“Not guilty,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble.
Sensation washed over her, warm and pleasant, but with a tinge of coolness. Vassi frowned slightly, then turned to the bar. “Not guilty, Your Honour.”
“And bail?” the judge asked as she jotted a note down in her ledger.
Henley took a deep breath, clearing the frown off his forehead. “We ask that the defendant be remanded in custody.”
“Objection, Your Honour. We request the defendant be released on his …” Oh, crap. With the lycans on the hunt for his blood, releasing the man on his own recognisance would be the equivalent of a death sentence.
“Into your custody? It’s unusual, but I’ll grant it. Bail is set at two hundred thousand dollars for release into Ms. Verity’s custody,” the judge stated, hitting her gavel on the block.
Vassi blinked. Er, what? She glanced at Henley, who looked equally stunned. Did she just—?
“This is most unprecedented, Your Honour,” Henley protested.
Vassi nodded. Hell, yeah, it was. She didn’t want to be responsible for the man. Since when did a lawyer take her clients home with her?
“Relax, Sir Prosecutor. Trial is set for—” the judge glanced at the court clerk, who checked the schedule.
“We have a space in the schedule for Monday, Your Honour. A case finished early this week.”
The judge nodded. “Great. Monday it is. Next.”
“But wait—” Vassi called out and took a step toward the bench. Things were happening way too fast here, and she couldn’t quite catch up. “I haven’t had a chance to confer with my client, nor to prepare a suitable defence.”
The judge smiled. “I’m sure Sir Prosecutor can arrange for all relevant material to be dispatched to you immediately. You have the weekend.” The judge stopped smiling. “Next.”
Vassi snapped her folder shut and leaned down to pick up her briefcase. What the hell just happened? She started to walk toward the swing gate into the public gallery, but stopped when Henley blocked her path. The man was big, bigger than her defendant—but then, most bear shifters were like human mountains.
“Accept the transfer request,” he told her bluntly.
She snorted. “He won’t last the road trip. No, we’ll hear the case here.”
“You don’t want to do this, Vassiliki. It’s going to get bad. Dump the case.”
She blinked. So they’d gone from Vassi to Vassiliki. She knew he was creating distance by using her formal moniker, and not the nickname most of her friends used. Damn Kelvin. “Sorry?” It took her a moment to register the rest of his words. Did she just hear Sir Prosecutor correctly?
“Take a look around. All lycans will be out for his blood—he killed a prime. A non-pack member killing an alpha prime outside of tribal warfare is an insult not only to that alpha’s pack, but to all shifter tribes. He’s a walking dead man.”
She glanced toward the rear of the public gallery. The men back there were angry. Hands fisted, teeth clenched—they were ready to launch. “Everyone deserves a trial.” She was relieved with the calm tone she’d managed, despite the anxiety of seeing a wall of lycan rage ready to pounce on her.
“This guy handed himself in, Vassiliki. The evidence is overwhelming.”
She cocked her head and looked at him. “Why are you so concerned? I thought you hated me.”
Henley sighed. “I don’t hate you, Vassiliki. You hurt my friend, I’m just being loyal.”
“Hey, he hurt me first.” Taylor had introduced her to Kelvin, the bear that should really be an ass. When they’d broken up Taylor had naturally sided with his jerk of a mate—and she could only imagine the stories her pathetic ex had made up. Since then, Taylor had avoided working any of her client’s cases where possible—until now.
“I just don’t want to see a fellow officer of the court in danger. Anyone who helps your client will be fair game.”
Vassi’s eyes narrowed and she bared her fangs, just a little. “Tell anyone who is thinking of coming after me that I bite.”
“What if they bite first? You vamps don’t stand a chance against a werewolf bite.”
Vassi patted him on the arm as a smile lifted her lips. “Why Taylor, anyone would think you cared.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said with exasperation. No, he was just blinded by loyalty to his douchebag of a friend.
“Ms. Verity!”
Vassi turned to face the judge, who indicated the man being led back down toward the holding cells. “Perhaps you’d like to accompany your client.”
Vassi hesitated. Nobody ever wanted to go back to the urine-drenched, sweat-stenched holding cells. She glanced back toward the rear of the public gallery. But then, she didn’t want to try and push her way through that mob.
“Certainly, Judge Flack.”
“Roberts.”
“Whatever.”
Chapter Two
“I still can’t believe the judge did that.”
Vassi grimaced as she held the phone between her ear and shoulder, and fumbled for her day-planner.
“Me, neither,” she muttered to Seraphina, the personal assistant she shared with two other junior lawyers at the firm. “I’m going to need to reschedule some appointments next week so I can do this case.”
“Okay, I’ve got your diary up on screen now. Hmm, everything else you can move, but you have a meeting with Ms. Marchetta on Wednesday.”
“Don’t reschedule that, for God’s sake. I need the Marchetta case.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to touch base with your client. RB is definitely on the scent.”
RB was Seraphina’s nickname for Lara Dyson. The assistant reasoned that as the daughter of a werewolf alpha prime, Dyson really was a royal bitch. Vassi didn’t disagree.
“She’s got her own clients, damn it. Singh gave me this file and I want to keep it.”
“Tell that to RB,” Seraphina suggested sarcastically.
She’d tried to, and RB—er, Lara—always smiled and nodded, yet Vassi could sense the lies. It had become a game of chess as each associate tried to outmanoeuvre the other. Sometimes Vassi won. Sometimes … not.
“Oh, wow, I just pulled up the booking photo online of your hottie,” Seraphina breathed.
“Client, not hottie.”
“Well, I’d be happy to play handcuffs with him.”
Vassi sighed. Seraphina was a cambion; half-human, half-succubus. To say she had an active sex drive was an understatement.
“Well, I just need to get him off, and then I’m all Marchetta’s.”
“Oh, hon, I’d love to get him off.”
Vassi wheezed a laugh. “Seraphina, don’t you have any standards? The guy is a criminal.”
“One: yes, I do have standards—he has to be great in the sack. Two: he’s not a criminal yet, and if you get him ‘off’, he won’t be.”
Her thoughts went back to the man in the cage, his hands holding the bars, his pale blue stare boring a hole through her as he rumbled his plea. She shook her head. There was no way she could entertain any thoughts of an entanglement with her too-hot client.
“Can you please just reschedule my appointments? I won’t be in the office on Monday.”
“Uh, if you need any help with taking notes, research, humping the bejeebus out of our client, you just let me know, okay? The prosecutor has just sent through the files, I’ll forward them on to your remote account.”
One of the things that had drawn her to Campbell, Singh & Partners was their use of technology—and their inclusive employment program. As one of the rare firms that hired different breeds of miscreants to represent any number of tribes, working there provided the ability to hone a very diverse skills base. Employment with Campbell, Singh & Partners gave any associate the experience across all major tribal jurisdictions, ergo, any associate became a very attractive hire and could virtually name their price in their career journey. The firm was always adapting to the latest innovations and modi
fying them for the different races. She’d be able to access all the files through an online, secure interface—she could work from anywhere. If they’d just take her off probation. She held the dubious honour of being the longest-serving probie.
“Thanks. See you next week.” She disconnected the call and pulled out her laptop to get to work.
* * *
Vassi glanced at her watch once more. Seriously, how long did it take to check out of holding? Her client apparently had just enough funds to pay his bail, but the wheels of bureaucracy turned slowly. It had been over two hours. At this rate the pizzeria would be closed by the time she got there.
“Galen!”
She stood up and collected her briefcase as she crossed to the main desk. The cop shoved a clipboard at her and indicated she sign there, there, and there.
“Where are you taking him?” the officer asked casually as he drew the clipboard back from her.
She frowned. “Pardon?” She dropped her gaze to his name badge. Officer Perkins. Funny. He looked more like a Thomas.
“The alpha killer. Where are you taking him?”
Hell, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. If she took him to his home, she was sure there’d be a pack ready and waiting for him. If she took him to hers, she was just inviting trouble home with her. She wasn’t about to admit she had no clue. “What’s it to you?”
Officer Perkins quickly scanned the immediate area. When he was satisfied there was nobody within earshot, he leaned forward, baring his fangs. “I heard some of those dogs back there. They want his scent. You watch yourself, Verity.”
She nodded slowly, then jumped at the sharp clang of a lock sliding back in the silver gates. She turned as her client walked out to greet her.
Hoo-wee. He now wore jeans and a belt with buckle that looked like some sort of military coat of arms. His long-sleeved t-shirt moulded to his massive biceps and pectoral muscles before skimming his flat stomach. She swallowed. He was big. Built. Beautiful. She blamed Seraphina and her lusty comments for her momentary lapse in assessing him as a potential bedmate, not a client. It took her a moment to notice the rip in his sleeve and the stained bandage beneath it. Blood. For a moment, she enjoyed the awakening of her senses, the faint scent of rust beneath his natural fragrance. But only for a moment. She quashed the awakening, despite the temptation to push up against him, just for a little taste.
He walked up to her, his shoulders rolling gracefully with each stride, and stuck his hand out to her. Her mouth dried as she watched his hips swing. Good God, the man could move.
“Ryder Galen,” he said. She tried to keep his name clear, but her customary mental fog obscured it. His voice was smooth, deep, and just the right timbre to relax her tense shoulders. She frowned. She wondered if the alpha had been relaxed, lulled into a false sense of security, before he died. She tried not to stare at the scar on his face. It looked to be an old injury, yet the man didn’t have a record of violence.
“You look more like a Max.”
He did. All he’d need was a leather jacket and a Harley-Davidson to straddle, and everyone would call him Max. She refused to think of what else he would look good straddling.
Her client blinked. “What?”
She nodded. Yeah. Max. “I’m going to call you Max.”
“My name is Ryder,” he said, frowning.
She clasped his hand. “Vassiliki Verity,” she responded, ignoring his remark, along with the warmth spreading up her arm from his touch. Damn, he was potent. A hot gaze and an even hotter touch. No, she wasn’t going to turn all giggly and mushy for this man, despite Seraphina’s suggestions. She’d sensed a chill from him in the courtroom—she didn’t trust him, not at all. She pulled her hand from his warm clasp and clutched the handle of her briefcase.
“You’re a miscreant dentist,” she said, a little surprised. She’d read his file—she’d had nothing else to do for the past two hours in the waiting room. Miscreant healers were a rare breed, skilled and trained to care for all the ‘miscreatures’. His eyes narrowed as he slowly nodded. Goosebumps rose on her arms. A murdering dentist. Surely that had to be even a miscreant’s worst nightmare?
“I understand you turned yourself in,” she said. That was unusual. It was possibly why Judge Flack treated him so favourably. “Why?”
“I figured it would buy me some time. If the lycans discovered the body before the authorities, I wouldn’t get a trial. This way, at least I get a chance to prove my innocence.”
A chill brushed her shoulders and she averted her gaze. He wasn’t being completely honest with her. Well, that was no surprise. Each of her clients always maintained their innocence, no matter how guilty they were. Still, he had a point. If the lycans had discovered the alpha prime’s body, her client would have been slaughtered on the spot. Now, though, he was protected by the law—until his trial, anyway.
She’d seen the lycans in the courtroom, though. If they could get to him beforehand, they would.
“Do you have a car nearby?”
He nodded. “I parked just down the block.”
They started to walk toward the door. “You couldn’t know how long it would take to get back out on the street—or if you’d get back out on the street. Weren’t you worried your car could be stolen?” Especially in this neighbourhood. Everyone seemed to ignore the nearby police presence and did whatever the hell they liked. Another reason she hated these pro bono stints. The calibre of client she gained usually left a lot to be desired. She flicked her gaze at her new client. Okay, so a few people might desire this one. He was her client, and if her ability was anything to go by, he’d had a hand in the murder of an alpha prime. Vassi had learned the hard way to pay attention to her gift; she wasn’t about to start ignoring it now. She trotted down the steps, trying to keep up with his long stride. Her gaze darted around. The sky was lightening, with plenty of shadows for vengeful lycans to hide in.
“I wasn’t worried,” he said quietly, his eyes straight ahead as he strode down the street.
Vassi clutched the handle of her briefcase even tighter. The man made no effort to check his surroundings. She might have fangs, and she might know how to use them, but she always exercised caution when walking down dark streets. She was a half-creature of the night—she knew what could be out there.
He halted in front of a dark red Honda Civic and tugged the keys out of his pocket.
Her eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
His eyebrow rose, and she knew he was just expressing surprise, perhaps curiosity, but the quirk of his eyebrow suggested a sexy wickedness. No, damn it, he was a client. A lying, murdering dentist, for crying out loud.
“You drive a hatchback?”
He nodded.
This she had to see. How the hell did he fit inside?
He stilled, then his head whipped around. She heard nothing, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and a faint breeze stirred her hair right before she was knocked to the ground.
Chapter Three
Ryder whirled, dodging the snapping jaws that tried to tear out his throat. He grabbed a fistful of fur and threw the attacking wolf over the hood of his car, using the wolf’s momentum to do so.
He turned to help Vassiliki up, but the woman threw her head back, her brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, her fangs glistening in the light cast by a street lamp. Her warm brown eyes turned to molten gold and then red as she rose to her feet. In one sleek, graceful move, talons slid out from the tips of her fingers, the lethal blades dark and slim.
Cute fangs.
A blurry shadow caught his attention. He turned. Another lycan, this one all tawny and sleek, barrelled toward him, teeth bared. The first wolf pounced on his back and he stumbled, twisting around as he fell. He gritted his teeth as the wolf dug his claws into his shoulder.
Then the wolf flinched, howling as it sprang away. Vassiliki stood behind, a talon dripping with blood. The wolf turned on her, head low, snarling.
&n
bsp; Ryder arched his back and sprang to his feet, facing off against the golden lycan. He realised it was female, yet her size was greater than he’d expect. She halted in front of him, turning one way, then the other, gently herding him back toward his car.
He knew what she was doing. Backing him into a corner. Any other time he’d launch his own attack—but not now, not with her. He’d never seen her before, but he suspected he knew who she was.
“Samantha?” He held up his hands as though to soothe Jared’s mate. “I swear, it’s not what you think.”
Her lips curled as she snarled. He could see her anger—but he could also see her pain.
“I didn’t kill Jared, and I’m going to prove it.”
She sat back on her haunches for a moment, sitting tall and beautiful as she assessed him. “I’m all about making my patients feel better—not killing them. Something happened—I don’t understand what, but I aim to find out.”
He was getting through to her. He could see the keen intelligence in her eyes—right before she pounced on him.
* * *
He woke to a dull throbbing in his head and a muttering in his ears. He opened his eyes, wincing at the flashing lights. He blinked. Everything was upside down. It took him a moment to realise he was in his car, his seat fully reclined, his feet hanging outside the front passenger window.
“… and you couldn’t drive a normal car, no sirree. Damn it. You had to drive something a leprechaun could fit in.”
He twisted around, wincing at a twinge in his neck, the burn in his shoulder. His lawyer was driving his car. She was safe. He closed his eyes briefly in relief, battling the resurgence of the memory of another woman, the life draining out of her. No. Wrong time, wrong woman. His lawyer was safe. He looked at her. She now bore little resemblance to the woman he’d first seen in the courtroom, all prim and proper and coolly beautiful with her red slimline dress and black jacket. She’d lost her jacket, her bodice and sleeve were ripped, and her hair hung about her shoulders in tousled brown waves. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, making her brown eyes even more striking in contrast. Now she seemed vibrant, simmering with an energy that was magnetic. He wondered if she consciously hid her passionate instincts, her vitality, behind her austere professionalism, or if she was even aware she did it.
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