As Maria turned the handle, I leaned into Lucas. “How do you know Leo?”
“I am an art lover,” he whispered. “I was here many years ago admiring the statues, and I caught a strange scent. I was curious, so I followed my nose. Leo was the end result. I am certain it is he who you seek.”
“How can you be sure?”
Lucas shrugged once again. “Because it makes sense you would want to find the most powerful supernatural in the city to aid your cause, whatever it may be. And Leo is that supe.”
It did make sense.
I had to hand it to Lucas. “Does Julian know Leo?”
Lucas shook his head. “No. There was no reason to tell my Alpha about this particular supe. He is of no consequence to wolves and poses no threat. Plus, not many would be able to detect him, especially if he didn’t deem it so. There is no worry that he will be uncovered. He chooses to live in peace, and I respect that.”
We moved into a big, cavernous room.
The walls were a few stories high and whitewashed, and old paned windows were lined up across the top. Platforms and scaffolding were scattered here and there, holding various busts and full statues, some covered with sheets, some not.
In the middle of it all stood a real-life Adonis.
He was easily over six feet tall, had a full head of wavy brown hair, bronze skin, and a face that looked like it’d been chiseled out of stone.
The man was flawless.
Rourke growled low. What is he? I can’t make out his scent.
I have no idea, I answered.
“Holy beautiful man,” Marcy muttered. “The Greek gods forgot this one down here.” James made a disgruntled noise, but didn’t comment further, other than to put a protective arm around his mate.
As we came closer, Leo gave a small bow, his hands clasped behind his back.
He wore expensive slacks and a black dress shirt. “Welcome to my inner sanctum.” His English impeccable, only a slight Italian accent was detectable. “This is where I feel most at home—among the artifacts and relics of times gone by. Feel free to take a look around.”
Leo appeared no more than forty human years, if that. I didn’t want to push my power out to investigate his signature, even though my wolf kept urging me to do exactly that. We have to be polite, I told her, reining her in. People don’t like it when we examine them. What does he smell like to you? I can only scent dirt, stale plaster, and dried paint. She flashed me a picture of Leo illuminated by blinding white light. I don’t know what that means. You’re going to have to be more specific.
I’m coming up short, Tyler said, interrupting us. He doesn’t smell like much, just wet soil, outside, and some old paint. He’s hiding his signature, and he’s damn good at it. He must be powerful if none of it leaks around the edges. Maybe this isn’t the guy we’re looking for.
Oh, it is. I was sure of it.
By the look on Leo’s face, he knew it too. If he was as powerful as Lucas said, he knew what kind of a supe each of us was instantly, likely before we’d even entered the building.
But we had to play the game. So it was small talk and no feeling him up for power. “Are you a sculptor by trade?” I asked as we all began to meander around the room to investigate things.
“You sure got a lot of stuff in here,” Ray commented. “It’s like a bank vault of art and stone sculptures and stuff.” Eloquent, Ray. Really smooth.
Leo nodded, a small smile forming. “Yes, sculpting is my trade. Try not to touch anything. These artifacts are priceless. Most people have no idea how much worth lies in this room.” He nodded to indicate a large pallet to his right where a half-completed statue stood. “This is a work of Michelangelo’s, but none believe it to be true, as it can’t be properly authenticated. It was done when he traveled abroad to the South Seas and is atypical of his other works. So here it stays.”
“How do you know it’s a true Michelangelo?” Nick asked curiously.
“Because I was there when he started it,” Leo answered nonchalantly.
My head jerked around to locate Maria, curious to see if she knew her boss was a supernatural. But Maria was nowhere to be found.
By admitting that tidbit, Leo had let the proverbial cat out of the huge elephant-sized bag, opening up our conversation to the real reason we were here. I decided to play it cool. “You’ve been an art lover for a long time, then,” I said. “Have you held this job long?”
“Yes, dear wolf,” he replied, casually letting me know where we stood. “Art has been my passion since the day of my birth. Many of my very own works are in this museum. Produced under pseudonyms, of course, because I could not continue to create art under the same name for centuries at a time. That would become a bit suspicious.”
I tried not to gape. “You’re Michelangelo, aren’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.