Wolf's Cage

by Laura Taylor

  “You’re friends with Heron,” Caroline said stubbornly, wondering why she was pushing this so hard. He didn’t care for her the same way she did for him, that much was obvious. She could just leave it at that… but for the past fifteen years, she’d lived with the nagging feeling that there was a gap in her life, a missed opportunity that just wouldn’t go away. And if she didn’t find a way to resolve that tension now, she would likely never get another chance. Andre would be leaving, and she would probably never see him again. “You’ve had great long chats with her about the Den, about your childhood, about the things you’ve been doing for the past fifteen years.”

  “I grew up with Heron!” Andre said in exasperation. “She was like a second mother to me.”

  “And that’s my point. Okay, so you grew up with her, but you still manage to maintain some kind of relationship with her, despite your lifestyle, despite not seeing her in years.”

  “What the hell do you want from me?”

  “For you to see me as an equal. Not the fragile girl who was scared of her own imagination. I’m an alpha now. I run this Den. Baron and I have held back the tide of the Noturatii for years together. We recruit new shifters. We make choices that risk other people’s lives – that cost them their lives, on occasion. In the nicest possible way, Andre… I don’t need you any more. So why can’t we move past this professional distance you insist upon?”

  Andre struggled to find an answer to Caroline’s insistent questioning. This was one of the things he had always admired about her, her persistence, her tenacity in reaching for something she wanted to achieve. But right now, that same persistence was driving him insane.

  There were two very good reasons for the need for distance between them, neither of which Andre could admit to. The first was that he was currently assessing her for a position on the Council, and for that, he needed to remain objective. He was supposed to assess her on her skills as an alpha, her intelligence, her prowess in battle, not let his opinion of her be coloured by personal bias. But of course, there was no way he could tell her that. The rules for his current job were that potential Council candidates were never, ever aware of the fact that they were being assessed until the Council had made a decision. On the one hand, once someone knew they were in the running for the role, they were instantly on their best behaviour, more careful in their decisions, more diplomatic in their relationships, and in order to know who a person really was, how they reacted in normal, day to day situations, it was imperative that they continue to behave as they normally would.

  The other issue was a more tactful reason. If a person knew they were being assessed, and they didn’t make the final cut, it could breed resentment that was counterproductive to the smooth running of Il Trosa and the expectation of loyalty to the Council.

  And then there was the second reason, even more complicated than the first, one which he was fairly sure he’d managed to hide from even the Council, since if they’d known, they’d never have given him this assignment. The truth was that, even after all these years apart, the assignments he’d completed, even the women he’d slept with from time to time… he was still hopelessly in love with Caroline.

  And that was never, ever going to fit in with the life of an assassin, constantly moving from place to place, constantly in danger, never knowing if this mission was going to be his last, if he would finally meet an enemy who would succeed in killing him. No one could live with that kind of uncertainty for long, the knowledge that their partner, their lover might leave on an assignment and never come home.

  He opened his mouth to reply, scrambling for something that would sound reasonable enough to Caroline for her to leave this issue alone. But what came out of his mouth was nothing at all like what he’d been intending to say.

  “I killed a girl,” he said, blindsided as the guilt and regret and grief leapt out of him like a living thing. “I shot an innocent woman, who did nothing more than accidentally get lost.”

  Caroline closed her eyes. He thought for a moment that she was going to reach out and take his hand, and he prayed that she didn’t, knowing that it would break the last threads of control he had on his surging emotions. But she didn’t move, just stood there, arms folded like a shield in front of her, abject sorrow on her face.

  “There was no other option,” she said softly, a mantra that Andre had told himself a thousand times. “It’s a tragedy, I know, but the sad truth is that that is the price of our own survival.”

  But Andre shook his head, knowing she had missed the point. “It’s not that I killed her,” he tried to explain, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “Anyone could have shot her. You. Baron. Nikolai. And you’d have hated doing it, and hated yourself for it, and mourned the loss of an innocent life even before you did it. But I didn’t. I didn’t regret what I was doing. I didn’t hesitate. I just looked her in the eye and pulled the trigger. And I didn’t feel a thing.” He looked at her pleadingly, eyes searching hers for the answer to unanswerable questions. “What have I become?”

  Andre waited, heart in his throat, as Caroline lowered herself to one knee in front of him, elbow resting on the desk, putting her almost at eye level with him. He waited for a lecture – the most gentle, most well meaning of lectures – about the price of being an assassin, of protecting their species, of the emotional distance that was required for the life he had chosen. Because he had chosen it, Andre reminded himself. He could have picked a different option, become a historian, perhaps, and worked to further the interests of their species in an entirely less violent way. He had chosen to give up his soul to death and killing, and now he was reaping the rewards of that choice-

  “A wise man once told me,” Caroline said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “that if you don’t like who you are, then you are the only person with the power to change that.”

  It was such a simple statement. And yet the moment she said it, a whole barrage of ideas and questions and doubts suddenly crystallised in Andre’s mind. The answer was right there, hidden in plain sight, just waiting for him to discover it.

  The moment of clarity was so profound that it blocked out all other rational thought. Without waiting another moment, Andre leaned forward, giving in to years of pent up frustration and longing, abandoning the control that had ruled his life for as long as he could remember. He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Andre’s response to her overly simple advice was far from what Caroline had expected. She’d been anticipating a long discussion, objections about the responsibilities he held, the sacred vows he had taken before the Council, the years of training that had been invested in him.

  What she got instead was a kiss, the likes of which she had been dreaming about, fantasising about for the past fifteen years. And she returned that kiss with all the passion of years of unfulfilled longing.

  Without a word, without either of them really deciding to do it, Caroline found them both on their feet. Andre’s arms were a tight band of muscle around her waist, the stubble on his chin tickling her face, his lips warm, his body a column of heat and power against her own.

  Years ago, she might have felt overwhelmed by his sudden affection, letting him lead, awkward and uncertain as to how to return the attention. But the years had changed her, for all that her desire for him was undimmed, and moments later, she was steering him across the room, his hands sliding beneath her t-shirt to stroke smooth skin, hers stripping his jacket from his shoulders, neither of them able to manage their usual grace and balance as they stumbled backwards, feet bumping into each other as they tried to maintain as much physical contact between them as possible.

  “Are you sure-?” Andre tried to ask.

  “Shut up,” Caroline replied. “God, it has been so fucking long…”

  So long, indeed. The last man Caroline had slept with had been her arsehole of a boyfriend, back before she was recruited. Over the years, her curiosity about sex had grown
, fervent imaginings replacing her previous distaste with the act, but she’d never managed to let her guard down enough to take the plunge. There was no one in the Den she was particularly attracted to, and finding a random stranger in a pub for a one night stand had never appealed.

  But her imagination had more than filled in the gaps in her experience, and she found herself breathing hard, body hot and thrumming as she felt Andre’s body against hers.

  “Far too long,” Andre agreed, breaking away from her for only long enough to strip his shirt off, and then his arms were around her again, mouth pressing kisses down her neck, hands fumbling with her belt.

  By Sirius, he was divine, Caroline thought, running her hands over hard shoulders, defined abs, his breaths coming fast and shallow. The firm ridge of his erection pressed against her thigh through two pairs of trousers, and then he was tugging her shirt over her head, sliding his hands down inside her underpants, her trousers open and hanging off her hips.

  He was going to struggle to get her leather trousers off, so Caroline backed him up against the bed and gave him a shove. He went down willingly, falling backwards onto the sheets, and she used the moment to rip off her boots, then peel tight leather down her legs, not bothering to be seductive about it, just trying to get the damn things off as quickly as possible.

  Seeing her intentions, Andre joined in, sitting up to unlace his own boots, toeing them off and peeling away socks to be flung carelessly out of the way. Then she was on top of him, straddling his narrow hips, pressing herself against his groin, her underpants creating a delicious friction against her sensitive flesh.

  There was nothing tender or cautious about their foreplay. They were both hard, stubborn, tenacious people who knew their own minds, both brutal warriors in their respective arenas, and romance didn’t feature anywhere on the agenda for this evening. Caroline took the lead, surprised but gratified when Andre let her, and he lay back on the bed, a look of almost desperate anticipation on his face as she undid his belt and stripped his trousers and underpants down his legs.

  Andre lay on the bed, feeling like the whole situation was surreal, as if he was dreaming and was due to wake at any moment. He lifted his hips to help Caroline in her quest to unclothe him, and felt his erection spring free, the air of the room cool against such heated flesh.

  When she climbed back on top of him, she was entirely naked, bra and underpants having disappeared in the last few moments, and he simply stared at her, hands slowly climbing from hip to shoulder, and then around to cup her perfect breasts. They weren’t the largest he’d ever seen, but they overflowed his hands, and Caroline let out a moan as he massaged them, feeling his cock throb, trapped beneath her thighs.

  Long term relationships were an impractical hindrance for an assassin, but sex most certainly wasn’t, and he’d had his share of one night stands with other assassins – there were a dozen or more women in the ranks, and they suffered from the same frustrations as the men, in the long run. Occasional nights of pairing up to relieve the tension was an accepted part of the assassin’s lifestyle, an entirely appropriate convenience, as neither party harboured any expectations of long term commitment or emotional entanglement. And while the interludes had been physically satisfying, they’d also left him with a lingering emptiness, as if each one had only served to remind him of the things he could never have.

  This time, it was completely different. His skin felt more sensitive, his ears revelling in the harsh pants of Caroline’s breathing, the faint moan as she rocked herself over him, and he let go of her enticing breasts to hold her hips, encouraging her to rock more firmly over him, the pleasure sublime, though he wasn’t yet inside her.

  He tugged her down to kiss her again, squirming beneath her as her breasts pressed against his chest, and then he tilted his head up to capture one in his mouth. The scent of her skin was intoxicating and he teased her nipple with his tongue, his hands roaming down to circle her waist, as if he couldn’t stand a single moment without touching her, as if there were simply too many tantalising dips and curves on her body to be explored. She was a lean, hard woman, her stomach washboard flat with defined abs. Her biceps stood out plainly, her thighs holding her balanced above him without the slightest hint of strain, and he reflected for a moment that it was a relief to know that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Sex between assassins tended to be rather athletic, a way to work off excess energy as well as relieve sexual tension, and he knew there was no way he could be the gentle, considerate lover that many women would have preferred.

  There was nothing soft about Caroline. But he also had no fears that he was going to take advantage of her. She was nothing if not blunt and forthright, and if he did anything she didn’t like, she wouldn’t hesitate to let him know.

  But Caroline wasn’t objecting in the slightest to the vigorous treatment. If anything, she was urging him on, fingernails in his shoulders, feet digging into the bed to gain better leverage, and then, before he was quite prepared for it, he felt her rise up, eager fingers fumbling for his erection, and he was sliding inside her.

  He let his head fall back, a moan of indescribable pleasure rumbling out of him. She waited a moment, mouth parted, eyes closed in bliss, and then she was moving again, rocking back and forth, her hands stroking his chest, then reaching up to cup her own breasts – a task that Andre quickly took over for her.

  It wasn’t going to last long, both of them too worked up, the stress of recent events putting them on edge as much as the frustration of years apart, and the instant Caroline moaned, her sheath contracting around him, Andre let himself go, his orgasm pulsing out of him, pleasure tingling from his toes all the way up his spine.

  Long moments later, he came back to himself, Caroline lying on his chest, his arms around her shoulders, his softening penis still inside her. The soft harmony of their breathing was loud in the quiet room. And the slow, even draw of Caroline’s breath suggested she would be asleep soon.

  He gently nudged her over to the side, feeling himself slip out of her, and then grabbed a handful of tissues from the bedside table, handing them to her so she could clean up a little.

  There was no conversation as he tugged the blankets up to cover her. No gently whispered reassurances, no sweet nothings to murmur into her ear. He got up, closed his laptop, switched off the light and climbed back in beside her. She wrapped an arm around his waist, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  And lying there, in the darkness, with Caroline falling asleep beside him, Andre finally allowed himself the tears that he had been denying himself all day. For the dead girl. For himself. For a lifetime of missed opportunities.

  Andre had been awake for an hour already when he finally heard Caroline stir. It was just after five in the morning, but the sunlight was already filtering in around the edges of the heavy curtains.

  He turned to face her, able to see her clearly in the dim light, and a look of concern crossed her face as she registered the fact that he was already fully dressed.

  With a sigh, Andre got up and opened the curtains, letting the grey light of early morning fill the room.

  They stared at each other for a moment, Caroline sitting up in bed, unconcerned about her nudity, Andre trying to find the words to explain what he needed to say. “I owe you an apology,” he said finally. “Last night should never have happened.” He winced as he said it, knowing the words sounded heartless to the extreme. “It’s not that I regret it, or that I don’t… care about you,” he rushed on. “But I have responsibilities and duties, and I’m leaving in a few days…”

  Would she understand? Had she expected this, knowing his job for what it was? Or would she hate him, call him a heartless bastard for his selfish behaviour?

  The thing was, last night when he’d made his decision, the one about his career, not the one about Caroline, it had seemed so simple, offering him the one backdoor to all his troubles and doubts, an end to the killing and violence.

  But now, in the cold l
ight of day, he had to admit to himself that it was far more complex than he had realised.

  Regardless of the choices he made about his own life, Caroline still had hers. He was days away from completing his assessment of her as a potential Councillor – a duty he was determined to fulfil, regardless of any other decisions he made about his life. If she moved to Italy, it was to a life of complex responsibilities, further training, study, the weight of the survival of their entire species on her shoulders. He had no right to go butting in and complicating things further for her.

  And then there was the Endless War. Just because he wanted to bow out of it didn’t mean it wasn’t going to continue for every other shifter on the planet. And whether or not she was elected to the Council, that reality was never going to go away for Caroline. She was the alpha of a stable and successful Den. He was a drifter, subject to the whims of others.

  But once again, it seemed he had underestimated Caroline. “I know,” she said simply. “I know you have to leave.” She seemed calmly resigned to the inevitability of it, though he was perversely relieved to hear just a hint of disappointment in her voice. He seemed to be going out of his way to make life awkward for her, and then he was happy when he succeeded? What the hell was wrong with him?

  “Please don’t think that last night was a casual thing.” He hesitated, then pressed on, knowing that what he had to say couldn’t make things any worse. “I’ve been in love with you since Italy. And I will cherish every moment of what happened here. But my life is not my own. Nor will it be, until we find a way to end this war.” If Andre got his way, that day might come a lot sooner than most people were expecting. But there was no point saying so now. If he was wrong, it would only cause more disappointment in the long run.