He’d watched their arrival, staying out of sight, tracking their every move. One of them had glanced his way as he climbed out of the car—tall, lean build, dark hair reaching halfway down his back—but hadn’t reacted. Karl didn’t know if that meant he hadn’t been seen or if the cat had seen him and simply didn’t care. He wasn’t sure which pissed him off more.
That was the one who’d subtly placed himself between Luna and Bryce—not blocking her, but enough to shield her. The others had flanked her smoothly, professionally. They were well-trained, alert, but nothing special. Not like the one with the long hair, who moved like a predator who’d scented prey.
And now all Karl could do was watch from the trees like some goddamn ghost. Like he’d been for so long, before Matt and his pack.
Down in the yard, Jason was setting up for lunch. Matt had taken one look at the clear sky and decided it would be easier to feed their visitors outside, rather than squash everyone into the kitchen. The grill had been going for a while, but it still wasn’t enough to cover the scent ofcatthat drifted past every now and then. A scent Karl had hoped never to smell again.
He stood at the top of the rise, ears pricked, listening to the sounds of the woods around him. He could hear Christian farther down the hillside, grumbling to himself in a constant low growl as he trotted along, tail swinging to rustle dying leaves on the undergrowth. It wasn’t exactly a silent passage, but that was what he was there for, to lead any observers to supposethat Christian was the security and all they needed to do was evade him. If it also gave Christian a chance to grumble, well, it kept him happy.
Now that Jesse’s existence was public knowledge, they should have been able to relax, their only threat nosy journalists rather than would-be kidnappers. Instead of enjoying the relative peace, Matt had decided he should let the cat-shifters know what had happened.
Cats. Karl snorted too close to a pile of fallen leaves and ended up sneezing as a result. Fucking fantastic. Yet another thing that was their fault.
He headed for his bunkhouse, intending to shift and get dressed, ready to assess the cats up close and, at Matt’s insistence, politely. Colby and Christian were on top of everything, he knew that. It was just hard, trusting them. And harder, leaving them. The what-ifs never stopped coming.
Once dressed, he took a moment, sinking down briefly onto the side of his bed and simply breathing. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, then lowered them with a soft sigh. He knew what hypervigilance was, had seen it in countless vets. But for him? It was necessary. He needed to be alert always, ready to take down any threat to the pack.
Any minute now, he’d head to the yard, ready to assess the cats up close. He needed to find out the kind of threat they were. See if they’d flinch, or bare teeth, or maybe reach for a weapon. Or if they’d just look straight through him like he didn’t matter. Because that was what cats did best.
A crack split the air. Gunshot.
He was on his feet before he even registered moving, already tracking the sound—north of the house, close enough to be the paddock. But there was no follow-up shot, no screams, no strange scent on the air. Just a muffled, half-laughing shout from Tom—“Got the bastard!”—andthen quiet.
Right. Tom’s ongoing and illegal feud with the drones sent over to spy on them. Whether they were from the media or private citizens, he couldn’t be sure. Didn’t make any difference to Tom’s aim either way.
He imagined what it must’ve sounded like inside the house and could practically see the cats snapping to attention, the long-haired cat stepping in front of his leader like he owned the air she breathed. He’d probably assumed it was an attack. It wouldn’t be the first time a visitor misunderstood country noise.
Heading for the yard, he found his pace slowing. He didn’t want to see the cats, to mix with them and make like nothing was wrong with them being here. Instead, he changed direction to watch from the shelter of the woods that bounded the yard.
Tristan was setting out food on the table, while Jason worked his magic at the grill. Pack cookouts weren’t formal, but they took the mixing of food and family seriously. Karl should be there. He knew that.
Instead, he stayed put, arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene assemble like pieces of a puzzle. Riley brought out a tray of food, laughing at Tom who strode over from the paddock, shotgun over his shoulder and a victorious grin on his face. The goats had staked out a spot close to the food table, and Karl knew they weren’t passively waiting for leftovers. If Tristan didn’t deal with them soon, they’d probably end up tipping the table over.
The back door opened again and Matt emerged, with a short blonde woman who moved with the unsettling slinking grace that all cats had, like they owned the place. That long-haired cat was right behind her again, followed by Jesse and Bryce, then the rest of the cats. The cats spread out along the porch instinctively, eyes searching, senses strained for threat.
All except the long-haired one, who didn’t move away from the woman as he scanned his surroundings. Karl saw the sweep ofhis gaze and the tension in his shoulders. He knew the type. He’dbeenthe type, always reading rooms for threats.
The cat looked toward Karl, but his eyes skated over him. Karl clenched his jaw. Couldn’t tell if he’d been seen or not, and that bothered him. He usuallyknew.
He didn’t need this. Didn’t need to be wondering what cats were up to onhisterritory. He was tired and strung out. And he still had a job to do.
Let them eat and talk and pretend at peace while he assessed them. He’d be where he always was—on the margins, watching.
Waiting for something to go wrong.
LEON
Leon stepped out into the yard and immediately regretted it. The sun was too bright, and the smell of meat cooking turned his stomach because the scent clashed with that of the pack—wild and earthy and somehow all-pervasive, even in a wide-open space.
He knew it was his cat, uncomfortable with being on someone else’s territory, rather than the scent itself bugging him, but the scent was easier to complain about. Because it belonged to wolves.
There were too many variables here and no way to control them until Urban let them secure the surroundings. Which meant relying on damn wolves for Luna’s safety. And it wasn’t as if they were taking it seriously—there were a bunch of them over by the grill, talking and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world.
One of them, wearing a shirt so bright it hurt Leon’s eyes, crossed the yard toward them.
“Hey,” he said, looking at each of the assembled guards in turn. He was obviously leaving Luna to Urban’s care, which showed some idea about protocol, Leon acknowledged grudgingly. “We didn’t know what you’d like, so Jason’s done a selection, but if any of you want something that’s not meat, there’re tofu kebabs.”
For an instant, Leon was startled out of his careful study of the surroundings. Just along from him, Antoni choked slightly. But no one said anything, and the silence was becoming rude. Not that Leon cared about that, but right now, Lunawould.
