All six board members spin toward me. Two of them were already standing, while the other four push back their chairs and jump to their feet at my appearance.
The nearest, a man whose aura tells me he’s a warlock, sweeps back his suit jacket lapel to reach for his wand. “Who the hell are you?”
Within a heartbeat, the other five board members—a mix of men and women—have also similarly armed themselves, some with wands, others with bared teeth and descending claws.
I guess none of them recognizes me. I’m not all that surprised. Oliver brought them into the company after my mother was murdered, and he kept me at arm’s length from company business until he could put me away.
“I’m Striker Draven,” I say, my voice clear and calm. Already, I’m strategizing how to most efficiently take each of them down. The threat these supernaturals pose to me is nothing compared to the years of brutality I survived at the Academy.
My announcement makes them jolt.
“The Unknown,” one of the women whispers, her face paling.
It’s in my interests for them to fear what I could do as an Unknown—the flicker fits and explosions of power that caused other supernaturals to fear and shun Unknowns.
But my power lies in my control.
“Not anymore,” I say, carefully removing my jacket, pulling off my tie, and unbuttoning my shirt. I don’t plan on ripping through this silk shirt, but sadly, there’s nothing I can do to save my pants.
My hellhound roars to the surface, glad to be free for the first time in months. Molten fissures streak across my chest and down my arms while my incisors descend.
Within a heartbeat, I ram my claws down on the pristine table and rake them across its surface, splintering the wood like butter, the shrieking sound drowning out the collective gasps around me.
Each of the supernaturals takes another step back from me.
None of them challenges me, which fits with what I know of them. They value their money and their lives. They’re shrewd enough to know that they won’t win in a physical fight. It’s the quiet games behind my back that I’ll need to watch out for.
Unless I take full control right now.
I give them a dangerous smile, the kind I picked up from the assassins.
“I’m here for what’s mine.” I cast an angry gaze around at each of them, preparing to demand their loyalty.
That’s when I see what I missed when I first stepped into this room.
There’s a seventh person. A man. He was standing behind the tall bear shifter at the farthest end of the table.
What alarms me most is that this man has no presence.
If I were to close my eyes, he would cease to exist. None of my other senses can pick him up. He has no scent, no aura.
Worse, I don’t know who he is.
His posture is relaxed, where the others are tense. He’s of average height and average build, his hair is medium brown, his eyes are pale brown, and his skin is slightly tan.
My beast is immediately on alert.
That one is different, he says.
Without a doubt. This man is so nondescript as to be easily overlooked, right down to his gray shirt and black cargo pants. He could disappear into a crowd in an instant.
The bear shifter he was standing behind twitches, almost as if he, too, forgot that the man was there and is startled by his appearance.
“You,” I say, baring my teeth at the stranger. “Identify yourself.”
“My name is Abel,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of a growl that indicates he, too, could have a beast.
But what kind?
