“The goal of these presentations is to show us something new. Something no one has ever seen before,” another member rambles off, using their hands as if fireworks sprouted off from their fingertips. “We didn’t get that today.”
My stare becomes a hard glare as I wonder what the hell they are talking about. This is new—to them, at least. Heat houses do not exist in the United States, let alone in the modern world. Last I checked. I have been perfecting this idea since I was seven; how in the hell have they seen this before, and where? How dare they question my originality and credibility after I gave the best damn presentation of my life?
“This is something new, sir,” I say. “Unless there is something I don’t know about.” I had thought it was obvious this idea is mine, hell. Why would I make up the horror stories of me seeing my own mom go through her own heats alone for so many years? No resources or guidance are provided for women who are mateless, and it’s about time for the shifters of the world to step up. I’ve worked on these blueprints and designs for years. Have I missed seeing a heat house? I’d searched the internet for one for months to admit my mom into. Had I missed it? Could she have been receiving care this entire time, and I just... I failed to find one?
“Another one of your colleagues presented this idea last week. While it wasn’t nearly as polished or thought through, we declined a weaker version of this heat house idea last week.”
“From whom?” My voice is calm compared to the storm brewing inside. While I’d love to pop off at the mouth and tellthese fuckers someone stole my idea, I can’t. I have to remain professional; shifters are known for going ape shit, and I don’t want to prove them right. Vampires, shifters, a witch, and a fairy decorate this board of directors. I can’t make an ass of myself, even if someone obviously stole my idea. This is a business and a game all wrapped up into one, and I’m finding that out the hard way.
“I can’t tell you that information. It would only cause conflict in the workplace and is not worth the hassle.”
“You know they stole their idea from me. I’ve spoken about it to you and to my managers and instead of acknowledging that, you protect the person who stole it from me. Tell me, is my work here not respected? AmInot respected here?” My voice comes out low as all the dots are connecting. I’m not stupid and neither are they. They know this idea is mine. Nobody could come up with this in a week, let alone in a year. Not to this level of detail and attention. I’d been working my ass off on this project, and they have the balls to tell me I stole the idea from a coworker? You know what? As nice as it would have been, I don’t need them. I can do this shit myself. I don’t fucking need them.
“You know, forget I asked. Thank you for your time. Have a wonderful day,” I say, closing my laptop. I go to walk out of the room, pissed as hell, but free nonetheless.
“Chance,” a member whispers as I reach the door. I don’t pause or stop at the information being given. I really don’t give a fuck. He and all these fuckers can continue in this rat race, but I’m out.
I continue down the hall as the member is berated for giving up information I didn’t need. I had a clue, an inkling it was his untalented ass. He is one of the very few coworkers who knew. I storm to my office, close the door, and take a seat at my desk. Fuck. I want to quit. Can I? No, I am way too hyped. I can’t make any decisions while heightened on emotion. My bear tries to takeover, but I can’t deal with that fallout right now. I’ll deal with Chance later, too.
Right now, I need Willow. Picking up my phone, I stare at my background, a picture of Willow reading a book from her bed. I love this picture. I remembered taking the photo the night I borrowed a book from her for my next read and ate her out. Damn, what a day. She was so happy to give me another book to read she couldn’t hold back her little laughs and that fucking smile. Goddess, that smile could save planets from self-destruction. I had to capture the moment; her moment of faking reading and shining like the beautiful woman she is. Looking past her image on my phone, I see a text had come through about thirty minutes ago.
I think Ghost is here.
Seeing the words Ghost and here in the same sentence makes my heart drop through my stomach and to the damn floor.
Shit, shit, shit. Willow is in trouble.
“Eddie, let me see him,”are the first words out of Willow’s mouth when Felix and Dylan get back from dropping Ghost off at wherever the hell Dylan’s creepy-ass hideout is. Dylan had a house built long ago to stay at after he finished his assassin-ly duties, afraid that work would follow him home.
The uneasiness in my gut has settled now that Willow is with me, and as much as I wish for this shit show of a day to be over, it’s probably long from over.
Willow’s pawing my arm, which in any other case I would enjoy, but the request attached to the pawing is making it hard to enjoy. I gaze into her wide eyes and grimace. It isn’t my place to tell her what to do, but I can’t help but try to stop her from beingin the same room as Ghost. I don’t think any of us know what we’re walking into. Based on the story I heard, it seems like he was surrendering, but that wouldn’t make sense either.
Why? Why is he surrendering?
“Dylan and Felix are trained in this sort of thing, Buttercup. They are going to get way more information from him than we are. Let the professionals do their thing,” I say as I lead us to the living room so we can sit and discuss what to do next as a Pack. I can’t shake the instinct that this isn’t over. I’m tired, and, fuck, I can’t catch a break today.
I’ve had a shit day, no doubt, but at least I can sit with Willow, her head tucked into my neck. Even if we are arguing, or even if I practically quit my job today, Willow being where home is will never not make any day a good day.
I lean my head against hers as she continues to try to convince me with all the logical reasons she should be there for the questioning. I get it to an extent, but I want her wrapped in bubble wrap in my Pack house, preferably naked in my room for when I get back.
She’s rambling, and I think she’s as tired of this day as I am, and she finally huffs and digs deeper into our embrace. It’s peaceful for all of two seconds before Felix walks through the door to update us. Dylan isn’t with him; he must have stayed back to watch the fucker. Who would’ve guessed a major part of our problem would walk through the door of the only shifter diner in Rainfall Ave?
“Willow, this isn’t a puppy. This is a killer,” I say, my hand running up and down her side, soothing myself more than her probably. I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this. Ghost will continue his stay at Rainfall Avenue in Dylan’s basement in a location only Dylan, and now Felix, knows how to get to. There’s no way Ghost is escaping our clutches. So, in my mind, there is no reason not to relax for a second.
“Eddie, he’s my killer?—”
“No, Willow, absolutely not,” I say, landing a kiss on the top of her head. She’s not going, not right now, not until Dylan and Felix do a round of questioning first. I’ve decided, and now I’m done.
“Willow, let us handle this,” Felix says, but it’s more of a command, and I can’t argue with it right now. I understand her frustration, but this has to go beyond emotions. Ghost is dangerous. I could’ve lost her today. On top of missing her text for help, her following text message of a simplenvm, left me drained and tired. If it’ll make her feel better, I’ll stay here too. Fuck it. “Willow, let’s stay here.”
“Eddie, let me talk to him. See what he knows.”
“Dylan and Felix will handle that. Let’s just?—”
“Just what? Go back to life as normal?” Okay, she’s right, and maybe I’m being a selfish prick, wanting to keep her to myself when her world is crumbling around her. But I’m not changing my mind.
Why wouldn’t she want to be wrapped up in my bubble? She has reliable shifters to depend on. Why does she have to do everything herself?
