The Midnight Watch

Chapter 29

"Park your asses on the road," was my first order. They did as I said slowly, giggling at every step. I scanned the faces before me. Most were shaded by hoods and the ever-dimming light, but with the aid of their movements, I summarised that they were equally intoxicated. All except one male, taller and less gross than the rest, who was lounging on the road with a laziness and ease impossible for a junkie. He would be the one to talk to.

But talk to about what? Without access to Evarlin, I couldn't arrest them. And even if I could, smoking weed wasn't exactly a crime by werewolf standards. They were only hurting themselves. And besides, the guard preferred to let the trade take place over ground, within their sightlines so they could monitor it.

So. What to do?

Well, I could scare them. That might be enough. Perhaps a search. Yes — if I found anything illegal, I could impose a real punishment, independent of the drugs. So I jerked a thumb at the sober male and said, "You. Against the wall. Now."

A careless grin ghosted over his lips. So fast I almost missed it. "I'm flattered and all — don't get me wrong, but I have a mate..."

That was rewarded with absent-minded chuckling from the other boys. My cheeks began to heat up, and I hoped they couldn't see the flush in the dark. I snapped at him, "Not like that. Just do it. Your mind is filthy, you know that?"

The male shrugged. "Or yours is sparkling."

But he did stand up and do as I said, albeit slowly. And I realised exactly just how tall he was —easily bigger than Kaeden, with maybe an inch on Nate. If this guy had gone to the island's only school with me, I was sure I would remember him. That stature and what little I could see of his face were far from forgettable. He looked a few years older, true, but I should still have seen him around before.

It was strange enough to bother me.

Desperate for a clue about his identity, I sniffed the air as subtly as I could. And there was nothing there. No trace of a scent. Bloody hell. A Shadowcat? Sure, his clothes smelt of smoke. But not cigarette smoke — more like campfire smoke. I couldn't have sworn there was a hint of ... marshmallows in there somewhere.

"Hands on the wall, please. Are you carrying anything which might endanger either of us when I search you?" I recited.

"Nah."

It was my least favourite part of the job: invading someone's privacy with a search. While I mentally prepared myself, he shuffled restlessly from foot to foot.

"Stand still. Don't make this any more awkward than it needs to be."

"Don't sell yourself short," he drawled, "it's plenty awkward."

I levelled him a flat stare before finally beginning. I checked the obvious places first — waistband and pockets, before moving onto anywhere a weapon could be concealed. And while I was inwardly cringing, the male didn't look the least bit uncomfortable, damn him.

As if sensing my thoughts, he turned his head to grin at me. "If you wanted to feel me up you could have just asked, you know."

"Thanks for the offer," I said dryly, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks again. "But I'll pass."

He snorted. "I wasn't offering. I would have said no. Just saying — there's no need to hide behind the law."

"Cocky bastard, aren't you?"

I was treated to another flashing grin. "Well. I try."

I needed some sort of excuse to find out what a Shadowcat was doing on the island's southern coast while Isaiah was rallying their entire species in the north. But having found nothing except a few walnut shells, I was running out of ideas. The only place left was the back pockets of his jeans. Oh, Goddess. That was so not happening.