UNDER OATH

“I just wanted to thank you again for putting me up here, Mr. Peyton. It's a gorgeous place." I held my phone between my ear and my shoulder while I unpacked clothes neatly into a dresser. “It was unnecessary, though. My firm would have paid for a decent hotel–”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Peyton replied with a warm chuckle on the other end. “That cabin was just remodeled. It deserves to have someone living in it for a while.”

The 'cabin' wasn't really a cabin at all, but more a modern house that sat at the top of a hill above a wooded area in Mason county. Evan Peyton had been kind enough to house me in one of his rentals while I was here to work for the next few weeks.

It was bizarre to think I'd get to sleep somewhere that was easily ten times the size of my place back home. I rented a simple one-bedroom apartment in upper Manhattan that cost an arm and a leg. It was a short walking distance to my office though, which had been the biggest selling point for me.

Oh, and it was in my budget.

My standards had been set pretty low, to be fair.

“Is there anything else you need?" Evan asked. "Need a car while you're staying there, maybe?”

“Oh, I got that all sorted out,” I replied. I'd rented a car at the airport and had no qualms sending the bill to my firm. “But I did have a question for you about your son, sir.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Public records show that Castiel had five priors. All of these should have gone to trial. And yet I saw he'd been left with one civil suit and probation? I mean… forgive me for being blunt, but why hasn't Castiel served any time in prison?”

There was a long pause on the other end. Evan sighed softly before answering me. “Being an alpha had its… political perks, Sabrina. Two of those offenses fell under the Supernatural Act." Which meant U.S. Government officials couldn't interfere. "The others... well, let's just say I was able to get it swept under the rug.”

So Daddy had protected Castiel from prison. Until now.

I nodded as if he could see me. “Well, in the end, it’s a good thing. It'll help with how the jury perceives his character, I think.”

“I like your enthusiasm,” the older man chuckled. “I just want to remind you, though, Castiel likely won’t be cooperative with you or the case.”

"I know, you've said that several times already," I laughed. "It'll be okay."

“I’ll frankly be surprised if you can get him in a suit and tie, nonetheless show up in court. He rarely wakes up past noon.”

I smiled. "A lawyer's job ends with the court, sir, but doesn't start with it. We can be stylists, therapists... even an alarm clock, if need to be. Mark my words, Castiel will be in that courtroom, in a suit, and on time."

I changed out of my leggings and oversized hot dog eating contest t-shirt and into a black pencil dress. Paired with a black blazer on top, and a quick pass of red lipstick, I looked less like a homeless person squatting in a beautiful home and actually like a lawyer doing her job.

I pulled the hair tie from the top of my head and let my golden-brown hair cascade past my shoulders in soft waves. It had held the curls from a party I went to last night before I'd caught my flight here to Montana.

I pulled all the paperwork I had on Castiel into my binder then shoved it into my bag, stepping out of the cabin.

The bar that Castiel owned wasn't far from my cabin, according to my phone's directions. Evan had assured me his son would be there, his pack used the space like a headquarters.

How stereotypical. The novel wrote itself.

The town of Mallory was quiet with a low-population, situated between two large mountains in the middle of a wooded area. The isolation was perfect for supernatural folk, and according to Evan, wolf-shifters had founded and run it for generations.

The bar was a five minute walk, almost too easy to miss with the way it was hidden among dense lines of trees. My walk had been brief just as my phone had promised, the only real struggle was walking down the steep driveway of the cabin and out into the country road with a dilapidated sidewalk.

It was dark and dingy in there, and didn't look like it had been updated since the 1980s. A football game played on a large TV which had garnered most of the room's attention.

The room didn’t necessarily quiet when I walked in-- most of the patrons ignored me, but I knew from the few who did look at me that I was already labeled as an outsider. I didn’t wear flannel and jeans. No hot dog eating contest t-shirt for me- I was here to work.

On any other given day, sitting down with a pitcher of beer and a group of friends sounded like heaven.

I sighed to myself and made for the bar, leaning over a stool where a tall, muscular, pale man covered in tattoos with buzzed red hair was making a drink.

I flashed him a faint smile to get his attention over the sound of the TV and clinking ice cubes. “Hi, I’m looking for Castiel Peyton?”

The bartender and the patrons around me quieted, I could feel several pairs of eyes on me.

The red-head stared, his tone defensive, “And… why is that?"

I didn’t lose my smile as I pulled a business card from my blazer's inner pocket and handed it to him.

“I’m Sabrina Lancaster, Castiel's legal counsel for his upcoming trial. His father sent me.”

The red-head’s mouth twisted up as if he was trying not to laugh, and he shook his head to himself as he handed my card back to me. He hadn't bothered to even read it.

“The old man sent the wrong person,” he chuckled softly, giving my outfit another glance. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Castiel is in the backroom playing pool. You can go in. Oh, and you’ll find this out anyway, but tell him that we’re fresh out of magnum condoms.” The man smirked. “So you might not be getting lucky tonight, sweetheart.”

Holy litigation, Batman. My throat caught on my own saliva as countless lines of violated law codes threatened to spill from my lips.

Did he have any idea what kind of hell I could raise? By the end of the night, I could probably own the entire town on sexual harassment charges alone!

And this wasn’t even the alpha of the pack. I had my work cut out for me.

I gave the bartender a tight look that wasn't quite a smile then moved into the backroom.

Rock music played in the background while two men stood around the billiard table with pool sticks and talked in low voices. For a large space, almost like a banquet room, it was empty, save for the pool table, a few chairs and a couch. I assumed this was where the pack normally congregated.

My eyes and attention gravitated to the taller of the two, a man in a black sleeveless top and well fitting jeans. His muscular arms were covered in tattoos, his shiny dark hair was on the longer side, artistically messy while he aimed and shot at a white cue ball with his pool stick. It knocked into a striped ball that fell into a corner pocket. He sat up with a smirk in his companion's direction.

As I approached the pool table, both men froze at the same time. Their heads slowly turned to me and the alpha's nostrils flared.

He was scenting me.

I cleared my throat, wishing I could just tell him it was Chanel No. 5 and then we could move on, but I knew better than to make a sudden move around an alpha who was sizing me up.

I pursed my lips together and straightened my back, as if that could somehow make my 5’4” frame any more impressive to a man who was a foot taller than me and probably twice my weight in muscle alone.

He moved towards me, gait slow as his unnaturally light blue eyes assessed me.

I had my business card ready to go and thrust it out at him. He stopped mid-step, glancing down at the small white rectangle with my firm’s logo on it.

“You’re Mr. Peyton, I presume?”

He took the card and gave me a short nod. “I am.”

Oh. The timbre of his voice was deep. Dare I say, dangerously seductive. It might have been his alpha-ability that had the small hairs on my neck standing and that made the sounds around us quiet as he came into my orbit. My legs began to weaken against an unspoken command for me to cower and saunter down.

And I almost did before I reminded myself I was Castiel's damn lawyer and not a member of his pack.

I cleared my throat, pretending that I hadn't almost bowed to the man like he was a King. “I’m Sabrina Lancaster, your legal counsel. Your father hired me—“

Castiel and the man burst into laughter and my voice was tuned out. I shut my mouth while I waited for their chortles to end.

“Oh, man. I didn’t know your Dad had such a good sense of humor, Cas."

I told myself not to react to this obvious put-down, to stay quiet as I stood still and listened to them openly mock me.

“He definitely had some kind of ulterior motive,” Castiel mused as he looked me over. I let my lips purse instead of saying something snide as he shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped close enough that I felt compelled to back up.

It was like he wanted me to feel caged in or threatened. The scent of pure male filled my nostrils as I stared up at him and examined the hollow of his cheeks, the pouted mouth, the mussed, disheveled hair.

Good God, this was a beautiful man.

That was it. After this trial, I decided I was going back to non-supernatural cases. Hell, I'd even take a murder case, scrape at the bottom barrel of humanity over having to deal with another alpha. It was hard enough representing a man who thought he was better than everyone else, but another thing entirely when said man could be the poster-child of testosterone.

“Mr. Peyton, I was hoping we could talk briefly about your case. The trial is coming up in less than a week and you haven’t returned any of our firm’s calls.”

Castiel shrugged, looking wholly unconcerned. “Ask away.”

I looked around for a place to set up with my briefcase. There were a couple wooden chairs off to the side and I brought one over to the pool table so I could pull out my binder.

“That’s a thick binder,” the other man retorted. “I think I had one like that in high school.”

So they at least went to school. I hoped that meant they could read and write.

“You got all your cases in there?” Castiel asked. I smiled faintly.

“Only yours.”

Both of their faces fell and the other man snorted. I was getting tired of the background commentary and passed a sharp gaze to the other man who was about to shoot his pool cue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name—“

“Rian. The alpha’s second in command.”

“That’s not a thing,” Castiel replied dryly, not even looking over his shoulder at his friend.

“I'm your best friend, its the same thing. Stop messing up my game, Cas.”

The alpha chuckled and then turned back to the pool table. “Alright. Ask your questions.”

“Well, first of all, we haven’t discussed the possibility of a making plea deal instead of full-fledged trial. There’s still time to negotiate—“

“I’m not taking a plea deal,” Cast interrupted flatly as he bent forward and struck the cue ball with his pool stick. I watched the muscles in his arms and black flex through his shirt and my thighs clenched together as if my body were about to start ovulating.

Christ, Sabrina. Get it together.

I crossed my legs a little tighter and glanced down at my binder, clicking my pen open and wrote a note to myself.

“Okay, no plea deal. And your reasoning for that is...?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

I laughed wryly. “The video evidence that clearly shows you beating the victim within a fraction of his life says otherwise, Mr. Peyton.”

The man glanced over his shoulder, his neck straining as he passed me a smile. “He had it coming.”

No remorse. No sympathy. Just... satisfaction. He was proud of himself.

My own smile died while I tried to hide a shudder. “Federal laws against violence would state otherwise, sir. Now, given that you haven’t served time in federal prison and I would like to keep it that way...“ Shifter prisons were notoriously awful. “We might want to consider a different approach. A jury is not going to sympathize with you over the victim.”

“And why is that?” he asked, standing straight. This entire conversation felt like a taunt, as if Castiel knew the answers to all of my questions. I sorely wanted to knock him off-guard, take him down a peg just for my own sake.

“Because you come off as a smug, know-it-all asshole who's never been told 'No' a day in his life,” I replied, smiling sweetly.

Rian burst into laughter. “Oh, shit. She got you there, Cas.”

“Shut up, Rian.” Cas moved closer to me and I had to crane my neck to look up at him from my seat.

“You don’t know me at all, Sabrina.”

“Miss Lancaster, if you don’t mind.” I smiled. “I’d like to keep this professional.”

Rian snorted behind Cas, making the alpha grin. “I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.”

I self-consciously tugged on my blazer, wondering why I suddenly felt hot in there. "And why is that?”

He leaned in, taking in a deep breath near my neck, scenting me again. Alarm bells went off in my head like I was a cornered deer being hunted. All instincts told me to flee.

“Because you find me attractive," he whispered huskily into my ear. "I can smell your pussy dripping for me. You’re basically a bitch in heat right now, Miss Lancaster. So you can pretend you’re impervious to my words or not, but the fact of the matter is we both know I could fuck you right this moment on that pool table and make you see God. Not very professional of you, is it?"

My brain shut down. Thoughts and words null and voided.

Sweet Jesus. Sweet baby Jesus. Holy sweet baby Jesus.

I swallowed hard as my mind restarted, reminding me that I was gawking and wheezing for air like an absolute moron.

“It’s... exactly that kind of language and behavior that got you into this mess in the first place, Mr. Peyton,” I replied with what I hoped was a cool tone, even as my fingers trembled on the binder in front of me. “I’m not here to be seduced. I’m here to keep you out of prison."

His eyebrows lifted, a small genuine smile lighting his lips and my body went ablaze while basking in his dark, erotic energy. Not even Jesus himself could save this man from the devil. And nor would he want to.

“Worried for my safety?” he whispered. "I didn't know lawyers could be so noble."

“I'm worried for my acquittal statistics,” I shot back, moving to my feet and closed the binder. My knees wobbled beneath me, but I was grateful they didn't buckle for the sake of what little dignity I had left in that moment.

I had never swooned before a day in my life, and I wasn't about to start.

“So I’m to understand you wish to go to trial and plead not guilty?”

“That’s right.” He grinned again. “Is that a problem for you?”

I hate you, I thought. “Not at all, Mr. Peyton. I’ll need to meet with you tomorrow, if that’s alright. We have a lot of work to do.”