Christian smirked. “A pound’s just the starter.”
DAVE
They’d walked around for a while, scoped a few locations, and grabbed some food before returning to the motel. The room wasn’t bad. It just felt like it was resigned to its fate, with everything from the faded curtains to the rattling air vent looking weary. Still, it was clean. Mostly.
Dave stepped over Christian’s duffel bag—dropped in the doorway like it had offended him—and crossed to the kitchenette. No kettle or electric hotplate, but there was a microwave, and a chipped white mug that didn’t smell too much like coffee. That would do.
He set his little bag of tea supplies on the counter. It contained a few fruit blends and a zippered pouch with dried ginger and hibiscus flowers he liked to add for a kick. Although not the full setup he used at home, it was enough.
Christian tossed himself backward onto the bed, and the springs creaked in protest. “How’s the microwave?”
“It exists,” Dave said, filling the mug with water. “Not sure if it’ll turn the tea radioactive or just make it taste like instant oatmeal.”
Christian didn’t answer. Dave glanced over to find him staring at the ceiling, hands laced behind his head, boots still on. He looked relaxed to anyone who didn’t know him, but Dave could seethe signs. The stillness that wasn’t ease and the tightness in his jaw. Whatever they found in this town—even if it was nothing—would haunt Jesse, and that wasn’t sitting well with either of them.
He turned back to the microwave. One minute on high, then he’d let the water sit a little, trying not to scald the hibiscus.
Christian’s phone sounded, and he dug it out of his pocket. “Damn kid, thinks he’s so smart,” he groused as he read the message.
But through the grumble, Dave could see he was pleased.
“Tristan, about Diablo?” he guessed.
“Sent me a picture of my horse’s ass,” Christian said, typing something before shoving the phone back in his pocket.
“Well, you did tell him to check for ticks,” Dave pointed out, prodding the teabag hopefully.
Christian grunted, before rolling his head on the pillow to look at Dave. “We need to start hitting the bars, find out what we can before the Council gets their flunkies down here, asking questions that’ll just make people shut up—especially if they think they’re being accused.”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t ideal, having to do this quickly, yet subtly enough to avoid alerting anyone. Because although the massacre of Jesse’s old pack had been years ago, another pack—Cale’s—had been murdered only weeks back. The odds of two packs with ties to an Argent being wiped out by different people were vanishingly small, which meant the murderer was still around, still watching.
Dave squeezed the teabag to get every last drop of goodness out of it. He still didn’t know what he thought about Jesse’s pack, whether they’d all been Argents, or it was just his parents. He supposed it didn’t really matter now.
From what Jesse remembered, the pack had kept to themselves, way out in the middle of nowhere. After seeing the kind of attention Jesse attracted, Dave could understand why. Peopleseemed to think the fact he glowed silver in moonlight made him magical.
Dave loved Jesse, the same way he loved all the pack, but “magical” wasn’t the first word that came to mind. If Jesse had any powers, he’d have hexed the chickens into behaving by now, instead of fending off pecks and swearing about devil birds every time he fed them.
Christian sat up. “We should start with the busiest bar. You can charm the bartender while I brood in a corner and see if anyone will talk to us.”
Dave hummed in response, pulling out the teabag and stirring the suspicious-looking liquid in the mug. “Wait for your fan club to show, you mean.”
Christian grunted. Then he looked at Dave, his eyes honest. “You know it don’t mean anything, right?”
Yeah, Dave knew. People flirted with Christian, and sometimes he didn’t shut it down. But he never encouraged it either, and he’d never cheat. Christian didn’t do half-measures in any part of his life, and his love for Dave was like his temper—ferocious and absolute. Even though he neversaidit, Dave knew.
“I know you don’t mean it to,” he said softly. “You want a coffee?”
“Nah. Finish that, and let’s go get a beer. See if we can get someone talking.”
* * *
The bar didn’t look like much from the outside—a faded sign, a few flickering neon beer ads in the window—but inside, it had just enough people and noise to promise a night that might be okay. A handful of men were sitting at the bar, the sound of clackingpool balls echoed from the back, and the jukebox crooned a country song.
They took a small table near the bar. Dave angled his chair so he could make eye contact with the bartender, but Christian didn’t bother. He sprawled back with one boot propped on the opposite chair, spinning his beer bottle slowly between his fingers.
They were halfway through their first drinks when two women wandered over. Mid-thirties, better dressed than he’d expect in this bar, and eyes locked on Christian.
“Mind if we join you?” the blonde asked, even though there were half a dozen empty tables.
