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“What’s up, Bun?” Kiva asks.
“There’s a wolf marshal here,” Bunny says. She shifts her stance from one foot to the other as if the topic makes her as uncomfortable as it does me. “Says he’s investigating the shifter murders and has permission to question anyone in Syn City who might have information.”
Paranoia pricks at me, edging toward panic. A wolf marshal like Nolan? Impossible.
“Our Syndicate would never allow a wolf marshal here.” My voice barely shakes and comes close to the certainty I need. We survive as a powerful city because our seven anonymous leaders known only by their collective name keep us above common supernatural power struggles.
“Riiight,” Kiva chimes in. “The wolf marshals are barely more than a militia hiding behind badges. Did you know they allow immediate executions when a single marshal finds a suspect guilty of murder? So friggin’ barbaric.”
I can’t help but point out the obvious. “Not that I have any respect for wolves, but we’re Furies. We execute people.”
Kiva gives a massive sigh. “Only when the immortal Furies tell us to. It’s different. It’s divinely ordained.”
“Uh huh.” I glance at Bunny. “Where’s this marshal? Want us to throw him out for you?”
She stares at her feet. “Slaya, I mean, Sadie…”
“Yes?” I ask when she doesn’t finish. Clearly, I’ve done too good of a job of scaring this particular shifter. I remind myself she’s prey and likely to run or hide if my bark suggests I might bite. “It’s okay, Bunny. Just tell me.”
The scared rabbit still won’t meet my gaze. “The marshal asked to speak with you specifically.”
My stomach twists into a tangle worse than any knots in my skate laces. “Did he call me by my roller derby name?”
As a Syn City star, I’m known as Slaya to outsiders, and that’s the brand on makeup, t-shirts, and other merch. As Sadie Tucker, true crime fans have defined me as an innocent exiled into a violent, revenge-driven existence to avenge my family’s brutal murder. They consider it a real-life horror with a magical ending. Those idiots forget that I died, my entire family was slaughtered, and there’s no one left for me to take revenge on.
“Nope.” Bunny seems to shrink even smaller into her oversized coveralls.
The knots in my stomach go sour and turn as heavy as stones. Why would a wolf marshal want to talk to me? A terrible thought spirals in my mind. Oh no. He wouldn’t dare. “What’s the marshal look like?”
She looks at me—full on meets my gaze—as though surprised I asked. “Tall, good-looking for a wolf with auburn hair and brown eyes. What he’s wearing makes sense if he came from their Nashville headquarters, but if you want my opinion, he’s a cocky S.O.B.”
All the blood rushes from my head, and the sweat from our skating morphs into cold dread.
Nolan Freakin’ Bankston’s here in Syn City.
As if he didn’t irritate me enough in my prior life, the man followed me here? And the Syndicate let him? Where are the mobs of fans when I need them to stand between me and the wolf whose brother murdered my family? I cursed myself by even thinking of him today, and the possibility of him being here triggers a landslide of memories when he ignored me, mocked me, or acted as if I didn’t belong anywhere.
“Sadie.” Kiva rolls closer. “You okay, beauty queen? You’re looking a little pale. And green. Tell me you’re testing a new concealer and that this isn’t about the marshal.”
“I know him. Or at least I did.” My throat tightens around the admission.
“And do we like him?” she whispers.
Like—such a funny little word with so many meanings. I shake my head, unwilling to talk about my past more than I have to. I’m not that nerdy girl who’s jealous of her big sister’s looks and her baby sister’s visions anymore. I’m the caged vengeance who’s tired of being leashed. It’s been three years—a literal lifetime ago for me.
“Want me to stay with you? Or go get my grizzly bear to help bury whatever pieces you leave of the marshal?” she asks. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”
Thank the gods for the triads that the immortal Furies created. Our deity mothers gave me two badass friends who accept me no matter what. I don’t deserve their love seeing as how I’m the Fury without revenge to reap, yet they continue to give it. “I’m glad we’re sisters.”
“Damn straight we are,” she says.
“Get Stone.” Her grizzly mate acts like a teddy bear around her, but he can shift into a terrifying giant. Besides, I don’t need Kiva deciding to torment a marshal just because she can. “Grab our sister and her mountain lion if you see them.” For once, I’m not bitter about being their fifth wheel these days. “As witnesses or backup or—”
“On it.” Kiva takes to the air, not bothering to change out of her skates.
I can do anything with my sisters—even banish the bully of my past.
Bunny looks as though she’s trying to hide under one of the stadium seats, twitchier than a meth addict. “Don’t skin the messenger,” she says with a squeak.
