We could not do this alone.
"Is Riley a good fighter?" Wyatt asked.
"He's an excellent fighter," Keenan replied. "I'd match him against the best in the Pride, myself included. But this is also the best chance for a change in leadership, and the challenger will make sure of a victory."
"You mean they'll cheat?"
"Yes. "
"Where is Riley now?"
"At our family compound with our great uncle. Until he has officially been granted the title of Elder, Riley is safest there. The home is well protected."
It was protected and then some. It was the only reason I agreed to allow Aurora, Ava and Joseph to live there. They were the last of the Coni Clan of shape-shifting birds-of-prey—except for Phineas, who was off who knows where, doing hell knows what. He'd been gone for five weeks, and I missed him.
"Are you supposed to be wandering around with all this going on?" I asked before I could wonder if the question was rude or not.
Keenan's lips twitched. "Trust me, I am well protected."
"So we're at a standstill on this," Tybalt said. "Even if the Bengals challenged Marcellus now for Elder, Riley would fight in his place, and he stands a high chance of winning. There's no benefit to an early challenge."
"No, there's not." Marcus drummed his fingers against the tabletop, his irritation coming out in that short, jerky motion. "We have no way of knowing when the challenge will be issued."
No way of knowing when the last protection force for the city might suddenly find itself without half its members, leaving all humans vulnerable to attacks from goblins and half-Bloods.
"Is there a way to identify the potential challengers and, you know, encourage them to back off?" I asked.
"Everything we know so far is hearsay," Marcus said. "There's no proof, only rumors. And without proof of wrongdoing, the Assembly will punish any action taken, even as a pre-emptive measure."
"I wasn't talking about busting kneecaps or leaving horse's heads in their beds."
Marcus bristled (almost literally), and I realized he didn't understand the film reference. He probably thought I was making some tasteless joke about Jenner's death (which I wasn't). Shit.
"Evy means talking to them, not bullying them," Wyatt said, stepping in to save me before I crammed my foot any further down my own throat. "Informing them of the consequences of any actions taken against Riley."
"Threats will only strengthen their resolve," Marcus said. "It's not a good idea."
"So we do what?" Milo asked. "Sit and wait and hope they don't cheat when they send someone to fight Riley?"
"Yes."
"That plan sucks ass."
Marcus's mouth twitched. "Regardless, it's our only course of action right now. Our people don't need more inner turmoil, so we'll wait for the challenge."
Milo snapped the tab off the top of his soda can, then flipped it between his knuckles a few times. "I fucking hate waiting," he said.
We all hated waiting, but on this we had no choice.
Our table broke up a while later. Keenan whisked himself away to parts unknown, probably his aforementioned family home. Tybalt and Kyle headed off to their respective rooms; Wyatt wanted to stop by Operations and talk to Astrid and Baylor about everything going on; Marcus shuffled off somewhere with an intense look on his face. I was too keyed up to sleep, so I wandered toward the opposite end of the mall and the exercise and training rooms down the far leg of the U. It took a few seconds to realize Milo had fallen into step next to me.
"How's your head?" I asked.
"Nothing a few hours sleep won't cure."
"So why aren't you heading toward the bunks?"
"Too much energy to sleep."
I know the feeling. "Spot you?"
"Sure."
The exercise area was two rooms. The first was full of weights and various stationary bikes and other machines. Almost anything you could want in a gym. The second room, at the rear of the first, had a dance barre on one wall for stretching and coordination techniques, and blue mats covered the floor. I'd spent almost a solid week in that room, mostly on my ass, while Phineas kicked it hard trying to get me back into fighting form after I'd been tortured for three weeks.
Ah, memories.
Two other people where there, riding the bikes, and I smiled through a strange sense of déjà vu. Shelby and Jackson had been working out in the gym the very first time Milo and I ever saw it, and there they were again. Shelby and Jackson were both Ursia (were-bears), and while I liked the latter a whole lot, the former still made my skin crawl sometimes. Like the polar bear in Shelby was always sizing me up as a meal.
We all exchanged friendly greetings. I'd worked with both Shelby and Jackson in the field, and they were among the dozen or so Therians working with us whom I mostly trusted. I don't give my trust easily. It has to be earned, and they were almost there. Shelby had a little more work to do than Jackson. Astrid, Marcus, and absentee-Phineas? Total trust. Everyone else was on a case-by-case. Most I trusted on a limited basis solely because Astrid vouched for them.
Milo and I used a freestanding folding screen as cover to change into sweats that always seemed to be on hand there. He adjusted the weights on one of the bars, settled himself on the bench, and I stood over him as he pressed himself into a sweat. We didn't talk, but I knew the look on his face.
He was angry about the Felia news, yes, but he was also punishing himself for earlier. For letting those Halfies get close enough to put that bruise on his forehead and mark on his neck.
When his face was red, sweat was trickling down his cheeks, and his reps had slowed too much for safety, I grabbed the bar and guided it back into the support. "Take a break, pal, before you hurt yourself."
He lay there a moment, arms dangling, staring up at the ceiling. I didn't bug him until he'd gotten his breathing back under control. I leaned down, dropping my voice until it was barely audible over the whirring noise of the bikes. "So you helped out the Felia Clan, huh?"
"Didn't know it at the time." Milo sat up and spun around on the bench to face me, hands on his knees. "It was actually the day before you were found at the train station, when Tybalt called and asked me to get some information for him. I didn't ask why, and he didn't tell me about it all until a few weeks ago when—" He stopped himself, then shrugged.
Now I was crazy curious. The train station referred to the place I was held captive and tortured by goblins, then left to die—my first death. That was months ago, though. Or technically, maybe a lifetime. "When what?" I asked.
He picked at a healing scab on his knee, courtesy of a hard tumble last week. "I asked him how he knew Marcus so well, and he finally told me the whole story."
It was a story I wouldn't mind having. I knew Tybalt had been raised by the Felia, and that he'd chosen his own name when he was eleven. I knew he'd been close with Marcus and Astrid before his banishment from the Pride, and that he hadn't had contact with them for six years prior to this spring. And rumor was he and Astrid once had a fling, back when they were both teenagers—which was a weird thought, given that Tybalt was going on twenty-three and Astrid looked like she was in her late thirties. But like the rest of us, Tybalt didn't like talking about himself.
Another little detail hadn't escaped my attention, and it created a funny little mix of hope and worry. "You were asking about Marcus?"
His eyes narrowed. "So?"
"Do you like him?"
"Sure, I do."