Page 132 of Home to the Hollow

But I’m not exactly holding a gun to his head, so I don’t get involved.

Sadly, that’s how many of the marriages are here in the Hollow because they’re arranged for political or financial clout. It’s also why I worked my ass off throughout college and law school to build my own legitimate and illegitimate empires so I wouldn’t have to remain under my parents’ thumbs. If they decide to cut me off, I’ll be just fine. Since I’m the only heir to the Boone family name, their threats are fairly empty, but I never wanted to take chances.

I did enough bad shit based on their demands in high school. I haven’t atoned for that yet; I don’t need anything else hanging over my head.

A crunch rings in my ear and I remember I’m still waiting for Billy to get his shit together. “Billy! Stop fucking around with the bicep bunnies and pack a goddamned bag. You’re headed to Louie and you’ll stay there until you have enough information for us to call a meeting to re-define the line for the pre-season. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, boss,” he mutters.

I’ve never told him to call me that, I swear to Hades, but the idiot has since we were kids. Some people are simply made to be flunkies.

“Text me pictures and videos as soon as you have them,” I reply as I hang up.

Most people don’t really understand this part of my life—it’s half math and half behavioral science. There’s a shit ton of research, field study, and sabermetrics that go into running a profitable book business, especially in the age of the Internet.

Billy is in charge of the runners and scouts—associates who attend to things in person like he’s going to in a few hours. Sander—also known as Lysander Marx Behle—is in charge of the tech based crews. He keeps in touch with the teams combing social media and local news websites for information across the country. Being a unicorn shifter, he’s taken a lot of crap in his life, but he’s as talented with people management as he is interior design, so I rely on him to wrangle the geeks.

You’d never know it by looking at the guy, but he can be menacing as hell.

Dylan Marlowe Grant keeps the books in secret—owning a bookstore is a perfect cover for a guy who has the brains to do calculus in his head while reading Shakespeare at the same time. And the last partner in my crime syndicate is Benjamin Louis Foster, who runs dirty cash through his liquor store and private bar—aptly named The Speakeasy—so we can funnel it into other legitimate investments.

Being the county judge has its perks and I make certain no one is looking in our direction too closely.

Of course, dear old dad being a Senator helps as well. He’s as crooked as a question mark unless it comes to supe legislation, and I’m sure he’s benefitted from my local network a time or two. I can always tell when he’s sent a proxy to bet because he’s got a distinct pattern to his wagers, and he’s usually not successful. Being human has its drawbacks, and not being able to read the behavior of various supes is one of them.

My watch beeps, letting me know the practice is over until this evening.

Thank fuck.

I blow my whistle and yell for the team to gather for the afternoon huddle. This needs to be short because I’m heading into town in hopes I run across mydrugaragain.

I have to make her understand why I left. She has to forgive me—there’s no other option.

Week One

Running my hands down Lucy’s back, I grin. His little afternoon delight with the enigmatic Jolene made him extra twitchy this afternoon, and once I got home, I took full advantage. Despite my repeated reassurances, I can tell he’s still concerned that the connection between his Fae side and whatever she has inside that hasn’t emerged would upset me.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t show him otherwise, wouldn’t I?

Truth be told, something about her struck a chord in me as well, but I’m not sure exactly what it means. My kind is so rare that it’s hard to find really accurate knowledge about mating, and though my mentor did his best, he had little more to offer than I’d already gathered myself. The Society scoops up caladrius shifters as soon as they’re identified, moving them into the homes as quickly as possible to ensure they get into training from a young age. We’re essential in their ‘misfit protection program’, and in order to keep less old school shifters from hunting down hybrids, they need us to help treat and maintain the spells that prevent the children from emerging too early.

You could say we’re as much damage control as we are maintenance, but being stationed in towns full of other supes, there isn’t a huge chance of finding a mate that’s compatible, much less fated.

I count my lucky stars every day that I found Wolfgang. Our connection may not have been immediate, but I’m certain it will cause mating. The Fates haven’t allowed it yet, but I’m confident it's written in our destinies. The addition of the lovely Miss Whitley seems like a perfect compliment to our relationship, and I don’t want him to fret about something that was likely woven long before either of us was born.

I’d ask MacAuley, but that cagey asshole never shares a damned thing about his visions. He’s the biggest rule follower I’ve ever met in my life.

A loud buzzing interrupts my thoughts, and I raise a brow at Wolfie. He looks up from my tummy, then rolls his eyes as he stretches to reach for his phone on the nightstand. As much as I love cuddle time, he can’t ignore calls when he’s the only emergency trained equine vet in town. Eliot would shit a brick if one of his thoroughbreds suffered because we were too lazy to answer a phone call.

“This is Fletcher.” Wolfie’s cock stiffens and I arch a brow, wondering whose voice has him refracting this quickly.

There’s youth and there’syouth,after all.

“Well, sugarplum, you’re doing the right thing. It’s not an escape from dino park, but since I’m currently hanging out with the resident bird expert, you’re in luck.”

I snort, looking down at him with an amused expression. Hanging out isn’t exactly what I’d call our recent activities, but I’ll let this one slide. He’s so damned nervous about this girl; it’s adorable and I can’t help but watch with the proverbial popcorn as it unfolds. Nodding, he continues listening to her for a moment before he looks up at me with a finger over the microphone.

“Jolene says some giant pterodactyl bird has landed in her backyard and she has no idea what it is, but it looks hungry. She was doing yoga and it sort of landed near her and the cats, so she’s freaked. Can I turn on the video so you can look?”

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