The Cloisters was also where all legal complaints and supernatural notices were filed—which included cases that had to be handled by arbiters—which was basically a judge for supernaturals.
As a building, it reminded me of a werewolf in his wolf form trying to pass himself off as a friendly husky.
The designers had tried to make it reminiscent of human city halls. The front part of the building had four Greek columns and was about two stories tall with a large overhang for drop offs and deliveries and was constructed in a combination of yellow limestone and white granite, that made it almost appear striped from certain angles.
The proverbial wolf, however, was the rest of the building that crowded up behind it, looming over its shoulder with several domed ceilings, a main building that was several stories high, fancy archways set over huge arched windows, gargoyles jutting out of the walls, and enough seals, spells, and wards to knock anyone with the tiniest amount of magical senses on their rear.
I was convinced they had more than a few illegal spells on the place—the outside seemed to take up distinctly less space than you found on the inside of the building.
Greyson got a good spot in the visitor parking lot—it wasn’t nine yet, so the place was pretty empty—and sauntered toward/under the large overhang where two stone dragon statues guarded the front doors.
I started to follow after him, until I saw two people—werewolves for certain based on their upright and almost assertive posture—standing under the overhang, waiting.
I turned on my heels and headed for a side door—I had nothing against Pre-Dominant Harka, but I didn’t want to get dragged into talks about the Northern Lakes Pack that I had no business hearing as an outsider.
Greyson countered my plan and slung his arm over my shoulders, rerouting me. “Nope,” he said. “There’s no way you’re throwing me to the Pre-Dominant like a sacrificial offering when she’s here for you.”
“I wasn’t throwing,” I objected. “I was being discreet. I don’t care what you say, she’s not here for me!”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” There was a grim scratch to Greyson’s usually smooth voice that made me jerk my head and peer up at him.
The set of his mouth was tugged down—a rare show of grimness from him—and he watched Harka with the same wariness in his golden eyes as he used when watching a potential threat.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You’re not as unnoticed as you think,” he said in a tone so low I wasn’t sure the other wolves could hear him.
“Alpha Greyson, Hunter Phillipa Sabre. Welcome to Magiford!” The female wolf with an unusually slender build for a werewolf—though she had the pronounced muscles of a gymnast—smiled, lowering the intensity of her deep blue eyes.
Greyson snapped off a nod that barely counted as lowering his head. “Pre-Dominant Harka.”
I saw Harka’s eyes lingering on his arm that was still casually slung over my shoulder, so I grabbed him by the wrist and flicked his arm off. “Good morning, Pre-Dominant Harka, and…” I trailed off as I squinted at the other wolf.
“Oh, yes. Alpha Greyson, Hunter Phillipa, this is my nephew, Rafe. He’s likely going to be the next Alpha of my Pack once I retire, so he’s begun working with me now to get used to the responsibilities.” Harka beckoned at the other wolf, and he stepped up with a smile.
The Pack Alpha, but not the Pre-Dominant. How obvious is it that she’s doing this so she can introduce Rafe to Greyson, who will probably be the next Pre-Dominant, so she can get the two of them to buddy up before they both move into their positions?
This was why I was happy I was a hunter. The hunter families fought and disagreed, but there were too few of us to play any dumb political ploys.
“Hello, Hunter Sabre and Alpha Greyson. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Rafe inclined his head to Greyson, then smiled at me.
Rafe bore a decent resemblance to his aunt. His hair was dark—though more of a chocolate-y color than black like hers—and he had the same deep blue eyes. He was just a touch taller than her, and more of a wiry build, but age wise I’d put him in his late twenties with Greyson, or possibly in his early thirties with Chase.
Wolves were hard to pinpoint an age for as they were slower to show their age. They weren’t anything like the fae, but it was pretty rare for them to appear old—like Mama Dulce and Papa Santos had. （Usually, they died before they got to that point. For all of their strength and abilities, wolves did not have a high self-preservation drive.）