When I’d signaled the location of the crack in the gate to Brock, he’d marked it with a construction flag. By the time Cass brought the demon bartender back, I was back to looking like a pregnant human. With repeated promises that I’d come for Cass the moment the agents were gone, my pink furry demon imp bestie jumped into the gate and vanished from sight.
Getting everyone organized yesterday had made for an incredibly long day, and today Brock and I were up at the butt crack of dawn so the agents couldn’t get the jump on us. Even so, we’d barely made it out to the lawn when we noticed the first signs of their approach.
I checked my supernatural bounty hunter badge, clipped at my waist, and my Glock, to make sure they were in place. Though Brock had begged me to hide out with the Blacks, or even in the house or Gran’s cabin, I’d refused. There was no way in hell I was going to allow Brock to face a horde of humans on his own. Besides, the human authorities respected supernatural bounty hunters. When they needed help bringing down a supe, we were the ones they called. My presence would ensure they wouldn’t take things too far with Brock.
Or so I hoped.
There weren’t many laws in place that protected paranormals. I intended to make the most of the few that did. The humans were within their lawful right to identify and register all supernaturals, but they couldn’t force us to do anything beyond that unless they could prove we were somehow an imminent threat to a human. Being fond of rule bending myself, I didn’t trust these agents for a second. Once humans started looking at us as outsiders and a potential threat to their existence, there was no telling what they’d do.
“Can you tell if the potion worked?” Brock asked, cracking his neck and knuckles while narrowing his eyes at the caravan of military-grade armored vehicles steadily making their way down the road to our house.
Was that level of military presence really necessary?
“I don’t feel any different,” I said. “But I trust Cho. If she says it’ll make me appear nothing more than a weak witch to any other supes, it should be enough for them not to pay attention to me. And she said the potion definitely took effect. She didn’t pick up on my shifter side at all.”
Brock didn’t say anything, clenching his jaw at the approaching convoy.
“Don’t you trust Cho?” I pressed.
“I trust Cho. It’s the assholes driving over-equipped Hummers onto my residential property that I’m inclined to distrust.”
He was right. Hummers, especially armored and reinforced ones like the ones headed our way, were way over the top for an innocent registration assignment. I took a step closer to Brock and he immediately wrapped a protective arm around my waist.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to wait inside?” he asked.
“Not a chance.”
He growled under his breath but didn’t press the issue. We waited in silence until the first of the vehicles slid to a stop at the edge of our driveway. The large Hummers were definitely military grade, machines of war disguised in quasi-civilian shells.
Brock stood tall, pinning a searing gaze on the man approaching us. The soldier was dressed in black army fatigues, with enough weapons strapped to his body to make me jealous. Two men and a witch hopped out of the vehicle after him and flanked him.
“You’d better have a damn good reason to come onto my property like this,” Brock snarled.
“I do.” The lead agent offered Brock some ID. “I’m Field Agent Maler, and my team and I are here to do a routine inspection of the premises, including any supernaturals you might have living here.”
“Routine? Bullshit,” Brock growled. “I know exactly why you’re here.”
Agent Maler cocked a brow at that and ignored Brock. “Due to the new law passed late last night, I am now required to register every supernatural on the premises.”
“I didn’t hear about a new law,” Brock said coolly. The White House press release just said they were drafting a law that would address the issue.
The man gave a sinister grin. “We kept it under wraps so as to prevent panic among supernaturals.”
More like to prevent supes from escaping before the agents arrived. I barely held back my own growl, and I only managed it because I knew I couldn’t do anything to suggest I was anything but an innocuous witch growing a baby.
A witch stepped forward, a clipboard in her hands. “State your name for the record.” She was all business. And powerful. I could feel it.
“I’m Brock Adams,” Brock said. “I’m the owner of this land, and alpha of the local werewolf pack.”
Brock wasn’t the owner of Gran’s cabin and her property, but now wasn’t the time to make that point.
“I demand to know why you’ve brought such a military show of force,” Brock pressed. “Your entourage doesn’t exactly look gentle and innocent. My pack has done nothing wrong.”
Four more Hummers had pulled in behind the first, and from each descended another team of soldiers accompanied by one witch. The soldiers all wore identical army fatigues, an admirable array of weapons, buzz cuts, and impassive expressions. The only women among them were the witches, and even they seemed hard as steel. Witches tended to be a colorful lot with boisterous personalities, but not this crew. If looks could cut me down, I’d be rolling on the ground.
“We’re here to perform a census of all supernaturals on the premises,” Agent Maler said.
“And by ‘census,’ do you mean tag us so you can track our every movement?” Brock asked, his arm squeezing around my back at his building anger.
