Private Dicks (2 page)

The Syndicate is like a mix of the FBI and the federal government to the unremarkable community. They handle all the weird inter-species issues, solve disputes, and they pass the general laws that everyone has to follow—stuff like 'don't attack humans' or 'don't murder faerie gentry'. They were a little late on that second one, though. It was because of the highly public and televised assassinations of the kings and queens of three faerie courts in Britain and the subsequent war that pulled in all of the unremarkable that the humans had had to sit up and face reality. Once the dust settled, the humans decided that, since we already had our own police force, they weren't getting in on that. We manage ourselves.

Some of the exceptions to the rule, though, are shifters, dragons, and demons. We police our own, and the Syndicate doesn't get involved and doesn't tell us what to do. We're strict, especially the shifters, and there's nothing the Syndicate can do that we can't—though they occasionally drop by and tell us to cooperate before disappearing back into the ether since packs and clans have a tendency to withhold information from each other.

If this dragon's badge is real, and he really is Teinen Kiari of the Emerald Clan, then things are worse than I thought, and this'll be stepping up Ryan's plans significantly.

"What's this about?" I ask and toss the badge back onto the table. The dragon doesn't move to take it back.

"I'm sure you've at least heard whispers of the string of shifter murders and kidnappings occurring on the East Coast for the past three months." It isn't a question. Everyone knows about the murders, though the clans whose lands they've occurred on are mostly mum on the situation. "We've managed to narrow down our suspect list to a couple of packs, and—"

"You think it's wolves?" I ask, crossing my arms. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Smells like wolves, though we can't pick out any specific pack. Wolf fur, wolf bite marks. That it was wolves was one of the first things we determined."

"Why are you coming to me about this?"

He gives me another one of those long, measuring looks, and I quell the urge to squirm. Damn dragons. He shrugs eventually. "You're well-liked and respected, wolf. Fuck me if we can figure out where you came from, but people trust you."

"Yeah," I drawl. "Everybody loves Reese Greymist, finder of lost dogs and kittens. Hell, even the local packs like me enough to not kill me dead for living in one of their neighboring towns."

"Those local packs want you to pick a side," he says patiently, and I narrow my eyes.

"No, those local packs want me gone," I breathe. I shrug. "You didn't answer my question."

"The pack that we're thinking is committing these murders is Deepine. They have a niche market for spices imported directly from China. All the major distribution in the US comes from them, and almost all of the victims have trace amounts of one of these spices, an especially rare one, on them."

"Why don't you just do an analysis on the hairs you found?"

"Because you know we don't have a database with every wolf shifter's hair on tap. That sort of thing is kept by the packs themselves." An edge of irritation floats underneath the dragon's tone, and I nod slowly.

Looks like the Syndicate's screwed on this one, even if they could risk working openly, which they won't. The packs would tear them apart for interfering where there's a tacit agreement of 'we don't kill you and you let us conduct our own business'. Half the reason the packs are so closeted is because most of almost every pack's revenue comes from illegal sales, debt collecting, what have you. I've heard that before the unremarkable came out and started getting openly involved with the economy, the human organization called the Mafia based a lot of their structure off of wolf packs they came in contact with.

"So what is it you want?" I ask.

"We want you to infiltrate Deepine, work up through the ranks, and find out what you can about the murders, and if they're involved."

"What makes you think I'll get anywhere? I'm an errand boy."

"Like I said, fuck if we know where you came from, but I've heard rumors you used to be an enforcer. A talented one." The dragon's tone is light, almost friendly, but I bare my teeth anyway. Ryan's going to flip his shit when he finds out someone was talking to the Syndicate.

"Fine," I say. "I'll look into submitting a bid to join." I cross the room and open the door, every hair on the back of my neck pricking up, and pause before my bravado can abandon me. "Come talk to me once I've started killing for them."

*~*~*

Shifter clans and packs are delicate things. Eternally at war with their neighbors, dominance and hierarchy are strictly controlled, and negotiations are usually less 'negotiate' and more 'murder'. Because of this, you'd think that enrollment in a pack or clan isn't all that well tracked. You'd be wrong. Enrollment is tracked meticulously: hair, blood, and tissue samples are taken, as well as fingerprints, paw prints, and depending on the species and pack, some even record your howl or cry. Attempting to join a new pack, called a bid, can take weeks or months, depending on circumstances and pack.

I know this is why people are so damn curious about me. I'm obviously socialized, which means I didn't grow up in the wild, but I'm unfamiliar with humans, so I can't have been raised by one. At the same time, I'm not on any enrollment list for a pack, anywhere, and enrollment is one of those things that every pack does, and they make sure all the Is are dotted and all the Ts are crossed, so I've got to be somewhere, right?

No one took Ryan's arrogance and desire for a secret killing machine into account, though I can't really blame them. There's no real accounting for Ryan.

Deepine has an open bid call, thankfully, and from what I can gather from the people I chat with at the only shifter-only bar in town, they don't have a set submission criteria. That makes it easier and harder. Packs can be stupidly specific about submission criteria, which is a pain, or they can have no submission criteria, which means you have to get creative, but not too creative cuz then they think you're crazy.

It only makes sense for me to apply as an enforcer. I haven't got much else in the way of specialized talents, and enforcers can move up ranks pretty quickly if they're skilled and determined enough. All males serve as enforcers for at least three years after they turn eighteen unless they have a great deal of skill in some other area, and that rule differs from pack to pack. Some males come from families within a larger pack that are traditionally enforcers, and some males are trained from a very young age to be enforcers for the rest of their lives, like me. Ryan found me wandering around the pack hunting grounds when I was still just a pup, snot-nosed and half-frozen, took me in, and if he trained me to be a thug rather than his successor like everyone was expecting, well … there's not lot I can do about that.

I can't help reaching for forgiveness, even though I know I'll never get it. Partial exile doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's awful to hear about, worse to experience. Not allowed to hunt or live on pack lands, not allowed to visit more than a few times a month or talk to anyone … Not that anyone in my pack wants to talk to me.

I sit in a tree and watch Deepine mill about. There are three wolf packs that share control of this section of New England: Silverlight, Deepine, and River. All their hunting grounds fan out from the city, as they're all based here due to complicated political ties. Like most packs, they have designated group hunting days, though they divide up based on criteria I can't determine from here since they're so huge. Deepine's one of the biggest packs in North America, over one hundred members last time I heard, probably closer to two hundred by now. It takes a lot to manage a pack like that, and everyone's heard of Donovan, hereditary alpha and supposedly one of the most decent wolves around.

It isn't hard to pick him out of the crowd, though I can't see much detail. It's something about the way he carries himself, all alphas do it, like he's aware of each and every thing you're thinking and none of it bothers him cuz he knows you're his. Arrogant bastards, the lot of them. I wince a moment later and push the guilt away.

He knows I'm here, without a doubt, but he's waiting for me to make my move. I settle back against the tree trunk, one leg swinging easily over the side of the branch I'm sitting on, and contemplate. This sort of thing isn't like me at all, I can admit that easily enough. I'm used to the shadows, more used to dodging criticism than seeking praise, and I'm painfully aware that I have no credentials, nothing to back me up. All I have is a lifetime of training, and that won't do me a damn bit of good if I can't get this man's attention.

I clench my hands convulsively. I have to do this, too. If I do this, and do it well, maybe Ryan and the rest of the pack will forgive me.

Just pretend he's Ryan. All alphas are the same anyway, right? So what would please Ryan?
I snort and shake my head, smiling, pretending the trace of bitterness isn't there. Right. This makes it easier.

I jump out of the tree, slipping into my half-form as I fall, and when I land on the ground, the forest is alive around me. I waste no time, don't give myself even half a chance to hesitate and lose my courage, and start running. I can't help the breathless laugh that escapes me as I run, drawn by the multitude of scents that blend and scream
pack
over the deep green and musk of the trees and plants themselves.

When I come to the edge of the clearing the pack is milling about in, the alpha's standing near the edge of the crowd, surrounded by four high-tier enforcers. They look like they're ready to kill me, but the alpha steps forward, out of their protective circle, and I frown before I catch the slip. I've never known an alpha to willingly leave the circle of his bodyguards to greet an unknown wolf.

"Reese Greymist?" the alpha asks, his tone polite.

So not unknown, I guess. "Yes," I say, a touch nervously.

The man cocks his head to the side, a small smile on his admittedly handsome face. "What are you doing here?"

Well, nothing for it now. I stride forward a couple of paces, until I'm nearly within arm's reach of the alpha, and drop to my knees, head bowed and the back of my neck very, very exposed. "I would like to submit a bid to join your pack."

The silence is so loud I have to resist the urge to look up and see if they're all still there. Okay, so maybe this plan was a little on the wrong side of creative. I have no doubt it would make Ryan blindingly happy to see me submit and humble myself in front of the pack, but then again, I haven't caused this alpha the problems I've caused Ryan. Is he going to decide I'm crazy and have me killed?

"No, wait," I hear him murmur, and then footsteps crunch over the grass, coming closer. A hand descends to rest on the back of my neck, and a full-body shudder runs through me. "What makes you want to join my pack out of all the packs that would have you?"

"Your pack is powerful and close-knit, and you're well-liked and respected," I say, echoing all the things my bar friends told me. "You're fair and …" I swallow hard. "I'm … tired of being alone." I could smack myself for that last comment. Alphas don't care about that, about loneliness. Why should they? They're never alone, never have to fend for themselves. Dammit, this was a stupid idea.

"Very well." The hand lifts, and grass crunches as the alpha kneels in front of me and sniffs at my neck. Is he going to smell Silverlight on me? I haven't been back in weeks, but that doesn't mean the scent won't linger. But he just rubs his cheek against mine and stands. "I accept your bid to join my pack." A gentle nudge at my chin has me looking up at him, and I suddenly become aware of just how gold his eyes are. "Bids typically take two to four months to complete. In that time, you will be supplied with room and board and are expected to participate in whatever activities we ask of you, within reason." Another slight head tilt. "Do you have a particular position you're applying for?"

"Enforcer," I say without hesitation.

A smirk flits over his face before disappearing. "Good," he says warmly. "You are, of course, permitted to visit your home pack, if you have any." His expression turns expectant, but I say nothing, and he smiles again. "And you may, of course, continue running your business." He half-turns to one of the men behind him. "Who knows, maybe we could do with a private investigator, hm?"

Laughter that isn't mocking surrounds me, and I fight to contain my frown. Just what have I gotten myself into?

*~*~*

I turn up at the training room, three weeks after I submitted my bid, for my daily workout and am instantly wary when I see Donovan lounging with Mika, my trainer, on the other side of the room. They're not paying attention to me, and I take my time walking over to get a feel for the situation.

The training room's neat as always: huge mats on the floor, chairs and pillows ringing the circumference of the room. It doubles as a meditation room when the other ones are full, but it's usually only this empty around midnight, when most of the pack is bedded down. There's several doors leading off two of the walls. One leads to the weapons rooms and the other leads to the armory where we keep the serious firepower. The atmosphere is relaxed and calm and my heart rate slows down.

I don't think Donovan's here to kick me out. He's relaxed and laughing at something Mika's saying, and people don't do that when they're gonna punish someone, right? God, I'm pathetic.

I stride up to the pair, and Donovan turns to look at me mid-laugh. I misstep and almost stumble, but manage to pass it off as a particularly enthusiastic stop.

"I'm glad you're here," Donovan says. He stands and claps a hand onto my shoulder. "You're so talented I've decided to step up your bid." Mika rises and grins at me from behind Donovan, the expression oddly mischievous on his normally stoic face. "Mika's gonna take you debt collecting today," Donovan continues, grinning, and I feel an answering smile spread across my face.

"Yeah?" I ask, rocking forward onto the balls of my feet, then back. I haven't had a chance to really go out and do what I spent my whole life learning to do in months.