“We live inside a pack, mon. You kissed yer right tae privacy goodbye decades ago.”
True. Still—frustrating as all fucking hell.
Pushing from his crouch, Kruger conjured his clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt settled on his skin. Motorcycle boots on his feet, he shrugged on his favorite leather jacket. “I’m going in tae talk some sense into her. Donnae follow me.”
Levin huffed. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
With a sigh, Kruger stepped out from behind the hedge. A quick pace took him across the open area, around the huge fountain, and up the steps. His footfalls rapped inside the cloaking spell. He ignored the faint echo and crossed the patio toward the—
The door whipped open.
Kruger stopped.
Levin cursed and left his perch. The beat of wings sounded. Dragon paws thumped down on the terrace behind him. The potted plants sitting on the cobblestones jumped. Ceramic clanked. Ice-cold air puffed against his nape, then chiseled down his spine.
Kruger didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. Fighting stance set, sonar up and running, he knew where his packmate stood—at his back, ice dragon out in full force, magic frothing, casting a long shadow as the gorgon exited the mansion.
Yellow eyes with green vertical pupils swept over Kruger without seeing him.
Gaze narrowed, he debated a moment. Throw the male a bone, make him work for it, or…
He rolled his shoulders. The illusion around him tore open. Kruger stepped out of the invisibility spell. The gorgon sucked in a quick breath. Fear flared in his eyes. Kruger stayed still, allowing the male to look at him, conveying an unspoken message—he wasn’t here for him. He wanted something else. Something he’d been working toward for weeks—a private sit-down with the human who stood in his way.
Straightening his shoulders, the male recovered fast. Moving past shock, he slithered toward Kruger instead of away. Red, brown, and black scales rasped over cobblestones.
The male stopped less than ten feet away. Brave, considering whom he faced and why.
The gorgon inclined his head, showing him respect. “Master Kruger, I presume?”
“Aye,” he murmured, focus riveted on Mavis’s major-domo. “And you are?”
“Hendrix.”
Kruger nodded. “I need a moment with your mistress.”
“I understand, but I’m afraid that is quite impossible.”
His temper spiked. Green fire-venom flickered over his shoulders. The smell of toxic fumes puffed in the air.
Hendrix flinched. “I can explain.”
“Good idea,” Kruger said, unable to keep the snarl from his tone.
Levin uncloaked behind him. Magic crackled across stone, leaving a thick layer of frost in its wake.
“Gods,” Hendrix breathed, gaze bouncing from him to Levin. “My apologies, sir, but you are too late. The innkeeper is no longer in residence. She has retired.”
Levin bared his fangs. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Dead?” Kruger asked at the same time.
“No, sir. Retired. As in—”
“Bloody hell,” he growled, losing patience. “Where is she?”
“Acapulco, I believe.”
Kruger blinked.
“You have got tae be shitting me,” Levin grumbled, pushing from a low crouch. His dragon scales clicked as he powered up, dragging the temperature into single digits. Snow started to fall. “A ploy.”
The gorgon shivered.
Kruger bared his teeth. A wave of heat rolled into the air. Snowflakes melted as his temper went from a low simmer to a boil. “’Twas planned. All the delays. The constant couching. She played me.”
Hendrix took a fortifying breath. “I cannot say, sir, but—”
“Or refused to.”
“Sir?”
“Never mind.” Kruger could guess what came next. He wasn’t a fool. Neither was Mavis. She excelled in the strategic arena. No way would she exit the battlefield without a parting shot. The innkeeper liked war too much to leave her opponent unscathed. Which meant he must look beyond Hendrix to see the mess Mavis had left for him in her wake. “What did she do?”
“She asked me to give you this.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his velvet tuxedo jacket, Hendrix withdrew a crisp white envelope. Thin, plain paper. Nothing fancy about it.
Which told Kruger all he needed to know—he was about to get screwed with his pants on.
Bowing his head, the gorgon offered the letter.
Kruger took it, then murmured. Magic rushed to do his bidding, slicing the top of the sealed envelope open. Paper crinkled as he withdrew the single sheet. He broke the wax seal stamped with an olive branch.
He snorted. Seriously? An olive branch. He had to give her credit. The old bat never ceased to surprise him. She owned the most twisted sense of humor around.
“What does it say?” Icy breath fogging the air, Levin peered over his shoulder.
Fingers itching, Kruger flipped open the trifold. A messy scrawl written by a shaky hand. A couple of golden grains of sand stuck to the crest of The White Hare letterhead.
Kruger,
I told you I would never sell. You didn’t believe me. In a word—foolish.
The White Hare has been in my family for centuries. We are the caretakers of Magickind, the ones who stand in the breech. The inn is not for sale, and never will be.
I win.
You lose.
Good luck with the next innkeeper, dragon. Her will is much stronger than mine.
Sincerely (and fuck you),
Mavis O’Donnell
The innkeeper, retired.
His brow furrowed, Kruger stared at her departing line. His lips twitched. It wasn’t funny. Given the gravity, nothing about the situation came anywhere near laughable, but…shite. He admired her spirit, liked her creativity, along with the audacity of her final fuck you.
Not many butted up against Dragonkind and lived to talk about it. But Mavis had, sending him on a wild goose chase before she walked away, leaving him tangled up in the mess she’d left him with true maniacal intent.
He liked her style. He really did, though…
The next innkeeper.
“Bloody hell,” Levin growled. “What now?”
What now, indeed? Excellent question.
Magic sparking, Kruger’s eyes started to shimmer. Crimson bled over white paper as he closed the letter and stared at the olive branch. Another fuck you, boldly stamped in broken green wax. Running the pad of his thumb over the crest, assessing his options, Kruger listened to the gorgon murmur “goodnight” and retreat into the inn.
He glanced over his shoulder. Pale snowy eyes met his. Levin raised a brow. Kruger smiled. Not a pleasant, all-is-right-in-my-world one, but a nasty, venom-filled one.
“Yikes.” Claws scraped over stone as his friend took two giant steps backward. “Whoever the new one is, she’s fucked.”
Wasn’t she, though? No wiggle room for the newly anointed innkeeper.
Kruger needed to purchase The White Hare for more reasons than he’d let on. Forget about his affinity for the Parkland; toss aside the fact the acquisition would protect his pack by shielding the new tunnel he’d dug from the Cairngorms into the Aberdeen lair, ensuring it went undetected by other Magickind. For that reason alone, dropping millions to buy the inn was worth the aggravation.