Season of the Witch (Claws Clause 2)

That didn’t mean anything to Colt. Most of the Paras in the Bumptown knew which house was Colt’s—mainly so they could be careful to avoid it.

But the hat?

The accent?

Deliberately fucking with him by bringing a cop to his door, then conveniently forgetting to mention that?

“Yeah,” Colt spit out from between gritted teeth. “You could say that.”

6

Dodge was floating just inside the living room when Colt finally slammed the front down behind him. He’d taken his derby off, flipping it over and over again as he hovered over Colt’s sofa, a smirk on his ghostly face.

It took one look at his friend’s expression and his suspicions were confirmed.

“You’re an ass.”

“Ah.” Dodge’s smirk widened into a shit-eating grin. “Ain’t that why we get along so well?”

Colt had to admit that Dodge had a point. He might not have the same sense of humor as Dodge, but there was no denying that he most definitely was an ass, too.

He scowled. “You could’ve at least warned me.”

“Warned you about what? It’s not like the copper out there shared his plans with me. He just asked if anyone knew where to find you. I did and now I got some scratch. No harm, no foul.”

Colt narrowed his gaze on Dodge. “And what do you need money for? You don’t eat, you don’t pay for your house, and it’s not like you can change your clothes.”

“It’s more like I’ve got it now and the bull doesn’t. Get it?”

Bull. Another slang term for police officer. Since Dodge had spent his youth as a runaway on the streets in late nineteenth-century New York, he developed a disdain for the police—as well as an affinity for money.

When Colt was a pup, Dodge used to practice his poltergeist powers lifting pennies from his piggy bank. He eventually stopped when Colt caught on and blamed Maddox. Maddox whooped Colt’s ass in the way only an older brother could before denying it was him. Dodge’s snickers as Colt’s black eye healed proved it was a sticky-fingered specter rather than a sneaky shifter.

It was the first time Colt threatened to have Dodge exorcised. He didn’t mean the threat any more than the hundreds of other times he used it against Dodge in the twenty years that followed, but that was the last time Dodge stole anything from Colt’s room.

Of course, he only started to target Maddox which led to further fights between the brothers.

Ah. Puphood.

Sometimes he wondered how his parents didn’t scruff their two boys and leave them to fend for themselves on the edge of pack land. And now his body thought he was ready to mate Shea and start creating some pups of his own?

Deep in his chest, his lonely wolf threw back its head and let out a mournful howl.

Colt shook his head, rubbing his breastbone roughly with the heel of his hand. “Whatever, man. It doesn’t matter. Either way, I’m stuck working with Wright now.”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Because of course he was listening at the door. “Mad’s gonna have a fit.”

“You think I don’t know that? But it’s not like he’s even the one who’s gotta deal with Wright.”

It was worth it. He’d never admit it out loud—not even to Dodge—but, to keep Shea safe, dealing with Wright would be worth it.

Just because he was an ass who couldn’t give her what they both needed didn't mean that he ever wanted to see her hurt or in danger. Fate might say she was his mate, and Colt would definitely disagree, but she was so sweet, so giving—

—and any Nightwalker that thought she was easy pickings to go on their twisted menu didn’t know who they would be screwing with.

* * *

Too bad his older brother didn’t seem to agree.