For a second, I forgot the awkwardness of the moment as a single word filled my brain: Damn.
My approval must have shown on my face because the corners of Kyle’s mouth quirked up in a slightly cocky grin. His gaze took in every inch of my dress and the skin it didn’t cover as he walked toward us. He stopped just in front of me. Without glancing at Jason, he placed his hands on my hips and brushed his lips against mine.
The kiss was brief and light, but it still left my knees shaking.
“You look amazing,” he murmured, pulling back as heat spread slowly through my body, warming me from the inside out.
His eyes lingered on the necklace for a moment. He glanced at Jason and raised an eyebrow, eliciting a barely perceptible shrug. I wondered if he had been with Jason the day he bought it.
“Aren’t you going to tell me how pretty I look?” Jason ran a hand over his lapel. His eyes were dark and the joke was forced, but a small grin still flashed across his face.
“You’re a gorgeous specimen of manhood,” deadpanned Kyle.
“Not to interrupt the bromancing, but . . .” My gaze darted from one boy to the other. “Are you guys sure you want to do this?”
The look Kyle shot me was pure exasperation. “Do you even need to ask?”
I shrugged. Of course I did.
“Free drinks, hors d’oeuvres, and women in low-cut dresses.” Jason let out a small, very male laugh. “Your concern for our well-being is touching, but I think we can handle it.”
Half of those women in low-cut dresses would probably be anti-werewolf zealots, and the idea of Jason and free drinks didn’t exactly give me warm and fuzzy thoughts, but I tucked a hand into the crook of each boy’s arm. “Let’s go sparkle.”
If Jay Gatsby had lived in Hemlock, he would have crashed parties at the Walsh house.
Amy’s family was the closest thing the town had to royalty and their parties were legendary. Even an invitation to something like this—a boring fund-raiser where wealthy socialites and politicians could mingle with prestigious Trackers and high-ranking LSRB officials—was highly coveted.
Despite the fact that the National Guard was patrolling the streets and the entire town was under a ten o’clock curfew, plenty of people had turned up—way more people than had invitations. The party had been under way for over an hour and the line outside the gates kept growing.
“Do you want my jacket?” asked Kyle as I stood between him and Jason and hugged myself for warmth.
I shook my head. I’d be okay—for now—though I was seriously regretting our decision not to don coats before walking the short distance from Jason’s house.
We inched our way forward as the security team turned away another group of gate-crashers. I had watched more than one party at Amy’s house from the shadows, but I had never seen security precautions like this. Five men worked the gate. They didn’t allow any cars to remain within fifty feet of the driveway, and each guest who made it through was scanned with a portable metal detector before being allowed to proceed up to the house on foot.
But that was only the second layer of protection. Before you could even approach the gate, you had to make your way through a gauntlet of Trackers. Like a living wall, dozens of them lined each side of the street, stretching from one edge of the Walshes’ property to the other. Something about the way they carried themselves—the set of their shoulders and the way they snapped to attention whenever someone spoke to them—made me wonder if they’d had military training. Some of the more extreme Tracker chapters trained their younger, fitter members for what they saw as an impending war between wolves and regs.
The Walsh family hadn’t asked for the added security—not according to the snatches of whispered conversation I caught around us—but with so many important Trackers inside, the group wasn’t taking any chances.
With a miniature riot last night and the National Guard crawling over Hemlock, I guess I couldn’t blame them for wanting the extra protection—and that was without factoring in the idea that an unknown number of werewolves were planning God only knew what for the night of the rallies.
I remembered Trey’s words about the town being a tinderbox and shivered.
Even though contacting our families felt like a risk, I had called Tess and tried to convince her to get out of Hemlock for a few days—without luck. She had insisted she’d be fine as long as she stayed inside. With the National Guard controlling the flood of traffic in and out of town, she felt safer in the apartment than stuck for hours at a checkpoint. Kyle’d had better luck with his parents. Despite the delays on the roads, they were now safely on their way to visit his grandparents out of state. By the time they figured out he was not—as he had promised—already on his way there, it would be too late for them to make it back before the rally.
They’d be safe.
I twisted the chain at my throat as we neared the front of the line.
“Are you all right?” asked Kyle.
I opened my mouth to tell him I was just thinking about Tess, but was cut off by a man with an earthquake of a voice and a face that would have looked at home in the Neanderthal exhibit of any natural history museum. “Names?”
“Jason Sheffield, Mackenzie Dobson, and Kyle Harper,” said Jason as he handed over two invitations.
The man’s thick fingers danced over a tablet. “You and the girl are on the list. He’s not.”
“He’s supposed to be,” bluffed Jason. “Must be an oversight. Call the house.”
“Kid, I’ve turned away thirty ‘oversights’ in the past hour. If he’s not on the list, he doesn’t get past the gate.”
Kyle stiffened, but Jason just shrugged, the gesture long and languid. “He was a friend of Amy Walsh’s.”
“I don’t care if he’s the Pope,” replied the man. “He’s not on the list.”
Jason held his arm out to me. “Come on, Mac. I’m sure Senator Walsh will be thrilled to find out one of his granddaughter’s closest friends wasn’t allowed through—especially when he asked the three of us to come and say a few words.”
A small flicker of doubt crossed the Neanderthal’s face.
One of the other guards recognized Jason. “You’re the boyfriend, right?”
“I was.” Whispers broke out in the line behind us; Jason ignored them. He inclined his head toward Kyle and me. “They were Amy’s best friends. The senator thought our presence would help underscore the importance of tougher anti-werewolf legislation.”