The Wolf Marshal's Pack (U.S. Marshal Shifters 3)

The other two wolves flanked him but stayed farther back. The rust-colored one let out a little whimper.

But it was just a normal day, Aria thought as she looked her death in the face. Everything was fine. A couple of nice pictures of rabbits, Mattie’s flower crown, Mom’s deviled—

Her mom’s deviled eggs. With their smoked paprika.

The wolf didn’t have her arms pinned down. In a flash, Aria dug into her knapsack and came up with a squishy handful of wax paper and deviled eggs.

She shoved it in the wolf’s face as hard as she could, feeling the bundle burst open on his snout. Egg and mustard and mayonnaise smeared everywhere, but more importantly, so did the spicy, peppery smoked paprika. It went straight into his eyes and his nose.

The wolf recoiled, his eyes suddenly wet and bloodshot. He let out several explosive sneezes and clawed miserably at his snout.

The pepper had burned out his nose and left him temporarily blind—and left Aria temporarily free. She was never going to get a better shot than this.

Aria scrambled up and raced away.

She didn’t stop running until she flung herself into her car.

Her parents and daughter both gaped at her.

“Aria, baby, what’s—”

“Drive!” she said, panting and shaking. “Just drive!”

2

At first it seemed like it was going to be a slow day.

Sterling was far from Batman’s crime-ridden Gotham, but it wasn’t exactly sleepy, either. Most of the time, Colby Acton and his fellow US Marshals found plenty to do. They handled all the usual Marshal business—courthouse security, witness protection, asset seizure, fugitive hunting, and prisoner transport—and, on top of all that, they sorted out any shifter-related crime that popped up in the area and needed some quiet attention. They were one of the few secret shifter teams stashed in federal law enforcement. Combined with all their regular responsibilities, that usually meant that they had plenty to do.

But not on this particular July morning, apparently.

“Garbage can basketball?” Colby said hopefully.

Their chief, Martin, shook his head. “We all already know you’d win.”

“Nobody can beat a werewolf at basketball,” Gretchen said. “That’s why Michael J. Fox is so good at it in Teen Wolf.”

Colby nodded. “It’s true. Genetics are on my side.” He tilted his head, considering what athletic advantages his boss’s pegasus identity might give him. “You’re probably really good at polo?”

“I don’t make enough money to play polo,” Martin said dryly. “That’s a rich people sport. Try Theo.”

Their resident dragon looked up from his phone. Colby had no doubt that he’d been in the middle of composing a passionate, perfectly worded love text to his mate, Jillian, but Theo would never be rude enough to ignore them completely. Manners were as much of a part of dragon culture as hoards of gold.

And Theo, who had grown up in an elite, snobby, all-dragon enclave, knew a lot about both.

“Polo is very popular back home,” Theo agreed. “And rugby, golf, lacrosse, billiards, cricket...”

“You play cricket,” Colby said. He couldn’t believe it. “You know we’re in America, right?”

“I do, but my hometown is a little confused on the concept. Anyway, I’m not that good at it, but I like the part where the game stops and everyone has tea.”

Colby was afraid to ask if he was joking.

“I’d rather play garbage can cricket than garbage can basketball,” Gretchen said.

“We have a glass-fronted office and we work on the taxpayers’ dime,” Martin said. “None of you are playing garbage can anything.”

Colby’s cell phone rang.