Page 40 of The Lunatics

I retreated back to my room.

Okay, more like fled.

I reemerged half an hour later, when I heard him turn on the shower and knew the kitchen was clear. I made myself a quick breakfast with as many calories as I could find, then sat at the island and hoovered it before he was done in the bathroom.

Once he was out of there, I took my own shower and pulled my clothes from last night back on. I’d been going for stealthy yet functional, with combat boots, leggings, and a black T-shirt that clung to my upper body. Now, in broad daylight, I looked like I was trying to be a badass. Not something I usually went for, what with the fact that other wolves already tried to fight me just because of my power.

I braided my hair to get it out of my face and ended up looking like a Lara Croft wannabe. Growling, I pulled it free and piled it on top of my head in a messy bun. Good enough.

Michael waited for me in the living room. I breathed a sigh of relief to see him back in a suit, tie firmly knotted beneath his chin, face turned down as he examined his cuff links. It was like he’d put a wall up between us again. Even the bond felt muted, and I welcomed it. Despite my earlier words, the look that he’d given me as we stood shoulder to shoulder left me feeling less like a logical adult and more like a hormonal teenager.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yup.”

We took the elevator to the top floor, standing as far apart as it would allow. The doors opened to reveal a room out of a movie scene. The rear wall held a small armory of weapons: katanas, subatomic machine guns, throwing knives, a recurve bow, and even a wicked-looking broadsword—just in case someone was feelingmedieval. Maps were spread out on architect tables. Several desks with computers and large monitors extended in a long row against the wall nearest us, the people who sat at them wearing headphones with microphones, tapping away at keyboards, calling out locations, or relaying messages.

Near the windows, a small group of individuals huddled in quiet conversation. I knew from sight alone which of them were Michael’s enforcers. Three of them projected authority and violence like an aura.

Ronald was at their head, towering over them all. A waiflike blond woman stood beside him. Everyone else in the room wore what amounted to tactical clothing, while she wore sky-high heels, a clinging skirt that extended from just above her navel to just past her knees, and a sleeveless blouse tucked into it. Her hair was pulled back in an immaculate low ponytail, not a strand out of place. Her makeup was flawless, and I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her while screaming, “Tell me all of your beauty secrets!”

She detached herself from the group and came over to us, carrying a tablet. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kolbeck, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

Clearly, someone had caught her up to speed while we’d been sleeping.

I extended my hand toward her. “Layla.”

She reached out and gripped mine in a businesslike fashion. “Emma St. Claire, Mr. Kolbeck’s executive assistant.”

We released each other. She smelled like expensive perfume and humanity, and it made me wonder how a non-preternatural had become part of Michael’s inner circle. Did she know what everyone else in the room was? I’d met a few humans in on the secret, and none had ever appeared as at ease around our kind as she did.

As soon as her fingers were free, they went back to her tablet and flew over the screen. “The rest of the team is already here,” shetold Michael. “I suggest we convene in the interrogation room. I know it’s a bit grim, but the walls are soundproof, and it’s warded, so anything that Ms. Fitzpatrick says or”—her eyes cut to me—“does will remain between us.”

She knew. I’ll be damned.

A few minutes later, we crammed seven chairs around a narrow table in a small rectangular room that was so heavily warded it made my skin crawl. All outside sound cut off once the door was shut. It felt like being in a tomb.

“You’ll get used to it,” a masculine voice said from far too close.

I nearly jumped. I hadn’t heard him approach. I’d been too distracted watching Michael, who stood in the corner speaking to Ronald and Emma as he tried to rearrange his work schedule.

The newcomer grabbed the chair beside mine and sat in it backward, his arms on the top as he faced me. It put his rippling biceps on display, and I looked him over. He appeared about my age and was easily one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. His thick dark hair had a slight curl to it, his eyes were a striking green, and he had an expressive mouth that seemed on the verge of a smile, paired with cheekbones most models would kill for.

He winked at me. “James.”

“Layla,” I answered. “What will I get used to exactly?”

“The way bombproof rooms make you feel like you’ve been buried alive.”

“Alternatively, I could just take to avoiding them like the plague.”

He chuckled. It was a glorious sound. “Good luck with that. You’re a Kolbeck now. Maybe not in name, but your association with the family put a target on your back the second you set foot in the city. That power and that pretty face will only make it worse for you.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment?

A trim, dark-skinned Black woman in her late thirties with perfectly sculpted brows and enviable bone structure took the chair on the other side of him. The beads on the ends of her braided hair clicked together as she shook her head, rolling her eyes at his back. “Don’t let him flirt with you too much. The bond is a bitch early on, and Michael might have to finally do something about his annoying ass.”

I ignored James in favor of her. “You’re bonded, too?”