by Tamara Hogan
Her head whipped. Gabe was here?
Chadden whispered a kiss onto her temple, a touch that comforted rather than seduced. “I wish you luck, my friend.”
“Thank you. I think I… may need it.” She returned his hug, but true to form, it didn’t take long for Chadden’s hand to drift south, from her hip to the curve of her ass. She giggled, shoving him away. “You’re incorrigible.”
He grinned, flashing his fangs. “If things don’t work out with the werewolf, you know where to find me.”
“You’re such a humanitarian, Chadden.”
“No need to be insulting.” A cacophony of female howls split the air. “Someone needs to cut those bitches off.”
Lorin glanced over to the curved leather banquette, where nearly a dozen dressed-to-kill werewolf females celebrated. Two women seated at the center of the pack wore faux balls and chains attached to their ankles, and sparkly collars and leashes adorned their necks. “Bondmate celebration.”
“Kayla Andersen is staring you down.”
Kayla was here? Where? After the hellacious day she’d had, throwing down with Gabe’s ex-girlfriend sounded… okay, it sounded great, but… hell. Diplomacy wasn’t exactly her strong suit. Her eyes cruised the partygoers milling around the edges of the banquette, looking for small, blonde, and stacked. “Where is she?”
Chadden pointed. “Ball and Chain Number One.”
Lorin blinked and looked to the center of the raucous celebration. Yes, there Kayla was, all right.
Wearing a sparkly pink leash, and holding hands with her brand new wife.
***
Gabe turned away from the dance floor as Flynn approached Underbelly’s big back table with a loaded tray. Who’d ordered tequila shots? Whoever had done so had read his damn mind. He needed alcohol, a lot of it, and fast.
“Hello, Lupinskys,” Flynn greeted them, setting the tray down in the middle of the table. “Ready to celebrate?”
Gabe shot a baleful look over his shoulder. “Yeah.” Having his loyalty to the pack questioned by his pissed-off alpha had been no treat, but coming here to find Lorin dancing with a slinky vampire who had his hands all over her? Jesus. As Flynn handed him one of the small, clear glasses filled with beige liquor, the vamp slid his hand onto her ass. She must want it there, because otherwise the guy would be eating teeth. “That’s just great.”
Why had he let his family drag him to Underbelly? After being dressed down by his alpha, Gabe had let himself hope that Lorin might be waiting for him. But she hadn’t been—nor had she been in her office, in Elliott’s office, or in the downstairs lab. Going up to his own office to ponder what he should do next, he’d discovered his brother and sisters in his office—there, according to Glynna, to kidnap him. “Congratulations! Mom told us about your presentation to the Council today! We’re all going to Underbelly to celebrate. Now.” After a slight hesitation, he’d allowed himself to be dragged along. On their way out, Gideon, ever the investigator, bent toward the couch, scooping up a handful of purple satin. Lorin’s underwear. Dropping them on Gabe’s desk, Gideon said, “Interesting work you do here, bro.”
Going out to a loud, noisy club was the last thing he wanted to do, but Lorin was MIA and Glynna wanted to dance. There was dancing, all right—and thankfully enough liquor to temporarily distract him from the sight of Lorin in another man’s arms. Fumes stung his nose as he lifted the tequila shot up to his lips and knocked it back. It burned all the way down, setting fire to his throat. “I’ll take another.”
“Who ordered these?” Gideon asked.
“Does it matter? It’s alcohol.”
Andi Woolf plopped down in the empty chair next to Gideon, pushing waves of dark hair away from her face. “Well, look at this. The Lupinskys are on the prowl.” She indicated the tray. “This round’s on me.”
Gideon cursed under his breath. Gabe spoke up before his brother did something stupid, like send the tray back. “Thank you, Andi.” Krispin Woolf’s daughter wanted to buy him drinks after the horrible day her father had caused. It was karma.
“None for me, thanks,” Gideon said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Andi rolled her eyes at Gideon. “No roofies, no drugs, Commander. Just liquor, glorious liquor.”
“Where’s your security?” Gideon looked over her shoulder.
She shrugged, her careless gesture contradicted by the annoyance in her eyes. “No clue. It’s their job to watch me, not the other way around.” Turning her back on Gideon, Andi chatted with Gwen and Glynna.
A familiar laugh drew his attention back to the dance floor. No, it wasn’t a laugh, it was a… giggle. The Eurotrash vamp had whispered something to Lorin that made her giggle like a schoolgirl. Gabe tossed back the shot he was holding, savoring the liquid smolder. “We’re going to need another round,” he called to Flynn.
Howls echoed from the far side of the dance floor, louder than the pounding music. “What’s up over there?” he asked Flynn. Bless the man, he’d brought the bottle.
“Bondmate celebration.” Why was Flynn looking at him so strangely?
Andi gestured grandly. “Please send them a round, kind sir.”
“As you wish, Princess.” Flynn’s white teeth flashed in a smile. “You’re mighty generous with the liquid cheer tonight.”
“Too generous,” Gideon muttered.
Andi reached for one of the glasses remaining on the tray. “I’m celebrating tonight.”
“Celebrating what?”
When Andi simply smiled, Gideon picked up a tequila shot of his own.
“Shit.” Glynna rarely swore, and now she exchanged a worried look with Gwen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Gwen hesitated, then said, “Kayla’s here.”
He felt a jolt of surprise, but it quickly passed. “So?”
Another pause. “That’s her bondmate celebration over there.”
He craned his head slightly and finally saw her, sitting in the midst of a pack of howling women, wearing a sparkly collar and leash, and a fake ball and chain around her ankle. So, Kayla had finally found a guy whose lineage was acceptable to her tight-assed family. Good for her. Reaching to the tray, Gabe picked up a shot to make a toast. “To Kayla,” he said. “Gawd help the poor bastard.”
Silence ensued as his sisters exchanged another loaded glance. “Bitch,” Glynna finally said.
Gabe chuckled. He could always count on his family. “It’s okay, Glyn. I wish her well. Really.”
A baffled expression flitted over Glynna’s face. “Gabe, her bondmate’s a bitch. A woman. A werewolf female.”
Whoa. The floor tilted momentarily, and then leveled off. Someone—Gideon?—handed him another shot glass. He peered at it, considering. Three shots in less than ten minutes? Four?
Hell, Gideon was driving.
He tipped the glass back quickly, vaguely noticing the embers on his tongue. Lorin, his lover, was dancing with another man. Kayla and her bondmate celebrated across the room.
His track record with women was less than stellar.
“Hey.” Lorin sidled up behind him, holding out her hand. He could do nothing but take it, and she tugged him out on to the dance floor without saying a word. Gabe didn’t recognize the song that was playing, but it beat like a heart against his skin. Its rhythm required nothing more than swaying, which suited him just fine. Thudding music, laughter, and voices swirled together in a frothy cocktail. The world blunted off, growing fuzzy around the edges as the liquor hit. Holding on to her as much for support as to dance with her, he inhaled the scent of her hair—and smelled that longhaired vamp. He rubbed his mouth along her neck to eradicate the other man’s scent, licking and snuffling. Instead of rebuffing his unspeakably primitive actions, Lorin simply tilted her head to the side to give him better access.
Other wolves in the room might perceive her gesture as submissive, but he could feel her strength in the fists she clenched in his hair. She had wide shoulders, curvy
hips, firm muscles, and long, sturdy bones. Her strength intoxicated him, liberated him. He could ride her—hard—all night long. He could be as rough as he wanted to be.
He was suddenly hard as a rock.
“Gabe.”
What the hell was his brother doing on the dance floor, surrounded by writhing bodies?
“Hello, Gideon,” Lorin responded serenely.
Gideon tried to tug his hand off Lorin’s muscled ass. Nope. Not moving it, bro.
“I apologize for my brother, Lorin,” Gideon said. Tug. “Gabe’s had a little too much to drink tonight, and he’s getting”—tug—“grabby.”
“Your brother’s hands are right where I want them to be, Gideon. Yours, however…?”
Gideon snatched his hand away.
Grinning at her imperious tone, Gabe smacked a kiss onto the tip of her adorable nose. “That’s my Valkyrie Princess. Off with his head!”
Clearing his throat, Gideon stepped back. “Will you please see that he gets home?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. Now go find your own woman,” Gabe said, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. The other man’s smell was drifting away, slowly being replaced by his own.
Gideon tapped his shoulder again. Gabe looked at him with exasperation. “What?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” His brother’s tone indicated that the conversation would be an inquisition of monumental proportions.
“Yeah, yeah. Now go away. Ask Andi to dance.”
Gideon left the dance floor, not dignifying his suggestion with a response.
He rested his chin on Lorin’s broad, bare shoulder, nudging the purple satin bra strap back under her shirt.
“We’re leaving for Isabella first thing in the morning, no matter how hungover you are,” she murmured in that amused tone typically reserved for misbehaving children.
“I won’t be hungover,” he replied testily. “I’ve had three tequila shots.” Or was it four?
“Okay.” She wrapped her arms more firmly around him. Her warm breath bloomed against his ear, making him shiver.
“I couldn’t find you after the meeting,” he said. “You disappeared on me.” He gathered Lorin more closely to his body to ensure it didn’t happen again.
“I’m sorry. Andi told me your brother and sisters were waiting for you in your office,” she replied. “How did things go with Krispin?”
“Let’s just say that if he could have fired me, he would have.”
“Elliott would just hire you back,” she replied. “I think Krispin was more pissed off at Jacoby than he was with you. I called Andi after the meeting, gave her a heads up about what happened.”
Gabe nodded. “Then I get here, and you’re clamped against some oily vamp.”
Lorin grinned. Grinned, damn her. “Chadden’s not oily. He… glistens.”
“Well, he wants you,” he grumbled.
Lorin didn’t deny it. She didn’t say that the other man was merely a sparring partner, or that she tolerated him only because of his ability to keep her refrigerator stocked with very high-end food. The important information was telegraphed by her body, swaying languidly with his, plastered together from torso to knee. The music lilted and throbbed, harmonizing angels celebrating their glorious fall from grace.
“Hell, who wouldn’t want you? You drive me crazy,” he muttered mindlessly, dipping his mouth to the juncture of her shoulder and neck. He bit, and then licked away the sting. Her moan vibrated onto his tongue, a decadent treat.
She clasped his hand. “Let’s get out of here.” The urgency in her voice inflamed him, and her eyes blazed with lascivious intent.
Restrooms. Stairwell. It was finally going to happen, and he couldn’t wait.
Someone tapped him on the arm. “What?” he snapped, not tearing his eyes from Lorin.
“Gabe?”
He blinked. “Kayla?” His former almost-bondmate stood before him, resplendent in her light pink collar and leash, the traditional tongue-in-cheek apparel for bondmate celebrations amongst the wolves. Behind him, chairs scraped against the floor as his siblings stood.
Did they think he couldn’t handle this?
“Kayla,” he repeated, leaning down to hug her gingerly. She felt like she would break in his hands. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, glancing back at the banquette, where her new bondmate watched them carefully.
Hell, a lot of people were watching. Though the music still played, the people closest to them didn’t even pretend to hide their curiosity. Kayla seemed nervous, more nervous than he was—maybe because Lorin had just wrapped her long arm around him, her hand skimming along his hip bone with proprietary weight. Gabe felt a kick of satisfaction.
“Congratulations, Kayla,” Lorin said with a smile while her fingers did a wicked, wicked dance at his pocket seam. “Ready for the big celebration next weekend?”
Kayla’s gaze flicked back and forth between them, probably wondering why the Valkyrie Second had her arm wrapped around her former intended. “There are still dozens of details to attend to,” she finally responded, “but we’ll be ready. I’m sorry you won’t be able to make it.”
“Gabe and I will be up at Isabella,” Lorin replied, her fingertips slipping into his pocket.
How could Lorin just stand there chitchatting when her hand was burning him alive? “I wish you well, Kayla,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Ready to go?” he murmured to Lorin. He shot Kayla an apologetic look. “You caught us on our way out.”
“So I see.” Kayla took in their now-clasped hands, and the bulge pressing against the fly of his dress pants.
“Congratulations again, Kayla.” After kissing Kayla on the cheek, Lorin waved toward Underbelly’s back table without looking. He felt hundreds of eyes boring into his back as they walked to the elevator that would bring them to Underbelly’s underground parking garage.
“Well, that ought to hit the grapevine at warp speed.”
She watched him carefully as she pressed the elevator call button. “Are you okay?”
He answered her question by yanking her against him and delivering a swaggering, marauding kiss. He speared his tongue deep in her mouth, thrusting and parrying with hers. He didn’t want her concern. He didn’t want her pity. He wanted her hot, open, and writhing underneath him. Now.
The elevator doors opened, and he backed her in. As the doors shut behind them, she snaked a hand between their bodies and cupped him, measuring every inch of his need. He hissed like he was in pain—the kind of pain a man wanted to experience over and over again, world without end, amen.
When the elevator reached the lower level and the doors opened, she backed away and took his hand. “Come home with me?”
He nodded. He could do nothing but follow.
***
Whatever Gabe had thought Lorin’s home might look like, it wasn’t what they walked into a half hour later. The upscale townhouse complex tucked into thick woods just west of the 494 loop in Minnetonka? Yeah, that he’d expected. But given how comfortable she seemed roughing it up at the Isabella cabin, he hadn’t expected the explosion of color, texture, and sheer coziness he saw in her living room. A leaning tower of mail balanced precariously on a glossy Arts and Crafts table next to the front door, and next to it, a huge houseplant towered from a squat rust-colored pot. No dust on the leaves.
“Who takes care of your plants while you’re gone?” he called. No answer, but he heard her pressing buttons and rustling with something near the garage entrance they’d just stumbled through. So he explored—as much as he could, anyway, using the illumination provided by the tiny, clever lights set into the wide custom baseboards. As he walked along the long island separating the kitchen from the living room, trailing his hand for balance, he brushed against an open bag of snacks. Snatching one—Doritos—he munched as he wandered to the end of a short hallway. To the right, there was a closed door. To the left, a stai
rwell, leading up to her bedroom, he hoped. The stairway wall was covered with black-framed pictures. He grinned at a close-up of Lorin hugging a drooling white-and-black bulldog whose head was bigger than hers. Both she and the dog were wearing hats and sunglasses.
“Hey.”
“There you are,” he said. He gestured to the picture. “Cute dog. Who looks after your place when you’re gone?” Before he realized what was happening, she’d grabbed his hand, tugged him up the stairs, and down a short, dark hallway.
“The couple next door,” she finally answered. “They’re snowbirds. I keep an eye on their place while they’re gone in the winter, and they do the same for me during dig season.”
Did the couple next door know that their neighbor was practically royalty? And not human, to boot? He wanted to know more about this couple who had a key to Lorin’s home. If Lukas hadn’t already done a deep background check on them, he’d ask Gideon to do some quiet poking around. Couldn’t be too careful.
“Gabe.” Her throaty voice pulled him along as surely as her tugging hand. Surely there was some siren blood in her lineage. He couldn’t walk away from her right now if his life depended upon it. She was smoking hot, incisively intelligent, could be cranky and sulky as a child, and had generations of service bred into her very bones. It would take a lifetime—longer—to learn her moods.
She was the lover of his most secret dreams, and given her comments at the council meeting earlier in the day, she… just might love him back.
Light from the near-full moon streamed into the room, illuminating the clean Scandinavian lines of her bedroom furniture. He couldn’t see colors, just shadows, but he smelled soil, and fresh growing things—ah, hell. Lorin stood silhouetted in the moonlight, stripping off her shirt. Removing her bra. With a groan, he cupped the tender flesh with his hands, supported her for his mouth. Lorin moaned at his touch, clutching his hair in her strong, callused hands.
He’d sacrifice every hair on his head if it meant he could keep his mouth right where it was.
She tipped her head back as he suckled, the milky light caressing her stubborn jawline as she surrendered to the pleasure he gave her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin.