My knowledge of how the shifter legal system works is lacking, to say the least. It’s not something they really taught us about in my old pack—where any punishments were meted out by the Alpha with no option for a fair trial—and I haven’t bothered to learn since being out on my own.
Do I call a lawyer? Is someone going to read me my rights? Do Ihaverights? Is there going to be one of those hearing things where I plead guilty or not guilty? What are those called anyway?
I sigh. Apparently, my lack of knowledge extends to the human criminal justice system. What little I know of that is cobbled together fromLaw & Orderreruns and, somehow, I doubt an old TV show provides an entirely accurate representation.
Worse than almost anything else, I have no idea where Julien is or what might have happened to him after I was arrested.
At the thought of my mate’s name, a wave of heat passes over my body then recedes, leaving a chill behind, and that spot on the back of my neck twinges with pain. The sensation is a little less jarring than it was originally. Mostly because the severity has gone down, but also because I know what it is now—something to do with the unfinished mating bond.
I really should’ve just let Julien claim me back at the club. Or in the shower. Or really any fucking time before now, so I didn’t have to deal with the bond’s bitching on top of everything else.
And having that bit of connection would also help hold my fears at bay. As it is, the only thing keeping me from a complete meltdown is burying my nose in the shirt I’m wearing—Julien’sshirt—about once every two minutes and holding on to the scent of him for as long as possible.
Maybe I just need a nap. Mentally going back over the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think I’ve gotten more than a couple hours of actual sleep and I’m wiped. I’m probably not doing myself any good trying to keep pushing through exhaustion. A little rest might help clear my head.
I close my eyes and try to relax. The hotel is louder than my apartment—Rossi must’ve skimped on the soundproofing, the asshole—so it takes more effort to block things out. Eventually, I manage and start to drift off. Then, because fuck my timingandmy luck, the door to the room swings open and three of the shifters from the group who arrested me walk in. I quickly sit up, giving my head a brisk shake to clear away the creeping tendrils of sleep that had been about to take hold.
“What’s going on?” I ask, a little groggily.
One of the cop-like shifters walks over to the bed, taking hold of my arm and pulling me to my feet. What he doesn’t do is answer my question, and neither does anyone else, as the guy tugs me out into the hallway and over to the elevator.
We all board, and one of the other shifters hits the button for the top floor. The top floors of hotels are normally the expensive rooms or the penthouse or something like that. Since Rossi owns this place, I’m guessing that’s where he stays.
Great…
I can’t help but think that what’s going on right now is another one of those new, not good things to add to my list for the day. Ireallydon’tneed to add anything else to my plate today. I’m already on edge, and that panicky feeling of the incomplete bond doesn’t help.
I wish Julien were here.
That wish becomes a physical sensation, an actual ache in the back of my neck—the place where a claiming bite would be—that travels down through the rest of my joints. I inhale sharply and the guy holding my arm glances at me, something bordering on concern in his eyes.
So, he’snota complete robot. Good to know. I can work with that.
“What’s going on?” I try again, this time quieter and directing the question to only the shifter with his hand on my arm. “Where are you guys taking me?”
“Your pack has arranged for you to have representation. We’re taking you to meet with them.”
My pack?Hope flares in my chest, and I let out a sigh of relief. He has to mean Julien’s pack. Remy must have been able to push through the paperwork or whatever to get me listed as an official member.
The elevator doors open and I step out without being prompted. This floor only has two doors, one on either end of a long hallway. The guy holding my arm leads me toward the door to the right, then raps his knuckles against it.
A smile tugs at my lips as I wait for Julien or Remy or one of the guys to answer. I can’t wait to get this whole thing taken care of and—
Agony rockets across every one of my nerves, the mating frenzy doubling me over with pain as the door swings open. I glance up, my eyes meeting a familiar face, but not the one I hoped for and not one I’d ever expected to see again.
Alpha Randall.
Twenty
Keir
Thereareaboutamillion thoughts bouncing around my head, but I’m too stunned to focus on anything useful. Instead, all I can think is ‘WTF’ over and over again, like my brain’s very own flashing error message.
A brief conversation about transfer of custody occurs without my input—apparently only ‘my’ pack can take custody of me at this point—and, before I know it, the shifter cops hand me off and I’m left with Alpha Randall. He tugs me inside the room, then shuts the door behind me as my mind struggles to process this new development.
“Keir, it’s good to see you,” he says, his voice even.
And it’s that idiotic conversational nicety, so out-of-place coming from the guy who tried tokillme, that finally breaks me out of my stupor and lets my anger take over.
