APEX

Ch. 29: Booty Call

Rhys

I could only put so much energy towards thoughts of Barnett dying by my hand. Not that it wasn't a pleasant idea. After all, he was a nuisance at best and a threat to Calla at worst. He'd made a huge mistake coming to my building after I'd taken him down—literally—back in the woods. My warning to him could not have been clearer: stay away from Apex and stay away from Calla. Instead of retreating, however, he'd ignored my command and I wanted him to pay dearly for it.

Calla had been clear with him as well. If he abided by her wishes, we'd never have to see his face again. That was that, then, right? If I kept dwelling on him, what good would it do? After he left with Simone, Calla didn't bring him up again. We seethed about him silently, behind our well-guarded psychic barriers.

There were other things to turn our attention to. Apex, in the days before the first full moon attack, had held a Meet Your Heroes event for the public every six months. During the event, different werewolves would speak at a nearby convention center, telling an engaged and predominantly human audience about their exploits on behalf of the citizenry, taking down the bad guys and keeping humans from harm's way. This conference had proven enormously popular over the years. I'd participated in them many times, going on panels to answer questions ranging from what it feels like to transform to how I took down the head of Sury's biggest drug cartel to when I was finally going to find my mate.

Aamon, unsurprisingly, was one of the convention's most popular speakers, and as luck would have it, one was scheduled for this weekend. My pleas to cancel the event in light of our precarious situation had fallen on deaf ears.

"It will be a security nightmare," I told Calla.

"I agree," she replied. "We still need this to happen."

"Aamon's going to fuck this up."

"Is that any different than usual?" She asked as she touched up her makeup using the pink compact mirror she kept in the left hand drawer of her desk.

"This is a bad idea, Calla."

"It's going to work," she said, her jaw set. This was Calla in her no-nonsense decision-making role and there was no stopping her. "Do you know why it's going to work?"

"Because it has to?"

"Yes, Rhys." She set her mirror down and peered at me, her clear green eyes wide and intent. "It has to. But beyond that, it's going to succeed because I'm putting you in charge of it."

"Me? Why do I have to do it?" Ugh. Conference organization was my least favorite task. My brain began to spit out excuses to get me out of it. "We have event planners already working on it."

"You'll coordinate with them. You'll be present the whole time." She tilted her head and spoke to me like she realized this was a chore and got satisfaction from making me do it. "We've already shortened it to a day so it shouldn't ruin your entire weekend. You will make sure security is doing their job to keep both shifters and humans safe, and you will make sure Aamon is doing his job as well. After all, this won't be the last time we put him out in the spotlight for his adoring fans to view."

Even though I didn't want to, I could pretty much do all of that except for the last part. "Aamon can't be controlled." I told her. I flashed on an image of a dark wolf, drool dangling from its jaw, eyes red and enraged. A werewolf wilding. Was that what my brother had become? Were all his antics and careless behavior a sign that I hadn't been reading correctly? Were we letting a murderer get up on stage in front of a group of unsuspecting, vulnerable humans?

"Try your best," she said, her face softening a bit. So she did understand the impossible task she was asking of me.

No, not asking. Telling. Ordering.