Chapter 7
Simon
The automobile’s purr sounds as smug as Simon feels. First concrete, then the long gravel driveway crunches beneath his tires. He has his destination entered in the navigation system but won’t press start until he’s on the highway. No need for directions yet—Simon knows how to escape his own estate.
His werewolf babysitter will probably be angry about this. But that’s a problem for future Simon. Eight hours from now Simon. Present Simon has an address to investigate.
Small lights outline the property gate. Simon presses the remote, slowing slightly to account for the time the gate takes to—
The gate isn’t opening.
Dread building between the seconds, Simon presses the remote again. Nothing. Fuck.
Gravel sprays as Simon brings the car to a skidding halt. One hand clenched on the steering wheel, Simon can’t decide whether to park, reverse, or what. He stares blankly at themotionless iron gate. Then up at the rearview mirror, where a figure in a stupidly tight white t-shirt walks up the drive.
Cody isn’t even jogging, the fucking asshole. Just a leisurely nighttime stroll to Simon’s failure. Future Simon’s problem has unexpectedly become present Simon’s problem.
The temptation to run Cody over is very strong. But that wouldn’t even kill a werewolf, because Simon wasn’t prescient enough to install silver hubcaps. So instead, Simon throws the car into park, yanks out the keys, and gets out. Leaning on the door, he wishes again that he could turn into a swarm of bats.
“You opened the garage so you could get a head start,” Cody says when he’s close enough. “Not to help me with the groceries.”
“What did you do to my gate?” Simon asks, his voice cold and clipped.
Cody looks about as pissed off as Simon, his expression clear in the silvery moonlight. That heavy jaw tenses into an admirable scowl. “I didn’t do anything,” Cody says, with hyper-controlled politeness. “The Atwood team reset your system, in case someone else had a remote or code.”
“With the convenient side effect of trapping me here.” Simon despises his poisoned weakness. At full strength, he could scale the fence like a lizard. In his current condition, he would be humiliated by trying.
Cody takes a deep breath, like he’s counting to ten. “We need to talk about expectations.”
“I expect to freely exit and enter my own home,” Simon snaps.
“Did I say you couldn’t?” Cody gestures at the gate. “I said I would accompany you if you left the house. In case that was unclear, that means you can leave the house. If you’d told me you wanted to leave, I could have grabbed the new remote.”
Simon’s anger burns hot as the fresh taste of blood. How dare Cody point out… something entirely reasonable that Simon had forgotten.
Because Cody isn’t the one keeping him here. Another set of expectations pins Simon down with centuries of obedience.
“Dima wants me to stay here,” Simon says. “He hired you.”
Cody’s scowl lifts in surprise, then deepens. “He’s paying me, but I work for you. I’m a bodyguard, not a jailer. Not even a babysitter. You can go anywhere you like, as long as I have advance notice to get you there safely.”
Extremely reasonable. Simon hates him for it.
“I don’t know what issues you have with him,” Cody continues, hesitant. “But taking it out on me won’t help.”
The words hit like a stake through the chest. Because Cody’s right, damn him. Simon’s been treating Cody like an extension of Dima’s will—except unlike Dima, Cody is safe to lash out at.
Simon needs to straighten out his thoughts. Werewolves arenotsafe to lash out at. Francisco’s memory is proof enough of that. But Cody seems to want to play nice. Professional. He’s a mere twenty-eight years old—Simon can handle him.
“Trust me, I have plenty of issues with you,” Simon says. But he smiles along with it.
Sure enough, Cody relaxes. Just slightly. “You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Where were you going?”
Simon’s first instinct is to lie. He presses it down in favor of partial truth. The odds of escaping without Cody are slim, now that Cody knows it’s an option. “I found Lawrence’s address. I want to search his home.”
“The guy who attacked you?” Cody glances around, as if the mere mention might summon assassins from the dark forest. “I thought Dima was handling theinvestigation.”
Simon isn’t used to explaining himself. He doesn’t like it, so he chooses not to. “So?”
