Wolf at first sight, p.8
Wolf at First Sight, page 8
His insouciant grace when tilting his head back to drink a sip of water led Joe to naughty places, wondering how the rasp of Levi’s tongue against the inside of his thighs would feel in the middle of the night or if that long lean throat would reverberate when he gasped during sex. Shaking his head, Joe cursed his grandmother for leaving him and wondered if he could still find a ride home, not trusting his hands on the steering wheel when he was obviously rattled.
“Gotta admit, you’re my first human to deal with finding out about all of us.” Levi licked at a drop of water on his lower lip, the liquid trembling until his tongue swept it away. “There’s conflicting ways to handle something like being seen, but a lot of them are kind of old-school.”
“Like what?” Joe shifted on the couch, stretching out his legs. His head was beginning to hurt again, a softer throb instead of the pounding through-the-bone spikes from before, but it was manageable.
“Well, a lot of older instructions pretty much said kill the human and bury its body, but that was back when torches and pitchforks were all the rage,” Levi said with a smile that was probably meant to soothe Joe’s nerves but did more to rattle them, especially when a deep dimple appeared alongside the smirk. “I’m leaning toward the option of ‘no one would believe you anyway and your grandmother would kick your ass if you said anything.’ A hell of a lot easier than starting a whisper campaign that you’re nuts. That was a big one too, but once it got out of hand in Salem, I think a lot of us Peacekeepers try to avoid it.”
“Nana said that. Peacekeeper.” Joe sifted through what he recalled his grandmother said before she left. “I’m going to guess you’re some kind of cop.”
“Sort of,” he murmured in agreement. “No gun, and it’s kind of a loose association. Not like we have an academy. Usually it’s the owner of a business or area where people like me and Toni can meet to hammer things out. Believe it or not, you don’t want a war between shifter families or covens rolling out into the street. Bad shit happens, and there’s no way anyone will be able to hide from that. And yeah, we like hiding. Means we don’t get cut up and examined. I’m big on that. I like my insides to stay right where they are, and I’ll fucking kill anyone who comes for my kid.”
The passion in Levi’s words ran hot and strong. His eyes were fluid, rolling with gold-and-green fire in their warm hazel depths. Joe held up his hands, offering a tacit surrender. “I believe you. I did my time in a patrol car. I know what people can do to each other, especially when there’s no one watching.”
“Sorry. I have a few soapboxes.” Levi let out a long hiss, a slightly bashful expression on his face. “Let me hit the salient points. We don’t have a central government. Anyone can become a Peacekeeper, but you have to apprentice with one and learn the ropes. And I’m both cop and judge. I provide a place for people to talk things out, but I’m also the guy they come to when a decision has to be made about something. Usually that’s territory. I’m one of the younger Peacekeepers I know of, but I’ve got a pretty decent track record. Both sides of the argument have to agree on who they want to hear them out, but it’s got to be someone within a few hundred miles of where they are. So, like you can’t have someone in New York make a decision in California.”
“So the Vikings and Los Lobos wanted you, then?” Joe took a stab in the dark, hoping to punch through the fog surrounding the motorcycle gang’s return. “Because I’d gotten the Vikings out of the city. Now they’re back, and I’m worried they’re going to bring their shit back with them.”
“They’re only here for Friday’s meeting, and I was wondering how long it would take you to circle back around to the bikers.” Levi laughed. “The Lobos are edging into the Vikings’ territory. Don’t know if there’s drugs or anything else involved. If there are, they know I’ll shut them down if they bring it here, so they’ll be on their best behavior. We try to police our own, and they’ve got a lot of mundanes—humans—running with them, but when it’s all said and done, we’re just people. Some are lawyers and doctors, others are criminals and thieves. We follow the laws in the places we live in. We’re not above it.”
“Does that best behavior include that coyote attacking us tonight?” Joe asked. “Because I don’t know where he was raised, but that’s not good manners where I come from.”
“That’s what the Los Lobos leader wants to smooth over with me.” Levi ran his fingers through his dark hair, pulling it back from his face. “He can’t deny it was one of his. We’ve got the guy’s colors, but he might try to say it was someone from the Vikings hoping to get the Lobos kicked out of the talk. That happens, and the Vikings win their argument by default. Thing is, the Vikings don’t have any coyote running with them, and any shifters they have are family. None of them are canids.”
“What are they?” Joe cocked his head, trying to ignore the rush of something warm moving through him when Levi stretched his arms up over his head and he spied another peek at the man’s belly. “Unless you can’t tell me.”
“Bears. Well, not really bears so much as pandas,” Levi replied, dropping his arms back down. “Came over with other Chinese immigrants during the railroad-building days. Most Ursidae are on the larger side, so they’re pretty beefy in either form, and the pandas are usually right up there. Most of the Lobos are smaller—a mixture of coyote and whatever else they can get to follow them. A lot more shifters in that club and held together by Reilly, their leader. So, if someone went rogue from his group, then he’s got cracks around his seams, not something he needs right now. If he can’t show a steady, stabilizing presence, then he’s got no business claiming space.”
“Okay, the fact that I’ve spent more than a few years chasing pandas out of San Francisco is blowing my mind. But why do they come to you? I mean, most clubs just fight it out. Whoever is left standing wins the area,” Joe pointed out. “It’s why we try to shut them down. No one wants that kind of violence in their city. Not to mention everything else they bring with them.”
“Groups get established in an area and claim territory. Basically they’re saying they are the dominant circle, and anything bad that happens, it’s up to them to self-police.” Levi crossed his long legs under him. He picked at a split along his right knee, pulling at the white threads. “Los Lobos want the right to police themselves, and the Vikings are saying they shouldn’t, because they’re not capable of staying under the radar. What happened tonight kind of proves that. But that’s only if whoever that was actually is a part of Reilly’s group.
“We run things by a kind of agreement system,” he explained in a soft voice. “Break the agreements and the rest of us turn against you. Our sole focus is to keep our secrets, and that means staying deep under the radar. For the most part, the Vikings have been cleaning themselves up, but there’s still issues. One wrong move on their part and that whole torches-and-pitchforks idea gets revisited. Like I said, we police our own.”
“So this kind of all rests on you deciding if the Lobos can have their own territory, but that carves out some of the Vikings’ area.” Joe sat back, fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. “And if they refuse to abide by what you decide, they open themselves up to a major ass-kicking.”
“Pretty much.” Levi nodded. “It’s really not that complicated, and there’s enough room up there for both of them, but Los Lobos moving into the Vikings’ territory means conflict and not just being on the wrong side of the law. I don’t care if someone’s growing acres of pot. I don’t have to. It’s legal now, and it’s not my job to make sure everyone pays taxes or has the right permits.”
“What if it’s heroin or something worse?”
“If they’re running heroin and someone has evidence of it, I’d turn it over to the cops because that’s also not my job. It’s what the police are for. We are bound by the laws of the land, Joe. We pay taxes and vote, or we should. Anything connected to the mundane world is out of my jurisdiction,” Levi continued. “But if someone’s pushing into an area and making it difficult for another group to be who they are, then I get called in. Los Lobos want the right to decide consequences for the actions of their group, and the Vikings want to make sure the Lobos stay on their side of the river so they can do whatever it is that pandas do in the woods. You’ve got conflicting shifter cultures here, and ones that don’t work well together. I’m here to prevent that from flaring up. That’s all.”
“Judge and jury, then?” Joe teased. “You are so not a cop, then. We don’t get to do that.”
“Well, most of the time, my back room is used for birthday parties, and St. Con’s a good place to get a beer and a burger.” Levi shrugged. “But sometimes, it’s where groups gather so they don’t end up killing each other later on and I get to listen to them argue their cases. St. Con’s is a Sanctuary. Big S. Anyone coming through that door is granted a safe place to be—no weapons, no rivalries. Have a beer, and if you get a little drunk and you don’t make an ass out of yourself, we’ll pour you into a cab. But don’t start shit, no matter if you’re carrying fur, fangs, or magic, because I’ll shut you down. That’s the cop part of it. I don’t care what someone’s problems are. They just can’t make them anyone else’s.
“And on that note, I’m going to pour you into my bed and crash out here on the couch.” He stood, stretching once again. Joe experienced a moment of ecstasy close to the experience of the number forty-two ice cream hitting his tongue when Levi’s ass brushed against his shoulder as the man inched past him. “Let me make sure I’ve got clean sheets on the mattress and a towel you can use. God knows I’ve got toothbrushes. Damned kid chews through them like he’s still two.”
“You love him. Your son, I mean,” Joe said softly. It wasn’t so much a question as a confirmation of the man Levi seemed to be. “I can hear it in your voice. Harder for me to hear it in my dad’s, but sometimes I can.”
“Deck’s my whole world,” Levi murmured, turning to face Joe. “Not to say there isn’t room for someone else, but he’s the start of it. It’s not easy dating when your idea of a good time is to turn into a giant black wolf and chase a Frisbee in the park. Cures the need for me to hunt something, but brings out all the weirdos and freaks if you list that on any online dating app. Not guys I want to bring home and meet my son.”
“You really like to chase a Frisbee in the park?” Joe leaned back, suspiciously eyeing Levi. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“Nope, one of the best things in the world to do. It seriously scratches the hunting itch I get sometimes, and it’s better than chasing pigeons,” Levi said with a wink. “Because it’s a fucking bitch and a half getting those damned feathers out from between my teeth, and they really do taste just like rats.”
Eight
“KELLER, WE need to meet. You and I have to talk.”
Levi didn’t recognize the voice on the phone, but it was serious enough to get his attention. Or at least serious enough to wake him up.
Blearily glancing to the right of him, he momentarily wondered what happened to his alarm clock and more importantly, why had his bed shrunk so much? His shoulders hurt a bit, and there was something hard at the small of his back. Digging in behind him, he found one of the crochet-covered throw pillows his mother pawned off on him the last time she was in town and tossed it across the room. The ache eased, but his confusion didn’t, not until he recalled a pair of warmed-whiskey eyes and the strong Italian face he’d spent more than a few hours staring at before falling into an unconscious sprawl on his living room sectional.
“Hello?” The man on the phone sounded as confused as Levi’d been moments before. “Keller, are you there?”
“Yeah, give me a second. Who is this?” Yawning as he sat up, Levi blinked at the filmy sunlight coming in through the spaces in the room’s drawn curtains. “Better yet. Call back in ten minutes. I just woke up, and I’ve got to pee.”
He hung his phone up before he got a response, then shuffled to the hall bathroom, trying to remember if he’d pulled out some clothes to change into, since Joe Zanetti was probably still asleep in his bed.
Ten minutes was just long enough to get a quick shower in and brush his teeth, but shaving would have to wait. Scrubbing a handful of cold water across his face startled his nerves enough to push Levi into full consciousness, but coffee would go a long way in helping his brain fire up.
His phone began to ring as he filled the kettle for his instant Vietnamese coffee, and Levi let it roll into voicemail, figuring the guy would call back or leave a message.
“’Cause you’re not the camp. That’s got its own ringtone,” Levi told his phone, shaking down the cafe da packets, then tearing them open to pour into his tall mug. “And I’m going to need some juice in me before I deal with anyone’s shit. Hell, I’m not even awake enough to deal with my own shit right now.”
Levi had just settled down onto the couch and had a sip of coffee when his phone chirped at him again. Sighing, he answered the call, not quite willing to have the outside world intrude but resigned to the inevitable. Tucking the phone against his ear, he said, “Yeah. Who is this? And why do we need to talk?”
The growl on the other side of the line was faint, a higher-pitched rumble than a wolf but definitely in the same family. Levi was about to hang up when the man finally spoke. “I don’t like being dismissed.”
“Call before eight in the morning after I’ve had a long night and you’re lucky I even answered the phone,” Levi said softly. “You can either start over with me and speak your piece or I move on and call the Los Lobos group out for violating Sanctuary rules. I do that, and you all are banned from coming in to plead your case. Your call.”
“How do you know I’m with Los Lobos?”
“Because who the hell else is going to call me up before the damned sun has burned off the fog and toss attitude my way?” Levi snorted. “Sure as hell isn’t going to be the Vikings, and there’s no one else being a pain in my ass but you guys. Make up your mind, because the offer’s only good for the next ten seconds. I rushed through a hot shower for you. That’s all the consideration I’m going to give after one of yours attacked someone at my place. Nine seconds.”
“This is Scotty. I’m the Lobos’ second.” Another sigh, and this time, it sounded strained. “I called to tell you Paolo didn’t know Charlie was there last night. I just found out this morning when Charlie came stumbling in.”
“Paolo’s the leader of your group,” Levi reminded him in a voice he often used on Deck when his son was on his fifth excuse for why he did something. “Things aren’t supposed to happen without Paolo knowing about them. You’re not doing your case for your own territory any good here, Scotty. Charlie left his colors in the alleyway, right in front of the guy he was trying to jump.”
“A human, right? A mundane?” Scotty’s voice reached for anything to hang a bit of hope on. “Late enough and maybe drunk enough to convince he didn’t see what he thought he did.”
“Yeah, nope. Let me spell it out for you in small words—wasn’t drinking, is an SFPD detective, and is Strega Zanetti’s grandson.” The sucked-in-hard hiss Scotty made nearly tore Levi’s ear off, but the profanity that followed impressed him with the second’s creativity. “Tell you what, you go wake Paolo up and tell him whatever story you were going to tell me, and when you guys figure it out, call me back. You’ve got two hours, and no, the solution doesn’t include killing Charlie. Maybe by then, I’ll have enough coffee in me and I’ll be in a better mood.”
Levi ended the call before Scotty could reply and went back to his coffee, nearly curling over the steaming cup in the hopes the fragrance alone would shake off the cobwebs in his mind. An intense sluggishness held on to his limbs, and while he’d love nothing more than to fall back into the couch’s almost-too-soft cushions, he still had Joe Zanetti to deal with.
The same Joe Zanetti who was standing at the end of the hallway, wearing nothing but the pair of thin cotton drawstrings Levi found for him only a few hours ago, and with very nice-looking arms crossed over his broad, gorgeous chest.
“You often tell people not to kill their own?” Joe’s rasp was thick with sleep, an erotic stroke on Levi’s tangled nerves. “Heard you talking. Figured you might need some help dealing with all of this. Then I remembered you’re a werewolf. What the hell can I do?”
“Not much difference between you and me, other than we bounce a little better with pain and some of us are a hell of a lot quicker,” Levi responded, cocking his head back to drink in the sight of the man standing half-naked in front of him. “Oh yeah, and the turn-into-an-animal thing, but really, not something you can put on your resume. That was one of the Lobos. He wanted to cover up the coyote thing from last night.”
“I heard you tell him no.” Joe fought back a yawn before finally giving in to it. “And then the two-hour deadline. That enough time for them to think up a different line of bullshit to tell you?”
“It’s actually enough time for them to wake up their fearless leader, tell him the bullshit story, and hammer out a solution. Because they owe you for the attack, and they owe me a hell of a lot for violating St. Con’s. Technically, I can call for them to be disbanded, but then who else is going to take in Reilly’s pack of mutts? It’s the one thing he’s been good at—giving the loners a place to belong.” Levi sucked down a bit more coffee, then nodded to the still-hot kettle. “Packets of the Vietnamese are on the counter if you want, and then maybe I can figure out something we can do for those two hours.”
