Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae #1)(104)

Roger apparently didn’t realize that Emery wasn’t one to follow orders any better than Steve. He was supposed to be here too, but the mage had decided to wait in Seattle until the last minute, where he’d then use a couple magical fast tracks, somehow skirting past loitering elves to do so, and rendezvous with Devon’s pack at the agreed upon time and place. It was dicey, Emery’s plan, especially since he’d expressly forbidden those types of patrolled magical roads when Charity was in toe, but it wasn’t Steve’s place to say boo. Given that Emery wasn’t pack, Roger couldn’t do dick about his decision, which was how Steve had gotten the solo role of fucking with the new guys.

Roger should’ve known better.

He looked around the deserted warehouse parking lot. This place was a real dump. Trash littered the streets, show windows were boarded up or broken, and a couple of used condoms were draped over a cracked parking bump five feet away. A fixer-upper, but the people here sure knew how to party.

He hoped someone tried to mug him.

The portal shimmered white before a booted foot stepped through the jagged slice in the sky. Although Steve didn’t know these shifters personally, he’d seen all three of them in passing and heard plenty of stories. Steve combined with these three would equal ten decent shifters on the battlefield, they were that good.

The first to step through was Dale, complete with a stupid-looking mustache and a bump in the side of his lower lip from his chewing tobacco. His small black eyes trained on Steve before drifting away, sussing out the area.

“This place is a shit-hole,” Dale said, taking a wide stance with his hands on his hips. “This where that chick’s father lives?”

“The broken down warehouse, yes.” Steve pointed at the condoms. “This is her boudoir where she entertains men-folk. She wasn’t here, though, so they just got after it themselves. Too bad you missed the action.”

Dale shook his head, his gaze barely flicking toward the mess. “Do you got duct tape for that mouth?”

“My, my. Kinky. Sorry, Chuck, I don’t swing that way.”

Dale’s eyebrows pinched together. “My name is Dale, and I wanted that tape to shut you up, dipshit.”

Steve grinned. Nothing irritated self-important pricks more than when you got their names wrong.

They were here to do what Alder, the beta of the North American pack, hadn’t been able to do those few months ago—talk to Charity’s father and try to get some proof of Charity’s ancestry. They wanted to make sure she was actually custodes—a guardian—a subset of fae known to their people as protectors. Back before the elves took the Realm in hand, giving it order and decency, the custodes watched over the fae, using their superior strength and speed to keep the beasties away. It was because of this efficiency and brutality in battle that they earned a nickname from the rest of the magical world. They weren’t called protectors, they were called warriors.

Steve didn’t often listen to Alder’s history lessons, but this one had had him in rapt attention. He remembered Charity at what he now referred to as Vlad’s impromptu barbecue. She was fierce and intense, ripping through vamps and demons like she was born to it. It had been thrilling. He wanted to know more of her people.

But first, they had to know more about her.

So after the little meet and greet with daddy, they would trek deep into the Realm, hoping to get Charity fixed up. Roger figured Charity could get the pack past the old man and his shotgun without someone getting shot. From what Steve had heard, Charity wasn’t so sure.

Barbara stepped through the portal next, her camo jumpsuit and army boots strange for this detail. The only plants in the area were the brown, scraggly bushes and a few dying trees dotting the sidewalk. She clearly hadn’t quite understood the term urban jungle.

Despite her dress code confusion, she was a moderately attractive lady with a good, perky rack. Steve had heard she was a humorless woman with no use for men, but maybe that was because she hadn’t gotten tickled just right yet. He wouldn’t mind showing her how fun a man could be. They’d have to do something about that intense scowl, though. It was a dick shriveler, for sure.

Cole came through last, all six feet five inches of him. The guy was massive, with a barrel chest, thick swinging arms, and a big flat face. He looked like he’d gotten kicked repeatedly with an ugly boot and left for dead.

Steve had seen the were-yeti in battle a few times, and the dude was fierce. Cole didn’t give a damn what the danger was, he ran flat out at anything the enemy could throw at him. Granted, flat out was more of a slow lumber, but when he eventually got there, he ripped through his opponent no holds barred, vicious and intense.

Steve nearly chuckled.

Three intense fighters, a rogue natural who’d earned his stripes by going his own way, a warrior fae losing control of her magic, and a green alpha who intended to lead them all.

He’d never say it to the alpha’s face, because he didn’t want his head ripped off, but this whole situation was a clusterfuck. Roger was crazy for thinking a college kid could lead these rough-and-tumble shifters. They’d walk all over Devon the instant he issued an order one of them didn’t like. The discord would likely make the Rogue Natural bugger off back to his crazy old lady and her vampire loving friend.

If Steve were a smarter man, he never would have volunteered for this detail.