Cammi Harding stepped into the light.
The spoiled bank heiress had, apparently, gone shopping and found a pair of shiny gold, thigh-high platform boots not unlike the red ones Menessos had provided me for the Erus Veneficus ceremony. When I’d gone to The Dirty Dog to talk to Johnny, Cammi had ogled my boots. That particular run-in had ended badly for her, as had our last run-in, which occurred at a church. Clearly, she was back for more.
Her glossy black miniskirt was as tight and short as possible, and meant for someone at least fifteen years her junior. She did seem to relish flaunting what wære genetics had graced her with. The gold top was low-cut and sleeveless. Despite the chill in the November air, she wore no coat. Even from this distance I was certain her nails, makeup, and fluffy platinum hair were flawless. The only thing that surprised me was the absence of her more subdued twin, Sammi.
As soon as I saw her, I found myself wondering what Eva de Monique looked like. I am secure that my relationships with both Johnny and Menessos are all I want them to be. I hoped that affirmation would squelch these seeds of jealousy.
“Hello, boys,” Cammi purred, strutting forward.
“What are you doing here?” Todd demanded.
“I’m here to be the voice of reason.”
“Get out,” Johnny commanded.
“Someone needs to remind them what a risk they’re taking, letting magic be stirred around them.” She angled her path to avoid Johnny and stopped in front of the gathered men three good paces out of anyone’s reach. “You haven’t forgotten how that witch threatened me, have you? Or that she threatened to call the energy up and leave me half-formed? You heard her, Pete. I know you did. And so did you, Josh. And yet you line up like puppies in a pound, wagging your tails, eager to be petted.” She tossed her head and struck a pose of defiance as she looked them up and down, taking the measure of every man present. “There’s not an alpha among you.”
That won her angry growls all around. She can’t think insulting them—and their Domn Lup—will sway them to see her side of things.
“Oooo. I love that sound,” she taunted. “Do it again.”
The men gave her their best growls.
“There it is … there’s the evidence of the backbone of real wæres. I know you’ve seen him change, you’ve found your Domn Lup. But he’s not doing this, is he? She is.” She pointed at me accusingly. “The sange stricata.” She sauntered toward me, and the group of men parted to let her through. She stopped just past them, as if to give the visual effect that she was leading the wæres who flanked her. “They say she’s the Lustrata. What-fucking-ever. What does the witches’ messiah matter to us? Have you all forgotten your training? The witches are—” Her features manifested arrogance and seemed to scream, I know something you don’t know. “Well, we’ll not discuss that in front of her. Let’s discuss what we all know: she’s a witch tied to witches, she’s also tied to vampires—you’ve seen her on the Regional Lord’s lap, feeding him—and she’s tied to our Domn Lup.”
“You’re walking a thin line, Cammi,” Todd barked.
“Oh shut up. I’m not anti–Domn Lup. I’m merely connecting the dots and making sure you see how she could be a danger to us all.” With a flick of her wrist she cut Todd off before he could get another syllable out. “I want you all to do what the Lup asks of you. But not blindly. Ask yourself: Do you trust her? Are you willing to become another half-formed monster?”
“Get out,” Johnny said. “Now.”
“Make me,” she cooed. “Show me what a big strong alpha you can be.”
“Heel, bitch.” This new, deep voice echoed from the stairwell.
As its source stepped into view, I recognized Mr. Alligator Shoes from the drugstore.
Men filed in, forming a line behind him. Yet, as Johnny, Todd, and the other pack wæres squared their shoulders and emitted low growls, I wondered what, exactly, was going on. How had these guys gotten through the security Johnny had boasted about, and whether I should let Johnny know this was the guy from the drugstore.
Mr. Alligator Shoes marched into the room, and his men maintained their line behind him, though one not-so-brawny man lagged back, carrying a briefcase.
Cammi sucked in a breath and sashayed toward him. “Finally, a true alpha!” She gave a coquettish little shimmy at the last.
Maxine was right; he was a wærewolf.
As she neared, Mr. Alligator Shoes swiftly slapped her—hard enough to knock her to the ground. “Never speak to your dirija again.” He spat on her.
My mouth opened to protest—standing silently by while someone hit a woman wasn’t in my nature—but Johnny caught my attention as he threw off his leather jacket and his shirt. His hands, arms, and shoulders darkened, sprouted fur, and bulged. It wasn’t pretty, but it bulked his size closer to that of Mr. Alligator Shoes, who had pointed his finger at Cammi as she had pointed at me earlier. “You will never trouble him with the sound of your voice ever again, do you understand me, bitch?” He spoke with a thick accent.
That was when Johnny leaped forward, launching himself at Mr. Alligator Shoes. Both fell, rolled, and rose up swinging.
The two groups of men growled at each other, but none interfered with the fight. Cammi, reflexively touching her smacked cheek, struggled to get her feet under her. I could attest to the difficulty of this when there’s two extra inches of platform attached to the bottom of a high-heeled shoe.
The men fighting seemed well matched; for what I could tell, each was blocking the other’s punches. Then Mr. Alligator Shoes took a hit to the kidneys, but it gave him an opening to hit Johnny in the jaw. Johnny’s growl rumbled in his chest and I felt a wave of energy. He punched Mr. Alligator Shoes in the stomach so hard it lifted him into the air and sent him back six feet. Johnny was fully transformed before Mr. Alligator Shoes had landed.
He hadn’t taken off his jeans, though. Wriggling and kicking out of the fabric and the undies gave the beast some trouble. By the time Mr. Alligator Shoes had been helped up by his men, the pony-size black wolf stood snarling before them.
“It’s true,” Mr. Alligator Shoes whispered.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Having reverted to man form and put on his pants, Johnny glowered at the invaders. “I give the orders here.”
“You told her to get out. I was just enforcing your word.” Mr. Alligator Shoes’ lip was busted and bleeding.
“I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do. She still hasn’t left.”
Johnny flashed dark, scathing eyes at Cammi. In seconds, she was trying to run to the stairwell in the stupidest shoes on the planet. I couldn’t help smiling at how ridiculous she looked. Everyone watched her go, including Mr. Alligator Shoes. Before she could disappear up the stairwell, he remarked, “She’s a bit old for my tastes. Not sure I’d keep her around. Is it sentimental? Did she teach you things when you were a pup?”
“Unless you want to be banished from speaking to your Domn Lup, you will speak only when spoken to.”
Mr. Alligator Shoes bowed his head.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You may call me Gregor.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I am the head of the Omori, elite protectors of the Zvonul.” He pulled a leather bifold from his breast pocket and flashed an ID. “These are my men; we have come to secure the area. I was so charged by the Rege.”
“Does he think there is cause for concern here?”
“This is standard procedure. May I ask a question?”
Johnny let him wait for the answer. “One.”
“Why would you take such verbal abuse from a pack bitch, and in front of your men?”