"He said he has video evidence?" Braxton asked, sounding more pissed off than usual, and that was really saying something.
I nodded. "We’ll have to check the authenticity of it, but he indicated that he had more than enough to convince the humans of our existence." I dropped my head back, exhausted.
"I’ll check again and see if it’s arrived," Braxton said, returning to the computer.
This was the only computer in town, a special make that didn’t explode around the energy of supes. Tyson and Maximus didn’t move from where they were sprawled back on the broad-backed captain chairs by the window, sipping on whiskey.
Apparently, we had reached the stage of day drinking, and I honestly thought the timing was about right.
While we waited for Braxton to load the emails, I told them the rest of what happened in the month we were gone. Most of it was easy to convey in a few sentences … outside of today in Syria. That took a little more time.
"How did Justice handle it all?" Tyson asked, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal glass. "Grace has been worried about her. There's tragedy in Justice's past that she never speaks about and it's obvious that, at times … she's just not okay."
Grace saw what I did. The demons.
"She's tough," I finally said. "Tougher than I expected. Maybe it's the fact that she's such a smartass at times, prickly to the point of abrasive, that you miss her quiet inner strength. There’s no doubt she's been through a lot. A fucking lot. She made a few comments about men and the way they'd hurt her in the past to indicate that it wasn't always roses and sparkles in her life."
I shook my head, trying to force down my anger. There was nothing I could do to change her past, to ease her scars and demons. As much as I wished I could.
Mental battles were often the worst of all.
"You like her," Tyson said suddenly, and it jolted me out of my rage.
"What do you mean?" I shot back, defensive.
My brother stood, his glass landing with a thump on the table. "I can feel your emotions, bro," he said slowly, rolling his shoulders a little. It was a signature move of Tyson's when he was casually preparing to beat the fuck out of someone. "You can't control yourself when it comes to her. I've never felt you so ... erratic."
I forced myself to relax, to slump back near the wall and not jump to the fight he was itching for. Bastard was deliberately trying to stir me because I was being so reticent about what was happening between Justice and me.
But fuck, I really didn’t know what to tell them.
"I care about her," I said with fake casualness. "She's Grace's jeweled sister, part of our pack, and we had to lean on each other a lot during the past month.” Memories of our time with the president crashed through my mind. “We talked a lot—" And that was the truth. Despite our bickering, we'd managed to have meaningful conversations, and I sensed that I knew more about Justice than almost any living being on this world.
"Just talked?" Maximus asked with a snort. "That doesn't sound like your usual fey charm. You’re telling me that you didn't end up in bed after spending a month in close quarters with her?"
When he put it like that…? What was wrong with me? Justice was gorgeous. Not to mention, and even more importantly, she was also funny, smart, powerful, and viper-tongued—basically the exact way I loved my women.
But I hadn't tried to seduce her. If anything, I'd spent the month slowly self-destructing and I had no goddamned idea why. "She fucks with my head," I admitted, standing straighter as the screen grew brighter on the computer, and Braxton waved me over.
There were dozens of emails waiting for our attention. Most of them would have been sent today, since we tried to go through them once a day. The life of running the supernatural council of America. It never ended, and even though we were all ready to hand this shit over to someone else, so far no one stood out that we trusted to do a good job.
Despite a ten-page list of possible candidates.
"File is here," Braxton rumbled, moving his chair a little closer. "It's fucking huge."
He side-eyed me, like I was going to make some sort of dick joke about that.
Unfortunately, this was no situation to joke about. A huge file could only mean one thing: President Caine had been recording a hell of a lot more than he’d said.
Sure enough, the first series of photos were from two days after we started with his secret service. It was the first night I'd drank with Bryce; that fucking Irishman had done his best to get me plastered, trying to pry my secrets out. I hadn't spilled any of course; it would take more than a barrel of rum to make that happen, but I'd gotten a little power happy, and there was a nice image of flames dancing across my fingers. I mean, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be explained as photo manipulation, but when it came from the president, along with everything else … it was damning.
"Fuck!" I snarled, shaking my head. "We were trying to fit in, and the men were curious about my powers."
Braxton didn't say anything, and through our bond he didn’t seem upset or pissed with me. That dragon was hard to read, though. He moved on to the next file, which was video footage of the same incident. From the angle I could tell it was Marcus who had filmed me. There were files upon files—we’d been filmed almost consistently without pause. Ninety percent wouldn’t be a worry, because it was barely obvious what was happening, but there were a few big ones.
Especially once we hit the Syrian footage. This was taken by a drone, from very high above, and the quality was grainy, but there was no missing the absolute destructive terror of my power.
"He set us up," I admitted, ashamed and furious with myself for falling for it. "Justice was in danger and I just reacted. Like I said before, she messes with my head, and when she puts herself in danger, I lose all reasoning. But it's no excuse for my actions."
