traffic thickened and the car was forced to slow. This side of town was different, with fewer businesses and more homes. They passed schools and shopping centers, and eventually the houses grew sparser with parkland between. That made sense. Wolves needed room to run.

The road narrowed until there was little to see but gate posts with house numbers stenciled in reflective paint. After about three miles of twists and turns, Errata turned up a drive shrouded in cedars. The view soon opened to a starlit clearing. In the midst was a sprawling rancher with a wrap-around porch. Automatic lights came on as Errata pulled onto the parking pad to the right of the main entrance, beside a brown station wagon and an RV. If this was a den of wolves, it was a domestic one.

Errata had barely killed the engine when two wolves in animal form and another in blue jeans approached the car. Izetta got out and was immediately blocked by the gray wolf closest to her. Its back was as high as her hip.

“We’re here to speak to your Alpha,” Izetta said, looking the beast in its amber eyes. She’d never met Rafe’s father, Roy Devries, but this wouldn’t be him. The pack leader wouldn’t be on parking patrol. “It’s about his son.”

“I called ahead,” Errata added, pocketing the Jaguar’s key fob. “He’s expecting us.”

“A kitty cat and a vampire?” scoffed the one in human form. “This should be fun.”

He turned and sauntered toward the house, entering through a side door into a daylight basement.

Izetta followed, Errata and the wolves bringing up the rear. Once they were in the room, Izetta heard the door close and lock behind them. At the sound, their guide stopped abruptly, standing to one side.

The space had the messy comfort she expected in a wolf den. A pool table stood at one end. At the other were couches and a bar piled with bags of junk food. It smelled of wet dog and young male. Around a dozen werewolves crowded the space, some bearing a slight resemblance to Rafe. Very few struck her as mature warriors, and she remembered Rafe’s story about his disappearing kinsmen. Maybe the experienced hunters had already gone missing.

The wolves formed a ring around them, trapping them in the middle of the room. Only two of those present were female. From what Izetta knew, that didn’t bode well for a pack’s smooth operation and usually indicated a group in decline. Females went where their young would be looked after.

Without seeming obvious, Izetta shifted her stance, ready to fight. Beside her, Errata’s heartbeat sped up, the light thud-thud audible despite the jostling males. Izetta kept her expression calm, though her hand drifted toward her jacket pocket where she’d hidden a blade. It was a sign of supreme confidence—or sloppiness—that they hadn’t searched her at the door.

A figure rose from the couch, pushing through the circle of wolves. In his late fifties, he had the same square jaw, the same sure way of carrying himself as Rafe. Unfortunately, he had none of his son’s manners. He fixed his two guests with an unreadable look.

“Roy Devries?” Errata asked.

“The same.” He smoothed the front of his shirt. “Are you the reporter who asked to speak with me?”

His tone said he liked the idea, as if a newshound’s interest made him important.

“I am,” Errata replied. “Thank you for seeing us.”

He glanced at Izetta. “And you’re the vampire who knows my son?”

“I know Rafe,” she answered, keeping her tone friendly. “I went with him on his mission to find the fae they call the Magician.”

The Alpha’s expression grew stony. “And where is my fool of a son? On a plane, running away again? It’s like him to do as he’s asked just long enough to satisfy his conscience.”

No wonder Rafe rarely came home.

Izetta sucked in air to cool her temper. “The fae captured him. He’s their prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” This time there was worry in his tone.

Errata saw the opening and jumped on it. “Help us get him back. They took him because he found the Magician.”

Izetta froze, barely concealing her reaction. It was a lie—they’d found a pile of nasty business, but no one they could point to with certainty. Not that she was going to point that out.

“He tracked them right to their door,” Izetta added. “He—and I—made it inside their way station. It’s right in the valley, hidden by a glamour.”

The Alpha folded his arms. “Of course he did. He’s the best tracker going. That doesn’t tell me what you were doing there.”

---