Page 75 of The SnowFang Storm

“I guess the police got their attention. Finally,” I replied coldly, and by their attention, I meant the GranitePaw.

“Most likely,” he agreed in a measured tone, now the scent of aggravation mingling with smugness when I didn’t express my undying gratitude for their weeks-late intervention.

Wanderers bursting into a salon with a bunch of human witnesses? No response. Wanderers hanging out around a building en masse attracting human attention? Meh. Wanderers harassing a she-wolf in front of an international supermodel while the paparazzi snapped pictures and the internet offered commentary? Bleh. It had fucking taken them trying to grab the wife of a multi-millionaire who hangs out with famous supermodels in BROAD FUCKING DAYLIGHT for them to get off their furry butts and do something.

The buildings seemed to wobble in the wind, peering down at me as if laughing.

“It’s a windy day, but they won’t fall!” the GranitePaw offered cheerfully.

“Ma’am.” Now Hamid put his hand on my arm and pushed/shoved/pulled me across the asphalt to the car in the way he oh-so-discreetly did so it didn’t look like he was hauling me around for my own damn good.

He pretty much shoved me into the backseat and locked me into the cage on wheels, then got into the passenger seat.

“When did that doorman start?” The voice in the back of my head told me I was acting like a rattled idiot.

“Yesterday, ma’am. He’s a temporary replacement.” Hamid’s face remained stoic. “Do you recognize him? He passed all background checks.”

“What happened to the regular doorman?” I asked.

“Injured, apparently. A serious dog bite while out running.”

More like a wild animal attack. So how had GranitePaw ensured their wolf would be hired for our door?

Hamid said, “I’ll say something to building management that he is objectionable.”

“Don’t. If he’s just a temp, he’ll be gone soon enough.” The last thing I needed was for Hamid to go complain to building management about New Wolf.

Was this my wormy brother’s work? GranitePaw and SilverPaw had had a sort of frosty relationship outside GranitePaw’s support for my father’s population politics. SilverPaw had otherwise been very critical of GranitePaw’s urban lifestyle. Jerron might have had a profound change of heart if he thought Kyle could be useful to him.

Winter [Everyone] >> There’s a new doorman. He’s from across the park. Don’t talk to him. He might enjoy it.

Maybe this was AmberHowl’s doing. Maybe it was both Elder packs, while GranitePaw sat there collecting favors and gloating about how now the Elder packs needed their city-bred help. Ug. Gross.

[Sterling] >> That’s unwelcome. What is he?

Winter [Everyone] >> A smug asshole not here by chance.

[Burian] >> You pissed someone off. THEY only appear when you break a rule.

Winter [Everyone] >> If it took them trying to grab me in BROAD FUCKING DAYLIGHT they can fuck off.

[Burian] >> They could still kick our asses.

[Gazelle] >> Sure! Where?

[Sterling] >> Enough.

[Jun] >> You’re going to let them hang out on our turf?

[Mint] >> Running 10 minutes late.

[Sterling] >> The first floor is neutral. It’s cheap bait. Everyone ignore him. I am done giving wolves anything of ours, including our attention.

And They're Everywhere

Sterling buttoned his left cuff. “Time to go play human games, Winter.”

I looked at my manicure for the evening. A dowdy, boring French manicure. Matched how I felt. Gazelle had teased me about playing nice with others and mocked my dress with good-natured ruthlessness, then bragged about the spicy salsa she had procured for her own evening in, because she was not going to the thing Ronald would be attending.

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