Beneath the Skin

by Amy Lee Burgess

  I fixed myself a heaping plate of almost everything and, with a crystal glass of

  champagne I’d snatched from a white-coated waiter bearing a full tray, I retreated to my table.

  It was one with seating enough for ten. During my absence, a duo with twin teenage boys had taken seats near mine. The woman was dark-haired and, although she looked to be around twenty-five or thirty, she was probably closer to fifty. Her bond mate was about the same age with untidy brown hair and a look of being perpetually dismayed by the things his offspring chose to do and say.

  The twins looked no older than sixteen. Tall and gangly with the same untidy brown hair as their father but with their mother’s cool, gray eyes, they openly ogled me as I sat. Well, I couldn’t blame them. My cleavage was very much on display.

  One of them nudged the other hard with his elbow, so his brother dipped his fingers in his glass and flicked the water at his twin who then retaliated.

  Their mother removed the plate of food between them adroitly and their father looked as if he wanted to pretend he didn’t know them.

  “Forgive their rambunctiousness, please,” he said. His accent was Australian, although I’d picked that up from his nametag. His name was Evan. His bond mate was Deb and his sons were Max and Matthew. They were from a pack called Moonglen. I’d never heard of it.

  The parents peered blatantly at my pendant. Evan’s eyes widened in surprise, while

  Deb’s mouth tightened.

  “I think the singles tables are over there.” She pointed imperiously toward the other side of the room where a group of early twenty-somethings laughed.

  I was only thirty-two, but I felt a lifetime older than them. I had experience as a contributing pack member, as a bond mate in both a duo and a triad. If they were still single, chances are they’d never been outside their own packs save for perhaps a few Gatherings, most likely Regionals.

  They knew nothing compared to me.

  But I picked up my glass and plate then had to set them down again to get my coat and purse. In the end I abandoned the champagne and walked away.

  I heard Evan remonstrating Deb and she gave a sharp reply that shut him up. As I walked away, I could feel the twins’ gazes as they ogled my ass as I walked.

  The twenty-somethings fell silent at my approach, and two of the men eyed me

  appreciatively.

  The prettiest woman at the table scrutinized my name tag. When she saw I didn’t have a pack she knew I had to be at least twenty-six years old. At twenty-six, unbonded people lost all their birth pack rights.

  “You’re kind of old for us.” She tossed her glossy blond hair and the two men who sized me up were suddenly captivated by her. The name tag on her low-cut blue halter dress read Tora Nilsson, Frostpaw, Lund, Sweden. She pointed vaguely in the direction of yet another table then turned her back as if I did not even exist.

  Funny how I hadn’t wanted to sit with them, because I thought they were too young and inexperienced, yet rejection made my cheeks sting. For a bitter moment, I wished I’d stayed in Boston, screw this, but then my better sense reasserted itself. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing ever was.

  I sat at my third table and decided I wasn’t going to move again. To hell with anyone who said anything. My food wouldn’t stay warm forever and I was hungry.

  The people at this table didn’t say anything when I settled. They hadn’t said much of anything before I took my seat. There were three woman and two men. They all reeked of frustration and anger. Great. I had blundered into a table full of fighting pack mates. I kept my gaze on my plate and ate everything. I was starving.

  “Constance, my dear, how wonderful to see you!” A man’s voice broke into my reverie. I looked up, hoping I didn’t have crumbs stuck to my lipstick, and almost died.

  Jason Allerton stood beside the table. Councilor Jason Allerton. Handsome, rich, polished and smooth--the man from the Great Council who had cleared me after the accident.

  “Why don’t you come have a drink with me?” Councilor Allerton hovered his hand at the small of my back, not quite touching me, and with the power of his voice and presence, led me to the bar in the back of the room.

  “You certainly can’t sit there,” he told me as if he cared one way or the other. “There’s a table up front where I’d like you to sit. I want you to meet someone.”

  I was instantly suspicious but also intrigued.

  He snapped his fingers at the bartender who leaped over to us. Everyone responded to Allerton’s powerful aura, even the Others.

  Some of the service people were Pack, some were Others. Of course on the night of the Great Hunt, there would be no Others present--only Pack. Tonight, however, was simply the meet and greet, and the Others working here thought we were members of an esoteric club. They didn’t appear to be interested in the particulars. They weren’t paid to be.

  The bartender made us gin and tonics and the Councilor left him a two-euro coin before he led me toward the head table.

  Several Councilors and their bond mates were already seated there, eating and talking among themselves.

  Allerton didn’t bring me to the head table, rather to one of the seven tables in front of it.

  All ten seats were already occupied, but at a look from Allerton, one of the men got up with his plate and glass, and melted into the crowd.

  Allerton gestured for me to take his place, gallantly pulling out my chair.

  “Everyone, this is Constance Newcastle from Boston, Massachusetts,” he introduced me.

  I noted he knew I’d moved. Maybe he’d read my name tag, because I couldn’t fathom why he would have kept up with my life after pronouncing his judgment two years ago. “Constance, meet Liam Murphy. He’s from Belfast.”

  An extremely attractive man with light brown hair and dark brown eyes lifted his gaze briefly from his contemplation of the contents of his wineglass and gave me a disinterested, polite smile. He was obviously bored. He smelled like he wanted to leave, but was constrained by good manners to stay at least through the first course.

  Perhaps a kindred spirit? Someone else who was alone like me? I thought he might be interesting to talk to and was grateful to Allerton for giving me the opportunity to at least feel marginally like I belonged here. Maybe if I could draw him out into conversation he’d lose that bored scent and he might feel a part of things too.

  “Hello,” I said with a smile, as Allerton pushed in my chair then disappeared as if he’d never been there.

  “Hi,” said the man then took a sip of his wine and looked pointedly elsewhere.

  The others at the table, having not been introduced, continued their own conversation and did not include me.

  Cheeks flaming, I hid behind the water goblet at my place setting. How idiotic was I to think I could draw anybody out, or that anybody was interested in talking to me? How presumptuous I was to think that all the man needed not to be bored was to talk to me. Maybe he wasn’t like me, maybe he very much fit in but didn’t give a damn.

  Liam Murphy’s collar hid his pendant, so I couldn’t tell if he was bonded, but he sat alone. I didn’t think the man who’d vacated my chair had been with him. He’d probably been with the other eight people at the table who clearly knew each other. They all wore two or three-stone pendants. None of them seemed to wear name tags, and I became self-conscious of mine.

  These people were obviously from an influential pack--maybe nametags were beneath them?

  Waiters came around with salads and took orders for the filet mignon, fish or chicken.

  Liam Murphy ordered the steak, medium rare, and I did the same thing, hoping he didn’t think I copied him.

  The waiter asked me if I wanted red or white wine, and because Murphy had red, I chose white, which I instantly regretted, because I preferred red.

  I drank my wine and tried to pretend I fit in with these people when I so obviously did not. All night long it had been one mortifying exchange after another.
It was hard not to get discouraged, hard not to wish myself back in Boston. Why was it so hard to come back to life?

  Maybe that was the point. Maybe the things that mattered were hard sometimes and the measure of how much you wanted them was how much you were willing to endure to get them.

  Or maybe I was just sitting at a table of rude and obnoxious people.

  Liam Murphy had his body uncooperatively turned to the side. I thought he did it so he wouldn’t catch my eye and have to talk to me. If my salad hadn’t arrived just then, I would have returned to the table of feuding pack mates. At least they weren’t rude, just enraged.

  “So, Constance, is it true you used to be with the Riverglow pack in Hartford?”

  I jerked my head up, surprised at being addressed.

  One of the women across the table had finally deigned to speak to me, as if she knew what the hell she talked about. Her accent was British, so I didn’t know how she could--surely news of the exile of one person from a tiny little pack in Connecticut hadn’t traveled all the way across the ocean? That was all I needed.

  My mind stuttered for a moment, because I didn’t know what to say or do. It’s a simple question, Constance, I lectured myself. A one-word answer is all that’s required. Maybe she’s just making conversation. Breaking the ice.

  “Yes,” I said cautiously.

  “You’re not the one who killed your bond mates in a stupid, careless car accident, are you?” She had long black hair and spiteful eyes. Her nails were like talons as she clutched her wineglass and smiled at me.

  Next to me, Murphy shifted in his seat. Interested at last. But not in a good way.

  Something stabbed at my heart. Humiliation? Guilt? Grief? A terrible sick combination?

  “Because that’s what I heard,” the witch continued as if I weren’t dying right in front of her. As if she didn’t know she killed me with every word out of her mouth. “I talked to a man named Jonathan Archer and that’s what he said. He ought to know, right? He is the Alpha in the Riverglow pack, isn’t he?”

  Jonathan. His name produced a dull glow of fury in my chest. I suddenly didn’t feel as if I were dying anymore. I felt my jaw clench, so I deliberately relaxed and pretended a nonchalance I didn’t feel. I’m sure I didn’t fool anyone at that table. I must have reeked of defensive anger.

  Liam Murphy stared at me now, his dark eyes narrow as he waited for my response. He leaned away from me as far as he could get without looking contorted. Body language is such a bitch.

  “I don’t really know.” I shrugged. “He was Alpha, but I couldn’t say if he is now. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

  “Then you are that Constance,” the witch crowed in delight. “How weird that Jason

  would put you at this table. We’re not murderers here. Are we, Liam?” Her laughter was insulting.

  The temperature at our table plummeted and I repressed a shudder.

  Liam Murphy’s eyes were pitch-black now. “Shut up, Mary,” he suggested with a

  dangerous smile.

  Then the bastard picked up his wineglass and left the table, stranding me.

  No one spoke to me after that. It was like sitting in the middle of a void. As far as the rest of the table was concerned, I didn’t exist. I certainly wished I didn’t. I forced myself to eat my salad and choked down most of my steak, but said to hell with dessert and escaped to the bar.

  The young bartender who had made my first gin and tonic hurried over to take my order and we talked for a while. He would break off to make drinks, but he’d always return to me. His name was Alain and he spoke rather good English, although I tried to practice my French on him and he was very kind about it.

  Little by little I let go of my humiliation and relaxed. At least I wasn’t at that damned table anymore. So what if I talked to an Other and not someone of the Pack? It was just what I needed--mindless conversation with somebody who did not know or care who I was.

  As Alain mixed an impatient red-headed woman a complicated drink a young woman

  with her hair in a severe knot at the back of her head and a rather prim gown of cream and peach silk approached me.

  She read my nametag carefully. “Constance, Councilor Allerton would like to see you privately. Please come this way.” I figured she was an Advisor since she ran errands for a Councilor. She turned around and walked off, as though confident I would follow. I did. It’s not as if I had a choice.

  The prim girl led me out of the ballroom, up another twisting flight of stairs and into a long room with very high ceilings and narrow windows. One wall was stacked with bookcases.

  A ladder with wheels was propped against the shelves to reach the books near the ceiling.

  Allerton sat on a curved chair of light brown silk, Liam Murphy on the matching sofa.

  Because the room was long, it took forever to get to where they were seated. It felt as if I were on a catwalk in a fashion show. Both men watched me intently, and I became distinctly conscious of how low the neckline plunged on my decidedly red gown.

  I took a seat on the sofa, hoping they viewed me more as a defiant red flame rather than an empty-headed high fashion model, I made sure to leave plenty of space between me and Liam Murphy. When I crossed my legs, I cursed under my breath as the slit in the side of my gown split to reveal almost my entire leg. Forget fashion model, now I was a damned femme fatale.

  Then and there I vowed never to listen to a French saleswoman in a dress shop ever again.

  Allerton’s eyes were frankly appreciative. Murphy looked up at my face and gave me a sarcastic smile, as if to congratulate me on a job well done.

  As best I could I ignored him and accepted a snifter of brandy from Allerton as I settled back against the sofa. This time I deliberately let the slit fall where it may and received another obnoxious smirk from Liam Murphy.

  He refused the brandy Allerton held out to him.

  “Well, I suppose it’s wise not to drink too much on an empty stomach. My people tell me you didn’t eat your steak, Liam.” Allerton crossed his legs in a masculine manner and fixed Murphy with a curious, displeased gaze.

  “I wasn’t aware you were all that interested in whether I ate my dinner or not,

  Councilor.” A polite smile, just this side of condescending, crossed Murphy’s face.

  “I’m not. I had rather thought it was obvious I wanted you to talk to Constance.”

  Murphy added a sardonic raise of the eyebrows to his smile. The effect made me want to slap him and he wasn’t even talking to me.

  Allerton merely shrugged. He took a deliberate sip of his brandy.

  “Liam, it’s been close to three years since Sorcha died and you were a very good Alpha in your pack. Isn’t it time you took up the reins of responsibility again and allowed yourself to live, perhaps?”

  “You want me to go back to my former pack?” Muphy’s eyebrows nearly disappeared

  into his hairline. “That’s nice of you to be concerned. I planned to do that. Someday.” His tone was just short of insolent as if he could not believe Allerton had made it his business to see his life rearranged.

  “I suppose you’ll rejoin your pack when you meet a new bond mate,” suggested Allerton with an adroit smile. He glanced at me and I felt myself flush in shocked dismay as the implications became clear.

  Liam Murphy looked no less horrified. His irritating smirk faded and his brows lowered as he thrust out his chin, jaw tight with belligerence.

  “You’re not serious? You want me to consider a woman who supposedly killed her bond mates through her own negligence?”

  An icy chill suffused my face as the blood drained from my cheeks at the insult and, before I could stop myself, I snapped, “Your bond mate’s dead too. How do I know you weren’t negligent with her? It works both ways, you know.”

  There was murder in the glare Murphy directed at me, and something primal and feral leaped to life inside me. The two of us almost growled at each other, and if I’d been
shifted, my hackles would have been raised to my ears. Bastard.

  Allerton gave an apologetic cough, and said very gently, “Constance, Liam’s wife was pregnant.”

  All my animosity vanished. What an idiot I was. A colossal, stupid idiot.

  She must have died in childbirth. How awful for him.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, appalled at myself. “I’m so sorry.”

  Murphy’s eyes remained flat and hostile. The apology was not accepted. His next words proved it.

  “I realize with her history she might need a bit of assistance finding a new bond mate, but what’s in it for you? What’s your tie to her? Is she your mistress?”

  I bit my lip and uncrossed my legs so they would be covered by fabric. If the damned door hadn’t been fifty miles away, I would have slunk out. Instead, I tried to make myself as small as possible against the sofa cushions.

  “Now you’re insulting me as well as her,” Allerton remarked, but there was steel in his voice.

  Murphy caught himself up short, as if he realized he argued with a Councilor. But Alphas were very outspoken. They were used to being in charge. And Murphy was a definite Alpha.

  Even if he weren’t currently in a pack, he was still Alpha material. He reeked of it.

  “The two of you are here primarily to find new bond mates,” Allerton said after a

  moment. The steel was gone from his voice, replaced with geniality. “All I’m suggesting is that you consider each other. That’s all.”

  “Why?” Murphy asked.

  “Why not?” Allerton jousted.

  “He doesn’t want to bond with me, Councilor. That’s glaringly apparent. I would like to leave, please.” I tried to stand, but Allerton forced me back down with just his gaze.

  “But you would be interested in bonding with him?” His smile was full of

  encouragement. Murphy flashed me a sardonic grin while I sat there and wished I could melt into a bright red puddle. Think before you speak, Constance, I lectured myself.

  The more time passed without me answering, the more Murphy regarded me as if I were some sort of disgusting bug he’d just realized crawled on the sofa next to him.