A man gets out first. He’s big and built for intimidation; his black T-shirt and cargo pants do nothing to conceal that he’s combat trained. He moves like he has done this a hundred times, like he expects people to comply because compliance is the easiest option in the room.
He doesn’t look at Jay. His gaze slides past, landing on Grayson with sharp certainty.
“Grayson Pearce,” he says. His voice is calm, practiced, almost polite. “We are here to escort you. You will come with us now. For your own safety.”
Grayson’s stomach turns, not with fear, but with a sudden, vivid rage at being spoken about like a problem to be managed. For the first time since he’d begun his formal training, wind tears loose in a sudden, violent sweep, dragging grit, leaves, and dust into a spiraling wake that coils around his body. It whips around his head, snaps through Jay’s longer strands, rising higher and wider with every pulse of his anger. Sparks, sharp and angry, slip from his fingertips, their snap and crackle raising the hair on Grayson’s arms.
Jay steps forward, placing himself where he’s always felt he belonged—between his pack and anyone who thinks they can harm them.
“My mate doesn’t go anywhere with strangers in unmarked vehicles,” Jay says, mild as a man discussing parking validation. “Especially not men who use the wordsafetylike it’s a leash.”
The henchman’s eyes flick, finally, to Jay. Assessing, his expression stays controlled, but there is a fraction of recalibration there, a tiny shift in the set of his jaw.
“This does not concern you,Were,” he starts.
Jay’s smile appears, but it does not reach his eyes. “Everything that concerns him concerns me,” Jay says. Then his voice lowers, quiet enough that Grayson feels it more than hears it. “Everything.”
Behind the henchman, the back doors open. Two more people step out. Not at all built for intimidation, they don’t need stature to be the real threat. The first is a slender woman, more of a weasel than the Doberman the henchman is.
If Grayson unfocuses for a moment, he can see the faint lime-green light glowing from the center of her chest, under her black T-shirt. Her face is blank, but even from thirty feet away, Grayson can feel the malevolence creeping across the distance like an invisible fog.
The second person is of medium height and balding, the rest of his hair shorn close. He matches Grayson’s snapping sparks and then some. He holds a fireball in one hand while the fingers of his other hand twitch in a familiar rhythm.
The henchman squares up, boots planted wide, chin tipped forward. He is used to being obeyed. “Let’s not make this ugly,” he says. “We’re authorized to remove him. This can be calm, or it can be…inconvenient.”
It’s almost funny, the ridiculous posturing and the “easy way or the hard way” cliché. That Jay doesn’t laugh is why Jay has always been the best man to lead them. It’s self-control, strength of character, pure dominance, and why Grayson would crawl through glass just to follow behind him.
Jay lifts his chin. “You showed up in an unmarked SUV like hired muscle with two magic users,” he says mildly. “If this was ever meant to be calm andconvenient, you’d have brought paperwork instead.”
Behind the henchman, the weaselly woman’s magic unfurls in a faint green shimmer, subtle but unmistakable to Grayson’s senses. The man beside her rolls his shoulders, a menacing crocodile smile cracking his lined cheeks.
The henchman’s gaze flicks, once, to his backup. Then back to Grayson. “You don’t understand whatheis.”
Jay’s mouth curves. Not into a smile. “Oh,” he says. “I understand exactlywhohe is.”
He doesn’t say it out loud, but Grayson feels it in his bond. It’s pure possession.Mine.
The henchman shifts, irritation bleeding through his control. “Step aside.”
Jay doesn’t move. “No. Whatyoucan do,” Jay continues, conversationally, “is get back in that vehicle and pretend you never thought about him. You can tell whoever sent you that Grayson Pearce is under my protection. You can even tell them I was very polite.”This time.“Leave.”
The woman’s eyes narrow. When she speaks, it’s low, in heavily accented English. “That is not for you to decide.”
Jay’s gaze finally slides to her. “I am his Pack Alpha. I am theonlyone who gets to decide.” It’s not true, Jay would letGraysondecide, but this isn’t really about that. This is about reminding them that Grayson is Were and, in that regard, his Pack Alpha has final say.
Grayson feels it as a pressure change, a sudden tightening in the atmosphere, like the world itself has leaned forward to listen. Wind, stronger than before, roils through the lot in a sharp, violent gust, tearing loose the debris at their feet.
The henchman’s jaw sets. “Take him,” he says.
The woman moves first. Faster than Grayson could have expected, her magic lashes outward, invisible bands snapping around Grayson’s wrists and ribs. The pressure is immediate and brutal, compressing his chest, pinning his arms as if the air itself has decided to become iron. A pressure stronger than he’d ever felt burrows into his mind. Not in the same way Withers had done, but like a blow to the back of the head.
This strike is a slithering snake, a sharp awl digging at Grayson’s free will, taking him to his knees.
Jay steps forward, claws out and fangs down, his red eyes glowing even in the bright light.
The henchman is either stupid or this is his first run-in with a Were opponent. He charges Jay, head down, intent on taking Jay to the ground.
From his position kneeling on the ground, Grayson watches as Jay meets the charge head-on, standing his ground. He deflects the first swing with a sharp, efficient block that sends the man’s arm skidding wide. He stepsinsidethe henchman’s reach and drives a knee into his thigh with bone-jarring precision.
