Must Love Lycans

by Michele Bardsley

  Damian enchained my wrist to halt me, and then he swept me into his arms. “If you say boobs one more time, I will drag you into the nearest janitorial closet and fuck you.”

  Electric thrills raced through me. “Boo—”

  He kissed me. Hard. I threw my arms around his neck and enjoyed the hell out of it. He pulled away, his breath harsh and his eyes glittering. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  “Testing your resolve,” I said. “You don’t seem the type to issue empty threats. Honestly? I’m kinda disappointed.” I opened my mouth and he put his forefinger against my lips.

  “Don’t say it. I’m already thinking about slamming you against a wall and pushing up that dress.”

  My heart started to pound. I was instantly wet. And hot for him. Oh, sweet mamma jamma. “Will you rip off my panties?”

  “Yes,” he said. He eyed me and then sighed. “I’m just giving you incentive, aren’t I?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You are trouble,” he said. “We must see the queen, Kelsey. And you should know that she will not be in a good mood.”

  “I’m a psychotherapist,” I said. “I rarely meet anyone in a good mood.”

  Damian released me, and I didn’t insist he hold my hand because I could feel that he was uneasy with our burgeoning relationship. He wasn’t ready to display his affection for me, at least not in public. So I let him lead the way.

  We entered a room that reminded me of a theater. The seating was angled and faced a small stage. On the stage was a long table and seated behind it were several people. I recognized Patrick and the brunette on the end. In the middle seat was a pretty blonde who wore a glittering T-shirt that read: QUEEN OF EVERYTHING. She looked grumpy. I could only surmise that she was Queen Patricia. Hmm. Wonderland’s royalty. Was she the white queen? Or the red one?

  Behind her was a big, tall man with moon white hair drawn back into a long ponytail. One hand grasped Patsy’s shoulder. That must be her consort . . . um, Gabriel. Damian had told me a bunch of names attached to the people on the Broken Heart Council, but I had no real clue who was who.

  A few people sat in the front row, one of them a lovely girl with violet eyes and a pretty smile. She was very, very pale and young—maybe seventeen, if that. On the other side of her was a woman with the same facial features and white hair as Gabriel. A twin? Huh.

  As Damian and I approached the area in front of the stage (no doubt we were supposed to stand there for judgment) I spotted Damian’s brothers. They stood off to the side of the stage talking to each other.

  “The prodigal werewolf returns,” said Patsy in a surly tone. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  I was immediately offended on Damian’s behalf. My neck hair rose and I felt a snarl gather in my throat. Oh. That was different. I wasn’t used to my rage manifesting in werewolf form. It was scary—and somewhat empowering. But mostly scary.

  “Can you be more specific?” asked Damian. He had his serious face on—the mask he wore that displayed his ruthless efficiency and hid his pride. He was not a man who should be ruled. And yet he was. It felt wrong. Really wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He was meant for something better. Something greater than a . . . a lackey.

  I directed my gaze at the queen.

  “You know,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm, “disappearing like that and scaring the shit out of us. Fucking ETAC. Do you know how many tests Dr. Michaels is gonna have to do on your sorry ass? And why were you sneaking off to meet with Dante?” Her blue eyes zeroed in on me. “What’s her story?”

  “Kelsey Morningstone,” I answered. “Damian rescued me.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” she said.

  “Sounds like an inner ear problem,” I said cheerfully. I turned on a high-wattage smile. “Maybe a visit to a physician would help.”

  She blinked.

  Damian glanced down at me, giving me that one-arched-eyebrow expression he was so good at. I blinked up innocently at him.

  “Damian,” said Patsy, “what’s going on?”

  “There are prophecies concerning the lycanthropes,” he said. He met her gaze. “It seems you are not meant to be queen of the werewolves.”

  Chapter 8

  Patsy sat back in her chair, frowning. “Maybe you should start at the beginning and tell me the whole story. Then I’ll decide how pissed off I am.”

  “A month ago I received a text asking that I meet a Vedere messenger in Tulsa. I arrived at the designated coffee shop, and the messenger recited a new prophecy about me—as well as a reinterpretation of the original prophecy about you.”

  “He couldn’t send an e-mail?” I asked.

  Damian glanced at me. “Vedere messengers must memorize every word of a prophecy and give it only to the person designated. When a prophet writes down a prophecy, those papers are locked away in a vault that only the elders can access.”

  “Got it,” I said. Actually, I didn’t know what a Vedere was at all, only that they seemed to be paranoid and secretive.

  “A month ago,” said Patsy flatly. “And you didn’t tell me.”

  “I wanted to investigate the situation before reporting it.” Damian pulled out a BlackBerry and started hitting the tiny keyboard. It amazed me he had any kind of accuracy considering how big his fingers were. He apparently found whatever file he was looking for. Then he read:

  “A vampire queen shall come forth from the place of broken hearts. The seven powers of the Ancients will be hers to command. She shall bind with the outcast, and with this union, she will save the dual-natured. With her consort, she will rule vampires and lycanthropes as one.”

  “I’m familiar with the prophecy,” said Patsy. “I’ve only heard it a gabillion times.”

  “According to the new information from the Vederes, the dual-natured refer only to the lycan-vampires—you and the other loup de sang,” said Damian. “The last sentence should read: With her consort, she will rule vampires and lycanthropes who are one.”

  “I’ve had this gig for eight years,” said Patsy. “Why the change-up now?” She paused. “Hang on. Am I hearing this right? I’m only supposed to be queen of the loup de sang? What the fuck? What’s gonna happen to the vampires? And why do I have all the freaking powers if I’m not supposed to be the boss of the bloodsuckers?”

  Wow. She was irate. And I didn’t blame her. I knew very well what it was like to have the world suddenly, inexplicably crumble beneath your feet—and that didn’t include my recent experience of werewolf bites and vampire rescues.

  “Your highness,” came a soft voice from the front row.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw the pretty, violet-eyed girl had stood up and was addressing the queen.

  “Astria,” said Patsy. “Don’t be a dolt.”

  “Sorry, Patsy. I couldn’t resist.” The girl grinned. Then her expression went serious. “You know that my family’s prophecies are truth, but our psychic powers are . . . limited. Sometimes it is like trying to view the world through a window smeared with Vaseline. I can see the image or the message, but it is fuzzy. Usually, this happens because it’s not time to reveal the information. I would keep watching the window until what was outside it became clear. No doubt, they’ve been monitoring this situation for a while. It’s always in the timing, you see.” She pointed toward Damian. “Something has happened, or is close to happening, that has set new prophecies into motion. The trigger event prompted my family to contact Damian because now they believe their information will be useful.”

  “Terrific.” Patsy waved at Astria to sit down, then turned her attention back to Damian. “What’s your prophecy?”

  Damian read in a strong, clear voice:

  “To save the full-bloods and their cousins, a truth must be revealed and a secret finally spoken. The prince will choose his mate, and then his crown, and then his Pack. In the womb of the new alpha female is hope renewed. Only in forgiveness lies the redemption for the Moon Goddess, who is both Mother a
nd Betrayer, and for her children.”

  Silence blanketed the room. Then Patsy said, “I think I understood all of it—except that last line.”

  “We’re still trying to figure out,” said Damian.

  I had my shields up, but the weight of his lie sank right through them. He knew what the last line meant, but it wasn’t my place to challenge him. I owed nothing to Patsy, and I wasn’t sure I liked her anyway.

  My loyalty was to Damian, the crown prince of werewolves.

  “Well. This is the opposite of awesome,” said Patsy. “Your prophecy says nothing about vampires. That’s bugging the shit outta me.” She glanced at Astria. “Should I expect a Vedere messenger, too?”

  “I’m no longer the prophet,” she said. “But I don’t doubt there is a newer prophecy concerning the vampires. Damian’s prognostication hints that things will undoubtedly change for you, and for those you rule.”

  “Terrific.” Patsy waved at Damian. “Why don’t you thrill me some more by explaining why you contacted Dante.”

  “I asked him to create a serum that would temporarily prevent transitions. It would essentially make a lycan . . . more human.”

  Patsy leaned forward, her expression a mixture of worry and confusion. “Why would you want to—” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Shit. You want to make babies with humans.”

  “It was an experimental solution,” said Damian. “The last full-blood lycan was born three years ago. Even the Roma are not having as many children.” He looked at me, an apology in his gaze.

  Just when I thought he couldn’t find anything else to feel guilty about, the man figured out a way to inject more poison into his soul. I couldn’t blame him for trying to figure out how to save an entire race. It was the sign of good leadership to first experiment on himself. He’d done the very same thing when trying to breed with the Roma. Honestly? I wanted to be his mate and have his children, but I didn’t truly know if that was in the cards for us. Yes, he’d bitten me, and yes, his former goddess approved of me, but I’d learned that wanting something was no guarantee of getting it.

  “If I do not find a way to reverse the effects, my species will go extinct.”

  “Not according to the prophecy,” said Patsy. “In your mate’s womb is hope renewed.” Her gaze turned to me. “I suppose that’s you.”

  “Nope,” I said so that Damian wouldn’t have to issue the denial. “I’m just a sailor on leave. Damian promised to show me a good time.”

  The brunette burst out laughing. She looked around. “What? That was funny. Jesus. You guys used to have a sense of humor.”

  “Knock it off, Jess,” said Patsy without any real heat. She leaned back and rubbed her temples. “Okay. So, ETAC nabbed you on your way to Dante’s.”

  “What’s an ETAC?” Oops. I was just blurting out questions. I’d heard Jarred mention the name, too.

  “A bunch of military assholes who hunt down supernatural creatures. They kill us, but only after they steal what powers they can to stick into their soldiers.” Patsy eyed me. “I know it’s hard to keep up, honey. Believe me, we’ve all been there.”

  “Dante knew ETAC was tracking down werewolves in the hopes of creating some sort of a human-lycan hybrid, so he was keeping tabs on them,” said Damian. “They had me for two days before Dante managed to locate their facility and extract me. I had amnesia for the next three days. As soon as I regained my memories, Mari contacted you.”

  Then I woke up the next morning and tried to rescue a man who was already being rescued. And here we were—in a vampire and werewolf infested Wonderland. I hated that the lycans were going extinct. That was sad. Awful and sad. And now I knew that Damian remembered everything, including the torture and pain of those days within ETAC’s grasp.

  “You might as well tell me about the bite, too,” said Patsy. Her gaze went to my neck, but I’d left my hair down and it covered up the mark.

  “I broke out of my patient room, tracking Kelsey to her apartment, and claimed her,” said Damian in a clipped, professional tone. He kept his gaze on the queen, and stood very, very still. Inside, though, his emotions churned.

  “But she’s not your mate.”

  “I’m really a stripper,” I said pleasantly, annoyed that she kept trying to force Damian into a corner. The whole mate issue was ours to worry about, not hers. “He pried me off that brass pole and swore I would never have to wear a sparkly thong again.”

  Chuckles rolled through the room, and even the queen flashed a smile, brief though it was. “And in your spare time you’re a psychotherapist?”

  “I was. I’ve decided stripping pays better.”

  “Ah.”

  “Oh, my gawd!” The exclamation came from . . . hmm, what was her name? Jess. Yeah, that’s what the queen had called her. “You’re that chick.” She waved her hands around. “Last year, on the Leo Talbot Show. There was that serial killer—Robert something. You took him out with his own knife.” She stopped gesturing wildly, which was a good thing because her husband kept having to duck her flapping hands, and stared at me. “Your mom is a real bitch.”

  “Mo chroi,” said Patrick in a patient voice. “Perhaps this is not the time for this particular topic.”

  “You think my mom is a bitch?” I asked, amazed. “Really? You do?”

  Jess blinked at me. “Uh . . . yeah. She shish-kebabed her own kid on a daytime talk show. I wanted to throw her in an alligator pit. See how she liked being attacked.” She grimaced. “And then to go and write that tell-all book. Alligator pit is too kind. Maybe piranhas.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. No one had ever called Margaret Morningstone a bitch—at least not within my hearing. I’d always been on the other side of the equation—the figure with the minus sign—and I’d never met anyone who’d taken my side in that awful debacle. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “Wow. You need new friends,” said Patsy.

  I sniffled. Then I pivoted toward Jess. “What book?”

  “The book she wrote about you and the serial-killer dude.” She frowned. “I think it was called A Mother Betrayed , or something. It came out a couple of weeks ago. It’s been all over the news.” She looked at me, and blanched. “Shit. You didn’t know.”

  I felt woozy. And my tears kept falling. How annoying.

  “Tell me about the werewolf bite,” said Patsy, barreling right past my personal drama. “What do you—”

  “No more questions,” interrupted Damian. “I’m taking Kelsey home.”

  “What?” I cried. “I don’t want to go home. I want stay with you!”

  He looked down at me, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You are crying,” he said in strangled tone. “I wish to take you home.”

  “Oh. Your home. Okay, then.” I blinked away the moisture in my eyes. Then I sniffled. I had the sudden urge to start sobbing. Granted, I had plenty of reasons to cry (my mother wrote a goddamned book about the ugliest experience in my life), but this new urge felt foreign. Someone else in the room was feeling weepy, and I was getting the brunt of it. And it was contributing to my own unsteady emotions.

  “Look, wolfie, I don’t want to be here, either,” said Patsy. “So let’s just get the whole thing over, all right?”

  “We’re done now,” said Damian.

  “No, we’re not. Your girlfriend can go . . . all the way to Dr. Michaels. We need to make sure she’s not dangerous.”

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  “We don’t know how the werewolf DNA will manifest,” said Patsy. “It’s better to get you both tested. I’ll figure out what to do once we get the results.”

  “The lycans are no longer your concern,” said Damian coolly. “I believe I made that clear.” My shields misted away under the onslaught of his anger. His emotions battered me: He was the royal alpha, and he would claim his place again. He was her equal, not her servant. The soon
er she realized it, the better.

  Oh, boy. My tears dried up, and I was used to enough of my mother’s shocking actions (don’t get me started on the sex talk I received at the tender age of eight titled “Whores and Other Demeaning Female Roles to Avoid”), that I could file away the book issue.

  Damian needed me.

  I tugged on his shirtsleeve, but he ignored me.

  “Don’t get all persnickety with me,” snapped Patsy. “I don’t care if you think you rule the pack or not, right now everyone is my responsibility and I’m still the goddamned queen of you all!”

  Damian growled.

  I watched his brothers take up positions on either side of us. The room went very quiet, and horribly still—the kind of static moment right before a storm unleashed its fury.

  I grabbed his arm, and he looked down at me, rage in his eyes. They had gone wolf, I supposed, which is why they looked so strange. His nostrils flared. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, his gentle tone belying his simmering anger.

  You know, it seemed like he was always asking me that question.

  I felt very strange. Like I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. And I was craving a rare steak and chocolate ice cream and feeling crabbyandweepyandstupidandfatandboredandhorny!

  I swayed, feeling suddenly boneless, and Damian steadied me. “Kelsey?”

  “Don’t be mad at her,” I said softly.

  His anger receded—a little. He understood that I sensed her emotions, and he was taking my opinion seriously. I felt good about that.

  Patsy shoved the chair back and got to her feet. “I’ve had enough of this crap—”

  “You’re pregnant,” I blurted.

  I didn’t think the woman could get any paler, but she did. She plopped back down in her seat, looking stunned.

  “Oh. Um. Was that a need-to-know?”

  “We would know if she was pregnant,” said Gabriel. His gold gaze accused me of being a liar. I didn’t really take much offense, though, because (a) I was a really good liar and (b) they had no reason to trust me.