Poison Fruit

Actually, that wasn’t true. I was in a shitty mood, too. Right now, I was angry at the world. But it wasn’t the fault of our visitors, including the fresh-faced werewolf Stephanie taking a seat at the picnic table, so I shoved my anger into a padlocked trunk and sealed it away.

“You work with Cody, right?” Stephanie said when I sat opposite her.

“Sometimes,” I said. “Just on cases with an eldritch angle.”

She glanced toward the keg, where he was filling a cup. “He’s different than I expected from chatting online.”

“Oh?”

Stephanie sawed off a big chunk of exceedingly rare steak. “Moodier, I guess.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind,” I said. “Everyone does. The town’s facing a big lawsuit.”

“I heard.” She paused, fork in hand. “Are you worried about the outcome?”

I wanted to say hell yes, I was worried about the outcome—and worse, I was worried about what happened if we lost. I was scared and worried and pissed off and jealous, and I didn’t want to be sitting at a picnic table in Cody’s uncle’s backyard in the middle of January, feeling like a visiting diplomat in my red wool coat with the faux-fur collar while a bunch of werewolves in casual sportswear gorged on half-cooked meat and got to know one another.

The padlocked trunk in my mind rattled with the force of my suppressed emotions. I reinforced it with a couple of steel bands.

“I’m concerned,” I said in a level tone. “But we can always appeal it.”

Cody returned, carefully carrying three red Solo cups full of beer. “All right, here we are.”

Stephanie took one and hoisted it with a cheerful smile. “To new friends!”

Great. Now I felt guilty, too.

Over the course of the next half hour, I learned what Stephanie did for a living—for the record, she was a phlebotomy technician and worked at a hospital in Seattle. I learned that phlebotomy technician was the official medical term for the person who draws your blood. I learned that the Yama King who presided over Seattle’s underworld was one of eight, or possibly ten, infernal Chinese deities, several of whom had emigrated to the United States. I learned that most of the older, married, or mated members of the Fairfax clan weren’t at the mixer today because they were on sentry duty in the woods, making sure the gathering was undisturbed and scouting for signs of game. I learned that yes, it was customary to gorge before a hunt, especially at a mingling of the clans, since there was no guarantee that a kill would be made, and if it was, it would be shared by everyone, even if it was just a rabbit.

Throughout it all, I managed to keep a pleasant smile on my face, tending to the rattling trunk in my mind.

As the sun sank toward the tree line, the mood of the gathering began to change. Playful banter gave way to a charged excitement. All those gleaming white teeth took on a menacing edge.

The hunt was nigh and there was bloodlust in the air, and it affected all of them. I saw Cody and Stephanie exchange fierce grins. Oh, Cody might not be entirely happy about this whole mixer, but right now he was filled with heady exhilaration, looking forward to shedding his cares, shedding his clothes, shedding his humanity, and plunging into the snowy woods, where he and oh-so-suitable mate Stephanie from Seattle, Clan Hawthorne, would roam the territory side by side in the hope of bringing down a deer, or at least a rabbit.

God, I envied them. If I could turn into a wolf, forget everything, and just hunt beneath the moon for the night, I would.

Over by the grill, Elijah Fairfax, clan patriarch, gave me a grim smile and a faint nod, as if to say, Now you understand. Now you see why you and my nephew could never be together.

I fought the urge to flip him off.

Tree shadows stretched long and stark across the trampled snow. Here and there, the younger werewolves began to strip off their clothes and shift in preparation for the hunt, milling eagerly.

“I should go.” I extricated myself from the picnic table. “Good night and . . . good hunting.”

Cody rose. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I shook my head at him. “No, be a good host and stay. I’ll see myself out.” I raised one gloved hand to Stephanie. “It was nice to meet all of you.”

She smiled brightly at me with too many teeth, her eyes flashing that eerie hue of green. “Give our thanks to Hel for her hospitality.”

“I will.”

I should have gone home, or to my mom’s, or to Jen and Sinclair’s place. Hell, I should have grabbed a six-pack and headed out to the abandoned Presbyterian camp to play another game of Battleship with Skrrzzzt the bogle, listening for the faint sound of wolves howling in the distance.

What I shouldn’t have done was go to the Wheelhouse to see Stefan, which is exactly what I did.

      Forty

It’s not like I had a plan. I didn’t. I parked in the Wheelhouse’s lot without thinking and entered the place, my pent-up emotions ticking inside me like a time bomb.

Bad idea.

The atmosphere took on an immediate charge, the Outcast clientele responding to my presence faster than werewolves anticipating a hunt. And why not? After all, their prey had come to them. At least I had the presence of mind to kindle a shield as I made my way across the bar.

“Daisy.” Stefan abandoned the conversation he was having with his lieutenants Cooper and Rafe, grabbed me by the arm and steered me into his office, closing the door behind us. “What is it? Did something happen at the clan gathering to upset you?”