Chapter 8 Suitor

Patricia

"Oh, so now you want him to mark us?"

Louella's response comes fast and indignant. "I didn't say that. That was hyperbole. Completely different."

"Sure it was."

Sera doesn't hear any of this, of course. "Well? You at least have to ask him, don't you? How do you know he'll say no if you never ask?"

I open my mouth to answer.

My phone buzzes.

I glance down. The notification header reads: ARCADIA INSTITUTE CONTAINMENT ALERT CODE RED.

I'm already reaching for my jacket. "I'll ask him."

Sera blinks. "Wait, right now?"

"It's the lab." I pull on my coat. "But I'll ask him. See you."

The containment zone smells like antiseptic and animal fear, which is a combination I've become so accustomed to that it barely registers anymore. What does register is Layla, already suited up in a Level 2 containment suit, crouched near an overturned transport crate in the corridor junction. Three of the mutant rodents are cornered against the far wall. Two more are unaccounted for.

"You got the alert too," she says, not looking up. She has a catch-pole in one hand and a sedation injector in the other.

"I was nearby." I pull my own suit from the emergency cabinet and step into it. "When did you get back?"

"About two hours ago." She finally glances at me, and even through the visor I can see the exhaustion carved into her face. "Spent the last week in the Ashfield Barrens. No signal, and the local fauna apparently has opinions about tranquilizer guns." She nods toward the cornered rodents. "I didn't even make it through intake processing before two of them chewed through the secondary lining of the transport crate."

I secure my visor and pick up a second catch-pole from the rack. "Where are the other two?"

"Vent shaft, section C. Maintenance is sealing it from the outside."

We work through the corridor methodically, cutting off escape routes. Layla handles the catch-pole while I manage the sedation injections. The first rodent goes down cleanly. The second takes two attempts.

"You know what's funny," Layla says, maneuvering the third subject toward the corner, "these are supposed to be sample stock. For the new director."

"New director?"

"Starting soon, apparently. Werewolf like us, came back from some European institute. Vampire-affiliated research program." She pins the crate shut and straightens. "Word is his work overlaps almost exactly with our reversal virus project. There's talk of folding him into our department."

"Fresh blood would help." I move to the next target.

"That's one way to put it. Anyway, welcome gift from me to him: a containment breach on his sample stock before he's even had an orientation meeting."

By the time we've recovered all five subjects and resealed the transport crates, two hours have passed. The corridor looks like something small and very angry had a disagreement with it. Overturned sample trays, a cracked wall panel, a biohazard bin knocked sideways.

I'm logging the incident on the wall terminal when I hear footsteps at the corridor entrance.

Dexter Hall stands in the doorway, dressed in a suit that has no business being anywhere near a sublevel containment zone. He's the kind of Lycan who shows up in the lab maybe twice a year, and only when something goes wrong badly enough to threaten his investment. He takes in the scene, and then his gaze moves to me.

"Greyson." His tone is professionally courteous, the kind that carries a current of something else underneath. "Quite a day. I trust no one was seriously injured?"

"Fully contained." I don't look up from the terminal.

He asks two or three questions about the breach protocol, the kind of questions that are technically relevant but are really just scaffolding for the conversation he actually wants to have.

"The moonflowers I had delivered last week... I was hoping they arrived safely?"

I finish the line I'm typing before I respond. "They did. I had them returned, Director Hall."

A brief silence. When I look up, his expression hasn't shifted into embarrassment or retreat. If anything, there's a faint deepening of interest. "Returned? That's my oversight, then. I'll find out what you prefer." He takes a small step forward. "Are you free tonight? There's a place in—"

"Dexter." My voice is even, unhurried, and entirely final. "I have mate."

He stops. "Your mate." He repeats it. "Last time I checked, you—"

"We haven't made a public announcement." I hold his gaze.

His eyes drop, almost involuntarily, to the side of my throat. "Then why isn't there a mark?"

The corridor goes very still. Somewhere behind me, I'm fairly certain Layla has stopped breathing.

I don't answer immediately. I lift my right hand instead.

The enchanted ring catches the light. The fragment of wolf's tooth at its center throws back a faint cold gleam. And then, as though the attention itself is enough to wake it, the magic stirs. It exhales, a deep and quiet pressure that fills the corridor like a change in air density, carrying the unmistakable weight of an Alpha Lycan's territorial claim.

Dexter Hall's body moves before his mind does. One small involuntary step back. His jaw tightens. He's Lycan himself, high-ranked and self-possessed, and the fact that the reflex happens anyway says everything about whose name is written into that enchantment.

"Alpha Lycan?" The word comes out in a different register than anything he's said before.

I lower my hand. "The mark ceremony has its proper time, Director Hall. I think the ring has answered your question."

He stands in the corridor for several seconds after that. Then he turns and walks out without another word.

I turn back to the damage assessment. Layla works beside me in silence, and I can tell that she has things she wants to say and is biding her time.

The time arrives when we are taking a shower.

"Okay," she announces through the partition. "I've been holding that in since he walked away. You have a Lycan mate? Is that why you said it's complicated last time?"

"The mark ceremony isn't complete yet," I reply. "So..."

"Patricia." Her voice carries the weight of someone choosing words carefully. "I know what the gap between werewolf and Lycan looks like. But that ring just made Dexter Hall flinch. Do you understand what that means? Nobody is going to look at you sideways in this building again."

I turn my face into the water as an answer.

Layla finishes before I do. She says goodnight through the door. I make an acknowledging sound. She leaves.

The shower runs a little longer.

The sublevel corridor is empty by the time I'm dressed. I shoulder my bag and check the time. Late. Later than I'd realized.

I pull out my phone.

Four missed calls from Julius. All within the last hour.

And one voicemail.

I tap it.

His voice comes through the speaker, clipped and carrying an edge I can't quite categorize: "Why aren't you at home?"

"Home?" Louella observes. She sounds almost as puzzled as I feel. "He came home two nights in a row?"