by Rebecca Main
"I really don't want to have this conversation, Atticus," I tell him tightly, hating the way my throat felt so constricted. I make a quick swipe at my eyes, dashing away any evidence of my heartache.
"I'm the Beta, Quinn. Most of my responsibility falls to making sure my wolves and their soulmarks are happy and safe. To make sure they know they are loved and taken care of. You can confide in me.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. "I think I'll head to bed." I avoid his knowing gaze and tug my hand from him. I didn't need any more lectures or opinions on how I should handle the soulmark. I knew exactly what I was going to do, and with the help of a few friends, I’d put my plan into action after the heist. “Big day tomorrow and all,” I explain with a brittle smile, then walk out of the room without another word.
+++
“This is it,” I tell Ryatt, pointing to the hotel on the right. He pulls up without comment to the valet stand, exiting the car to open my door while tossing the keys to the valet. “Thank you.” Ryatt makes no comment, which shouldn’t surprise me, as he’s barely said one word to me the entire day. Since Denver was over a 10-hour drive, a private jet was procured to cut our time. Doing so also meant we now had a much stricter timeline to adhere to in order to take the jet back to Montana. Well, at least Ryatt did. If M pulled through on her promise, I'd find myself with my own transportation out of the city.
I slip my hand into his preferred arm, and he guides me inside the hotel lobby. “Your Mr. Vrana lives in a hotel?” he asks quietly as I hand over the invitation to the security guard waiting at the private elevator.
“The top floors are all condominiums,” I explain, taking back the invitation without a smile from the security guard. My eyes take a quick skim of the names checked off on the clipboard he holds. It seemed that just over half had arrived. Good. With more people trickling in after us our host would be preoccupied. “You should have worn the navy blue,” I continue as we enter the elevator, feeling my ire tinge my words. “You’ll draw too much attention in that color.” That color being an electric blue. He would certainly draw every eye in the room.
“It’s an artist premiere. I’m sure there will be guests dressed far more extravagantly than you or I,” he responds quickly.
“Listen,” I begin, feeling rushed as the numbers continue to tick up past the teens. “I need the suave and charming Ryatt, not paranoid, moody Ryatt. As far as everyone knows we’re just another pair of guests set to enjoy the night.”
He stiffens momentarily, eyes catching mine in the mirror as I touch up my lipstick. “I'm not moody or paranoid,” he quietly seethes, “and if I was, I’d have every right to be. We’re walking in knowing one of us isn’t going to come out.”
“We don’t know that. It could be anyone in there.”
“You don’t know that,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut as if in pain. “The thought that I might lose you just when I’ve found you.” My breath catches, our eyes meeting once more in the elevator mirror.
“We’ll be fine,” I reassure him, gently squeezing his forearm.
“And what of the other enemies?” he asks, the elevator beginning to slow as it nears the penthouse suite.
“Just eat them. Or something. You're a wolf, for God's sake. Growl viciously, I don't know.”
The sparkle of amusement returns to his eyes as the elevator dings and the doors open. My heart skips a beat, realizing I had missed seeing it over the past few days. “I think we both know I’d rather dine on you,” he purrs into my ear as he guides us out. A few people look our way, their curiosity mollified to see just another young couple. We make our way to the bar, slipping through the crowd with matching smiles. Ryatt nods to a fair few who eye us up, while I give a delicate wave of my fingers. No one approaches, our steps clearly intent.
“Dirty martini,” I tell the bartender off-handedly, turning back around to face the crowd.
“Make that two,” Ryatt corrects smoothly, keeping his back to the masses and scanning the people crowding around some art piece at the far end of the room. My eyes catch the familiar figure of Mr. Vrana. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes find me. Fresh martini glass in hand, I lift it in his direction. I’m aware of Ryatt tensing ever so slightly by my side and give a salacious wink and grin towards my employer before turning around with a swing of my hips and gluing myself to Ryatt’s side. His hand finds its place low on my hip, and he presses a kiss to my cheek.
Our eyes catch as he pulls away, a familiar, knowing grin on his face. “If you don’t calm that heart of yours everyone will hear it,” he teases, but I know a warning when I hear one. “It seems like the artist has set up displays all over the condo. There’s one outside on the deck,” he points to the glass wall to our left that overlooks a massive outdoor patio, “one in the back. A few scattered about the main floor, and one or two on the second.”
“What are we waiting for then?”
We make quick work of the first floor, stopping briefly at each art piece. Letting our faces be seen for only a short amount of time and doing our best to be unnoticeable. Ryatt was right. Tonight, the crowds gathered to impress with their haute couture outfits. Women in daring plunges and spiked shoulder pads. Men in bold shades of red and green.
“I’ve been told there is a restroom I might use upstairs,” he tells me as we pull away from an arrangement of fragmented crystals stacked precariously together under a blue light. My eyes glance at the clock on the wall. It’s almost 11:30 p.m. My contact on the inside was going to create a small diversion at 11:40 p.m., giving us roughly ten minutes to crack into the safe, steal the crystal, and make our exit. Any more time away from the party could potentially draw unnecessary attention.
“Alright, don’t leave me waiting too long or I might just have to join you,” I recite over the rim of my coupe glass. The air between us grows thick with heat. The hair on the back of my neck rises as he places a languid kiss on my shoulder. Teeth and tongue graze the skin as he pulls back to make his way inside.
“I don’t remember allotting you a plus one,” a cool voice says behind me. My heart skips a beat as I turn, a coy smile on my lips.
“You’ll have to take it up with your secretary,” I retort.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Mr. Vrana asks, taking my free hand and dropping a kiss to my knuckles. I fight the shiver that begs to race down my spine at the cool pressure.
“It’s not exactly to my taste,” I admit, taking a modest sip from my martini. “I like my art romantic and dramatic. Not questionable craft projects.”
Mr. Vrana laughs, a deep vibrato that draws stares from the women and men crowded outside. “I’m well aware that such modern art isn’t to everyone’s taste, but I generally find the inspiration behind them quite fascinating.” His relaxed disposition keeps my pulse steady, though for a brief moment I am lost in his eyes. The pale blue is streaked with what looks like mercury, something I am now much too keenly aware marks his vampirism. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much, Ms. Montgomery,” he murmurs, aware of the effect his mesmerizing gaze has on the opposite sex.
I conjure a meek grin. “Of course.” He departs with a pleased smile, wandering to meet another group sitting around the electric fireplace. I down the rest of my martini and place it on the tray of a passing waiter, making my way inside with my head held high. No one pays mind as I make my way upstairs, and so I weave about the people unnoticed. Several have herded themselves around what looks like a trio of pieces, dotted along the second-floor railing. A perfect cover, yet even some from this crowd would find it odd if I slipped silently into one of the rooms.
My hand dips into my purse and grabs my phone. I press it to my ear, plaster on a brilliant smile, and begin to chat with no one. Feigning a need for quiet, I knock surreptitiously on the door I know to be the master bedroom. Cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear, I slip inside. A sudden squeal of excitement sounds from downstairs just in time for me to shut the door. I couldn’t have asked for bet
ter timing.
“What took you so long?” Ryatt demands, nearly pouncing on me as I lock the door behind me.
“Mr. Vrana wanted to have a quick chat. I thought I could allow him as much seeing as how I’m about to double-cross him,” I quip, and walk to the master closet.
Ryatt’s hand falls heavily on my shoulder, spinning me around and crashing his lips down onto mine. I moan into the kiss. Feel that familiar electricity race between us. The kiss is filled with desperation. A perfectly controlled chaos, even as he pulls away with an almost painful whine pulling past his throat.
“I thought…” I shiver at the uncertainty I hear, can feel myself shifting into his embrace. How was I supposed to leave him when he kept leaving me so utterly breathless with his sincerity? Playful and mildly vulgar Ryatt I could deal with, but it was becoming remarkably clear that serious and thoughtful Ryatt was the more dangerous of the two.
I keep my eyes closed, and place a hand over his. The one that remains cradling my face. “I’m fine. Everything is going according to plan, but we are running low on time. Stay near the door and listen for anyone who gets too close, alright?” He steals another kiss, then does as I say, eyes trained on me as I make my way to the back of the closet. He’s moved the dresser that hides the safe and placed the decoy at its foot for me. How sweet. Digging into my purse, I lay out the black box, fine white powder, and fingerprint brush.
The black box adheres to the front of the safe using a magnetic charge. I press two buttons in quick succession; the first turns it on, the second activates the electronic transponder. While the black box is busy figuring out the combination, I prepare the powder and brush. If it failed, I would have to go old school.
“Time?” I call softly.
“11:37.” Plenty of time. The little red light on the black box flashes, signaling that it’s finished. “Are you almost done?”
I roll my eyes, my fingers quickly typing in 8-7-2-6-2, then hit the green confirmation button. The locks pull back with a satisfying and distinct thunk. I open the safe and quickly scan the contents. Envelopes, a few stacks of money, some jewelry cases. None big enough to hold the crystal. My eyes focus on the lockable drawer, and I let out an exasperated sigh, snagging the small lock pick essentials I always keep on hand.
“11:38,” Ryatt calls.
“I don’t need a minute by minute update,” I say under my breath while fishing out a tension wrench and pick. The next part is nearly as easy as the first, but that’s only because I’ve done this so many times before. I insert the wrench into the plug, twisting it carefully to the left before inserting the pick and going about lifting each pin.
“11:39.”
“Would you shut up,” I hiss.
The lock rotates under some light coercion, and the drawer opens. The crystal lies in a soft foam bed, unchanged from when I first saw it. I let out a brief sigh of relief, then get to work double-strapping the crystal to my thigh. I move with methodical intensity once I've placed the decoy. Close the drawer. Re-lock it. Close the safe and set the alarm.
“Let’s go,” Ryatt calls just as I'm finished.
“The dresser, you idiot.” He hustles over, ushering me away. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I don’t bother to wait for his response, pulling out my phone once more and holding it to my ear. “I’ll talk to you later, darling,” I coo against the mouth-piece, closing the door softly behind me as I fumble to put my phone back in my purse. Only one woman bothers to spare me a glance, but her attention is soon returned to her conversation. I make my way purposefully downstairs. I couldn’t afford to stop; the crystal would be too noticeable.
A quick glance over my shoulder and I spot Ryatt leaning against the banister, thoughtfully surveying the crowd. Our eyes meet and we exchange matching smirks. All we needed to do was make it to the elevator without incident. And then we would go our separate ways. I swallow down the pang of guilt it brings me, sneaking one last look up at the beautiful man. He watches me rather intently, sending a very well-timed wink my way to break me out of my reverie and make me bump into someone.
“Excuse you,” the woman snarls. My apology halts halfway across my lips at her superior tone. I take a short step back, eyes darting across her figure as I make a succinct evaluation of her person. An Oscar de la Renta 2014 Spring Collection sporting a brocade of flowers over a light grey pinstripe dress. I roll my eyes, hardly impressed with her choice of attire and attitude.
“Have a nice night,” I simper, blowing a saccharine kiss as I continue on my way. Her blue eyes shine with vengeance at my snub, but then she’s flipping her brown curls over her shoulder and strutting away.
A clatter sounds outside, the product of a series of glasses and plates crashing into the ground. All eyes turn to the patio. Mine skirt to a clock on the wall which reads 11:41 p.m. Better late than never, I think as I eye the redhead outside along with the others. She stares aghast at her misfortune, her tearful gaze swinging around fretfully. Her eyes linger on mine a second longer than necessary, and I pick up my pace, a shot of anxiety bolting through me. The diversion would only hold people’s attention for so long, and we needed to get out ASAP.
A hand falls to my lower back, urging me forward, and then Ryatt is at my side. Another bout of dread fills my blood and I dare not say a word as I attempt to keep my heartbeat under control.
“Everything alright?” I ask casually as we enter the elevator. His hand carries a nervous tremor, but Ryatt’s face is the picture of neutrality as he stares out into the pool of guests who have resumed their conversations. Ryatt presses the lobby button impatiently while I smooth my dress. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. Everything was going to be fine, but for whatever reason, I didn’t think I’d be heading off on my own tonight. Damn it all.
The elevator dings, the doors finally beginning to close, when I see Mr. Vrana approach the surly brunette. There’s something strange about the way they greet each other so…formally, and then the brunette’s icy blue eyes swing to us, followed by Mr. Vrana’s. Ryatt barely contains his growl, the doors shutting just as I see the vague visage of rage flash over Mr. Vrana’s face.
“Ryatt—”
“We need to get back immediately,” Ryatt says, pulling out his phone and typing a furious message, which fails to send in the steel box. “We’ve been made,” he says crossly.
“How? I don’t understand.”
He groans, running a hand over his face and beginning to pace the elevator. “That woman was Carrie Wselfwulf, the new Alpha of the Wselfwulf Pack.”
I pale in understanding, “They’re the ones who want to attack your pack, aren’t they?” He nods curtly.
“There’s only one reason she would be there,” he continues. “To negotiate for the crystal.”
“You think they’re working together?” I ask uneasily.
He shakes his head, resuming his place at my side and unbuttoning his suit coat as the elevator slows to a standstill.
“Not likely, but she must have had something that he wanted enough to trade for the crystal.”
“What?” I ask as we rush to the valet.
“I don’t know,” he mutters, casting me a sidelong glance, “but we’re going to find out.”
Chapter 12
Ryatt
I have a hard time meeting Quinn’s gaze and inquiries as we journey home, so the last few hours’ ride from the airport to Branson Falls is filled with tense silence. It doesn’t make matters much better that I have tampered with our soulmark bond, lessening the flow of emotions between us so as not to clue her in on my fears.
Quinn holds the crystal delicately in her lap, sights set upon something far off in the distance until she drifts off. The gentle stir of her breathing and her nearness soothe my jarred nerves. Xander would be expecting us, but first and foremost, the crystal would need to be delivered to the Trinity Coven’s base at the Baudelaire household. I do not bother to wake her when I pull up to the house;
instead, I slip the crystal from her lax hold and exit the car as quietly as possible.