Linda Robertson - Shattered Circle

“The general population thinks guns will protect them from us. When they make a show of force, it is because they fear us and are trying to keep us at bay. We should be flattered that they go to such effort,” he recalled the former pack leader Ignatius telling him. A father figure to Johnny, Ig had bestowed him with wisdom he hadn’t had much use for until recently. “It makes them feel powerful to have that steel in their hands. But you, John, you have something far more potent inside of you.”

Ahead, there were five men, front and center. They stood like mob bosses in a police lineup: shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped before them, wearing nice black suits. Scattered around in flanking positions were over a dozen men in fatigues, grouped in threes. Posed for intimidation, these men wore their guns unhidden and their hands were poised, ready to draw.

“These are not the same guys that have been at the other meetings,” Todd said quietly.

Something had changed drastically for ODOT to be taking it this far. They didn’t intend to lose this negotiation.

The diviza continued. “Let’s walk, people. Walk like we own the place. Don’t hold back. Let their human senses feel what we are, what we can do. Domn Lup, now would be a good time to let some of your sovereignty shine through.” He started forward.

The wærewolves crossed the distance, letting that “other” about them radiate forth like the cool breeze before a bad storm.

Being outnumbered four to one against a mostly hidden, well-armed enemy, Johnny’s initial reaction was to get angry and offended, but he knew that was surely part of what they wanted. He let that emotion flow into his aura and dared to reach inward and stroke his beast, just one brief, light touch. . . .

The instant he did, it lurched within him like a vicious junkyard dog leaping to the end of its chain.

He felt a wave of heat explode out from him. It drew low growls from those walking with him, and as it hit the humans, they were noticeably affected, responding with either a quick step backward or a head-to-toe shiver.

Johnny focused on maintaining his stride, not faltering in step, and on controlling the wolf inside him.

Off to his left was another man, but this tan-suited fellow was not trying for intimidation. Stout, with thin gray hair, he would not have been able to be convincing as a tough guy anyway. He had already mopped his sweaty forehead a dozen times with a handkerchief, shifted his weight frequently, and twice had switched the briefcase from one hand to the other. “What in Hell was that?” he muttered softly.

While the four male wærewolves formed a line of their own with Johnny and the diviza in the middle, Aurelia stepped to the forefront. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m Aurelia, assistant to the Domn Lup. May I introduce the diviza, Mr. Plympton.” She gestured toward the bearded man, who nodded once. “And you are?” she asked sweetly.

“Our names aren’t important,” the man in the center said. He wore a bright blue tie.

Johnny took that as a bad sign. They might be legitimate representatives of ODOT, or they might be, literally, hired guns.

“Very well. Are you the mediator?” she asked the nervous man with the briefcase.

“I am.” He inched forward.

She closed the distance to him and shook his hand. “Aurelia.”

“Baker,” he said, soaking in her beauty and kindness. “Scott Baker.”

“Nice to meet you, Scott,” she said warmly. “Usually this kind of thing takes place in an office, around a table. Since we have neither of those here, how do you want to proceed?”

Johnny knew she was charming the man to put him at ease and gain some of his favor for their side. But Scott was obviously not a fool. Caught between wærewolves and armed “government officials” in a last-minute meeting at a secret locale, he recognized the danger he was in. Johnny wondered if ODOT had bribed him.

“As I understand it,” Scott said, pointing at ODOT’s line of suits, “ODOT wants the Cleveland Cold Storage building and has made an offer which has been declined. You’re here to make a new offer.”

“Correct,” Blue Tie said.

“And you,” Scott gestured at Johnny, “simply want to keep the building.”

“The location in question,” Mr. Plympton said in his lilting Cajun accent, “is a mostly windowless structure that is perfect for the specific needs of our people.” His hands flitted this way and that as he spoke. “We’ve modified the interior extensively over the years and to move the den to any other building would require starting over on those modifications. The purchase price ODOT has previously offered does not come close to allowing us to purchase a new structure in the area and then modify it similarly in order to ensure the safety of our people . . . and yours.”

“There are other areas,” Blue Tie said softly.

Aha. They want us out of their downtown .

A few tense seconds passed, then Scott asked Plympton, “You are open to considering the new offer they have prepared, though, right?”

“Of course we will consider the new offer.”

Scott faced the ODOT reps. “You have the paperwork?”

The man to Blue Tie’s right opened his jacket. From an inside pocket he removed a mass of papers stapled together and folded once lengthwise. He handed it to Scott, who in turn handed it to Plympton.

Plympton perused the document, not bothering to remove his sunglasses. “There’s nothing new in this offer. In fact, these pages are identical to the last offer.”

“That’s correct,” Blue Tie said.

Johnny let his internal struggle for dominance deepen his voice as he asked, “If you’re not offering anything new, why are we here?”

“Oh, we’re offering something new.” Blue Tie nodded to the man on his left and he pulled out more papers from the opposite side of his jacket. “It’s something that is . . . out of the public eye, for now.”

When these papers were handed to him, Plympton quickly scanned through the pages.

Johnny tried to see what was written on them, but the smugness in Blue Tie’s voice made him look up.

“You see, we’ve had reports coming in about this pack,” Blue Tie said. “It seems some dubious activities are going on in Cleveland, activities that—according to our investigation—lead back to this den. As the paperwork trail you’re now looking at shows, this includes burglary, grand theft auto, receiving stolen goods, trafficking, money laundering, racketeering, tax evasion, embezzlement . . . ”

“That’s not true,” Todd growled.

Blue Tie hesitated only briefly at the outburst. “ . . . We even have evidence of insurance fraud, where the widow of one Ignatius Tierney is concerned.”

Johnny’s hands clenched. They’d made this up. All of it. They’d falsified documents to blackmail them. He could not let them mess with the pack, and would not let them harass Moira. His beast slavered and snarled, feasting on his hate. Fur sprouted on the backs of his hands—

Calmly, Plympton reached out and touched Johnny’s wrist.

Soothing coolness swirled around his skin. The wolf within him howled in pain and retreated.

“We’re prepared,” Blue Tie continued, “to deliver all of this documentation to our local and national news organizations. I’m sure they will be happy to write headlines about the new Domn Lup and his pack being sordid criminals. If you don’t want to start his rule with an uphill battle to overcome those kinds of black marks—which we will put front and center for the world to see—then you really should agree to our terms now.”

Plympton laughed. It started out small and quiet, but it grew. As it lifted in volume, the tone became menacing.