He won’t mention the squeak his mate makes as they clear the top of the fence and float down the other side.
Rowan stands with his nose in the air, his shoes lying on their sides, abandoned in the dirt.
“You can fly?” Jay asks incredulously.
“Well, it’s more like hovering with different densities of air pressure. It’ll never be far or very fast. It’s more efficient if I teleport.”
“Like you did to save Rowan yesterday?” Finn asks while Rowan growls at the reminder of his fiery fall.
“I would have landed on my feet,” he grouses, kicking his shoe. The wolf’s magic flares at the knock to his ego, but he wrangles it under control just as quickly.
Jay had asked Rowan to remain in his person-form for as long as possible before they’d even left the cottage, given that a giant red wolf would surely draw more attention than four men on the grounds.
“Sure you would have, Blaze Lightyear,” Grayson mutters, determining that the insult might be worth the potential punch to the face.
“Go fuck yourself, Aladdin.”
“I’ll fuck you—”
“Would you two idiots—” Finn growls.
Smirking, Grayson mutters an insincere, “Sorry,” but still grins.
Rowan just sticks his tongue out, and doesn’t that make Gray want to suck on it? Another thing he can lay at Withers’s door.
“Let’s just go,” Jay says, but he stops, looking from face to face before adding, “Remember, he’s got nothing to lose, and we don’t know what he’s capable of…don’t do anything stupid.”
The last is directed at Rowan—and, surprisingly, at him.
They’d parked along the north side of the compound, so they stick to the tree line that circles Carnell’s property line, hoping they’ll be able to come upon a delivery entrance or less-populated area where guests haven’t wandered.
The ridiculous castle wall does little to shield the massive amount of light coming from the other side, shooting beacons into the night sky. It’s not enough to break the pitch darkness of the lawns, but even from a distance of several hundred yards, Grayson can hear the din of voices.
They don’t see any of the security Gideon had warned about. The vast expanses of lawns are blessedly empty of humans with guns.
“Do you hear that?” Rowan tilts his head.
Jay nods. “It’s the Gulf,” he says, picking up his pace. “Who builds a fucking wall around a beach house?”
Makes no sense to Grayson, but it’s probably out of paranoia about intruders bent on murdering him. The irony of that thought is not lost on him.
“How are we getting inside?” Finn asks, pointing up to the top of the wall. “That wall must be sixty feet high.”
Jay must have the same thought because he stops suddenly.
They’ve gone as far as they can. The beach is right there, over yet another fence, the moon shining brightly on the water, and the scent of brine sharp in Grayson’s nose.
“Hey, is that a door set in the wall?” Rowan points across the lawn to where a wide door is set at the base of the stone wall. There’s a small light fixture at the top and a flashing red light from a security panel on its right.
Jay’s teeth flash white in the dim light.
“Good eyes, Ro. If we can crack the keypad, we’re in. I’ll do some recon and be back. Stay. Here.” He points at Rowan before disappearing into the dark.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Were sight makes it easy for him to track the shadow of his mate across the hundred yards of lawn.
“What’s that dark stretch, do you think?” Rowan asks, taking a few steps closer to see for himself before Finn gets a firm hold on the back of his shirt.
