It’s his tone, I think. It’s so light and easy that it doesn’t cause the war it could. That I would without even trying.
Instead, there’s a little bit of grumbling—hard to say if it’s for or against me, or maybe about the potential taking out of throats—and McCaffrey subsides.
“Why don’t you fill our brothers in on our shipping lines, the situation with our disruptions lately, and the plan you devised to get around it,” Ty says, and I have to admire the way he does that, too. It’s not like he’s showing me off. It sounds exactly the way it would if he had called any other one of his people in here.
I don’t pretend I don’t understand this is the opportunity it is.
I nod his way, and then I tell them what I know. Information about the persistent troll issues that are going to be a problem wherever trolls decide to set up camp, and I should know, because they killed my father. What I’ve come to think are the deliberate sabotage attempts up on Sexton Summit—though whether to cause chaos or toward a specific end, I can’t say.
I explain that we’ve come up with a few different ways to combat those sabotage attempts but that we switch them up on the day of the delivery so no knows in advance and, sure enough, that’s made a difference these past few days. I don’t tell them what those solutions are.
I tell them all the various items we move, how we move them, and who pays us. It used to be guns, girls, and grass. These days it’s basically the same thing, but dirtier to reflect the world we live in, with black market foods that various raiding parties sell to us to distribute after they’ve raided bunkers and forged their way into lost cities. I talk about the different forms of payment we take and how they’ve all helped us extend our influence so that despite having no telephones and no internet, we have more access to more parts of our territory than we did when we were all online and connected.
When I’m done, I see some of the pack higher-ups looking at each other in ways that make me think they’re on board. Or at least that they see the benefit of what we’re doing here and can envision trying some of these things out themselves.
McCaffrey just looks furious. But I was never going to win him over, no matter what I said. I can’t count that as a loss.
As I think that, I realize that worrying about winning anyone over is focusing on the wrong thing. I don’t need to win anything here. That’s the kind of attitude I can’t stand when I see it in the likes of Deirdre.
My work speaks for itself. There’s no winning involved. There’s only stating the facts and letting these men arrive at their own conclusions. Conclusions that I already know will be about politics for some and relationships for others. Only a very few will consider what’s best for wolfkind as a whole.
So when I finish with my overview, I wait.
“That’s a pretty presentation,” drawls Rafael, kicked back in the corner like he’s on a throne. He’s not actually seated at the table, and I’m certain that the older wolves blocked him out to teach him a lesson about respect. Instead, they now have to crane around to look at him, sitting there exuding alpha leadership without even trying. So maybe someone’s winning here after all. “But I have to wonder if it’s the presentation that’s so slick or the operation as a whole. Can I ask you some questions?”
“Please,” I reply.
Rafael shoots a glance Ty’s way, but Ty’s expression doesn’t change. He’s sitting at the head of the table—his table, or they’d probably make him sit off against the wall too—and doesn’t seem to notice that the person currently standing up and talking to all these pack leaders is his woman.
He might as well outright announce that he sees me as more of a partner than a broodmare.
I guess that in his way, he is.
I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to kiss that man more, but that would completely undermine this moment. So I keep my face scrubbed free of any expression too, to honor what he’s letting happen here.
When Rafael starts firing smart, interesting questions at me, I answer every one. I walk them through everything we do. I explain the central point again and again, in as many ways as it takes.
It’s simple, and it’s this: Ty’s genius wasn’t in reacting to the Reveal. It was in acting as if the Reveal hadn’t happened at all.
He didn’t let his pack disappear into the revelry. Or not for too long. He sent my brothers to New York to get me, and he otherwise carried on like it was business as usual out here, and because he did, he made it so.
When something blew up, he negotiated with whoever could fix it, no matter who or what they were. No matter if it went against ancient customs, because what the hell, everything was new again. Because of him, there was communication up and down the West Coast. It didn’t depend on fancy magic like the kind Savi does, or even the less comprehensive but effective magic that mages do. He circled around using them too, when necessary, but the first thing he did was make sure he let everyone in his network know that shit was still expected to run. Smooth or not smooth, it didn’t matter as long as we all kept going.
So we did. We kept going.
A lot of these other packs didn’t. They were too busy enjoying the wild bacchanal. Ty always said he didn’t find this particularly surprising, since when these same packs were operating only as biker gangs for the world to see, it was the same shit.
I say all of this to them now without actually saying any of it.
And when everyone’s asked me everything they want to ask, except possibly McCaffrey—who looks like he’d like to ask me who the hell I think I am—all the men are talking. It sounds more like brainstorming and less like bitching, and I know that has to be anupgrade. I tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans and sneak a look at Ty.
His expression still doesn’t change. He’s leaning back in his chair, stroking his beard, but I’m pretty sure the reason he’s doing that is to hide his smile.
“As you can see,” he says, when the chatter dies down a little bit, “with a little bit of luck, and maybe some bullheaded stubbornness because you know that’s the kind of asshole I am, we made it work. I’m glad you got to all hear how, so the next time I come to you with some big idea, you’ll see I’m not talking out of my ass.”
There’s some laughter at that, not all of it good-natured in my opinion, but laughter all the same.
“But, credit where credit is due, what I’m good at is fighting,” Ty continues, still lounging there in a way that should look nothing but lazy. His specialty.
