My Three Ruthless Mates

RAVEN

“Raven?”

I straighten away from the wall I'd been resting against and step forward.

“Yeah.”

“You're up,” the man says.

I trail behind him into the chamber where several others are already waiting.

The balance of power in this place is obvious, even if no one says it aloud.

My fae blood makes me a threat to every person in this room. If they ever uncovered the truth about what I am, they wouldn't hesitate to bar me from this place. More likely, they'd try to put me down before I became a problem.

Luckily, they believe I'm nothing more than an ordinary wolf shifter.

The only traits that might expose me are my slightly pointed ears and the silvery glow that lingers in my eyes, no matter how long it's been since I last fed on blood.

A carefully woven glamour conceals both.

Even so, I'm at a disadvantage.

As long as I pretend to be a normal shifter, I can't rely on most of my magic without risking exposure. Against warriors like these, that leaves me badly outmatched.

Just imagining what they become in their beast forms sends a chill racing through me.

I've seen creatures like that before. Hulking bodies, green skin stretched over enormous muscles, and burning crimson eyes.

Once was enough.

Even dressed in human skin, they aren't exactly pleasant.

I stop before the large table, every pair of eyes fixed on me.

It feels less like a meeting and more like standing before a panel waiting to decide my fate.

Each man is massive, with broad shoulders, unkempt hair, and rough faces marked by broken or missing teeth.

My throat tightens.

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

“I'm Grom,” the huge man seated at the center says.

He's shirtless, and his arms are thick enough to snap me in half without effort.

An image flashes through my mind of him crushing my skull beneath one enormous arm.

I force the thought away.

“So,” Grom continues, “tell us why you're here.”

“I heard you were looking for people willing to take contract work.”

I keep my voice as calm as possible.

Confidence matters.

If they sense how anxious I really am, this opportunity will disappear before it begins.

And I can't afford that.

The men exchange silent looks.

“You seem young,” Grom says. “Who told you about us?”

“I overheard it while people were drinking.”

“At a tavern?”

I nod.

“We're looking for someone who can track,” he says. “Can you follow a scent?”

“I wouldn't call myself a wolf if I couldn't.”

I let just enough annoyance slip into my tone to make the answer believable.

More glances pass around the room.

“Let her prove it,” one man suggests.

“Can't hurt.”

Grom shrugs.

“Fine.”

He produces a stopwatch.

“A piece of cloth has been hidden somewhere in this room. It smells of gunpowder.”

He clicks the timer.

“Go.”

The challenge is almost insulting.

Keeping my fae abilities buried has my wolf straining beneath my skin, ready to take over.

Shifting is effortless.

The only part I despise is peeling off my dress first.

Standing exposed before a room full of strangers makes my skin crawl.

Still, I need this job more than my pride.

I strip quickly.

My wolf takes control.

The world sharpens in an instant.

Every noise becomes crystal clear.

Somewhere inside the walls, an insect hums its tiny wings.

Light spilling through the narrow window suddenly reveals every crack in the stone.

Then the scents hit me.

Monster.

The room reeks of them.

Sweat, earth, and something foul that has lingered for far too long.

I ignore the smell and search for what matters.

Gunpowder.

There.

The trail stands out immediately.

I follow it without hesitation until it ends beside a loose stone in the wall.

Returning to human form, I crouch down, pry the brick loose, and retrieve the hidden cloth tucked behind it.

“Well, damn,” someone mutters.

“She beat every other tracker.”

I toss the cloth toward Grom before slipping my dress back over my head as fast as possible.

His gaze studies me carefully.

There isn't any lust in his expression.

He's simply measuring my usefulness.

After a long moment, he nods.

“You've got the job.”

“Thank you.”

Relief floods through me, though I refuse to let it show.

“I won't disappoint you.”

“You'd better not,” Grom replies. “This isn't ordinary work. If you fail, the consequences won't be small.”

“I understand.”

“We've been trying to gain an advantage over a rival warband for months. If they find out we've hired outside shifters, there'll be bloodshed.”

“And you'll be caught in the middle.”

Just another threat meant to test my nerve.

I keep my face unreadable.

“Bring them in,” Grom orders.

Them?

One of the men opens the door.

Three newcomers enter.

The first has dark hair and stands shorter than the others.

He's still much taller than I am, but beside Grom's warriors, he almost looks average.

His muscular frame suggests plenty of strength despite his height.

The second is tall and lean.

Everything about him speaks of speed and endurance instead of raw power.

His sandy blond hair is tied back neatly, and his sharp eyes never stop scanning the room.

The final man towers over everyone else.

Wild red-orange hair sticks out in every direction, and every muscle in his body looks coiled, ready for violence.

The dark-haired man glances at Grom.

“This the new tracker?”

Grom nods.

“She is. Introduce yourselves.”

The man offers me a friendly smile.

“I'm Kael.”

He motions toward the others.

“My brothers. Fenris.”

The blond man acknowledges me with a brief wave.

“And Drakon.”

The tallest simply inclines his head.

“I'm Raven.”

I can't help noticing the difference between these three and the rest of the warband.

They're undeniably attractive.

Quietly, I draw in a careful breath.

Their scent confirms my suspicion.

Shifters.

Focus.

You're here to earn money, not admire handsome men.

Besides, if they ever discovered I was fae, curiosity would be the least of my problems.

Best case, they'd avoid me.

Worst case, they'd kill me.

Either way, getting attached isn't an option.

“We leave tomorrow morning,” Grom says.

“Seven sharp. Don't keep us waiting.”

Kael nods.

“We'll be ready.”

“So will I.”

Missing this chance isn't an option.

I've finally found an opening.

I'm not about to throw it away.

This contract could change everything.

All I have to do is survive the next few days without revealing who I really am.

I can manage that.

At least, I hope I can.