“Four and a half,” I lied with a straight face.
Vance rolled his eyes. “Eat. I’ll fill you in when you’re done, and you’ll be thinking much clearer on a full stomach.”
“He’s not wrong,” Davey whispered. Just in case either of our two customers was listening. “But if you wanted to eat this in your office, with the door closed…” Her brows rose. “Where you could safely fill me in on—”
“Sorry.” I stuffed an overloaded chip into my mouth and spoke around it. “Can’t possibly talk. Under orders to eat.” And I must have looked ridiculous with my cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, because she actually laughed instead of getting mad.
“You do owe me an update, though,” she said as she moved down the bar to continue slicing limes. Which meant that none of the others had filled her in either, probably because Bishop was the most likely to do that without my permission, and he and Austin were still at their apartment, hopefully sleeping. “Also, this came for you.” She set my new cell phone, still in the box, on the bar in front of me.”
“Thanks.”
I lifted the bar flap and carried my plate, mug, and new phone to the corner booth, where I stuffed my face in peace for the next ten minutes, while my new phone “cloned” my old one.
But I was only two-thirds of the way through my huge meal and half-way through the data transfer when the front door flew open, ringing the bell dangling above it. I looked up as, to my speechless surprise, a toddler ran into the bar.
Atoddler.
I popped up from my seat, coughing to dislodge the chunk of chicken I’d nearly aspirated as the dark-haired little boy wobbled across the room, squealing in delight. He darted between two unoccupied bar stools and planted both chubby palms against the front of the bar, then let out a gleeful squeal of triumph, as if he’d just crossed some sort of finish line.
“Wilder!” A female voice called in equal parts amusement and censure, and I turned as a woman followed him inside. “Sorry, everyone.” She aimed a smile at the entire room. “He doesn’t get out much, and at this age, they think everything is an adventure.”
She tossed long, dark waves over one shoulder, and just as I realized I recognized her—those defined cheekbones and piercing green eyes—another, equally startling understanding fell into place.
Her child wasn’t human.
That little boy—thattoddler—was a shifter. I’d caught his scent as he’d raced past me, but I hadn’t had a chance to process either it or the shock that had accompanied that understanding until I realized that the woman who’d come in after him was none other than Faythe Sanders.
Faythe motherfucking Sanders. The only female Alpha in the world.
I stared at her with my mouth hanging open, as did every single man in the bar. She was goddamn glorious, with that hair and those black boots. Snug maroon slacks and a beige silk blouse with a long bow at the throat, and a slim leather bag that could have held either diapers or a revolver, or both.
No, wait, Pride cats don’t carry guns. That’s kind of a point of pride with them. No pun intended.
Before I could gather my thoughts or think of a single intelligent thing to say, Davey dashed around the bar and scooped the little boy—Faythe Sanders’s son—up into her arms, cooing at him as if he were a puppy she’d just found on the side of the road.
“Hi.” Faythe smiled at the entire room, her gaze lingering for a moment on her son in my sister’s arms. “I’m looking for—” Her focus found me, and her smile widened. “Charley.” She took two steps forward, holding one hand out for me to shake.
I made my mouth snap shut. “Yes. Charlene Studebaker. Marshal of the northern zone.”
“Faythe Sanders.” Her handshake was firm, her skin soft and warm. She smelled like a complex combination ofcatandwomanyet somehow different than either Robyn or Kaci, both of whom had been born human. And beneath those strong main scents were subtly woven threads of bothpowerandmother. And alsostrength. As distinct from power.
Faythe was clearly many things. And those were just the ones I could observe over the course of one handshake.
God, she was cool.
Davey gave me a weird look. Which was when I remembered to let go of the Alpha’s hand.
“This place isgreat,” she said, her gaze roaming the neon lettering and the backlit bottles. The patched booths, worn barstools, and the polished wooden bar itself, the centerpiece of the large front space. “It’s yours?”
“Yeah, it’s—”
“Ours,” Davey finished for me. “Our parents left it to both of us.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Faythe said. “I didn’t realize…”
“They’re not dead,” I told her. “They just moved to Florida.”
“Not that there’s a whole lot of difference!” Davey quipped, her voice high-pitched and sugary sweet with baby talk as she twirled her finger around one of the little boy’s curls.
