Private Dicks Page 2

  No one took Ryan's arrogance and desire for a secret killing machine into account, though I can't really blame them. There's no real accounting for Ryan.

  Deepine has an open bid call, thankfully, and from what I can gather from the people I chat with at the only shifter-only bar in town, they don't have a set submission criteria. That makes it easier and harder. Packs can be stupidly specific about submission criteria, which is a pain, or they can have no submission criteria, which means you have to get creative, but not too creative cuz then they think you're crazy.

  It only makes sense for me to apply as an enforcer. I haven't got much else in the way of specialized talents, and enforcers can move up ranks pretty quickly if they're skilled and determined enough. All males serve as enforcers for at least three years after they turn eighteen unless they have a great deal of skill in some other area, and that rule differs from pack to pack. Some males come from families within a larger pack that are traditionally enforcers, and some males are trained from a very young age to be enforcers for the rest of their lives, like me. Ryan found me wandering around the pack hunting grounds when I was still just a pup, snot-nosed and half-frozen, took me in, and if he trained me to be a thug rather than his successor like everyone was expecting, well … there's not lot I can do about that.

  I can't help reaching for forgiveness, even though I know I'll never get it. Partial exile doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's awful to hear about, worse to experience. Not allowed to hunt or live on pack lands, not allowed to visit more than a few times a month or talk to anyone … Not that anyone in my pack wants to talk to me.

  I sit in a tree and watch Deepine mill about. There are three wolf packs that share control of this section of New England: Silverlight, Deepine, and River. All their hunting grounds fan out from the city, as they're all based here due to complicated political ties. Like most packs, they have designated group hunting days, though they divide up based on criteria I can't determine from here since they're so huge. Deepine's one of the biggest packs in North America, over one hundred members last time I heard, probably closer to two hundred by now. It takes a lot to manage a pack like that, and everyone's heard of Donovan, hereditary alpha and supposedly one of the most decent wolves around.

  It isn't hard to pick him out of the crowd, though I can't see much detail. It's something about the way he carries himself, all alphas do it, like he's aware of each and every thing you're thinking and none of it bothers him cuz he knows you're his. Arrogant bastards, the lot of them. I wince a moment later and push the guilt away.

  He knows I'm here, without a doubt, but he's waiting for me to make my move. I settle back against the tree trunk, one leg swinging easily over the side of the branch I'm sitting on, and contemplate. This sort of thing isn't like me at all, I can admit that easily enough. I'm used to the shadows, more used to dodging criticism than seeking praise, and I'm painfully aware that I have no credentials, nothing to back me up. All I have is a lifetime of training, and that won't do me a damn bit of good if I can't get this man's attention.

  I clench my hands convulsively. I have to do this, too. If I do this, and do it well, maybe Ryan and the rest of the pack will forgive me.

  Just pretend he's Ryan. All alphas are the same anyway, right? So what would please Ryan? I snort and shake my head, smiling, pretending the trace of bitterness isn't there. Right. This makes it easier.

  I jump out of the tree, slipping into my half-form as I fall, and when I land on the ground, the forest is alive around me. I waste no time, don't give myself even half a chance to hesitate and lose my courage, and start running. I can't help the breathless laugh that escapes me as I run, drawn by the multitude of scents that blend and scream pack over the deep green and musk of the trees and plants themselves.

  When I come to the edge of the clearing the pack is milling about in, the alpha's standing near the edge of the crowd, surrounded by four high-tier enforcers. They look like they're ready to kill me, but the alpha steps forward, out of their protective circle, and I frown before I catch the slip. I've never known an alpha to willingly leave the circle of his bodyguards to greet an unknown wolf.

  "Reese Greymist?" the alpha asks, his tone polite.

  So not unknown, I guess. "Yes," I say, a touch nervously.

  The man cocks his head to the side, a small smile on his admittedly handsome face. "What are you doing here?"

  Well, nothing for it now. I stride forward a couple of paces, until I'm nearly within arm's reach of the alpha, and drop to my knees, head bowed and the back of my neck very, very exposed. "I would like to submit a bid to join your pack."

  The silence is so loud I have to resist the urge to look up and see if they're all still there. Okay, so maybe this plan was a little on the wrong side of creative. I have no doubt it would make Ryan blindingly happy to see me submit and humble myself in front of the pack, but then again, I haven't caused this alpha the problems I've caused Ryan. Is he going to decide I'm crazy and have me killed?

  "No, wait," I hear him murmur, and then footsteps crunch over the grass, coming closer. A hand descends to rest on the back of my neck, and a full-body shudder runs through me. "What makes you want to join my pack out of all the packs that would have you?"

  "Your pack is powerful and close-knit, and you're well-liked and respected," I say, echoing all the things my bar friends told me. "You're fair and …" I swallow hard. "I'm … tired of being alone." I could smack myself for that last comment. Alphas don't care about that, about loneliness. Why should they? They're never alone, never have to fend for themselves. Dammit, this was a stupid idea.

  "Very well." The hand lifts, and grass crunches as the alpha kneels in front of me and sniffs at my neck. Is he going to smell Silverlight on me? I haven't been back in weeks, but that doesn't mean the scent won't linger. But he just rubs his cheek against mine and stands. "I accept your bid to join my pack." A gentle nudge at my chin has me looking up at him, and I suddenly become aware of just how gold his eyes are. "Bids typically take two to four months to complete. In that time, you will be supplied with room and board and are expected to participate in whatever activities we ask of you, within reason." Another slight head tilt. "Do you have a particular position you're applying for?"

  "Enforcer," I say without hesitation.

  A smirk flits over his face before disappearing. "Good," he says warmly. "You are, of course, permitted to visit your home pack, if you have any." His expression turns expectant, but I say nothing, and he smiles again. "And you may, of course, continue running your business." He half-turns to one of the men behind him. "Who knows, maybe we could do with a private investigator, hm?"

  Laughter that isn't mocking surrounds me, and I fight to contain my frown. Just what have I gotten myself into?

  *~*~*

  I turn up at the training room, three weeks after I submitted my bid, for my daily workout and am instantly wary when I see Donovan lounging with Mika, my trainer, on the other side of the room. They're not paying attention to me, and I take my time walking over to get a feel for the situation.

  The training room's neat as always: huge mats on the floor, chairs and pillows ringing the circumference of the room. It doubles as a meditation room when the other ones are full, but it's usually only this empty around midnight, when most of the pack is bedded down. There's several doors leading off two of the walls. One leads to the weapons rooms and the other leads to the armory where we keep the serious firepower. The atmosphere is relaxed and calm and my heart rate slows down.

  I don't think Donovan's here to kick me out. He's relaxed and laughing at something Mika's saying, and people don't do that when they're gonna punish someone, right? God, I'm pathetic.

  I stride up to the pair, and Donovan turns to look at me mid-laugh. I misstep and almost stumble, but manage to pass it off as a particularly enthusiastic stop.

  "I'm glad you're here," Donovan says. He stands and claps a hand onto my shoulder. "You're so talented I've decid
ed to step up your bid." Mika rises and grins at me from behind Donovan, the expression oddly mischievous on his normally stoic face. "Mika's gonna take you debt collecting today," Donovan continues, grinning, and I feel an answering smile spread across my face.

  "Yeah?" I ask, rocking forward onto the balls of my feet, then back. I haven't had a chance to really go out and do what I spent my whole life learning to do in months.

  Mika laughs. "I thought that'd cheer you up," he says. "There are a couple of gangs within the city that run supplies for us, mostly dealing with our spice trade, and they haven't paid us our percentage out of their sales yet."

  "Do you control a lot of the gangs in the city?"

  "Most." Mika leans against Donovan's shoulder. "Some run supplies, and some provide protection for some of the unremarkable businesses, you know?" He looks at Donovan. "There's really only one or two that we don't bother with, hm?"

  "Mm." Donovan's staring right at me, and I lower my eyes automatically, a shiver running down my spine. He laughs and nudges my chin up. "Don't do that, pup," he says, smiling. "I was just thinking that you're awfully pretty."

  Awfully … Awfully …

  "Van, you broke him," Mika complains, and my entire face goes hot. They both laugh that not-mocking laughter I don't think I'll ever get used to, and Donovan ruffles his hand through my hair. "Ignore him, Reese, he just doesn't know when to shut up."

  "O … kay." I glance at Donovan as Mika pulls me to the armory, but he's already walking away.

  "So, you ready to go bust some heads open?" Mika asks as he hands me a gun.

  I trace my fingers over the grip and finger the trigger. "Oh, yeah."

  *~*~*

  "First kill, pup," Mika murmurs next to me. We both look over the dossier Lee had handed to me this morning, and my blood's been singing ever since then. "Excited?"

  "Yeah." I grin before I can tell myself not to, and besides, Mika's always telling me not to be so serious. I look around the empty training room and glance at Mika pointedly, but he ignores my unspoken question. I smooth the impatience from my face and flip through the dossier again. We've been waiting in here for at least ten minutes, but Mika shows no signs of getting up, so all I can do is fidget in my seat.

  Two months, and they're finally gonna let me go out and kill somebody. I was starting to think that Donovan was gonna make me stay on guard duty around the mansion for forever. I sigh and smooth my fingers over the folder. No, he wouldn't do that. But even though he made the jump from me guarding to collecting pretty quickly, he hasn't let me go out and do it a lot. There's a fine tremor of adrenaline and excitement running through my body, and I haven't been let out enough to tame it. Sparring with Mika every day doesn't help, either, though I have to admit I've never had such a skilled sparring partner for this long before. Someone who's interested in sparring and not kicking the shit out of me every time he can.

  I relax a little, and I see the corner of Mika's mouth tilt up. Bastard. I swear he does this stuff on purpose. I sigh loudly and slump in my seat, slinging an arm over the backrest even though my spine doesn't like the angle. I can be patient.

  But five minutes later, I'm fidgeting again and shooting Mika glares that he ignores just like everything else. The man has the patience of a saint, I swear.

  I open the dossier again. Rogue male from a southern pack. Late twenties, went feral some months back, but no one could catch him. He rampaged through a River and Dust training ground last month, and the whole East Coast has been out for his blood since then. He didn't kill anyone, but a lot of pups and kittens were hurt, and the mere thought of this wolf getting away has my hackles up.

  "Down, boy," Mika says, his hand descending onto the back of my neck. I subside. "You'll get your chance, just give it a few minutes. Donovan got held up in a meeting."

  Donovan? I glance at the door as if the thought will summon him. Why is Donovan going to brief me? I look at Mika as his hand returns to his lap, but there's no answer forthcoming from there, I know. I snort, but he still doesn't do anything, and I reel my impatience in. Deliberately trying to provoke my trainer, even one as patient as Mika, is always a stupid move.

  But still. Why's Donovan briefing me? I've gotten the impression over the past few weeks that Donovan's personally managing my bid, but I haven't got any sort of clear indication until now. Normally, Mika would be the one to brief me and send me on my way; trainers generally have total control over the bid of the wolf they're training and only report to the alphas or head enforcers for major decisions and recommendations. Trainers are hugely powerful within a pack that has an open bid system like Deepine.

  Footsteps echo down the hall, and I bolt upright and ignore Mika's chuckle. Donovan strides through the door and smiles when he sees me and Mika waiting. "I'm sorry I'm late," he says as he comes closer. Mika and I stand, and I tap my fingers against the dossier, even more eager to go now that Donovan's here. He laughs and grabs the back of my neck to reel me in so he can sniff my neck. Why does he keep doing that?

  "He's been wiggling about for the last twenty minutes," Mika says, laughing briefly. I glare at him and hope they mistake the blush on my face for irritation rather than embarrassment.

  "There's not much else I have to tell you," Donovan says, still hanging on to my neck. It's a habit of his I can't get used to. No one in Silverlight touches me unless they have to. "We know he's going to be within that area tonight, but not specifically where." He gives me a warm smile. "I have every confidence you'll do well."

  "I'll make you proud," I murmur and lower my eyes, less out of habit this time as much as an attempt to save face. It's just all the smiles and general happiness that follows this alpha that I can't get used to, that's all.

  "I know you will," he replies with perfect certainty. He buries his face in my neck again for a moment, and I try not to spontaneously combust before he moves away. "Good luck."

  "Thank you." I frown after him. That's all? I thought he was going to brief me. I turn to Mika, and he takes the dossier.

  "We've already gone over most of the information you need, pup." He flicks through the file quickly before closing it with a snap. "Yup, that's pretty much it. C'mon, let's get you kitted out." I trail after him to the armory and hover in the doorway as he flits about, picking up and discarding weapons as he goes.

  "I thought Donovan was gonna brief me?" I tense even though I know Mika won't hit me for questioning him. Old habits die hard.

  Mika smirks. "I already briefed you, pup, you know that. Donovan just wanted to send you off properly."

  "Oh." I frown and watch him prance around. The armory's pretty big, the right half devoted to the guns lining the walls and tables, the left side to blades of all different types and sizes. There's a work table in the back for the quartermaster so he can repair the weapons if need be. Right now, there's a mostly disassembled handgun on top of the glass.

  "Alright, here." I take the three knives and gun he hands me automatically. "Is that good, or do you want another knife?"

  I shrug as I strap the knives on. "I'm fine with three." Two of the knives go in my boots, and I set the other one down as I slide on my shoulder holster. It doubles as a knife holster since I can't shoot worth shit with my left hand, but can use a knife just fine with both hands.

  Back in the training room, I grab my jacket and slip it on, shrugging to settle it around the holster. I hate wearing concealed weapons, but even though the humans let us do our business our way for the most part, they balk at letting us wave our guns around in public. It makes sense, I guess.

  Mika grins. "My baby's all grown up."

  My whole body goes stiff. "Am I kitted out to your satisfaction?" I ask, leaning away slightly, and he frowns.

  "Reese, you have to chill out sometimes," he says, crossing his arms and taking on his 'I am your trainer and you will obey me' pose. "Can't you take a joke?"

  "You … were joking?" Dammit. I can't tell half the time, even with the smiling, because
the others always smiled when they tried to trap me so they'd have an excuse to beat me up. Not that they needed an excuse, not really, after I disobeyed Ryan last time.

  Mika sighs. "We'll talk about this later, pup. Now go out and kill that damn rogue."

  I nod and keep my eyes lowered, just in case. "Yes, sir."

  *~*~*

  "Clever," I mutter. "Very clever."

  The dragon gives me a slow smirk. "You did say to come talk to you after you started killing for them." He's sprawled in a chair across the metal table from me. I glance around the small, stark white interrogation room with some irritation.

  "I did, but I didn't mean right after," I say. I shift carefully in my own seat and cradle the cup of coffee that was waiting for me when they brought me in here. "I would've liked a shower first, for one." I'm too tired for my words to have any bite, though, and the dragon laughs.

  "This was the best way we could get you alone," he says. "I admit, though, we were expecting to have to fabricate some destroyed property as an excuse to bring you in."

  I wince. "Feral for one wolf isn't always the same feral as another," I say. "We didn't think he'd be lucid enough to set a trap."

  "Will you be okay?" There's a note of something like genuine concern in the dragon's voice, but I ignore it. I pull my coffee closer.

  "Yeah. Nothing serious. I've been thrown through storefronts before." He nods, and there's a pause before he visibly changes gears.

  "So how're things?" he asks, sing-songy like we're friends.

  "Going good," I say and take a sip of my coffee. It burns my tongue, but it's hazelnut, so I don't care. I can feel every single cut and ache from that damn rogue. A few singed taste buds is nothing compared to that. "I'm still training, but I'm pretty sure he'll honor the bid," I continue. "They haven't told me much, but as far as I can gather, they have most of the gangs on the East Coast under their thumb running their spice trade. They take about seventy percent profit from the gangs." I shrug. "Besides that, I know they run protection services, but most of that's bullshit, of course."