Remy’s eyes are darting from the fabric. “What just happened?”
“He knows Keir is my fated mate,” I say, my fingers tightening on the shirt in my hands.
Remy thinks for a moment, his gaze now locked on the fabric. “Does Rossi also know Keir is unclaimed?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I don’t know how, but—”
“Fuck!” Remy starts pacing back and forth. “Rossi’s planned this all out. Well, as much as he could. I don’t know how or when he figured out Keir was your fated mate, but it must have been sometime after Keir’s arrest. Then, Rossi got Keir released to his former Alpha, likely to prevent Keir from saying anything to the praetorians about being your fated mate. At some point, Rossi also figured out Keir was unclaimed, so he probably said something about the challenge and then let Keir escape. I’m sure he’s arranged it somehow to be sure Keir—who would have no idea where the challenge is being held—would eventually make his way here. Likely, just in time to watch you lose.” Remy’s eyes meet mine. “If you were to die right in front of him, Keir would be insensible and Rossi could easily grab him and make him disappear, which is what he’s wanted all along.”
“But what’s with the shirt?“ asks Brody.
“That’s how Rossi makes sure Julien loses.” Remy shoots me a pained smile. “The challenge starts in less than five minutes. Rossi gave you the shirt, the one infused with Keir’s scent and not only the scent of his desire but of fear and many other emotions, to draw out your instincts as Keir’s mate.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You haven’t claimed Keir yet and Rossi knows that. He’s hoping to induce the mating frenzy to distract you from the fight,” says Remy. “And by the looks of your pupils, his plan is going to work.”
Twenty-Six
Keir
I’mnotsurewhichof Rossi’s misdeeds get things moving on Smith’s end, but move they do and surprisingly quickly. I have just enough time to change into a pair of my own pants—I’m keeping Julien’s shirt—and scarf down a couple pieces of cold pizza before a knock sounds at the apartment door.
One of Kevin’s friends opens the door and invites the two uniformed shifters inside. The two ‘cop guys,’ as my roommate called them, eye the humans scattered around my apartment in varying stages of drunkenness. The shorter of the two shifters, a pretty Asian woman, sniffs at the air, then wrinkles her nose. They decline the invite to come in, choosing instead to wait just outside the doorway.
From the kitchen, I hold up my finger in a ‘wait a second’ gesture, then finish the glass of water in my hand and make my way to the door with Luke behind me. I wait until we’re in the hallway with the door closed behind us before making any introductions.
The dark-haired man is Smith, the guy I talked to on the phone, and he introduces his partner as Yang. They lead us down to the street, where they have a car waiting. Smith hops in the driver’s seat, with Yang in the front passenger seat as my cousin and I pile into the back. We’re barely away from the curb before Yang speaks.
“If you’re an omega, why are you living in a drab little place like that, with humans no less?” she asks, sounding more confused than anything else.
“Um…” My gaze darts to Luke. “My former pack is kind of isolationist and they follow the old ways. My uncle wasn’t too keen on the idea of a male omega after the pack cleric brought up some outdated superstitions that said male omegas were abominations. After I had my first shift with the pack, the plan was to kill me.”
She blinks in shock. “Kill an omega?”
“Yup,” I say. “If it wasn’t for my cousin here, they would have.”
Yang leans across the console and turns to face Luke. “On behalf of the triumvirate, I would like to thank you for preventing the murder of an omega.”
Luke’s cheeks go red. “I didn’t really do much.”
“But you did enough,” says Yang. “There haven’t been many omegas born in the past few decades and every single one is important.”
I snort. “Are you sure that it’s not more like a case of omegas not making it to the whole registration part? I got the impression that to shifters ‘in the know’ omegas are more like valuable chattel than anything else.”
She has no response to that except a frown.
Smith drives us out to some industrial zone near the river, an area I’m not familiar with. After a few sharp turns, he pulls up to a large fenced property with a sign out front that says ‘Waste Management Plant’.
“Are you kidding me?” I glance around at the garbage trucks and lines of unused dumpsters. “Rossi is in thewaste managementbusiness? Could he be any more of a mafia stereotype?”
Smith is silent, but Yang snickers. I kind of like her.
There’s a large group of vehicles parked near a spot in the back. Smith parks the car near the others and we all file out, heading toward the door by the corner of the building.
There’s a shifter standing outside, presumably guarding the door. As we get closer, I recognize him as Greg, the idiot from earlier this morning, which probably explains why despite the obvious official nature of the two uniformed shifters with me, he scowls and says, “This is an invitation only event.”
Yang snorts and Smith shoots Greg a droll look, as he lifts some sort of medallion on a chain from underneath his shirt. “Inter-pack challenges at this level are supposed to be witnessed by at least one representative of the triumvirate.”
