Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace 5)

His voice, I noted, was etched with weariness. “I just raided your Jameson Limited Reserve.”

He laughed softly. “Tough day?”

“Yes and no.” I took an

other sip and felt the happy burn all the way down. “It sounds as if you’ll need a glass when you get home.”

“Three or four, more likely. We’ve spent the day dealing with a murder in the Marin compound.”

My pulse rate stuttered. “Not another flesh-stripper victim, I hope?”

“No. Just two men fighting over a damn woman. Things escalated badly before we could get there, and the victim died on the way to hospital.”

“Oh crap, Aiden, I’m sorry.” I hesitated. “Was it someone you knew?”

“I went to school with both of them.”

“Oh God—”

“Yeah,” he cut in softly. “He’s looking at several years behind bars, at least, despite the number of people who’ve testified the death was accidental.”

“And the families involved? How are they coping?”

I didn’t know a whole lot about werewolf life within the compounds—no one did, outside the werewolves who lived there—but I had been into the Marin compound once as a guest, and I’d witnessed how pack leaders dealt with a suspected murderer. Or would-be murderer, in that particular case. Thankfully, the sharpshooter who’d actually been behind the attempt on my life hadn’t banked on Aiden’s quick reflexes.

“You’ve met Rocco Marin. You can imagine how well he’s taking it.”

“It wasn’t one of his sons, was it?”

“No, but it doesn’t matter. The alphas are responsible for the behavior of the entire pack, and something like this is a major stain on their reputation.”

I frowned. “How? It wasn’t intentional—”

“No, but the punch that knocked Terrell down and eventually killed him was thrown in a fit of anger, and no wolf pack needs anyone thinking they cannot control their emotions. We’ve spent too long fighting that image.”

“I can’t imagine there’d be many who believe the Hollywood version of a werewolf these days.”

“Perhaps not, but that’s not really the issue. Few other packs want to deal with those who cannot control themselves—and that hurts their prospects when it comes to mates.”

Which was a major problem with a pack as small as the Marin—they needed outside blood to prevent inbreeding.

“Have you had dinner yet?” Aiden added.

“No, but I stopped at Woolies on the way here and got some supplies.”

“Steak and chips, by chance?”

“Garnished with bacon and eggs, and no green shit for you.”

He laughed softly. “You surely do know the way to a werewolf’s heart.”

I wish… “You showering before dinner or after?”

“Before. It’s been a hot and sticky day, and I think the deodorant has given up.”

I grinned. “I certainly have no desire to sit anywhere near a stinky werewolf.”

He laughed again. “I’ll be there in twenty.”