Grizgunn stopped short and pivoted to face Hakon on the stairs. “Water dragon?”
“Yah. Surprised the hell out of me he showed, but I’m glad he did. The male’s a powerful motherfucker. Bad attitude, sharp skills, lethal instincts. A bit beat up. No idea what happened to him or why, but he could be a good addition to our pack if…”
“If?”
“We can control him.”
A risk. A big one, if what Hakon said turned out to be true.
Water dragons were rare, little more than myths in Dragonkind circles. For centuries, his kind had believed males with smooth scales, webbed paws, and a love of water were nothing more than old wives’ tales. Grizgunn had always known better. He’d seen one while hunting a Russian deserter in Norway. A complete accident. Even so, he’d gotten out of the warrior’s territory fast, refusing to tweak that particular dragon’s tail.
Frowning, Grizgunn rubbed his bruised shoulder. “I want to meet him.”
“Figured.”
“Set it up.”
“I told him you’d be available tomorrow night.”
“Where?”
“Edinburgh—back gardens, Holyroodhouse.”
“The palace?”
“Why not?”
Enjoying his warrior’s irreverence—and disdain of all things human—Grizgunn smiled. “On the grounds?”
“Lots of big trees there. Good cover. Landlocked. Far from the water. Better if the male tries something.”
“Good,” he murmured, chewing on the facts.
Only an hour’s flight away. Not too close to the main Danish lair. Just far enough away to keep warriors from following him home. A necessary precaution, given none of the new recruits would share his space. A secondary lair was already under construction fifty miles south of Aberdeen. Any male smart enough to join the cause would be housed inside it, nowhere near the flashy digs Grizgunn shared with his personal guard.
“Could break in, have the meeting in one of the rooms,” Hakon said when Grizgunn hesitated. His warrior knew him well, understanding how much he enjoyed breaking the toys humans liked to showcase…and brag about. Tourist destinations were a particular favorite of his. So much history. All those precious artifacts. So many expensive things to destroy. “Turn over some tables. Break some shit. Give the human authorities some ghosts to chase.”
Grizgunn shook his head. No matter how much the idea of wrecking the palace interested him, he needed to be smart. Already behind schedule, he couldn’t afford any more delays. His pack needed an infusion of new blood, warriors who not only knew how to fight, but held no love for the Scottish pack. Recruits had been surprisingly easy to come by. The applicants ranged from young to old, telling him more about Cyprus’s methods than the whoreson wanted him to know.
The Scottish commander hadn’t spent time making friends after he closed the island’s borders. His enemies, however, seemed to be everywhere, answering the Danish pack’s call, coming out of the woodwork after decades of being denied entrance into Scotland. Cyprus disliked interlopers. He chased stray males out of his territory on a regular basis, refusing to allow any to join his pack.
Which left the field of prime talent wide open.
He planned to tap into that error in judgment and seize what he needed—the upper hand in the war he’d started with the male who stole his crown along with the territory his sire had been destined to rule.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he murmured a command. Magic crackled. The seal around the door into the underground lair broke. Heavy duty hinges hissed as a door carved from solid granite swung inward. Thick stone grated against the uneven floor. Grizgunn dipped his head beneath the low lintel, crossed the threshold, and—
“Finally,” Tigmar said, twitching where he stood six feet away.
Halting just inside the entryway, Grizgunn drew a calming breath. He needed a second…along with the extra oxygen. Every time he saw Tigmar, he reacted the same way—with barely leashed violence. And even less tolerance.
Paranoid to the point of neurotic, Tigmar rubbed him the wrong way, making it difficult for Grizgunn to keep from punching him in the face. He’d dreamed about doing it, longed to wind up and shit-can the twitchy fucker so badly, he struggled to control the urge. He managed to, just barely, clinging to his resolve by a thread, containing his temper with the aim of keeping his computer geek alive.
Giving in to the satisfaction of splitting the male in two wouldn’t get him what he needed—intel, the indispensable kind Tigmar pulled off the internet every time he cracked open a computer. If the information existed, the twitchy SOB wouldn’t stop until he dug it up. Which meant Grizgunn couldn’t kill him—no matter how much he wanted to most nights.
Sidestepping him, Hakon took the lead. A good call, given Grizgunn still fought the urge to beat the shit out of Tigmar.
Hakon tipped his chin. “Find something?”
“Kind of,” Tigmar said, shifting from foot to foot. The open laptop he cradled quivered as he tried to stay still and failed.
Grizgunn’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
Tigmar cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve been poking around, hunting for sources of revenue—you know, shadow companies, shell corporations the Scottish pack might be using to hide financial transactions—and I stumbled onto something. An insulated umbrella company called KDH Capital. It’s massive. Whoever owns it is a pro, moving companies around the board like chess pieces. Fortune 500 companies run by human CEOs and board members all over the world.”
Interest sharpened his focus. Venomous mist swirled up his throat, polluting the air around him. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure what it means yet or even if—”
“Spit it out, Tigmar.”
Hakon threw him a pointed look. The expression on his XO’s face told him to cool it, to go gently instead of allowing annoyance to lead. The more impatient Grizgunn became, the twitchier Tigmar got, making him lose his train of thought along with his ability to talk.
With a sigh, Grizgunn powered down. No sense winding Tigmar up just to watch him go. “Tell me, bror. Whatever you’ve found, I’m sure it’ll be helpful.”
Hakon grunted in approval.
Pleasure replaced the worry in his computer geek’s eyes. “The White Hare.”
“What’s that?”
Chewing on his bottom lip, Tigmar shrugged. “I can’t find anything about it online. No website or mention of it anywhere, but by following the breadcrumbs, I found a shell company. That led to a few others, and when I dug deeper, I found a contract drawn up by a law firm owned by humans. Someone’s trying to buy The White Hare, and if I’m right, given the pattern of financial data, it might be the Scottish pack.”
“Let me see,” Hakon murmured, moving around to look at the laptop screen.
“I printed it out.” Vibrating like a tuning fork, Tigmar met his gaze, blue eyes full of hope, signaling he wanted nothing more than to please his leader. “I left everything on your desk, commander. I can walk you through all the transactions. Tell you why I think—”
“Good. Let’s do that now, ja?”
“Sure thing, Grizgunn, sure. Anything you want.”