Page 66 of The Tracker's Rage
“I’m all right,” I said in a mechanical voice.
He pressed his big head to my stomach, exhaling a sigh of relief. I laid my hands on his soft fur, and found comfort in petting him.
Ulfen marched in our direction, wearing a burgundy, silken robe. I blinked, the absurd sight waking me from my stupor. He looked like freaking Hugh Hefner. He held another similar robe in his hands with a pair of slippers on top. He handed them over.
“Here,” he said, keeping his blue eyes focused on mine, for which I was grateful. Maybe he knew that if his gaze had headed south, I would’ve tried to claw his eyes out.
I threw the slippers on the floor and put them on as I stuffed my arms into the silken robe and tied it around my waist. Over Ulfen’s shoulder, I saw others running around in Hugh Hefner robes, busying themselves with righting furniture and pushing bodies out of the way. It seemed they were prepared for naked eventualities, a smart thing for werewolves to do. I took note.
“Want a robe, Knight?” Ulfen asked.
Jake shook his head and bared his teeth. He seemed to be in a protective mood and preferred his wolf shape for the job.
Ulfen shrugged. “Have it your way, but let’s get out of here before the police arrive. This way.” He trudged toward the back of the building, swerving through bodies and debris. I grabbed my clutch from the booth where I’d left it. My ID and Camaro keys were in it. Man, I would have to figure out a way to keep those on me when I shifted.
I glanced down at Jake, questioningly. He gave one nod, so I followed. Jake walked protectively at my side, his claws clicking on the floor. Ulfen led us through the kitchen where the smell of fried food clogged the air. No one was there. Potatoes cut into wedges were turning brown on the prep station, and a pot bubbled madly on an industrial-sized stove. Ulfen ignored all of it and exited through a metal door into the back alley. It was a different exit from the one Jake and I had used to sneak in last time, but it led to the same narrow alleyway.
A black sedan already waited there, the engine running. Ulfen opened the back door for me. I climbed in, Jake right behind me. The door slammed shut, and Ulfen climbed in the passenger seat.
“Downtown,” he told the driver.
The man nodded and we were off.
Jake lay across the seat and rested his head on my lap. His massive body occupied most of the space while I was pushed against the door. I didn’t mind, though. It felt warm and cozy and safe.
No one said anything during the fifteen-minute drive. When we arrived at a tall building close to Busch Stadium, we went into an underground parking lot, and the driver deposited us right in front of an elevator. We climbed in, and Ulfen pressed the top number on the row of buttons and waved a security card in front of a reader.
The elevator went straight up without stops, and it opened into a lavish foyer. He led us to a luxurious living room furnished with white leather couches overlooking floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the city.
“Sit, Ms. Sunder.” He pointed toward one of the sofas, then disappeared into an adjacent room.
I did as I was told, still feeling addled and not quite myself, like I’d just woken up from a long nap and needed a double espresso.
“This place is something, huh?” I said.
Jake hopped on the sofa and, again, laid his head on my lap.
A well-stocked bar was tucked in a corner of the room. I sighed. “I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink that would actually dull the edge for more than two seconds. I mean... the stuff tastes good, but it’s pretty much useless,” I said, staring longingly at the bottles lining the glass shelves against the wall.
Ulfen returned, dressed in slacks and a button up shirt. A pile of clothes rested in his hands. He set them on the sofa across from where we sat and walked back toward the bar.
“I've got just the thing for you, Ms. Sunder.” He poured a red liquid in three tumblers, walked back to the sofa, and set them on the glass coffee table between us. He pushed two of the tumblers in our direction, then sat and sipped from his, tiredly rubbing his neck.
I picked up the red drink and took a sip. It smelled of oak and earthy moss, and burned all the way down. I coughed and thumped my chest. Warmth spread through my body, and I felt my shoulders relax a bit.
“That’s some good stuff,” I said. “What is it?”
“It’s called Oakfire. It’s not cheap.” He swirled the liquid, glancing at it against the light.
“Figures. I also want one of those shifting rings, but they’re not cheap either.”
Ulfen raised an eyebrow. “Shifting rings are not only expensive but rare.” He wiggled his fingers to show he didn’t have one.
“Oh.” Eric hadn’t mentioned that.
He set his glass down. “Well, did you find anything out?”
“That your son is a coward,” I said. “He left as soon as the battle began.”
