Cold Hard Secret (Secret McQueen)

by Sierra Dean

  “He is a man,” I answered.

  She clucked her tongue, the way any good, disapproving parental figure would. “You mustn’t play with the hearts of men. They are more fragile than we are led to believe.”

  What could I say to that?

  She was right, and I’d been carrying around two of them without much regard for the consequences. If I broke both their hearts, would I know whose was whose? How could I have made such a mess out of everything?

  Sometimes the desire to be loved leads people down a foolish road, and instead of finding joy, the only thing we find is misery and loneliness.

  So much for my moment of happiness.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re grumpy tonight.” Desmond eased a large duffel bag off my shoulder.

  “And you figured that observation would cheer me up?” I managed to keep any venom out of my tone, in spite of the fact my feelings were hurt by his statement.

  He wasn’t wrong, though. Since hanging up with Grandmere, my mood had taken a downward spiral. I didn’t think Desmond would notice, since my default mood these days was bad, but apparently my grouchy attitude was attaining new heights.

  “I’d like to think you’d be more positive about what we’re doing.”

  “When we get out, we can find a nice bar and order an obscenely expensive bottle of champagne, okay? I’ll even crack a smile. But until then, this is the version of me you’re stuck with.”

  “Great.”

  Was that…sarcasm? I gave Desmond a quick look over my shoulder, slowing down so we were evenly matched. In spite of his longer legs, I was in such a hurry to get to the metro station I was outpacing him.

  It wasn’t like Desmond to show much attitude, so for him to be outright snarky caught me off-guard. “I’m sorry.” I meant it too. I was sorry for being such a bitch to him, especially after we’d had a good talk the night before. “I had a call from Grandmere, and something she said isn’t sitting right.” Since I knew he’d want me to elaborate, and I wasn’t ready to discuss Grandmere’s opinion on my love life, I added, “Someone sent her a random postcard, and it has me on edge. As soon as we’re done with Peyton, I’d like to go see her. For some peace of mind.”

  “Her peace of mind, or yours?”

  “A bit of both. Probably mostly mine.”

  He nodded. “Bringing me home to meet the family? Big move, McQueen.”

  “Don’t let your head get too engorged there,” I warned. “You’ve already met my dad. And I think you’ve had a passing introduction to my mother when she was trying to rip my throat out. My family isn’t the warm, cuddly type.”

  At the mention of my father, a lump grew in my throat. I felt guilty for having left him behind in New York to go on this manhunt. We’d only just met, and getting to know him was a trying endeavor for both of us. Sutherland Halliston had gone crazy during his transformation into a vampire, and now he was permanently frozen at seventeen years old, with the mental capacity of an insane grapefruit.

  Having a conversation with my dad was a lot like trying to get into an intellectual discussion with a talking parrot. The words made sense but were rarely in context. He was now in my care, since I’d taken him from the West Coast council, and his appearance in New York was rocking a lot of boats.

  I hoped Holden was looking out for Sutherland in my absence because I didn’t particularly trust the council to have my father’s best interests at heart.

  We made our way down the metro steps, flanked on either side by evening commuters. We earned ourselves a few grumpy looks, but mostly because the bulk of the duffel bag meant it kept bumping into innocent bystanders. If I’d known I could walk around a major city carrying a sword and no one would bat an eyelash, I’d have gladly worn it all the time back in New York. Guns were great, and I loved my SIGs in a somewhat unhealthy way, but the sword had more cache in certain crowds.

  Mainly the crowds I liked to kill.

  Desmond and I moved towards the end of the platform, away from most of the bustling crowd, and waited for the train to arrive. We determined the quietest time to go would be right after passengers had boarded. As the train exited the station, most people would be on it or making their way to the exits, and we wouldn’t be noticed edging our way towards the employee door.

  If I’d been willing to take more time planning, I might have considered getting fake uniforms so we could head to the door at any moment without anyone questioning us. But I was impatient for the kill, and there was no time for elaborate Ocean’s Eleven-style plans.

  I was more of a kick-down-the-door kind of gal anyway.

  Once the train started, Desmond and I rose from our blue plastic seats and moved towards the exit. Across from us a few people were milling about on the opposite platform waiting for the other train, but none seemed too interested in paying attention to us.

  Sometimes I got bummed out about living in a world so devoted to technology. I had a smartphone I didn’t know how to use, and only dusted off my laptop when my running playlist needed updating. I was odd for a twenty-three-year-old, and I knew it. But seeing everyone across from us more focused on their phones or tablets than anything going on around them, for once I was grateful. The only way they’d pay attention to us was if someone else were to film it and post it on YouTube.

  Which was fast becoming an entirely different kind of problem in the supernatural community.

  But for the time being it was working in my favor, and I’d take whatever luck I could get.

  We continued to walk past the steps and along a narrow ledge leading into the dark mouth of the tunnel. Once we were at the end of the platform, the only light available was a few small lamps mounted along the entrance to the bowels of the metro. Their dim yellow light was enough to show us where to go, but not to illuminate us to potential prying eyes.

  I disengaged the safeties on both my guns, and Desmond played with the strap on the duffel bag. I’d have felt better if he were already armed, but he told me back at the hotel he had no intention of pulling out a weapon until we were inside the sewers. He wasn’t able to hide guns because we hadn’t brought a holster big enough for him, and I think he was angling to use the shotgun in the bag, which would stand out a lot more than two handguns.

  I’d once seen Desmond carry a medieval broadsword into the fray, and while he didn’t get much of a chance to use it, the sight of him holding the massive, ancient blade had stuck in my mind. Up until then I’d relegated him to the sidelines. Sure, he was a big, strong man, but I had somehow believed he couldn’t hold his own in my rough-and-tumble reality. But seeing him pick up a sword that weighed almost as much as I did had totally shifted my perception of him as a warrior.

  The dude could kick ass.

  Not to mention it was a pretty hot thing to see your boyfriend wielding a weapon right out of Arthurian legend. I’d be lying if I claimed that hadn’t been added to the spank bank.

  I put aside thoughts of Desmond as a white knight and hopped off the platform onto the gritty dirt path running alongside the train tracks.

  “Watch the outside rail,” he warned.

  “I am.” I hadn’t considered if they were electrified, but I was generally of the opinion it wasn’t smart to jump on subway tracks, regardless.

  He set the bag down in front of the metal door, and I found a few of the basic tools we’d stashed inside. I wasn’t a skilled cat burglar, so picking locks wasn’t something I did with any style or finesse, but when I couldn’t kick down a door, I had to find a way in somehow. Plus, my human mentor Keaty had found an interesting way to teach me to pick locks by keeping me trapped until I managed to get out.

  Too bad those skills had failed me when The Doctor had me caged.

  My gaze cut to the dark tunnel, and an itchy discomfort crept up my spine. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stave off the threat of a flashback and counted from ten repeatedly in my head.

  “Des, can you…?” I hesitated, not sure I wanted t
o depend on him for something as tenuous as my sanity. What if I learned to need him too much and he left? How would I cope? Oh, fuck it, I needed all my wits about me for what we were about to do. “Can you touch me?”

  The werewolves—more Lucas than Desmond—had this habit of putting me into a calm state by touching me. It was nothing like the power Sig, leader of the Tribunal, had, but I didn’t have Sig right then.

  “Touch you?”

  It had been a good long time since I’d asked for his hands on me, so I could understand his uncertainty, especially given our current location.

  “I’m wigging out a little. I need the soul bond. It calms me down.”

  “God, Secret, why haven’t you ever asked for it before? All those times—”

  “I’m asking now.”

  He placed his hand on the exposed skin at the back of my neck and squeezed. It wasn’t a perfect calm—I could still feel my pulse tripping, and the bleak edges of panic were threatening me even as the taste of lime filled my mouth. But it was better than the hysteria I’d sensed, and the flashback crawled away, leaving me my normal, mostly functional self. At least now I could focus on the lock instead of my mental state.

  It took a few attempts, and some choice curse words, but when the tumbler finally clicked, I couldn’t help but let out a little whoop of triumph. Desmond let his hand drop away, and as I stashed the tools back in the bag, I handed him the shotgun.

  “You ready for this?” I asked.

  “Am I ready to hunt down the guy who has tried to kill you on a dozen occasions? Yeah, I think it’s safe to say I was born ready for that.” He opened the door, but I grabbed his wrist to still him.

  “I don’t want you going after Peyton.” A dreadful image of the redheaded vampire ripping out Desmond’s throat filled my mind. It wasn’t a flashback, but it was grim enough to set my heart rate going again. “There will be plenty for us to deal with in there, and I’ll need you to watch my back when I finish him. But this is my fight, Desmond. I don’t mean to be all vigilante about it, but I need to be the one who kills him.” I stared at him, hoping my eyes were dire but not crazy. Either way he had to understand. “I have to kill him.”

  Desmond stared at me for a long moment, his violet-gray eyes dark with worry or fear, but after a pause he nodded. “Don’t you go taking any stupid risks in there, woman.”

  “You either…man.”

  When I let go of him, he set down the gun and grabbed hold of me, hauling me into his arms so I had to look up at him lest my face be crushed against his chest. He was warm, and breathing in his scent washed away the nasty reek of the tunnels.

  “We’re both coming out of this alive.” His voice was all promise, bordering on a threat. As if I had no choice but to comply.

  “We are,” I agreed.

  He dipped down and kissed me, cradling the back of my head with both his big hands. His lips were hot, and when his tongue brushed mine, a sizzle of electricity shot through me, radiating from my hair right down into the arches of my feet. I gave a little shudder, sighing against his mouth. For the first time in a long time I didn’t want him to stop.

  When he broke away, he whispered, “I love you.”

  Bracing my hands against his chest, I gazed up at him and gave a weak, watery smile. “And you think I’m the crazy one.”

  Chapter Eight

  Inside the doorway, the stink of urine vanished, replaced with a smell that reminded me of coal or old firewood. A sort of aged char scent that I couldn’t place and didn’t have time to wonder about. Anything was better than the reek of piss, so I’d take it.

  Desmond shut the door behind us, casting the small corridor into darkness. I might have decent night vision, but I couldn’t see in the dark the way a full-blooded vampire could. I’d brought a small flashlight along, foreseeing this as a potential issue. Once we got to the actual sewers, I’d have to turn it off, but it would take us twice as long to get there without a bit of light.

  We bumped our way along the passage, Desmond hauling the bag and me trying to duck under low pipes, snagging my sword several times. Without the flashlight I probably would have beaned my head at least once. After taking one wrong turn and having to backtrack, we finally found ourselves at a door that read L’accès D’égout. Sewer Access.

  Yet another metal door, but thankfully this one opened with a round wheel handle instead of a lock. I didn’t have the patience for more locks at this point. Desmond did the honors of opening the door, and as soon as it swung inward we were assaulted with a new smell.

  It wasn’t what I expected from a sewer, though, and definitely not as foul as the sewer tunnels back home. The Alma-Marceau Sewer Museum, from my understanding, let tourists explore the Paris Underground, and this section of the sewers was actually dry.

  I angled the flashlight around the catacomb-like arches, getting a sense for what direction we’d be going in the darkness. Mouse had given us a rough idea of where his friend left goods for Peyton, so once we found the drop point, we’d keep going from there.

  Inevitably we were going to end up wading through flooded passages, but I was glad we’d get to start the hunt with dry legs. I didn’t relish the idea of getting soaked by dingy sewer water, but I would have slogged through a lake of blood if it meant getting to Alexandre Peyton at the end.

  In spite of knowing my guns were armed, I checked the safeties again and let out my breath in a little huff.

  It was time. I was going to do this.

  I’d been waiting to kill Peyton since I was sixteen, and now I was going to get my chance.

  “Let’s do this.”

  I removed my sword from its scabbard, wanting to hold off on using the guns until I absolutely had to. They’d create an insane level of racket underground, and since I wasn’t sure where all the walls were, I didn’t want to risk hitting myself with a ricochet.

  Or, God forbid, Desmond.

  The darkness wasn’t total. Light from the night sky filtered through grates overhead, making the blade of my katana glimmer faintly.

  “This way.” Desmond stepped ahead of me, the shotgun propped on his shoulder. Damn did he look good with a gun in hand. It was nice to see my mild-mannered, sweet-as-hell boyfriend acting like an alpha. He was so often overshadowed by Lucas, it was easy to forget he was a born leader.

  I wondered briefly how the relationship between Desmond and Lucas was now. Lucas was king, and Desmond his second-in-command in the pack. They had once been best friends, but I was responsible for screwing their friendship up completely.

  It didn’t mean the pack dynamic had changed though, and I wished I was thoughtful enough to ask how Desmond was handling working under Lucas these days.

  Now didn’t seem like the best time to bring it up.

  Peyton had once been part of a plan to help one of Lucas’s rivals usurp the throne. Though the plan had been a failure on many levels, it meant Desmond had a personal stake in wanting Peyton dead too. The vampire had no interest in a werewolf throne, but he was a smart man and made alliances wherever he thought they might benefit his ultimate goal.

  I wondered what kind of shit-show we might be walking into. If only Mouse had been able to give us more insight into what Peyton was plotting here. Was he merely lying low, or was he up to something? Knowing Peyton, the latter was the most likely case.

  But what was he planning? Knowing that would give me a better idea of how many people would be guarding his subterranean lair. I had no doubt whatsoever he would have—to borrow Desmond’s term—minions. He was too smart to go without protection, especially knowing how many people wanted him dead.

  I never understood how he was able to recruit aid with such ease. Did he promise them wealth or eternal life? Or did he build his own army by turning a dozen new baby vamps? That would be a risky move, given how unpredictable newborn vampires could be.

  And Peyton knew all about that.

  We followed the tunnels, each of us quietly waiting for the inev
itable attack. After about fifteen minutes, we found the place Mouse had told us about. A cardboard box and a few empty blood donor bags littered the ground, but I highly doubted that was where Peyton was getting most of his supply from. A vampire starved of blood as long as he’d been was going to want it fresh.

  The candy wrappers in the box suggested I was right, because if he had a human blood harem, they would need to eat something too.

  I poked at the box and the wrappers with my toe. A waft from the donor bags caught me, and I sniffed the air.

  “These are new,” I observed. “They probably picked the stuff up not too long ago.”

  Desmond took a breath, raising his nose to get a good whiff. When his face wrinkled in an unpleasant way, he looked back at me. He’d smelled vampire. “That way.” He indicated to our right, away from the light peeking through the grates overhead. We’d be going into the real dark. Right where Peyton would have the upper hand.

  “Can you tell how many?” Sometimes it was possible to get distinct scents from those we were tracking and estimate a rough number. It wasn’t a perfect science, but it gave more insight than blind guessing.

  “A half dozen? Maybe more?” He shrugged. “It’s hard to say, sorry. They just stink.”

  I pretended to be insulted by his comment, sticking my tongue out. Desmond reached out his free hand as if he might grab it, grinning wickedly at me. In spite of the seriousness of our mission, it felt good to be stupid and playful with him. I hadn’t felt this free and easy in months.

  Apparently all it took to bring me back to life was a death wish for someone else.

  I cuffed Desmond in the ribs, my hand bouncing harmlessly off his tight, muscled side. Part of me wished we could just stand here all night, pretending this was a normal date, and forget why we’d come. But a rat scuttled over my foot, reminding me that this wasn’t a romantic outing and we were in genuine danger every moment we had our guard down.

  I took a deep breath and attempted to differentiate between the vampire scents, hoping I might pick up something Desmond couldn’t. But his sense of smell was better than mine, and even though I could detect the vampires, I didn’t do any better at picking up on their number.