Page 65 of The Wolfing Hour
He nodded. It took a couple tries, but he forced himself to do it. Once his voice was back, he called the agent who’d texted him and got the rest of the story, what little there was of it.
Ronan put her on speakerphone.
“No witnesses,” the woman said.
“There weren’t any cameras on a school campus?”
“There were, but they didn’t show anything. We’re limited on what we can ask. Our kind must be circumspect at times like this. We can’t risk exposure.”
“Fuck prudence. You’re telling me no one saw a security agent being murdered in broad daylight?” Ronan’s hands flexed into white-knuckled fists. It was probably a good thing he’d set the phone on the breakfast bar.
“No. And I’d like to know why,” the woman replied, anger in her voice. “We’re still searching for her. I am sorry for this.”
Ronan snatched a pencil from a cup on the counter and crushed it into tiny bits that feathered to the floor. “Alpha Pallás is responsible.”
The agent said, “Using silver would put the alpha in direct violation of the Shifter Treaty of 1970.”
“And that surprises you? I told your people nothing short of death will stop him if he wants her—certainly not some toothless treaty. I was veryfuckingclear.”
Angry alpha power wafted off him. I turned away to walk the effects off. Had I been a shifter, I’d have been showing throat.
The agent offered another apology that Ronan ignored. “Very clear,” was all he said.
“One last question, if I may. Does the alpha work with non-shifter paranormals? Psychokinetics? Mages? Witches?”
I cursed under my breath. Something about the crime scene was making her think magic was involved. Likely the camera thing—a legitimate concern. Stealth spells weren’t my specialty, and even I could whip something up to fool a human camera.
Ronan kept his gaze on me as he ended the call.
I spoke up before he could ask. “Desmond is dead, so is the rest of the coven, except for Margaux, Bronwyn, and Billy Lopez. I can give them a call, see if they have any ideas.”
“Please.” He grabbed another pencil. For a half second, it looked like he might write something on the pad by the phone. Then he bared his teeth reflexively, a vein in his temple swelled, and his fingers closed tightly around the pencil.
He wasn’t in control, but neither was his wolf. In that moment, it was as if he were in a liminal space where he wasn’t human or wolf, but a being comprised of unfiltered rage.
“Godsdamn him!” He threw the pencil point first into the kitchen where it drove halfway into the drywall and stuck.“Should’ve killed him the second I got to town. Should’ve ripped his head from his body and fed it to his security team. Should’ve…”
He went through a few more murder ideations before turning to me, jaw so tight he could barely get out the word, “Ideas?”
“Let’s get the word out that she’s missing,” I said. “If you can, do it through whatever wolf bonds you have left with the pack. Let’s start making calls. At this point, our best bet is to find someone who saw something.”
“Okay.” He exhaled in a shaky, uncontrolled shudder. “And after that?”
“We find Mason Hartman and beg, coax, or torture information out of him, and I’m not particular about the order. No one knows Floyd like Mason. He was being paid to cozy up to him.”
“This begs the question—why? Why did an anti-demon group feel they needed to investigate him?”
“Maybe it was another way to watch me,” I said.
“There are easier ways to watch you. I should know. I’ve made it part of my personality.” He tried a smile but couldn’t seem to make his mouth move.
“Wewillfind her,” I said.
He nodded in that way that told me he really wanted to shake his head. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For helping me think straight at a time when all I want to do is kill first and ask questions later.”
