I pat his back, grabbing bottles from the shelf. "I wouldn't mind. If the deal's as good as Donna said, maybe there's real potential. If this ends in peace, maybe we all get a piece of what we want."
Jace's eyes narrow, suspicion sparking. "What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you later." I smile thinly, evading. "Where's Winston?" I ask, stacking drinks onto a tray.
"Meeting the pack," Jace says quietly, his expression tight.
There's something under that. I deliver drinks, grab new orders, and when I circle back, I ask, "You don't look too happy about it."
He shrugs, eyes fixed on the bar top. "He's trying to rally support for what we're doing, explaining about Darius, the supernatural undercurrent behind it. If more of our people came to work atCole's, it would be safer."
"You don't look convinced," I say, reading his expression while I keep my hands busy polishing glasses.
We talk low and careful, pretending this is a normal small-town conversation and not one about satyrs and coyote shifters.
"How much do you know about our pack history?" Jace asks, his voice tight. "Did Asher tell you?"
"He told me coyote packs aren't as tight as wolf packs. That you're more scattered. That's it."
Jace nods, eyes distant.
I make another round of drinks, serving customers, then return to find him looking even heavier.
"You don't have to tell me," I say gently.
"It's all right. You should know. You're one of us now." He swallows hard, then goes on, "Yeah, coyote packs aren't as close as werewolves, but ours is worse. When I was eight, we clashed with another pack. Misunderstandings turned into a fight, and then into a war. My parents… they were killed." His voice catches but doesn't break. "We won, if you can even call it that. The other pack was gone. But ours tore itself apart afterward—blame games, fighting over who started it, who spilled the first blood. In the end, there wasn't much of a pack left. Winston took me in, raised me after the fallout. I haven't spoken to the others since."
I reach across the bar and squeeze his fingers. "I'm sorry, Jace."
He gives me a small, sad smile. "Thanks."
The orders pile in, and the swell of customers pulls us back into the rhythm of work. But his words stick in me. As I move through the crowd, serving, smiling, laughing on cue, onethought sharpens inside me like a blade: I'll protect them. All of them. Whatever it takes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sage
The fact that Winston's out makes it easier.
Mid-shift, I slip outside for five minutes and pull out my phone. I know Darius's number by heart—standard procedure back when we went on hunts was memorizing the team's numbers. Darius had me drill his until it was second nature, even if he didn't participate in the hunts directly. He wanted to make sure that he'd be the first to know if I was in trouble.
I type it in from memory.
Today is possible. I'm at Cole's. But the place could be watched.
I have a gnawing suspicion Asher or Kayden are somewhere nearby. Maybe both.
His reply comes less than a minute later, like he's been waiting for my message.
Noted.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and return to pouring drinks. Half an hour later it buzzes again.
Confirmed. Eyes on you. I'll handle distraction. Be ready to slip out back. Tell me when you're ready.
And then a second message:
They will be safe. My word to you.
