Calla
Jackson proved to be an expert driver but a terrible conversationalist. My mother, insisting that only a shifter could adequately protect me "in light of recent events," had hired a werewolf chauffeur this time. Never mind that I'd handled the bombing on Neutral Isle on my own, save for Rhys's hand bursting through a window. And as for the bookstore brawl, it was safe to say I was never the target.
We sped along the busy streets of Apex's financial district, already abuzz with recently caffeinated young professionals in business attire. They strutted down the pristinely landscaped boulevards like this place had been created just for them. I tapped my head against the leather headrest and braced myself. After two days off, surely a mile-high pile of work awaited me, but even that seemed preferable to trying to make small talk with Jackson, a man of so few words, I began to suspect he was a robot in need of a personality upgrade.
"Have you worked for Crown for very long?" I asked him.
"Nah."
"What did you do before being hired?"
"Masonry."
"Masonry?" Wow. Three whole syllables. "Like building brick walls? That sounds interesting."
"Nah."
"I see. Thank you for the insight into your former profession." It went on like that until I finally told him I needed to make a call and then rolled up the privacy glass.
For the first time ever, I felt a sense of relief when Apex's shiny building came into view. There was nothing wrong with Jackson per say, but he acted as a stodgy and anti-social reminder that the amicable Neil had been badly injured, all because I had insisted on going into enemy territory to prove a point. If my mom hadn't been so adamant, I would have continued to take rideshares around Sury. But the violence of the past several days had shaken her. If I had to put up with Jackson for a while to ease her mind, then so be it.
I climbed out of the car as soon as it pulled to a stop, giving Jackson a wave that he didn't return and was immediately struck with the familiar scent of an Apex wolf. Earthy, rich, with a hint of oak.
"You're back," Rhys said as he approached.
"You're...waiting for me? Why?"
He gave me an easy grin, but his eyes darted up and down the street and he placed a hand on my back, ushering me towards the building's entrance. "My father thought we should be a bit cautious."
"Your father, huh? Does that mean he's put Aamon on house arrest until he can act his age?"
Rhys chuckled. "He'd never see the outside world again." He held the door for me, and we walked into the bright interior of Apex HQ.
"Notwithstanding my brother's standard level of assholery, in this case, I must ask: what's the big deal? Aamon acted in self-defense—everyone who witnessed it says so. He even made sure to subdue his assailant without using excessive force."
What twisted world was this guy living in? "There was an excessive amount of blood forced out of him, Rhys."
"Bottom line: Ammon could have but didn't kill him."
"Trevor Daniels, our full moon victim, wasn't killed either and look at the fallout. How do you think that scene plays out for people who were already on the fence about us, Rhys? I mean, sure, the humans in the bookstore are team Aamon. Did you know they call themselves Aamonatics?"
"Aamonatics have been around for years. You didn't know?"
"I didn't know how far it had gone. He's built himself a cult of personality. If he'd acted maliciously instead of out of self-defense, they still would have made excuses for his actions. Aamonatics aren't the ones we need to win over, though." I nodded a greeting to the receptionists, who smiled politely before batting their eyelashes and waving to Rhys. "And as for that, taking down a would-be assailant is one thing. Bashing his face into a metal bookstand not once, but eight times?"
"I'm sure it wasn't eight times."
"No, it was exactly eight times, Rhys. It was. Someone recorded it and put it online for all to see and I counted. That optic isn't going to do us any favors."
I pulled him into a hall that led to the restrooms. He raised an eyebrow, grasping my hand to hold it where I'd clutched at his shirt collar. "Maybe not, but this optic is definitely doing me favors." He stared down at the top of my blouse. My skin heated under his gaze as though his eyes were twin suns.
"For God's sake, Rhys," I said, determined to maintain my composure. "Can you not be sexual or make jokes for once in your life?"
"I can refrain from one or the other but not from both at the same time."
I pulled away, and he let me go, but not without caressing my arm as I brought it back to my side. I bit the inside of my cheek as I resisted responding to the sensations he'd invoked. "Tell me you aren't concerned about this."
He swallowed. "I can't tell you that. I am concerned. I also feel it was clear that the man at the bookstore was deranged and made the first move. He had a knife. He accidentally slashed a woman's arm when he was going for Aamon."
That woman had given an interview after the fact declaring her undying loyalty to Apex for Aamon's quick thinking, which had surely saved her life. "It was a pocketknife, not a cleaver. Who paid her to say that bullshit? Was it your father? Because he didn't save her. That man was trying to stab Aamon, and she got in the way. He wasn't going to kill her."
"You can't be completely sure of that. And besides, the truth doesn't matter. Like you said, it's optics that do, and optically speaking, she makes the self-defense and defense of others case for him. If anything, this incident is good for our family. It showed that Aamon was willing to endanger himself to protect a human."
"He couldn't have cared less about that woman. He was saving himself and having fun pummeling someone who posed no serious threat to him."
"Optics," he said as he walked backwards away from me. "We've got nothing to fear from this one."
"Is that why you wouldn't let me cross thirty feet from my car to the door on my own? Because we have nothing to fear?"
His face darkened. "I have to run an errand before our meeting with the marketing team." Without responding further, he left me alone, wondering why he had to be so evasive at a time when simple honesty could have made me so much more amenable to him.
The day flew by, filled with meetings, disagreeable brothers, and a flurry of emails from my staff at Crown asking me questions about litigation and territorial border disputes and a whole host of matters I wasn't supposed to be dealing with while I worked for Apex. I answered them as best I could because the reality was, there was no one else who would.
After receiving the fifth frantic email of the day, I began to wonder if Simone Bardot had checked herself into a spa to avoid dealing with Crown business. I had a chance to ask her over dinner that night at one of my family's favorite restaurants, the Howling Hound. Made up to look like a medieval pub, the Howling Hound's floorplan centered around a large open stone hearth with a weathered oak mantel. I sat beside my mother, my sister Arla, and my brother Spence across from us at a table near the fireplace, studying the dancing flames and trying not to let its smoky aroma remind me of Rhys as my sister talked about her high school softball team.
"Are you even listening to me, Calla?" Arla's tone took on the full indignation of her sixteen-year-old self.
"Of course, I am. You're hoping to make it to the state championship this year."
"That was, like, two minutes ago. What did I say about Gwenn?"
I had no idea what she'd said because I'd been trying hard not to think about Rhys and the way his scent made me want to let him grab me and push me up against a wall.
I let out a long sigh. "She claims she has a crush on Samantha but you're pretty sure she's actually into you?"
Arla blinked and the tension in her shoulders eased. "Maybe you aren't as spaced out as you look."
No, it had been a lucky guess based on the fact that Arla had been absorbed in the same love triangle for the past six months. I nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm distracted by work crap."
"I'd be distracted too if I had to work with the Rawlings brothers." Arla's eyes softened. "All of them are fucking hot."
"Arla!" My mother clicked her tongue at her younger daughter. "Mind your language."
"It's true, mom. Even your ovaries aren't shriveled up enough not to realize it." She tapped the table in front of me. "Can you get me a date with Liam? I bet that would make Gwenn so damned jealous."
"I'm pretty sure Liam already has a girlfriend. Plus, he's starting college this fall. You should stick to dating people in high school. And maybe tell your therapist about your Gwenn obsession, okay? You've gotta let that one go."
"But she's the only other werewolf on our team. And there's only a handful of shifters at our school. It's slim pickings. If I could just expand my dating pool..."
"I better not hear you say you want to date a human." Simone stabbed at her roast beef. "That isn't allowed for reasons that should be obvious to you. Only a fool would spend their energy on someone with no shifting abilities."
My sister and I immediately glanced at Spence, who, at fourteen years old, had yet to transform. Fixated on his phone, I couldn't tell if he'd heard her or not. I grinded my teeth, mad at my mom for singling out his biggest insecurity. Time to take a fall for my youngest sibling.
"If you're referring to your suspicions about my past relationship..."
"I am not. I'm talking about Vicki."
"Vicki?" I asked, both relieved and irritated that the conversation had turned in that direction. "What about her?"
"Stop that, Calla. You know what I'm referring to. You became friends with her, and that's fine. I have a human friend too."
"You mean Neil?"
"Why did you say it like that? Stop sneering at me. I'm your mother."
"He's not your friend, Mother. He's an employee."
"Can't he be both?"
"Maybe, but not in this case. He's paid to be friendly."
"Regardless, Calla, I never complained about the bond you forged with that human."
"Yes, you did. Your complaints about Vicki were the backdrop of my teenage years."
"We remember things differently. Now, I am sorry she's missing."
Spence finally looked up from his phone. "Vicki is missing?"
"Unfortunately." I nodded to him.
"It's a police concern," Simone said. "A human issue."
Exactly how much about Vicki's disappearance did she know?
"The police are involved. They haven't found anything that would tell us what happened to her."
"Give them time." She patted my hand in a way that was meant to look comforting but felt like a warning. "And stay out of it."
I shifted in my seat. How many people were going to warn me away from investigating this? "She's my best friend."
"And that is exactly my point. You've become entangled in the life of a human to the extent that you'd risk ruining everything."
I put my fork down, my lasagna half eaten. "What exactly would I be ruining if I continue to look for my missing friend, Mom?"
A mask went up over Simon's face. She'd said too much and so now was a good time to withdraw like a politician fleeing the stage, unwilling to take questions from the press. "Arla, Calla is right. You need to either tell Gwenn how you feel and risk the consequences or let her go. If you can't work things out, it will be bad for the team. You two are the best players. Spence, put your phone away for once. I swear to God, too much screen time is what's keeping our Crown Alphas from emerging."
Her words elicited a litany of complaints from my brother and sister, as had been the plan. No more talk of Vicki or the ruining of everything—whatever that meant.
I kept her words close, storing them deep within me, ready to bring them up to her later. Inside me, indignation simmered. To my mother, and it seemed to almost everyone else, Vicki was of little consequence, or worse, an obstacle. Whatever mysterious and unspoken thing I might be ruining, finding Vicki wasn't deemed worth the risk.