Michael wouldn't say he regretted destroying his phone. Regret was something he reserved for far worse screw-ups. Like getting caught by werewolves and getting his ankle broken by a rampaging Skin.
But he had a feeling zapping his phone into scrap parts had been a dumb move. He allowed the remains to fall from his hand, unable to stop it from shaking. He really hoped Max would take his warning to run seriously.
The alpha werewolf looked ready to tear Michael into pieces, an expression he shared with the other werewolves in the room.
The alpha's wife looked mildly annoyed and unimpressed. Mercy. Michael met her eyes, and unlike the werewolves, he didn't feel the urgent need to look away. Her aura caught his attention. Mostly human, a softly glowing blend of pale blue and green. But a ribbon of ever-changing colors wove through her aura in complex patterns. He'd never seen anything like that. Almost as pretty as Maria's.
His throat tightened and he swallowed. "I'll tell you about the Skins, and help you get rid of them. Please leave my family alone."
Before anyone could answer, a phone rang.
Mercy drew a cellphone from her pocket and frowned at the screen before answering the call. "Hello, this is Mercy Hauptman." Her eyes went to Michael. "He is here, and injured. Also very stubborn."
Michael's stomach dropped. How the hell … God-dammit, he shouldn't have told Max about the werewolves.
The alpha held out a hand. "May I speak to him."
"One second, my husband would like a word." She passed the phone over.
Michael watched the exchange, heart plummeting. Well, now he really did regret destroying his phone.
"Who is this?" A few seconds passed as Hauptman listened with a stern expression. "You understand that neither one of you is leaving until we get answers." Max must have agreed because the alpha rattled off the address. A few more brief words, and the alpha hung up and handed the phone back to his wife. Then he turned his gaze on Michael. "Let's get something straight. You pull a stunt like that again, and I will have you hogtied and locked in a cage. You understand?"
Michael bristled at the threat but forced himself to stay quiet. Starting a fight in the home of a werewolf would likely hit top on the list of the stupid things he'd done tonight.
"You want to share anything before your friend gets here." Mrs. Hauptman settled onto the nearby ottoman, looking very much at ease.
Michael glanced at her, then jerked his eyes away. "Max will tell you everything." And that thought opened a gaping pit in Michael's stomach. They had kept their secret from everyone, had avoided scrutiny even when things had gone horribly wrong. Always, they'd stayed a step ahead. Now he'd blown it.
Would that end with all of them dead? Hauptman looked like he'd love to see Michael flayed open on a table, but Michael supposed the stunt with the phone could be blamed for that. Mrs. Hauptman seemed nice. And the two werewolves who'd caught him seemed decent. Did it all change when they found out what he was?
His good leg twitched, and Michael tightened down on the urge to run. It helped that his ankle throbbed, reminding him that running would be entirely pointless. Instead, he dropped his head back on the chair. He entertained the thought of closing his eyes, but there was no way he would make himself that vulnerable.
"Would you like a drink or something to eat?" Mrs. Hauptman asked. Her husband and the doctor were watching Michael closely, like he might jump on the woman any second.
"Yeah, a shot of bourbon would be great." Michael fought the smile that threatened at the look on their faces.
Mrs. Hauptman's lips twitched, even as her eyes flicked to his bandaged foot. "For the pain, right?"
Michael blinked. He hadn't expected her to call his bluff. Then again, maybe she wasn't sure of his age. Or maybe she didn't care. Her husband seemed much less amused, but maybe that was just how his face always looked. Either way, the game soured at the reminder of what Michael was facing. "Water is fine."
Mrs. Hauptman stood and went up the stairs. The two werewolves who caught Michael followed her, leaving Michael with the alpha.
The man's aura, which had been vibrating with tension, quieted the second the others left the room. Enough that Michael could see the hunter green and dark blue shades beneath the glossy brown sheen all werewolves had. Hauptman settled onto the ottoman his wife had been using and, bracing his elbows on his thighs, leaned forward. "Let's come to an understanding. My only agenda is protecting my family, my pack and my territory. As long as you and your people have no plans to actively threaten them, I have no problem with you."
It sounded like the truth, but Michael didn't have whatever magic power werewolves had to spot lies. Before Michael could answer, Hauptman went on.
"Whatever you are only matters to me in so far as it gives us more information about these Skins. If I find out that you or your friends are holding back information that we need, then we will have a problem."
While Michael tried to think of a response, Mrs. Hauptman descended the stairs. She handed Michael a glass of water and an apple. "You looked hungry, but I wasn't sure what you would want."
"Thanks." He felt awkward for a moment, holding the apple and glass. After a few seconds, he set the fruit down on the arm of the chair and took a sip of water. "The Skins are after us. They don't really care about humans, but they'll go after them to drag us out."
Mrs. Hauptman frowned. "Why are they after you?"
Michael hesitated, then stifled a laugh. "Wiping my kind from existence is sort of their mission statement. The why is … complicated." He'd almost said before my time, but that would have been a lie. He remembered the war, though the memories were scattered, they were vivid. People screaming, arms lifting him up, swimming through water oily with blood, the smell of it so thick it coated his tongue.
He shuddered. The memories were always jarring. His body had been very different then, and it always seemed like he was recalling someone else's life. A life he wanted no part of.
"The excuses people make for genocide are usually pretty straightforward." Mr. Hauptman's aura had started vibrating again. Michael realized the man's agitation stemmed from his wife being nearby. He was worried for her, though nothing about his posture or demeanor changed.
Michael understood that. If Maria had been in the room, he'd be trying to keep her behind him. And pissing her off to no end.
"Adam," the British guy's voice carried down the stairs. "They're here."
"Bring them down."
Sweat broke out over Michael's forehead. He took another long drink, then set the glass on a nearby end table. At least it was just him and Max. Once his ankle was healed, they could fight their way out.
But Max didn't come down the stairs alone. Directly behind him was Maria.
