Page 89 of For Dear Life

“Your mouth will cause you a lot of trouble one day,” says the detective in a tone I’m to presume is menacing.

“I don’t believe my mouth will cause the trouble,” I reply. “More likely my teeth and—”

“Violet’s upset,” interrupts Rowan.

“I heard Ms. Blackwood finds her ‘other side’ harder to control recently,” says the detective. “Do be careful.”

Is he speaking to me or Rowan? I narrow my eyes at the back of his head as he turns and walks away. The stuffy space becomes more airless as two mountainous men now stand close to the desk. Their surly expressions don’t change as the detective approaches.

I wrinkle my nose at their potent scent. Shifters.

They’re not as big as either of my shifter fathers, but almost as broad as Ethan. One stands taller with more self-importance, his hair thick and wavy, falling into his eyes. Both have a somewhat wild appearance, and the other, with his blond ponytail, looks around as if everybody else is either prey or predator. Not that I’d expect a single human in here could take them on.

Elders?

“Where’s our boy?” snarls the taller man, and everybody’s eyes cut to them.

“You must be Oz’s father,” says the detective and extends a hand.

“No. I’m the Ursa chief and Ozric is under my watch.” His gravelly voice resonates with the primal energy within him, the way Ethan’s does. “Hand our boy over.”

“Perhaps we should talk about this privately.” Despite his even speech, the detective’s perspiration grows.

“No. The situation is simple. Ozric is one of us; you do not decide his fate.” The pony-tailed shifter holds his ground as the detective nods at the woman behind the desk.

A warning to prepare for trouble.

“With all due respect, Ozric is over eighteen, and confessed to killing a human. Therefore, we’ll charge him under our laws,” says the detective.

“Have you ever noticed,” I whisper to Rowan, “that when people say, ‘with due respect’ they mean the exact opposite?” He glances at me in confusion. “Or even what respect is due. It could be hardly any.”

“What are you talking about?” Rowan shakes his head at me.

The entire station, probably including those in the morgue, would hear the current argument between my favorite detective and the shifters.

“Right. We should leave,” Rowan whispers.

“Is this not an interesting twist, Rowan?” I ask. “Almost as if someone’s planting a larger wedge between the two societies?”

“And Leif?” he says in a hushed voice. “He’s in between already. What if the elders try to take him as well?”

I jerk my attention away from the human/shifter confrontation. Leif’s biggest fear—shifters taking him. Forcing Leif to live by their rules. To become one of them. The surging compulsion to keep Leif safe from injustice moves through me as readily as with Grayson.

Or more?

I’m picturing our group without him. Picturing me without him. The guy who’s hard bodied but soft-hearted and plays arcade games to give the dark-hearted girl strange gifts. The one who asked me for help with a vulnerability that touched a side I’d ignored. Leif, who’d do anything to help me too.

“I agree,” I say. “We leave.”

“Bloody hell, did you actually tell me that I’m right?” splutters Rowan.

I sigh. “Make the most of the occasion because you rarely are, Rowan.”

The heat from the elders radiates unnaturally, pheromones that only other supes can sense hog the air. I don’t look at either pissed elder, but smile extra-sweetly at the detective as I pass the trio.

“Wait!” yells the leader and the second shifter stands in front of the door, his frame filling every inch of the doorway.

“Excuse me. I’m leaving,” I say.

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