The Strip

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “Explain,” she demanded through clenched teeth.

  “When we… when I…” he rubbed his jaw for a moment, his gaze skirting from her face to the flesh that was bare above the pillow she held. And then he lifted his index finger. “One moment.” He rolled out of bed and went into the other room. When he returned, he was carrying her jeans and t-shirt.

  “Put these on, luv. I can’t have a serious conversation with you as long as only a pillow separates me from your naked body.”

  Charlie’s breath caught in her throat at his heated gaze and a prickly warmth flushed through her long, lean form. She felt wetness build between her legs – but she also felt a little sticky.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” she told him flatly, grabbing the clothes out of his hand with a flourish. “And when I’m done, you’re going to tell me why the hell my eyes are glowing!”

  With that, she rolled off of the bed and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  * * * *

  Alexander Kavanagh knew the moment he was no longer alone. Any werewolf would notice the brief shift in the flow of air around him as animal magic quickly ebbed and then receded in the space of the massive hotel suite.

  Not only could he smell the other werewolf where he suddenly stood in the shadows of the hallway beyond, he could also hear his thoughts.

  And so, gently he put down the delicate cup filled with tea in front of him and reclined in his hard, leather-backed chair.

  “It’s been a long time, Ulrich.”

  “Indeed, it has, little brother.”

  Alexander waited while the other werewolf came away from the shadows of his suite and approached the table where he sat. He didn’t move as the other man pulled a chair from the table and gracefully took a seat.

  “Malcolm Cole informed me of your involvement in this situation. I can’t say that I’m exactly surprised,” Alexander spoke softly. “But I am disappointed.”

  “Of course you are,” Ulrich stated simply. “Because once more, you fail to see the big picture.” Ulrich shrugged and Alexander noticed that his left shoulder did not rise as high as his right.

  “Cole injured you.”

  “And I, him.”

  Alexander sighed. “What do you want, Ulrich?”

  It was a moment before his older brother replied. But when he did, his tone had lowered. “Your granddaughter is a rare creature, Alex. Are you certain that Cole is the right mate for her? She dreamed of him, yes.” Ulrich paused, adding to the weight of his next words. “But she also dreamed of Phelan.”

  Instantly, Alexander’s ice-blue eyes began to glow and the air became oppressively hot around them both. In the kitchen, the microwave turned on. The lights overhead flickered, and the curtains in every room rammed shut on their electric rods. The televisions turned on and then off again.

  Sweat began to bead on Ulrich’s brow; the heat in the room was becoming stifling. He straightened under the weight of his brother’s sudden display of power, and his chest felt tight. He swallowed hard past the lump that was forming in his throat.

  Across from him, Alexander Kavanagh was the very image of cool, collected calm, but his gaze narrowed, and his starkly glowing eyes were positively terrifying in the handsome frame of his face. “Do not speak to me of my son’s murderer, Ulrich. That you aided him in any way is enough cause for me to kill you here and now.”

  A muscle in Ulrich’s jaw ticked.

  Kavanagh continued. “I permit you to live only because it was our mother’s wish.” Now it was his turn to pause, allowing the silence to stretch until he finished with, “But, if you want the honest truth, then all diplomacy aside, I would just as soon see you join her in her grave.”

  “You have no vision,” Ulrich told him, his words hissed past clenched teeth. “You never have been able to consider the future with any real foresight. Already, Dormants are dreaming of not one, but two alphas. They’re being given powers as they Change. They’re more rare every year and you continue to sit there, in your throne, allowing the humanity within us to override the wolf.” He stood up then, a barely suppressed rage causing his tall, strong form to go rigid as he gazed down at his younger brother.

  “We are not human, Alex. We never have been and we never will be human, no matter how hard you try to form us to the contrary. And in our world, Alex – in the wolf’s world – the strongest win. It’s survival of the fittest. Damn it!” He slammed his fist into the nearby television, sending the electronic box flying in the opposite direction, a big black comet trailed by a shower of sparks.

  The wounds on his wrist and across his knuckles instantly began to heal and he ignored them. “As long as you fail to accept that, we will continue to die out!”

  “Get out of my sight, Ulrich.” Alexander’s tone was very low. Very quiet. He remained sitting where he was, gazing up at his brother with those unearthly eyes. “You worked for the man who murdered my son and his wife. You allowed another man to beat your own niece until she bled. And now you stand in my presence, in my territory, and ask me to validate your actions.”

  Alexander pulled his gaze away and stared at something in the far distance – something unseen. “And all I have to say to you,” he continued, his powerful, calm voice never shifting, “is that if you come anywhere near my family again, I will kill you. Promise or not.”

  Silence followed on the heels of his words and neither wolf moved for several long moments.

  Then, slowly, Ulrich took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. “I promise you, Alex, you’re going to regret heading in the direction you’re headed. It’s a one way street. And I won’t help you back out of it.”

  Alexander said nothing.

  “Very well, then,” Ulrich whispered. Magic rushed out of him, like the force-field of an unseen, unheard explosion. When it receded again, he was gone.

  * * * *

  As the warm water ran over her hair and face, Charlie closed her eyes and tried not to think about the fact that they were glowing behind her lids. She pushed her long locks away from her cheeks and forehead and stood there for a while, just letting the heat and massaging action of the showerhead melt the tension from her shoulders.

  Eventually, mind still spinning, she shoved the rivulets of extra moisture out of her face once more and finally opened her eyes so that she could locate the shampoo and conditioner. Her hair didn’t need to be washed again, but she’d already wet it down. Now it was a done deal. If she didn’t wash it and condition it, it would just dry frizzy.

  As she turned in the shower and found the small hotel bottles filled with shampoo and conditioner that would most likely dry her hair out like a nineteen-eighties curling iron in a steamy New Orleans hair salon, she sighed. When she reached up to grab the bottle filled with gold liquid, she noticed the inside of her right arm.

  The intricate green mark that Malcolm had left there a few nights ago was gone.

  In its place, her skin looked slightly puckered. Raw, maybe.

  She frowned and ran her hand over the strange redness, noticing that it seemed to have a pattern to it. The steel head board? No. It wouldn’t look like this. Her frown deepened. It didn’t hurt, but it did feel warmer than the water running over her. Warmer than the rest of her arm.

  She blinked and pulled her hand away from it, holding it up in the light. Then she blinked again. “WTF?” she whispered to herself.

  But no answers presented themselves. The truth of the matter was, she simply didn’t know enough about the werewolf community to understand what was going on with her body at that moment. Lily Kane had told her much, but she’d also left a lot out. Deliberately, it seemed.

  Maybe she’d been hoping that Cole would explain it. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted Charlie to know… because it was really bad.

  With a heavy sigh, she dropped her arm and reached up with the other arm to pull the shampoo from the shelf above her. She blinked and went still when she noticed the same raw redness on
the inside of her left wrist. Both wrists bore the same developing mark.

  Christ! What the hell was going on?

  “Charlie?”

  Charlie’s head snapped up and she looked toward the door to the bathroom, which she could see through the steamy glass that surrounded the large shower. Cole was on the other side.

  She could hear him breathing. His heart rate was elevated. She could actually hear it. And she could smell… something.

  Oh my god, she thought. It’s fear. I can smell his fear. He’s afraid right now.

  For me?

  “Are you okay in there?” he asked, and somehow she knew that his hand was on the door. Ready to open it. It was the tone of his voice; he needed to hear her now or he would come in and check for himself that she was all right.

  “I’m… I’m fine,” she said softly. “I’m just… it’s just… female stuff, is all!”

  He was quiet on the other side of the door. But she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He wasn’t buying it. And, well he shouldn’t. Because she was lying her ass off and she sucked at lying and her heart was probably beating way too fast for someone who was just dealing with “female stuff.” And he could hear it.

  Just like she could hear him.

  “Charlie-”

  “Just back off, Malcolm!” she yelled, hoping that the harsh irritation in her tone would convey with efficient clarity that she wanted him to go away and give her space and time to think. She needed room to deal with this.

  As her gaze drifted down to the strange redness on her arms, she heard Cole shift beyond the door. She could smell the anger in him now. It was almost like being able to read his mind. Even beyond the steam and the soap and the sex that she could still detect clinging to her body, she could scent the werewolf in the other room.

  And he smelled good. Really good.

  But he also smelled like an animal that was growing frustrated, edgy, and mean.

  What the fuck is happening to me, she wondered. I can see in the dark. I can hear a man’s heartbeat. My eyes are glowing. And my wrists have some kind of rash on them… and it’s getting darker, she thought. It’s forming into….

  Into some kind of design. Her breath caught once more, and her heart slammed hard against her rib cage. Holy crap.

  With that, Cole popped the lock on the door and it swung open, its security catch now broken and useless. On impulse, Charlie put her arms behind her back to hide the burgeoning red marks. Her breathing was too quick, her pulse too fast. He knew something was going on.

  “Charlie, tell me what’s wrong.” His tone was a low and calm command and his tall, strong form filled the doorway like a brick barrier. It was almost symbolic. She wasn’t going to get out of this without going through him.

  She spun away from him and put her face in her hands as if she were about to cry. Anything to hide the marks. She didn’t even know why she didn’t want him to see them; but it seemed essential. “I’m just overwhelmed, okay? I can hear your heart beat, for Chrissake! I can smell you, Malcolm. I can see….” She shook her head desperately. “Everything. In the dark!” She was surprised to find that, once the words had begun spilling from her mouth, real tears started to build in her eyes, and they grew heavier there as she went on. “And my damned eyes are glowing! I mean…. What the hell? What did you do to me?” There was no need to pretend now. She really was overwhelmed and she really did need answers. Her tears drops mingled with the water from the shower and a sob racked through her body.

  The door to the stall flew open and Charlie looked up to watch Malcolm step into the shower, still fully dressed.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed, as he moved forward and took her into his strong arms, heedless of the warm jets of water that were raining down on them both.

  “Malcolm –”

  “Shh. Hush, Charlie. It’s okay, luv. You’re okay.” His werewolf power poured over her again, familiar to her now, and with it came a heavy, relaxing sense of calm. His voice wrapped around her as surely as did his arms, swathing her in his nearness, his strength and protection. “I’ll explain everything, I promise,” he told her. “But you need to know that there’s nothing wrong with you. This is all good and natural. You need to accept it. Do you understand me, Charlie?”

  After a few long seconds, Charlie nodded against his drenched shirt. Cole retained his grip on her with one arm and used the fingers of his other hand to gently push a dripping lock of her hair from her face. At the touch, her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned more heavily into him, relaxing against his tall, hard form.

  “Good girl,” he said, softly. “That’s it.”

  Beneath her cheek, his heart beat steady as a pulsing drum. The sound was intoxicating. She could keep time to it. It was rhythm more perfect, more soothing, and more mesmerizing than any she’d ever created on her own.

  She ignored the wasted water for once. She forgot about the marks on her arms. At that moment, all that existed was the man holding her and his unbroken heartbeat. She was content to stand there and listen – forever, if need be. And it would seem that he was just as content to let her.

  * * * *

  When Malcolm finally left Charlie alone and unmolested in the shower, it was fifteen minutes later, and he was grateful that the hotel had so much hot water. The last thing Charlie needed right now was to finish rinsing her hair under an ice-cold stream. She was already shivering enough.

  He gently closed the now-broken door behind him and briefly considered all of the damage he’d done to the suite since he’d arrived. It was fortunate for him and his pack that they had a very good standing with the hotel. And that Steve Wynn thoroughly enjoyed every one of Cole’s books.

  Malcolm made his way across the room to where the dresser rested against the wall and began to unbutton his long-sleeved linen shirt. His clothes were soaked through, as were his socks and shoes.

  When he’d finished undressing, he bent and sifted through the garments he’d folded and placed there a few days ago. He selected a pair of blue jeans and pulled them on, not bothering with underwear. He finished with a gray t-shirt that stretched taut over the muscles of his arms and chest.

  His thoughts were on the wet leather bands that he had yet to take off. They were uncomfortable against the skin of his wrists, but he really didn’t want to see those marks right now. They were the bane of his existence.

  And Charlie was his angel.

  He’d just stepped foot into heaven and, by God, he wasn’t going to slip back into Hell right now by gazing down at the Roma curse that a woman had etched into his arms and soul more than fifty years ago. So, he left the bands on and decided that they would dry soon enough in the desert night air.

  In the bathroom, the water shut off and the Cole listened as the shower door opened. Charlie was getting out and drying off. He imagined her body surrounded by curling tendrils of steam that clung to her fair skin in droplets. His body reacted quickly and painfully and he groaned in frustration and forced himself to think of baseball.

  Of manuscript deadlines. Global warming. Anything to ease the sudden stiffness back out of his dick.

  In a few moments, he was comfortable again, but he was learning that now that he’d tasted Charlie and felt her beneath him, he had to be eternally vigilant with his thoughts. Until he could either learn to control the urges she awakened in him or tie Charlie to his bed for a month straight, he would need to ban certain things from his mind. Or the wolf within him would take over.

  After he’d finished pulling on a pair of engineer boots and running a towel over his head, he took a long-sleeved sweater from the bottom drawer of the dresser and headed for the bathroom.

  He knocked on the door.

  “Yeah?” came the soft reply.

  “I’ve got a sweater for you, if you’re cold,” he said. He inched the door open just a tad and slid the garment through the crack, allowing her the privacy she most likely wanted. There was a brief hesitation, and then Charlie
took the sweater from his hand.

  “Thank you,” she told him, with genuine gratitude.

  He smiled to himself. They were making progress. “You’re welcome, Charlie.” He closed the door again and left the room to make a phone call.

  * * * *

  I should take her first, he thought to himself, before the wounds are too much. Before the blood began to ruin everything. She was nice enough looking. She had nice tits. Lean. Attractive body.

  But not as nice as Charlie’s.

  No one was as good as Charlie. Charlie was perfect. No one would ever fight him like she did. No one was strong enough to last….

  Gabriel gazed down at the woman tied to a chair before him. Her hair had come loose from her braid hours ago and hung in dark, sweat-soaked locks on either side of her face. One threatened her left eye, which was steadily blackening where he’d had to strike her during her initial struggles.

  It was a shame, really. She had pretty eyes, deep brown, almost black. Like coffee. They were big and soulful and she had that certain look about her that only young mothers had: youth force-fed wisdom, portrayed through the finest of lines that were testament to a broader, more intelligent view of the world.

  Such a shame…. But it had to be done, because in the end, she wasn’t Charlie. No one was.

  “It’ll all be over soon, sweetheart.”

  The woman whimpered behind the gag he’d forced into her mouth. It was nothing more than a cloth, covered with a piece of duct tape. It was certainly not his favorite way to gag a woman, but it worked. It would suffice. For her, anyway. Not for Charlie. No. Charlie deserved the best. He had plenty of very nice gags he would love to see pressed between Charlie’s plump, pink lips.

  “Since you won’t live out the night, I thought you might be curious as to why I’m doing this.” Gabriel turned and paced slowly toward an old, chipped wooden chest of drawers along one wall. Atop it was a round mirror, and tucked into the rim of the mirror were pictures of a little boy and a little girl, both the same age, and both with the same hair color and eyes of their mother.