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a naïve curiosity maturity would soon strip away. Kendra saw in him the best their clan’s future offered—honesty, compassion, and strength. Hiding his inexperience behind an expensive Frat boy wardrobe and the reddish stubble on his innocent face, he plopped down at Cale’s side, sitting up straighter beneath the fond drape of his brother’s arm.
    Frederick, who preferred the nickname Rico, sprawled on the adjacent couch, filling the space with out-flung arms and restless energy, while Colin moved to stand at the one-way glass overlooking the bar area below, his arms folded across his chest, his posture ready and wary. Those poses said everything about them.
    His sigh-inducing build concealed by bulky hoodie and baggy board shorts, Rico was the family’s wildly explosive daredevil whose hot temper and beckoning grin both challenged and seduced. The unassuming Colin, with his world-weary green eyes, military cut, and indifferently assembled wardrobe, hid what he was inside—a tightly packed weapon of incredible power contained by thoughtful reason and distancing reflection.
    Dogs of War. That’s how the Twelve of the House of Terriot had seen themselves. Born to compete, bred to achieve regardless of method or right, they’d been raised by their separate mothers to conquer and rule. The only time they were in harmony was when faced with an outside foe. Until Cale had said “Stand beside me” instead of “Bow before me.”
    “Can you trust them?” she’d asked Cale when he’d begun his reign as their clan’s king.
    “I want to,” was his reply. “But I won’t be sure until the moment they betray me.”
    Not much to hold onto. Kendra wanted to trust them, too.  Not just for her mate’s safety but to fill the empty ache left by those who’d died and leaving her alone in a dangerous world with only her cousins Silas and Brigit and the memory of a boy’s vows to hold her shattered dreams together.
    Dreams she desperately needed to come true.
    “So,” Colin began with his quiet intensity, attention divided between his brother and movement on the club’s floor below. “How goes the negotiations, my king?”
    Cale had told them he’d come to New Orleans in hopes of brokering a truce between the clans. He hadn’t lied about the purpose, only the method.
    “Rueben’s been difficult to bring to the table. He says he’s interested in hearing what we have to say but’s in no hurry to do a face-to-face.”
    “The word of a Guedry is like a fart,” Rico muttered. “It’s loud and smells in the middle of company, then is quick to disappear with no one willing to take the blame for it.”
    Kip caught back his appreciative laugh when Cale scowled in his direction before continuing.
    “My guess is he’s waiting for Savoie’s return. Louisiana is the prize he’s interested in, not Nevada. He’d blow us off the planet if he could. He wants control of the transportation here in New Orleans. Or at least concessions to it.”
    “And we’re okay with that?” Rico growled. “Since when?”
    “Since we need their cooperation to stand against a greater outside threat. One I’ve just recently come up against.” He subconsciously flexed his untattooed hand, drawing Kendra’s notice to the ugly scarring across its back. A bite? He gave a slight start when she placed hers over it and began to trace along the savage marks with the gentle stroke of her thumb.
    Colin’s indolent pose became one of territorial bristling as he demanded, “What threat? Another clan?”
    Cale glanced his way, shaking his head. “No. Something different. Boogeymen we haven’t believed in since we were children. But now I know they’re all too real.”
    “Because of what MacCreedy’s told you?” Colin snorted. “He’s got no love for our clan even though he shares part of the bloodline. What makes you so sure he’s not drawing us into his fight to use as cannon fodder?”
    Kendra sensed a slight hesitation before Cale