The man shrugged, like it was becoming a compulsion. “Because he knows it will.”

I still wasn’t following. Fortunately, someone was.

“Are you saying Callum’s psychic?” Keely asked quietly, sounding a measure less incredulous than I felt when I heard the question. Alphas were connected to their packs. They saw through eyes that weren’t their own. They were strong.

But they weren’t psychic.

“I’m not saying a thing,” the Were said as if he couldn’t figure out how exactly he’d managed to say as much as he already had. “But, yeah. You don’t get to be Callum’s age or have a pack that big without an edge.”

Keely set my coffee cup back down and then moved on to the next table, and the Were stopped talking. His forehead wrinkled as he took in the full sight of our table. “What are you two doing anyway?” he asked.

I expected Lake to reply, but she didn’t. She’d gone ashen at the announcement about the alphas and hadn’t yet recovered.

“We’re plotting world domination,” I said, covering for her, wondering what was wrong, even as my own mind was muddled with possibilities I’d never considered. About Callum. About Ali’s assertion that Callum had known what my permissions would lead to, long before he’d ever granted them. “It takes more planning than one might think.”

Werewolves could smell lies, but most of them were significantly dicier on the subject of sarcasm.

“I should go.” Lake rushed the words into each other, and then, in a blur, she was gone, shotgun and all. The moment she left, I became aware of how close this foreign wolf was to me, how awful he smelled, how jarring his presence was to my pack-sense.

I didn’t show it. I just sat there, and after four seconds, or five, and one hard look from Keely, he backed slowly away. I reached for my coffee cup and didn’t notice until I picked it up that my hand was trembling. I reached out my other hand, steadying the cup, and then I brought it slowly to my lips, digesting what I’d just heard.

The alphas were coming. The Senate had been called.

Callum may or may not have been psychic.

And Lake was nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER TWENTY

GOING AFTER LAKE WAS EASIER SAID THAN DONE. I dropped our stuff back at Cabin 4, where my family and I were staying, and then I tried to figure out which of the other houses dotting the horizon was hers. Based on the number of them on the property, Mitch was either an impressive businessman or really bad about picking up strays. At some point, the Wayfarer appeared to have evolved from a restaurant/bar to some kind of inn.

Or possibly a halfway house.

None of which told me where Lake was, or why she’d run off in the first place. Either I’d missed something in her interaction with the wolf named Tom—and I didn’t think I had—or she was upset about the Senate meeting. Or what Tom had said about Callum.

Or both.

Until I knew what had upset her and why, I couldn’t judge whether it would be better to give her space or hunt her down, keep her out of trouble or get into some with her. Looking for her gave me an excuse not to think about the bombshells Tom had dropped.

Tracking had never been my strong suit, but I knew enough to start where I’d lost track of my prey to begin with. The dirt path up to the restaurant was well trod, and I wouldn’t have been able to pick out Lake’s tracks were it not for the fact that most of the other patrons of this fine establishment followed the trinity of instructions on the front door: No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service.

That had to have been Keely’s doing. Werewolves weren’t particular on the topic of dress, or lack thereof.

Lake’s imprint was light in the dirt, which told me she’d been running full speed, her feet barely touching the ground as she bolted. When the drive gave way to fields of grass, I followed the trajectory she’d been taking before until I hit a more densely wooded area. I found her clothes in shreds, scattered with the force of her forward momentum, her shotgun abandoned beside them.

Knowing what the torn tank top meant, I knelt to the ground and looked for confirmation. I didn’t have to look far.

Paw prints.

“She Shifted.”

The mild voice took me by surprise. I’d been so caught up in tracking Lake that I hadn’t noticed someone else tracking me.

Mitch had the grace not to mention just how easy that task had been. “Lake just needs to run it out for a bit. She’ll head for the mountains, always does. ’Bout halfway there, she’ll turn back.”

It was already getting dark outside.

“Don’t you worry about her, Bryn. I’ve never seen a girl for running like that one. For that matter, haven’t seen many wolves even half as fast. She’ll be back by sunrise. Always is.”

“Why’s she running?” I asked, slipping into the gentle cadence of Mitch’s ambling tone.

“Senate’s coming through,” Mitch commented, sounding for all the world like he was commenting on the weather. Storm’s comin’. It’ll pass.

“But what does the Senate meeting have to do with Lake?” I asked.

Mitch stared at my face, long and hard, taking measure of whatever he saw there before speaking again. “Nothin’ that I know of. I suspect they’ll be talking about this Rabid the two of you have been nosing around at all afternoon.”

And here I’d thought that getting away from Callum meant that I’d have some privacy—and the chance to get the drop on someone, every once in a while.

“Is Callum psychic?” The question slipped off my tongue before I’d even thought about asking it.

“Psychic?” Mitch repeated, biting back a smile that made me feel younger than I was. “Not a word you hear much in our world, Bryn.”

By some definitions, we were all psychic. Pack-bonds connected the Stone River wolves to each other, to their wives, and to me. I could speak to pack members without opening my mouth, and for the past two nights, Chase and I had shared dreams.

We’d pulled the image of a girl from the mind of the Rabid.

“Does Callum know that things are going to happen before they happen?” I asked, rephrasing the question in terms of specifics, as Ali’s question to me in the car floated back into my mind: How many times have you gotten the drop on Callum, Bryn? How many times has anyone?

“Callum’s got good instincts,” Mitch said.

“The kind of instincts that let him see the future?” All of a sudden, I had to know. How it worked. How much Callum knew.

If he’d done this to me on purpose.

“Let’s just say he has a knack for knowing what’s going to happen before it does and leave it at that.”

“A knack?” I snorted. “Like you have a knack for turning into a wolf?”

Mitch ignored my sarcasm. “Something like that.”

“Is it because he’s an alpha?”

“No.”

“Is it because he’s a Were?”

“No.” Mitch put his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s just a knack, Bryn. Some people have ’em. Most don’t.”

He made it sound so simple. So matter-of-fact that I wondered why it had never occurred to me before.

“Some people are fast. Some people are strong.” Mitch grinned. “Some people are just real easy to talk to.”

I recognized that grin and knew it meant something. He was teasing me. Real easy to talk to …

“Keely,” I said, my mind spinning. Lake and I had told her what we were doing without even meaning to. The peripheral male who’d warned us the other alphas were coming hadn’t spilled the beans about Callum’s reputed power until Keely had come over to pour my coffee, brushed her shoulder against his, and then, he couldn’t tell us everything we wanted to know fast enough.

No wonder Mitch had a human bartender, if that bartender had a knack for getting secrets out of anyone who passed through.

Knacks. Some people have them. Most don’t.

I saw the next question coming a mile off. I took my time asking it, because I didn’t want to sound as ridiculous as I had when I’d called Callum psychic. “Do I have one?”