by Olivia Arran
“Mating?”
Freddie nodded, turning his face away from the group. “From what I’ve heard, and take it with a pinch of salt since I’m not at the age they’re concerned about, they’re talking about moving away from the old ways. Labeling them as archaic.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, not true matings?” It came out a low growl.
Freddie motioned me over to the wall. He shook his head discreetly. “Arranged marriages like the humans used to.”
“What the living fuck—?”
“I know, right? From what I’ve heard they’re pushing the point that we’re not animals. That we shouldn’t be ruled by our instincts and that matches should be made for other, more tangible, reasons.”
“Tangible? Like money?” I spat the word out.
“Money, power, genetics—all of the above.”
I’d heard of shifters agreeing to partner with others who weren’t their true mate for reasons of companionship and friendship. It was usually due to their true mate having died, or because they hadn’t found them yet after nearly a lifetime of waiting, but never so calculated. “But what about the mating bond?”
“Consummated.”
I rocked back on my heels, unable to keep the shock from my face. Linked soul to soul with someone not your true mate, the most intimate act between two people who should love each other. “And people are agreeing to this?”
“I think so. Vincent, a lot has changed since you left. After…” He winced, the corners of his mouth turning down in sorrow. “After everything that went on, the Council re-evaluated. The ruling families don’t want to risk losing their seat or power within the Council.”
I followed his train of thought, connecting the dots. “So, every first-born son or daughter has to mate and produce an heir?”
“Not just the first born, but that’s where they’re starting. They’re thinking bigger now. The packs have diminished over time. The old outweigh the young, and we don’t live in packs anymore. We’ve become civilized and adopted the human ways.”
“But that’s what they want, right? For us not to be like our animals.” Everything I’d heard so far disgusted me. Why the fuck any shifter would want to diminish the connection we had with our wolves—the strength they gave us—and to ignore our base animal instincts, was beyond me. Fuck that. It was pure lunacy.
Freddie’s mouth twisted up in a grimace. With a sigh, he took a swig of his beer. “I’ve heard things from different people, just bits and pieces here and there, and put it together. I could be wrong—shit, I hope I’m wrong. Otherwise my turn is coming real soon.”
“So do I.”
It’s not my problem. As soon as the job was done I’d be out of here and on a plane back to my real life.
But the memory of the glimmer of hope in Freddie’s eyes wouldn’t go away.
While I was here there wouldn’t be any harm in doing a little digging, would there?
I set my drink down. It was time to see my family, and to find out what the hell was going on.
Chapter Four
Grace
I scurried down the moonlit street, skipping over puddles and dodging around the occasional fellow pedestrian unlucky enough to be out on this damp, dreary evening just like me.
Dinner had dragged on until I’d thought it would never end, Uncle going on and on about who would be at the party. As if I was actually entertaining going through with it! But I’d played the dutiful Niece, nodding and peppering the conversation with the occasional um or ah.
I shouldn’t have snuck out again. I should have waited until the morning, but I couldn’t help myself.
I paused under the soft glow of a street light, the hairs on the back of my neck rising.
Reaching down, I fiddled with my shoe, darting a furtive glance under my arm. Nothing.
Straightening up, I followed the street down and around the corner, then rejoined the main street.
I didn’t pay any attention to the fact that I’d just passed where I’d had an unfortunate collision this afternoon. Didn’t slow down, didn’t glance around just in case. Nope, not one bit.
The contact had collected the letter, following my instructions perfectly, even down to the time. Astrid hadn’t told me much, as a part of our arrangement. I got to keep my anonymity and the contact kept his, but she’d let slip it was a man. Though I was pretty sure it wasn’t a slip—with the grin on her face it had felt more like a friendly hint.
I turned onto another side street, slipping through the shadows.
My nose wrinkled in concentration as I considered the woman who was acting as liaison. I couldn’t begin to guess her reasons for helping me. Astrid was unique, and in the short time I’d known her I’d come to realize she came with her own little quirks. She was friendly. Very. Helpful? When she felt like it. Discreet? Always. Trustworthy? Absolutely.
So why the slip? And to what purpose? Surely she didn’t believe that I’d feel better knowing that it was a man that had been sent? I didn’t care so long as they were capable, and she knew that. So that couldn’t be it. Then why?
Baying laughter jerked me from my musings, accompanied by a shrill screeching whistle.
“Hey, boys, what have we got here?” a slurred voice called out.
My legs wanted to freeze but I forced them to keep going. I then had to convince them not to speed up when I laid eyes on my admirer.
Or, more like my three admirers.
Mr. Whistle looked to be in his early thirties, a big man with more bulk than muscle, his waist thickened with a roll of fat hanging over his jeans. He half-jogged, half-lurched toward me, his arms spread in welcome. “Hey, come on. Say hello! The boys and I just want to get to know you.”
His friends blinked at me, then their lips curled up in matching leers.
I glanced around, looking for another person. Anyone.
The street was deserted, the buildings all with curtains drawn or shutters down.
I sped up, my feet hitting the street with renewed vigor. Don’t run…don’t run…don’t run… The chant echoed in my head until it was a scream.
Ragged breathing sounded behind me.
“Where are you going, cutie? Don’t you know it’s rude not to say hello?”
I shoved a hand in my pocket, searching. My hand curled around nothing. Shit!
“Hey! I’m talking to you!” A hand grabbed me on the shoulder and spun me around.
I staggered back a step as the stench of stale sweat washed over me.
Heavy-lidded blue eyes stared at me, traveling over my face and then down, narrowing in consideration. Suddenly Mr. Whistle didn’t seem so drunk after all.
I tried to pull away from where he held me, but his fingers curled into the cloth of my coat, pinning me in place. I searched my other pocket, still coming up blank.
“What do you think, fellas? She looks feisty, this one.” His lips peeled back to reveal shockingly perfect teeth. A smile worthy of a movie star.
It threw me for a second. Jeez, even an asshole can have perfect teeth with enough money, Grace.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” It was one of his friends that spoke.
I pushed back my fear and finally found my voice. “Oh, you all can speak. I was starting to think you all let this asshole do the talking for you.” I put as much snark into my voice as I could, arching an eyebrow for extra points.
The guy who had spoken, Mr. Baldy I decided to name him, lurched forward a step. “Who are you calling an asshole?”
I glared at him, unsure if he was either that drunk or just plain stupid. “Your friend. The asshole.”
Mr. Whistle eventually clicked onto that I had, in fact, actually insulted him and shoved me back a step.
Shame he didn’t let go.
“What about you? Don’t you talk?” This was aimed at the other man, who up until now had kept quiet.
The lopsided grin that spread over his face had my stomach dropping and heart speedi
ng out of control. Taller than his friends, he was a beast of a man with a shock of dark hair and oily-looking skin.
“Trev doesn’t talk much. He’s more of a doer than a thinker, aren’t you Trev?”
Mr. Oily, real name Trev, just nodded at Mr. Whistle’s comment, his eyes fixated on my chest.
“I’m going to scream.”
Another shove and my back met a brick wall. Hard.
Mr. Whistle leaned forward and licked my face leaving a trail of saliva cooling on my skin. “I hope you do. I like a screamer.”
Shit. I’d hoped to talk my way out of this one, hoped that they’d just had a little too much to drink and were all talk and no action. From the obvious—couldn’t miss it even if I wanted to—tenting going on in Mr. Oily’s jeans, I scratched that hope.
Well, they’d messed with the wrong woman. I might not be a shifter, but I wasn’t a pushover either.
Closing my eyes, I slowed my breathing, centering myself until I was calm. Pushing away the negative energy, I exhaled.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I opened my eyes and grabbed his wrist with both hands.
Mr. Whistle’s eyes widened a fraction, then he leered at me. “Hey, honey, if you wanted it, all you had to do was—”
I twisted, leaning into him and driving his hand around and back.
He screamed, dropping to his knees with a thud.
Giving his wrist one last twist for good luck, I leaped around him, and grabbed Mr. Baldy using my height and the element of surprise to hook my hip under his and attempt a bastardized version of a hip throw.
I blinked my bangs out of my eyes. Wow! It had worked! Mr. Baldy was sprawled out on the floor, clutching his back in obvious pain.
Movement to my right caught my eye. Mr. Oily advanced toward me, swinging his meaty hands back and forth.
I took a step back. “Still not talking?” I quipped before I could stop myself.
Now would be a good time to run.
I flung myself around and set off like a woman running a one-hundred meter sprint, the soles of my boots slapping the pavement and my heart thundering in my ears. I didn’t look around and didn’t stop until I couldn’t run anymore. Until my lungs were screaming for oxygen and my legs felt like jelly. I couldn’t hear footsteps behind me, no shouting voices or angry cries. I checked over my shoulder. Clear.
I screeched to a halt, hands on my knees, sucking in deep breaths all the while trying not to puke over my boots. That would just be embarrassing, especially since I’d just pulled off a kick-ass-saved-my-own-virtue kind of deal. Mentally giving myself a high-five, I straightened from my hunched impression of a turtle.
Bet they hadn’t been expecting that!
You wouldn’t think it to look at me, but my parents had introduced me to Aikido as a young child and insisted that I learn to protect myself. I stifled a snort at the memory. They’d probably insisted because we were related to a whole bunch of shifters, something I hadn’t known at the time. I’d enjoyed it, so practicing hadn’t been a chore, a secret I had carried with me from America and kept from my new family in case they insisted that I stop. You just never knew, what with all this society manners and ladylike behavior they shoved on me day and night.
It was a shame that in Aikido I had been taught to disarm my attackers without injuring them. Well, not permanently, anyway.
I set off walking, a little extra bounciness to my step from the adrenaline still pounding through my system. Then I looked around. What—? I’d run at least a mile out of my way…in the opposite direction. But there was no way I was going back through the side streets again. Turning around, I set off down Knightsbridge, blending in with the late night crowd of people piling in and out of clubs and bars, rushing to and fro without a care in the world. Patting my hair down, I hooked the short strands behind my ears and unbuttoned my coat in an attempt to blend in.
A crowd of people erupted out of a club across the street, the doorman closing the door behind them and locking the ear-blasting music back inside. I did a double take. Shit. It was the pack kids. Jeremy and Co. And, yep, there was Miss. High and Mighty Tamara, with Annabel and Synthia in tow.
I edged to the far side of the street, aiming for the shadows of the shuttered storefronts. Jeremey was acting like a dick, as per usual, swaggering and shouting and brandishing his arms around in a display that was meant to make people notice. The women had linked arms, their giggles loud enough to reach me way over here. And there was Jonathan. The last social event I’d been unlucky enough to have to attend, he’d cornered me, propositioned me, and copped a feel, all in the space of about thirty seconds. Sleezebag. I narrowed my eyes, sizing him up. I could take him, or at least I was pretty sure I could. He couldn’t be much bigger than Mr. Oily, though I hadn’t actually taken Mr. Oily on—
My mouth dropped open as the door swung open again, two tall men emerging from the dimly lit exit.
One was Freddie, a nice enough kid, just old enough to shave and to be led astray by this bunch of idiots.
The other man stretched, his arms reaching out to his sides as he shook them, as though basking in the open air. His T-shirt was pulled tight over a wide, muscular chest, his biceps bunching as he lazily scratched the dark shadow on his chin.
It was him!
The shock at seeing him again rooted me to the spot.
He stiffened, his eyes flicking around the street as if searching for something.
I shrank back into the small door opening, flattening myself against the wall and out of sight.
The air around me felt thick and heavy, and for a second I could have sworn I could feel him. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a breath and held it. A shiver rippled down my spine as the image of him pressing against me flared in full glorious Technicolor detail. I could almost feel the scratch of his stubble against my cheek, the weight of him falling heavy against my hips, hear the small intake of air as he breathed me in.
Scenting me. He was a shifter. My mystery man was a part of Jeremy’s crowd, which meant he was either a member or a friend of the ruling shifter families.
Which also meant he was no better than the rest—a rich playboy with a great smile.
What a waste.
I peered out of my hiding place just in time to see him walking off down the street away from his friends, his stride that of a determined man.
Scuttling out of my hiding place, I hesitated, giving him a head start. I wasn’t going to follow him. Now that I knew who he was—what he was—I was determined to put him out of my mind.
Rich playboys didn’t fit into my plans. Even if they were good-looking bastards that made my legs go weak.
Chapter Five
Vin
“What are you doing here?”
Those were the words that greeted me as I stepped into the large foyer of the imposing terrace house adjacent to Belgrave Square.
“Father.” I nodded at the imposing man that glowered at me. “Is Mother around?”
Vincent Charles Brownstone Jr.—or Charles as he preferred—scowled at me, as though it hadn’t been five years since we’d last spoken. “She’s resting.” He turned on his heel and stormed into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.
Huh. Maybe nothing had changed.
“Vincent?” A soft, timid voice called to me from the staircase.
For the first time since arriving in this godforsaken country a real smile tugged at my lips. “Mother, I thought you were resting.”
She descended the stairs, dressed in teal-colored, impeccably tailored slacks, teamed with a pale silk blouse the shade of bluebells. Her hair was long and worn loose around her shoulders, the sides pinned with silver slides. “Vincent, you know better than that! It really is you!” She rushed toward me, engulfing me in a scented cloud of lilac and wolf.
Hugging her tight, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the realization that she appeared smaller and more fragile hitting me all at once. “It’s good to se
e you, Mother.”
“And you too,” she whispered, giving me one last squeeze before stepping back. “Are you home for long? We weren’t expecting you. Did we miss a letter?” She gestured toward the sitting room, her words carefully casual, but I could read the eagerness in her eyes. The small flare of hope that I had returned for good.
Fucking hell. This was worse that I’d imagined. “For a while, at least,” I murmured, catching her hand and giving it a squeeze.
She smiled gratefully at me, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
I lowered myself gingerly into the offered seat. Even when I had lived here I hadn’t spent much time in this room. The furniture was too small and feminine and fragile looking for my tastes. Pushing away a cushion that looked more lace than substance I turned to her. “What’s wrong? Is it Father? Is he being—”
“No, no. Everything’s fine with your Father and me. It’s just—” her voice broke, her bottom lip wobbling a fraction before she visibly pulled herself back together, “—I’ve missed you. And your Father hasn’t been the same since you left.”
“What she’s trying to say is that since his first son and heir ran away to another country, he’s been even more of an old goat than usual.”
I sprung from my chair, striding across the room. “Eddie!” I grabbed my younger brother in a hug, slowly releasing him when he remained stiff and unyielding. Arms falling back to my sides, I took a step back, regarding him quizzically. “It’s good to see you, Eddie.”
He flinched, then his lip curled in a sneer. He looked over my shoulder, avoiding my eyes. “You’ve got your favorite back now, Mother.” Then he turned and left.
What the—?
“He’ll come around.”
I remained standing, willing him to come back and talk to me. What had happened to the little brother that had doted on me, followed me everywhere, and hung on my every word? The man I had just met was the image of my Father, and I wasn’t just talking about the stocky build, brown hair, and hazel eyes. That sneer had been lifted straight from my Father’s playbook. “Will he?”