Memnon and I get out of the car, shutting the doors behind us.

“You sure there’s a meeting tonight?” Memnon asks.

No sooner has he spoken than the cabin’s front door opens, and Kane comes out. I catch a glimpse of the room inside, and I notice the solemn, silent crowd.

It might be quiet here, but there’s a crowd inside.

Kane’s eyes are red-rimmed as he closes the door and approaches us. “I didn’t think you were coming,” he says.

We’re more than twenty minutes late.

“I had to drop Nero off somewhere safe,” I say, forcing myself not to think too hard about my familiar, who’s likely stalking some cute, fluffy forest creature in the woods behind Memnon’s place.

He’s safe, the sorcerer reassures me.

“How is he doing?” Kane asks.

Plumes of Memnon’s magic unfurl out of him then, a clear sign his agitation is rising.

“He’s okay,” I say softly.

“I’m sorry we didn’t come,” Kane says. “My alpha forbid us from crossing⁠—”

“Kane,” Memnon cuts in.

Just the tone of the sorcerer’s voice has the lycan tensing. I can hear low rumbling from Kane, like he chafes at the power in Memnon’s voice.

“Enough,” my mate says. “Your apology is an insult. This whole meeting is an insult.”

Hell’s spells, here we go.

A menacing growl rumbles deep in Kane’s chest. “How dare you⁠—”

Memnon steps in close, his eyes beginning to glow. “Yes, I dare. You and your pack left my mate to be attacked. They were outnumbered, and when I found them bloody and brutalized in the woods, they were alone. Why were they alone?”

Kane’s growl has deepened, and his eyes have shifted. “We cannot cross⁠—”

“You failed her. All of you failed her. And now you have the audacity to use your useless friendship with her to call me in⁠—”

“Is everything alright out here?” Vincent, the Marin Pack alpha, stands on the front porch. Despite his easy words, his body looks tense and his translucent magic is thick in the air around him.

Memnon’s cruel gaze flicks up to the lycan. My mate looks ready to unleash on him as well.

“Everything is fine,” I call out while Kane’s growl dies down a little. “We were just getting ready to come in.”

Please, Memnon, I say down our bond, can we get through this without you resorting to violence?

The sorcerer glances at me, and his glowing eyes dim and soften, until all that anger is banked. If that’s what you wish, est amage, then yes, I will try to control my visceral need to punish each one of these dogs.

“All right,” Vincent calls out. “We’re all ready in here.” With that, the shifter re-enters the cabin, leaving me, Kane, and Memnon alone once more.

My mate nods to the cabin. “This meeting cannot involve everyone,” he says to Kane.

“This is how our pack does things.” Kane’s growl continues to rattle between his words, and his voice is low and rough. “We are all entitled to know about what killed our pack mate.” There’s so much fire and anguish rolling off him.

Memnon slips his hands into his pockets, and to the unknowing eye, he is all poised confidence. But his body sways just a little, and I remember that he lost a lot of blood by the time he got to me. “I don’t care about what you think you’re entitled to or how your pack handles its shit. If you want me to go in there and explain how it is I came across your pack mate’s body, then you’re going to need to limit your fucking audience.”

Kane’s growl deepens, and his lips curl back, revealing partially shifted teeth.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Kane, I won’t make Memnon go in there and explain the situation unless you can do this for us,” I say, trusting Memnon’s reasons for this demand. I imagine this has something to do with limiting the number of people who know what we do.

Kane takes several deep breaths, and slowly, the growling quiets and his teeth grow blunt. “Fine,” the shifter bites out, “but no one’s going to like it.”

Uproar.

That’s what we’re met with when the shifters pour out of the cabin ten minutes later and Kane escorts us in.

The group of lycanthropes is no longer quiet, now that whatever they believed was going to happen no longer is. I hear sobs and growls among them as we pass into the building. Some of the people who so openly welcomed me last time are now glaring at me.

They want blood. I can all but sense their lust for it. They thought they were going to get it tonight, either from what Memnon might reveal or from Memnon himself.

“Everyone,” Vincent, the Marin Pack alpha, calls from the back of the room to those who still remain inside, “you will get answers. Be calm. Once we have heard what our friend and her mate have to say, we shall share what news we can. They have mentioned that their information is sensitive in nature and that, for the overall good of the pack, it must only be given to a few trusted ears.”

Kane leads us to his alpha.

When he intercepts us, Vincent nods to me, then Memnon, his expression grim. “Vincent,” he says, extending his hand, “alpha of the Marin Pack.”

My mate takes it and gives it a shake. “Memnon,” he says, leaving it at that. The sorcerer has sheathed his earlier anger, but I can still see it glinting in his eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Vincent says, even as a few nearby wolves growl. “We don’t need to wait for the last of the pack to exit. We have a sufficiently secluded room. This way.”

Memnon and I are brought to a soundproof room, one that’s small and clearly meant for only a dozen or so people to fit inside. I see a transparent green ward glittering across the threshold, though I cannot tell what it’s for.

Memnon’s magic unfurls as he enters the room, his indigo power moving over the walls and floor of the space. After a moment, I realize he’s erecting his own ward, this one likely to protect his interests, whatever those may be.

A single long table runs the length of the room and mounted on one of the walls is a whiteboard.

“Please, take a seat anywhere,” Vincent says.

Memnon sits at the far end of the table, lounging in one of the proffered seats like an indolent king. I take a seat next to him and watch as the rest of the pack files in.

First is Vincent, followed by a willowy woman with golden-brown skin and a halo of tight corkscrew curls framing her face. I sense that she’s quick to laugh, but right now, her features are hard, and her glimmering brown eyes are sharp. Behind her is Kane, who comes to sit directly on my other side, his sandy-blond hair mussed, probably from running his hand through it so many times.

Last to enter is an old woman with light brown skin, wide cheekbones, and a waterfall of wrinkles across her face. Her thick white hair is wrapped in a braided bun at the nape of her neck.

She closes the door, and she and the remaining shifters take their seats across from me.

“I trust you both already know Kane, the alpha who will take over for me once I retire,” Vincent says, gesturing to my old crush. “But as for the others, next to me is Irene, my beta and the second-in command,” he says, indicating the willowy woman next to him. “And this is Apani,” he says, gesturing to the white haired shifter, “our pack elder. They are here as they are the most crucial members who help run the pack and guide the decisions we make.”

I nod to them. “Nice to meet you,” I say.

Memnon does nothing more than idly watch the shifters, like they’re tonight’s entertainment, and they’re boring him.

I can feel the tension in the room mounting.

“Memnon,” Vincent says, and I can already tell he’s choosing his words carefully, “your mate is a friend of our pack, and naturally, that friendship should extend to you⁠—”