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But what if I could convince her otherwise? What if she could be an ally rather than an obstacle on my way to the rank of a captain? If she has information to help me catch the serial killer, the promotion’s guaranteed.
Guilt hits me in the chest as hard as Sadie threw that ax. I couldn’t save my brother, couldn’t catch his killer, and here I’m thinking of using his fiancé’s beloved sister as a pawn in earning my promotion. I blame my beast, the one that’s not a wolf, for such devious thoughts.
“I win,” she tells a Huntress whose green is outnumbered in a sea of blue fabric with a few purple sequin numbers and Sadie’s black.
“You cheated,” the Huntress says. “Using a weapon to call isn’t allowed. It’s a desecration of the immortals’ sacred objects.”
“Wrong Fury.” Sadie unfurls the whip that she had earlier. “Axes and blades have never been my thing, but if you want a demonstration.” She lashes it toward what I assumes the other woman’s ax stuck in the second ring of the next target. With a loud snap, the whip slices through the ax’s handle as if it was butter instead of wood. “You owe the Muses a round. A deal’s a deal.”
The Huntress opens her mouth to protest when a taller, green-wearing woman puts a hand on her shoulder and shakes her head. “You heard the deal. Drinks for the Muses.”
Spear-clutching warriors cheer and head for the bar in a wave of blue and neon-colored pigtails, leaving room for me to cross to the targets. I whistle at the precision of Sadie’s aim. “Damn, impressive. I didn’t know you were a champion ax thrower.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” She loses the spark of anger that she had when proving a point to the Huntress, and I want it back. When she goes to tug her ax free, I don’t move away, crowding her to see if I can provoke the temper that makes her eyes flash.
The taller Huntress scowls at me. “Did you adopt a stray?” she asks Sadie.
“Hardly.” She banishes the whip, and I want to ask her to recall the thing and do it again. There’s no sheathing or holstering for the Furies. Nope, they poof their weapons away as though they’re storybook wands. I wonder if all the Houses can do it. “Nolan’s the wolf marshal sanctioned by our Syndicate to investigate the shifter murders.”
“Nolan?” The woman looks down her nose at me despite the fact I have four inches on her. “Sounds like you two are cozy for a Fury who supposedly hates shifters.”
“Do you have an actual point, Devlyn?” Sadie asks, sounding tired. “Want me to defy the Syndicate’s order to cooperate with the marshals so you can have a legit reason to report me to my coach? Or are you just bitter that your Housemate lost a bet?”
Devlyn. I search my memories for the name and remember her saying the woman was the leader of the Huntresses. Makes sense with the green tunic thing that has music notes, grapes, and what looks like a forest woven in a darker thread. The woman smells wild—like shifter that I can’t place, and the scent makes me uneasy. I want to rest my hand on the butt of my gun in case she tries something, but I left it locked in the cabin after the earlier warning. I could almost swear I’ve scented her before at marshal headquarters. Or maybe someone like her.
Drawing herself up as if she’s magically starched into that uppity pose, she says, “We Huntresses honor our promises. Keep a leash on your marshal. Or we will.” She sweeps out of the room like a fricking queen, the other Huntress trailing in her wake.
“Wow.” I stare after them, wondering if picking a fight with the woman’s worth it or if I should simply let the insult go. This isn’t a shifter-run town, and I’m already not well liked for whatever reason. Plus, she’s packing crazy that I can’t quite place. “She’s got a hell of an ego.”
Sadie snickers. “That’s rich coming from you, your royal cockiness.” Her grin lights up her face, and I stare until she looks away. “I see you still wear the hat,” she says. “I wondered when you showed up without it earlier today.”
She remembered.
I touch the brim of my Stetson. It was something Lowell and I shared. Mine has always been black to his brown. We spent our childhoods working the alpha’s massive farms—me more than my brother, but that’s what comes with being the bastard kid that the alpha needed out of sight, out of the pack’s mind. “Some things haven’t changed.”
“Everything else has,” she says.
I hope for both our sakes that she isn’t right since the mating call buzzes louder the closer she gets. When she reaches past me to tug the broken handle of the other ax, I lift my hand to help, but she jerks it out of the wooden target as if it’s nothing.
“Shifter strength?” I ask.
“Fury strength,” she corrects. “Never underestimate the extra strength or speed that the immortals granted their respective Houses.”
“What about the Huntresses?”
“If being self-righteous, pretentious nitpickers was a superpower, they’d be the most powerful House in Syn City. As it is, they run this town because they win the roller derby championship.” She points, almost jabbing me in the arm with her finger. “Do not mention that to Kiva if you don’t want her going hatchet happy on you. She already doesn’t like you.”
“But you do. Or at least you did once.”
Her gaze goes sad. “Like I said, things change.” She racks one ax while carrying the pieces of the broken one. “Come on, let’s get a drink and you can tell me what you have besides an arrowhead to connect the shifter murders to my family’s.”
“Massacre. That’s what your family’s house was when I showed up. I’m so sorry, Sadie.”
“A little late for apologies. Besides, it wasn’t your fault.”
Except she’s wrong. If only I’d listened when Lowell said someone had followed him to the Tucker house the week before, if I’d called in a patrol to watch the house, if I’d paid attention to the magic-hating trolls spouting off anti-spellcraft rants in the media. If, if, if. “It was.”
“No, it was mine.” With that horrible lie, she walks away, ending the subject and leaving me to follow her or stand there like an idiot while some of the pigtailed blue-shirts—now carrying frothy sweet-smelling glasses of beer—prep to throw their spears at the targets.
