Page 25 of The Lunatics

I didn’t even want to know what that had set his grandfather back. “Can I have a minute before we go in?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping away. “Take all the time you need.”

I leaned against my door and tried to get my bearings. I was in a strange place with strange wolves who weren’t used to the way my power leaked out of me when I was emotional. Past encounters had taught me that I needed to get a grip on myself before I met them. Michael’s assumption that I was an alpha was typical. I’d had several run-ins with other wolves who’d felt my power pushing against theirs and thought I was looking for a fight for dominance. That would be a hell of way to meet my in-laws.

An older man in what looked like livery emerged from a side door. He must have been seventy, and unlike the mystic from last night, his age showed. He had silver hair, combed neatly back from his lined face. His back stooped slightly as he moved toward us, and he favored his right leg, as though it were arthritic.

Warmth spread through the bond. I glanced over to see Michael giving him a small, barely there smile. Who was this man to expose such a chink in my mate’s armor?

“Welcome back, Mr. Kolbeck,” he said when he neared.

“Thank you, Roger,” Michael answered. He extended an arm toward me. “This is Ms. Fitzpatrick. She’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”

Roger bent his arched back even further, in what might have been a bow. He was a few inches shorter than me, with bright blue eyes. He was also human, but I decided not to hold that against him because he had a nice smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”

I extended my hand in his direction. “Please, call me Layla.”

We shook. He had a firm grip.

“Layla will be staying in the spare bedroom in my suite,” Michael told him. “Could you please have someone deliver her things there?”

“Of course, Mr. Kolbeck,” Roger said. If he was curious about any of this, it didn’t show in his expression. Not even his scent gave him away.

I was prompted to hand him my keys. Probably so that once my belongings were removed from the cabin, someone could park my eyesore of a truck far, far away from the six-figure vehicles that occupied the other bays of the garage.

“Are you prepared, or do you need another moment?” Michael asked.

“I’m good.” Well, as good as I was going to get.

He led me out of the garage toward the front door. The smell of roses hung heavy in the air. Bees buzzed all around us, a small army of them pollinating the flowers that ran riot through the gardens. Birdsong echoed from overhead. Michael was right: It didn’t quite drown out the distant sound of traffic, but it helped.

It also didn’t mask the sound of soft footfalls just inside the tree line, or the crackle of a handheld radio from farther away. I snuck a surreptitious glance around us and counted one, two,ten people in black fatigues, moving with the inherent grace of shifters. How close were the Kolbecks to war that they needed this much security in broad daylight?

Michael came to a stop on the front step. It was carved from the same stone as the house, worn in the middle from hundreds of years of foot traffic. I wanted to lean down and rub my hand over the smooth surface, but somehow, I didn’t think that would be considered proper, and I wanted to make a good first impression.

I tugged down the hem of my running shorts, conscious of the fact that the security detail would have eyes on me. “I should have changed before we left.”

Michael glanced at my legs. “I assure you, the sight of nylon and bare thighs will not cause my mother to suffer an apoplectic fit.”

His tone was calm, but I could feel a slight hint of nerves coming from him. I did my best to ignore it. After all, it could have been an echo of my stress reverberating through the bond. Mom and Dad told us that could happen, and I’d already seen it firsthand on the drive down.

Michael opened the front door to the sound of running feet. We stepped into a large foyer with parquet flooring. The ceiling rose thirty feet above our heads, and priceless artwork in gold gilt frames hung on the walls. A staircase climbed up the right-hand side of the room, leading to a viewing balcony high above.

The sound of feet slapping on hardwood grew louder, echoing off the walls. A teenage girl with long blond hair appeared above us, moving so fast she had to brace her hands on the railing to stop herself.

“Oh, it’s just you, Michael,” she said, frowning. “I felt something pass through the ward, something huge, like…” Her light brown eyes shifted to me. “You. You’re what’s making my skin crawl. What are you?”

She hadfeltme pass through it? She must be a mystic. Apparently, I hadn’t done a good enough job shielding myself.

I redoubled my efforts now.

“Manners, Elizabeth,” a woman called from our level. I recognized the cold voice from Michael’s earlier phone call. His mother.

Up above, the girl blushed. “Sorry.”

I winked at her, hoping to put her at ease. “It’s okay.”

She smiled shyly back at me.