storm wolf

chapter 4

Buck stared around the camp office, trying to spot the hidden cameras that were surely recording this hilarious prank. Finding nothing, he looked back at Zephyr, seated behind his desk with his hands folded. To all appearances, his nephew was completely serious. “A counselor,” Buck repeated, still unable to believe his own ears. “You want me to be a summer camp counselor. For shifter kids.” “No,” Conleth said from the other side of the room. The pegasus shifter never looked up from his laptop, fingers moving over the keys with a constant machine-gun rattle. “We do not want you to be a counselor. You are literally the last person on this entire planet that I would ever hire. The minutes of this meeting will record my formal objection to this entire plan. Just so that I can enjoy pulling it out and waving it at everyone while saying ‘I told you so’ when it all goes horribly, inevitably wrong.” “Your business partner seems even less enthusiastic about this than I am,” Buck said to Zephyr. “Which, believe me, is quite a feat. Why exactly are you trying to give me this punishment disguised as a job offer?” “Because I am out of other options,” Zephyr said. He gestured at the seat opposite his desk. “Look, will you please sit down? Hear me out.” Buck remained stubbornly standing. “Make it fast.” Zephyr sighed. “One of our regular counselors had to pull out at the last minute. That leaves us critically short-staffed. We’d be breaking state laws on the minimum number of supervising adults for a summer camp of this size. More importantly, it wouldn’t be safe. Many of our kids come here because they’re struggling with their animals, and need close, constant support. I have to have another counselor.”

“So get one,” Buck retorted. “Spread the word that you have a vacancy. Go howl at the moon, or pee on street corners, or whatever it is you motherloving shifters do to communicate with each other.” “These days, we generally prefer email,” Conleth said. The glow of his screen underlit his handsome features, highlighting the smudged shadows below his bloodshot green eyes. Buck had never seen him look so exhausted. “What do you think I’m doing over here? Scrolling i********: for interior decorating trends?” “Conleth’s been working around the clock, but he hasn’t managed to find a replacement,” Zephyr said. “It’s hard enough to recruit counselors at the best of times. We mostly have to rely on personal networks and word of mouth. It’s not like we can put up a job advert with ‘must be a shifter’ as a requirement.” Buck folded his arms over his chest. “Then hire someone who’s not a shifter.” “What a good idea,” Conleth said. His keyboard clicked in sarcastic punctuation. “Why didn’t we think of that. Oh yes, because it would be financial suicide.” “Unfortunately, Conleth is right,” Zephyr said. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t have a problem hiring a non-shifter, as long as they already know about us and can do the job. But camp policy forbids it.” Buck frowned at him. “You wrote those policies. Seems to me you should be able to rip ‘em up any time you like. Don’t you own this place?” “Not entirely, in fact.” Zephyr’s mouth flattened into an unhappy line. “When I founded the camp, I had to build all the facilities from scratch. That wasn’t cheap. Thanks to Conleth’s connections, we managed to raise the capital, but that money came with certain strings attached. And our largest investor is… traditional.” “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘xenophobic,’” Conleth murmured. Zephyr c****d an eyebrow at his business partner. “Aren’t you the one who’s usually telling me to show Lord Golden the appropriate respect?” “No, I’m the one reminding you we have to suck up to the tedious ass,” Conleth corrected, attention still fixed on his screen. “But only to his face. So-called ‘Lord’ Golden is an arrogant, outdated relic from the Dark Ages, who still believes that dragons should be ruling over private fiefdoms of cringing human peasants. Unfortunately, he also has our collective ballsacks

in an iron grip.” Zephyr nodded in agreement, turning back to Buck. “Lord Golden would only invest if we agreed the camp would be exclusively for shifter children, and that all the staff would also be shifters. If he found out that we’d hired a non-shifter—even someone who was a shifter’s mate or relative—he’d immediately withdraw all his support.” “Maybe that would be no bad thing,” Buck growled. “Better than taking dirty money from a bigot.” “The money isn’t the only issue.” Zephyr spread his hands, jaw tightening. “The Goldens are one of the most influential dragon clans in America. If we get on their bad side, they could ruin our reputation. And without the dragons paying full fees, we can’t run the reduced rates for kids whose families otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford to send them here. I don’t like it either, but we need to keep Lord Golden happy. At least until we’re more established, and don’t need his connections.” It wasn’t in Buck’s nature to back down from bullies, but he had to admit that Zephyr had a point. “Well, if you can’t hire a human, then why are you asking me? I’m not a motherloving shifter.” “You owe me ten dollars,” Conleth said to Zephyr. “I never agreed to take that bet.” Zephyr leaned forward on his elbows, fixing Buck with dark, serious eyes. “Uncle, regardless of how you view yourself, in the eyes of shifter society you are one of us now. Even Lord Golden would consider you perfectly acceptable for the role.” “Then the man is a damn i***t. Be serious, Zephyr. There must be some sucker you can sweet-talk into this.” “I do have one other potential candidate.” Zephyr let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, he’s even more stubborn and unwilling than you.” “Not physically possible,” Buck said. “Tell me who it is. I’ll make him agree.” Conleth snorted. “Good luck with that. As I’ve repeatedly told Zephyr, the only way he’s getting one of those appallingly tacky t-shirts over my head is if he’s dressing my corpse for burial.” “You?” Buck stared at the pegasus shifter. “Wait a motherloving minute. Zephyr asked you to be a counselor?” “Your tone of incredulity is duly noted,” Conleth said dryly. “I would take offense, if your feelings on the matter were not identical to my own.” It was indeed hard to imagine Conleth getting down in the dirt to show a pack of kids how to light a fire. Buck didn’t think he’d ever seen the groomed, urbane businessman in anything other than a tailored suit. Even now, sitting behind a second-hand desk in a log cabin that could most charitably be described as ‘rustic’, Conleth was still wearing a tie. Buck shook off a twinge of misgiving. “Well, I’m sure as hell not doing it. Like it or not, you’re the only option.” “In case you hadn’t noticed, I do in fact already have a job here,” Conleth snapped back, still typing without a pause. “Someone has to keep this show on the road.” “Fine.” Buck knew he was clutching at straws, but he tried anyway. “Then you be a counselor, and I’ll take over the admin. I ran a hotshot crew, remember? I can handle a little paperwork.” Conleth’s fingers stilled at last. He lifted his head, treating Buck to a long, withering stare. “Very well,” Conleth said, sarcasm oozing from every pore. “I’ll play rugged wilderness explorer with a pack of adorable moppets. You take over payroll, accounts, ordering, inventory, personnel rosters, taxes, investments, maintenance schedules, dispute resolution, recruitment, and marketing. Oh, not to mention ensuring that we maintain compliance with over four hundred pages of health and safety procedures to keep our camp accreditation, while also never letting any mundane state officials realize what we actually do here. What an excellent idea. This is certainly playing to our respective strengths. I can’t wait to see your quarterly financial projections.” Zephyr cleared his throat. “In truth, I do need Conleth running the business side of things, Uncle. Look, I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate. The kids arrive tomorrow. I need to find a counselor now.” Buck could feel fate closing in, jaws opening wide to swallow him whole. “And what if you don’t get one?” Zephyr’s expression didn’t change, but a chill swept across Buck’s skin. The light seemed to dim, as though great wings curved overhead, blocking out the sun. For a moment, a remote, dispassionate presence looked out at him through his nephew’s eyes. “Then I would have no choice,” Zephyr said, with the softness of distant thunder. “Some of the children would have to go home.” A horrified gasp echoed this statement. Buck turned, since the sound sure as hell hadn’t come from his own mouth. With an increasing sense of doom, he realized the door was ajar.