Galen unbuttoned his suit coat and bent to straighten an area rug in the corner that had
slipped out of place. It covered the intricate hatch door leading to the basement. “Who used this room last?” He looked up as Mirren joined them.
“Lucy, who else?” Mirren leaned against the door facing, arms crossed. “Ran into her
outside and sent her to pick up the doctor’s stuff. She needs something to keep her busy.”
Galen shook his head. One of his best fighters was turning into a head case. “I know
she’s hurting, but she can’t be careless with our day spaces, especially not right now.” Doc had been Lucy’s bonded mate, and he knew how it felt to lose the person you’d built your world around. The pain wouldn’t dull any time soon, so the faster she learned to work through it, the better.
“You’re preaching to the choir, G.” Mirren stretched, which at his height meant palming
the ceiling. “You see Mark’s stomach?”
Galen swept a few stray papers into the drawer and slammed it hard enough to make the
computer monitor on the desktop vibrate. “Yeah, I saw it, and it’s going to leave a scar. He’ll wear the Gaelic word for food on his body the rest of his life.”
“I have a few choice words I’d like to carve into your brother. When we going after him?”
“Soon as I can talk to Mark and find out if Owen sent any messages that weren’t written in blood. I’m guessing he did or Mark wouldn’t be alive. I’d like to consult with the Tribunal, too.” Galen eased into the leather desk chair, pulling his hair back into the tail
again. “But first I have to talk to Bethany Harris and see if she’s still open to coming here or if tonight’s made her want to run back to Georgia. If we have to take her by force, she’ll