Grayson’s stomach drops into his toes, only to threaten to come back up on a wave of foreboding.
“Leo?” Nix growls from the restroom. He appears dripping wet in the doorway, with a very aroused Jay braced behind him.
“Jay, you gotta get dressed,” Leo says. “Dad says shit has hit the fan. The Guards showed up at Ignatius’s hotel. He was allowed one phone call to his attorney.”
“We knew this was coming. Where are we meeting them?” Jay doesn’t waste time asking who called or why they’re being detained. “Is the Guarda coming here?”
This is bad. So very bad.
The Guarda is the magical branch of the police force governed by Interstate joint standards, though still influenced by the culture and traditions of each country. Its official title is a mouthful—Global Association Symposium on The Plain—and ironically goes by the acronym GASP.
The pack had run into the Floridian equivalent when they’d been looking for Winnie and Ansel. There had also been some present at the Guild versus the Federal Branch of the Were Rights contingent when they were deciding Grayson’s temporary fate back in February, after Rowan’s run-in with crafting supplies.
In Grayson’s experience, this branch of GASP had tunnel vision regarding laws and could, as a group, lean toward being abrupt, aggressive, and narrow-minded—unlike their Floridiancounterparts. That did not bode well for Ignatius, Nimue, and Elysia.
Jay grabs a towel from inside the bathroom door and wraps Nix up before doing the same for himself. “Dammit. I’d hoped we’d dodged that bullet.”
“Still too soon, Jamie,” Nix says, understandably—as they all are—still holding a mini-grudge for the near miss on Jay’s life. He throws on Grayson’s t-shirt from the nest and tries to offer Jay one of Gideon’s, too.
“Sorry, but I’m gonna need my suit, baby boy.”
They form a little entourage as they follow Jay like ducklings down the hall and into the living room, where Gideon and Luca have the babies on the counter in their bouncy chairs and Skye in his booster, coloring a picture.
Grayson can see Rowan-wolf in the backyard, with Tsuki darting in and out of the trees—both inspecting the perimeter, noses to the ground as if the Guarda is scaling the walls as they speak. Finn watches from the rose bench: the voice of reason in case Rowan-wolf takes matters into his own hands and tries to rescue their allies.
When Skye sees Jay, he climbs down from his chair with his picture and stops their procession with his arms up, insisting Jay pick him up.
Their pack Alpha doesn’t hesitate, but loses his grip on his towel in the process.
“Whoa!” Leo manages to save him from flashing the kids, tucking the edge in with a little extra attention to the front.
“Hey, little guy. What’s up?”
Skye doesn’t answer, sticks his nose into Jay’s neck, only to pop his head up with a sneeze and a narrow-eyed look of suspicion.
Grayson can’t blame him. Jay’s scent is a little smoky with worry, and a lot pissed off—it makes his nose tingle, too.
“I’m okay, baby. What did you make?” He’s admirably trying to make his face match his words, careful not to oversell “happy” when he’s clearly not.
He shows Jay the picture of a big wolf-like dog he’d colored in so much reddish-orange crayon that the outline isn’t visible underneath. He’d given it red eyes, though, and added some dark pink squiggles around the outside. There’s no doubt it’s Rowan-wolf.
“Wow, that’s impressive. Did you show Rowan already?”
He shakes his head, gaze going toward the yard where Rowan is sitting at attention, head on a swivel as he surveys the back of the property.
“When he comes inside, then? That’s a good idea.”
“What are we going to do?” Luca asks, and he’s careful to keep his tone even, but his black eyes are flashing with anger. “They’re here to help us, and now they’re in jail. It’s not right. It’s stupid that they have to have permission outside state lines. We’re all American.”
Jay squeezes Skye before setting him back in his chair with a gentle hand over his hair. “Agreed. But after what happened in Professor Kirwan’s apartment, I’m not surprised. We didn’t follow protocol, and now we have to deal with the consequences.”
They’d called Ignatius, Antonio, and Lauren last night after he and Nix had debriefed the pack. Their friends had insisted that they weren’t going to be run off by threats of interference—despite Jay’s offer to spirit them away home. They had considered this as a possible outcome before even coming to Tennessee, after all.
Leo’s voice is quick. “Dad doesn’t think the Guarda will come here. As we talked about last night, they’re not talking until Dad and Blair Shepherd can get there. Besides, there’s no way they’ll throw us under the bus.”
Jay exhales through his nose, the sound sharp as the words that follow. “No, but the jet was booked and paid for by us. Our fingerprints are all over this, so I need to know what the worst-case scenario is for them and for the pack. Did Antonio say where they’re being held?”
“At the Guarda.” Leo is already fishing out his phone, words clipped now. “He and Blair will meet us there.”
