Free Hunter's Rise by Shiloh Walker Page B

had a weakness for pretty boys—
boys
, in the most literal sense. His particularly favorite age was right about fourteen. But he’d managed to keep that weakness to just dreams, and as long as he looked like he was able to control it, Toronto wouldn’t kill him. Toronto’s unhappy responsibility was making sure he watched Bobby, and closely.
     
    Bobby’s fear of Toronto worked to keep him in line and right now, it might work to help get some information about Pulaski if there was any to be found.
     
    Toronto made it to the bar without Bobby scenting him. If the lesser wolf had caught his scent, Bobby would have been half-mad with fear.
     
    But the second Toronto pushed through the door, the game was up.
     
    They were the only non-mortals in there and although Toronto could mask his presence pretty damn well, Bobby was a werewolf— weak, but still were.
     
    At a table off in the corner, Bobby sat rigidly, eyes on the floor.
     
    Gazes skittered toward Toronto and then away. Unlike Bobby, they didn’t know what he was. They just recognized trouble. He ignored everybody in there, including the pseudoboys dancing on the stage. They’d be legal, he knew. Probably just
barely
legal, but barely was enough— it had to be.
     
    Sauntering toward Bobby, he caught the back of a chair and gave it a glance before he sat down. “Your taste in entertainment hasn’t improved, Bobby,” he said.
     
    Bobby ducked his head, hunching in on himself.
     
    Toronto leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, staring at the top of Bobby’s bowed head. “You been being good?”
     
    “Yes.” It was a high, tight whisper. “I… I swear. I come here. I have— well, a friend. It works.”
     
    “A friend.” Toronto checked the air. The wolf wasn’t lying. “How old is the friend?”
     
    “Twenty. He works here. This is how we met.”
     
    Still being honest. Good enough. Still, he couldn’t let Bobby think he was getting complacent. Laying a hand on the table, he did a minor shift. Judging by the way Bobby’s scent changed— sour, acrid fear— the other man could see Toronto’s altered hand just fine and he didn’t like the look of the elongated fingers, the black claws. It was a freaky sight— that was the whole point.
     
    “Look at me, Bobby.”
     
    As the other man lifted his head, Toronto smiled. “You remember what I said I’d do to you if I even
thought
you were going to slip, right?”
     
    “Yes…” Bobby blinked his eyes rapidly, trying not cry.
     
    “You’re not going to slip. Are you?”
     
    “No.”
     
    “Good.” Pulling the wolf back inside, his hand reformed, shaping itself back into a human one— it was like water flowing over his skin. Bones popped, breaking as they realigned. It wasn’t a painless process, but he took it without blinking or looking away from Bobby. It was part of what made him a Master were— that ability to change at will, to think past that pain, to handle those minor shifts. “Now. Let’s chat.”
     
    Bobby blinked. “Ch… chat?” The words came out a bare squeak.
     
    “Yeah.” Slumping in the chair, Toronto reached inside his coat, pulling out a picture. He threw it down on the table. Even touching it made him want to vomit. “Know this guy?”
     
    Bobby went white. “I had nothing to do with anything he did, Master, I swear. I—”
     
    Master
—hell. That annoyed him. It wasn’t a title given just out of fear. It came with responsibilities— responsibilities too close to those Rafe carried. And while Rafe might be the local paranormal badass, he wasn’t wolf. Toronto was. Here, the wolves bowed to him, whether he wanted it or not.
     
    He lifted a hand and Bobby’s chatter cut off in midstream. “I didn’t ask if you had anything to do with it. If you had, I’d already know, and you’d already be scraping up your guts off the floor in hell.” He flashed Bobby an ugly smile. “I look forward to the day I can send you there. But