Page 145 of Home to the Hollow

“We could have had Prez work his mojo as well, but the Council says the directive is to allow things to progress naturally. They have their hands full with several lost ones emerging across the globe, and they’re more focused on the ones they don’t have eyes on. Tilly is home among our kind, and they’ve even sent her a Guardian. Speaking of which…” I look down at my watch. “I have to meet that chick and Cantwell at a site. We’ve been ordered to get the Guardian and an incoming support team settled in very short order.”

Ignoring him as I text Jamie and Saoirse, I try to let my body recover from this dust up. Running before I shifted so quickly back and forth wasn’t a great idea, but of course, I hadn’t expected to almost have a battle in the middle of Main Street. Saoirse’s answers are snarky as hell, and I growl under my breath.

This woman pisses me off. I don’t know why the Council put me in charge of her fucking accommodations. I’m not a real estate agent; I’m a bookie and a judge. Cantwell runs a horse farm. Why the fuck are we the contacts and why the hell is another team coming here? Who are these special Guardians? Why is Saoirse hiding her identity? I won’t let them hurt mydrugar—even if it means squaring off with the Council. The docs will probably back me on that, so I need to talk to them after my meeting at the site.

Yes, that’s the plan. After I get rid of this annoying flea, I’ll contact them.

“Boone, if you’re done ranting at me, I have things to do. You know where I am if you’d like your ass handed to you again.”

I look up from my phone, seeing him give me a jaunty wave as he heads to the Town Hall. Glaring, I take a deep breath. I have to get those papers, but I need to wait for that idiot to get inside and far away from me before I go in.

Otherwise, I might kill the little shit.

Week Two

Everyone was wired this morning, which is why I helped Prez make the sugar-filled waffle bar. There’s nothing like a sweet treat to help calm the nerves, and I couldfeelthe tension in the air from the second my eyes opened. It was a struggle to keep the Fae parts of me in check because empathy is one of my strongest inherited traits.

My father’s contribution to my powers, of course.

We got fed, dressed, and off eventually, but it took some time.

Prez has his yearly presentations at the schools—sign-ups for sports physicals and vaccinations on-site. That’s also a cover for registering the newest adopted children in town in the monitoring program—he and Andromeda typically handles it, but she’s been out of town for weeks. He was less than thrilled to have to compensate for her absence, but I couldn’t help this time. I had to meet Eliot and the sheikh to discuss Mehdi’s training and care.

The meeting was likely to last hours because a horse that valuable has to be in a comprehensive program to ensure she’s in top-notch shape. Her viability as a contender in major races depends on specific goal posts being met and maintained. Jolene should probably be present, but this was scheduled last minute and her commitments couldn’t be moved.

Or so she said, but I got the feeling she was setting boundaries with the demanding owner.

Whatever the reason, we all left even Saoirse. The lass was fairly mysterious about what plans she had, so I assumed it was Society business. Her sketchiness worries Prez and I, but given she’s a Guardian who’s hidden her true identity for almost a decade, it must be second nature to keep people in the dark about her activities.

Jolene was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs about Parents’ Night, so I plan to drop in on her to make sure she’s not fending off vipers. I should be done with my meeting and appointments in time to be there mid-way through the evening. If she’s okay, I’ll go home and make dinner for the two of them, so we have something tasty when they get home.

I’m not a service sub by any means, but I enjoy the hell out of spoiling the dominants in my life—the praise definitely gets my motor running.

By the time I pull into the employee lot at Cantwell’s farm, I’m smiling broadly. I should have known that Prez was right about trusting my instincts. So far, Jolene fits into our life like a puzzle piece we didn’t know was missing, and neither of us has any intention of ever letting her go. We can’ttellher that, of course, because it’s obvious she has abandonment issues from her past. Since we can’t explain ‘fated mates’ to her without spilling the beans on our world, the best solution is to worm our way into her life slowly, giving her time to adjust to the idea of opening her heart again.

As I walk towards the office, I spy Eliot standing by the stable they have Mehdi quarantined in. The thoroughbred has to be separated from the others until she passes all the requisite tests and checks, so we are certain she won’t spread anything to our animals. The man standing next to him has to be the sheikh—his wardrobe alone has to run in the low five figures. He’s tall and built like a brick shithouse with shoulder length hair streaked by the sun. His beard is impeccably trimmed, and he’s gesturing towards the fields with large hands. I’m surprised to see an important member of the royal family in public not wearing akufiyahandthobe, but this man isn’t a bit like anything I would have expected.

“Wolfgang! Come meet our newest partner, Dhameer Mirza Al Sharqi. He owns Mehdi and is rarin’ to go to our meeting,” Eliot booms.

Striding towards the immense man, I hold my hand out. “Good morning, Your Highness. I’m Wolfgang Lucien Fletcher, and I’m the veterinarian for the farm and the town. Since Medhi arrived ahead of you, I could start getting to know her yesterday, and I’m very excited to work with her.”

The grip on my palm is firm, and I feel my ears perk as a zing of energy travels between us. My eyes narrow as I look at the sheikh, knowing without a doubt that he is one of us. I’m uncertainwhatyet, but he’s no mere human. His eyes dance as he watches me assess him carefully, but he doesn’t provide any additional information.

Is this a test? Does Eliot know?

“I am very pleased to meet you, Wolfgang,” Dhameer rumbles in a low, growly tone. His accent is clipped as if they educated him in Britain, and I wonder if perhaps he attended Swallowtail. “Please, do not stand on formality—we are colleagues working on this project. Address me as all my friends do… by Amiri.”

Tilting my head, I smile and nod. “Then you should call me Wolfie. That’s what allmyfriends address me as.”

He nods, and Eliot claps his hand, looking gleeful. “Right, and I’m Jamie, and bingo was his name-o. C’mon gents! We’ve got bourbon and plans to look at before we hop in the saddle and take the tour. Amiri, if you need to change, we’ve got plenty of riding clothes you’ll be able to use…”

A rich, dark laugh echoes out of the sheik as he follows Jamie towards the big house. “Ah, Jamie, you are the picture of American Southern hospitality. Never fear—anything I desire is always right at my fingertips. No need for borrowed garments.”

That’s a fucking weird thing to say. Does he just have servants who follow him everywhere? I don’t see anyone…

“Don’t worry about me, Wolfie. I’m resourceful. It’s in my nature,” the sheik says with a mischievous grin.

How did he do that?

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