Page 37 of The Lunatics

Shifters.

We rolled through intersection after intersection. I counted a dozen werewolves in the streets between them, some hidden in shadow, some standing bold as brass beneath the electric glow of neon lights. These were the Kolbecks’ foot soldiers, out prowling their territory as they kept the peace and held the front line.

Last night Michael told me that the Back Bay was the most northern point of the werewolves’ turf in Boston. The border with the vamps started at the Common. The bloodsuckers made their roost in the very heart of the city, but their feeding grounds extended all the way down to Southie and then west into Roxbury. To the north, the witches ruled over everything between the Charles and Mystic Rivers, from Bunker Hill up to Medford.

“Quite the forward force,” I said.

Michael glanced over at me. “You noticed?”

I nodded.

“You have a good eye for security. Were you an enforcer in your pack?”

“No. My dad is one of the few, though. We don’t have a need for many because our pack is pretty large, and we’re on good terms with the Allagash pack in Maine and the Long Trail pack in Vermont. If anyone threatened us, they’d have to face several hundred pissed-off wolves.”

“Only several hundred?”

I glanced over at him. “You say that like it’s a small number.”

He was quiet.

“Michael, how many wolves are in your pack?”

“Counting the outlying communities that answer to us, roughly five thousand.”

Holy shit.

Five thousand wolves. Living in the city, its suburbs, and the rest of the heavily populated state. How did I not know this? How did they stand it? And how the hell had they avoided discovery by all the humans around them?

“You had no idea,” Michael said, picking up on my shock.

“No. There weren’t many other wolves in Amherst.”

“Because of the witches.”

I nodded. “And I’ve never really paid much attention to pack politics or other clans. With my family history, it seemed like a good idea to keep my head down.”

“I’ll need to get you caught up. There are pack politics, and then there are inner pack politics. Here in the city, you need to worry about both. With so many wolves answering to us, there’s a constant struggle for dominance and supremacy. And we have several competing factions within the ranks.”

I could already see where this was going. “Each of which will want to know where I stand in the hierarchy.”

Michael nodded. “And may want to challenge whatever position they think you hold.”

I put my face in my hands and fought off a wave of exhaustion. The past forty-eight hours had finally caught up to me. Bonded against my will. My life packed up. The overstimulation of the city. Michael’s family. Warring preternaturals. And now this.

Michael reached out and gripped my shoulder through my T-shirt. “We’re almost there,” he said, no doubt feeling howdoneI was with today.

A few minutes later, he turned away from the Charles River onto a quieter street lined with brownstones. He took a right, down a one-way lane that ran between buildings. The Range Rover barely fit, and we crawled to a stop as Michael hit another button on his visor. He turned again, taking a concrete ramp downbeneath the buildings into a small garage that looked more like a bunker.

A large man in his midforties, his graying hair cut into a severe buzzcut, detached himself from the wall and came over to greet us. The breadth of his shoulders and chest spoke of long hours spent in the gym. His flinty brown eyes were hard. You could break your fist on his jaw, and the way he moved projected a persona of barely contained violence.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Ronald, my head of security,” Michael answered. “He’s not a threat.”

I climbed out of the vehicle, and Michael joined me on my side just before Ronald reached us.

The older man came to a halt a few feet away, looked me over, and then turned to his boss. “Your mother has called three times.” His voice was a deep baritone that seemed to rumble up out of his chest. He smelled annoyed.