by Cecy Robson
I finished marinating the steaks for dinner then hauled the picnic basket filled with goodies into my new Mercedes GL550. In lieu of a ring I’d probably lose changing, Aric had shocked me with a new ride. My jaw had practically unhinged when I saw it, and initially I tried to make him take it back. “You’re stuck with me and stuck with the SUV. Just smile and enjoy us both,” he said with a grin.
“What if I wreck it?” I’d asked.
“You won’t,” he’d said.
“What if some giant creature tries to destroy it with me in it?”
He hadn’t had an answer for that, except to have Genevieve ward the crap out of it.
The scent of Tuscan soup wafted into my nose, so did the Irish cheese I’d packed, and the Bavarian bread I’d baked the night before.
I allowed the aroma to soothe me. I needed it following my text-to-text interaction with Agnes earlier that morning.
Any more news on Shah? I texted back.
Nothing I can tell you over the phone. Get over here and we’ll talk.
I can’t right now.
Why? Are you and the mongrel having sex?
It took all I had to stay reasonable. If we were, why would I stop just to text you?
I never said you stopped. Or claimed it was any good.
Lord. Help me. I’ll be by later.
Why not now?
I’m busy.
Having sex?
I’m not having sex, Agnes!
Maybe you should—the good kind I’m saying. You’re awfully testy.
I’ll be by this afternoon.
There was a brief pause, followed by: So you are having sex?
I conceded just to shut her up. Yes. It’s just hot monkey wolf love around here.
I knew it! See you this afternoon.
What sucked was, out of all Misha’s vampires, Agnes tended to be the most conservative one of the bunch.
Which spoke volumes.
It took me only about ten minutes to reach Squaw Valley but another fifteen minutes to climb Granite Chief Peak where the Den was located. The dirt path up the mountain was easy to maneuver with my new ride, but I didn’t want to risk losing control and falling off the side.
I peeked over the nosebleed edge. Yeah, going off the side would super-suck.
Now that it was October, the temperature had begun to drop. But my inner furry beast kept me warm, so I let the windows down to breathe in the luscious aroma of pine. My sisters and I had traveled all over the U.S. as nurses until we finally settled in Tahoe. Out of all the places we’d visited, neither me nor my beast had ever encountered air as crisp or clean. We belonged in Tahoe; I just never realized it until we arrived.
I reached the massive wrought iron gate that led into the compound where weres were taught to maim, kill, and do algebra. I’d hoped Heidi was on duty so I could say hi. The last time she called, she’d invited us over for leftover horse. My sisters and I had politely declined, and I hadn’t spoken to her since.
Instead of Heidi, an unfamiliar were hit the button and allowed me through. He didn’t bother to glance my way or hide his scowl.
The way the wolf disregarded me was more than just the typical aversion; I could sense his deep underlying resentment of my presence. I wouldn’t have cared what he thought if his dislike didn’t extend past me. But that wasn’t the case. Aric had lost respect from his kind for choosing to be with me. It didn’t bother him. But damn it all, it bugged the hell out of me.
The majority of weres who consented to our union only did so because they believed the soothsayer Destiny’s prediction: A new evil was coming, and only my and Aric’s children would be strong enough to stop it.
My hand involuntarily fell to my belly. “So much for that,” I mumbled.
I accelerated ahead, past the sprawling lawns to the collection of buildings that resembled more of a posh ski resort than a school.
I parked in front of one of the main buildings and was pulling the picnic basket out of my SUV when a few of Aric’s students jogged by. After spending most of my life on my guard, I wasn’t someone anyone would classify as friendly. Still, I tried to smile pleasantly. With the exception of a small wolf named Peter, who grinned back, the other young weres nodded briefly and scurried away.
I guessed I didn’t do cheery well. “Hiya, Celia!” Peter said. “Do you need help with that?”
Peter had always been nice to me, but that wasn’t the only reason I liked him. He was scrawny and wimpy for a wolf, but he didn’t appear to know it. Despite the fact that even the first-year students towered over and outmuscled him, he trekked along without a care. I respected him for it. He seemed comfortable in his own skin, a feat my sisters and I had never managed.
While I could have carried twenty full picnic baskets and thrown Peter on top, he seemed eager to help. I smiled again and handed him my basket. “Thank you, Peter. I appreciate it.”
As soon as I tucked the blanket I brought beneath my arm and grabbed my purse, he led me into one of the largest buildings, a three-story chalet with stacked-stone steps and pillars. The building served as office and sleeping quarters for the staff.
The floor and paneling were composed of dark wood, meticulously clean and polished. Pictures of famous weres in brass frames covered the foyer walls. Among them were photos of Aric’s father and grandfather.
Aric had inherited their dark hair, light brown eyes, and strong chiseled jaw. If he had never pointed out who they were, I would have easily recognized the resemblance. Both men appeared serious in the photographs, very unlike the jovial men Aric had described.
My eyes wandered from the photos of his family to a large painting of a pack of wolves racing through the forest. With the exception of the full moon that shone brightly in the azure sky, all the colors in the painting were dark, muted, and eerily beautiful. Beneath the painting was a bronze plaque inscribed with the words Perdere malis—“Destroy all evil.” I paused beneath the painting. My experiences in the past two years made the words more significant. I wasn’t a were, but I could identify with their sense of duty to the earth.
“Is Aric upstairs?” I asked when Peter bounded up the steps.
“No, but I figured the lunch you brought will be safer in his quarters. You never want to leave food around a pack of growing wolves.”
“Oh, okay.” I hadn’t been back to Aric’s suite since recovering from my injuries. It was where we mourned the loss of our child and dealt with the aftermath of Anara’s deceit.
The young wolves and weres who resided at the Den had only been given minimal information about my injuries. If Peter had known what I endured, I doubted he would have led me back to the suite.
We walked up to the third level and down the long wide corridor without either of us breaking a sweat. Each floor had been crafted of that same dark wood and designed with a more masculine feel, which was why the bright pink floral couch set near Aric’s door gave me pause.
“Peter. What’s that?” I asked, motioning ahead to the eruption of prissiness.
“Huh? Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “That belongs to the girls.”
I continued alongside of him. “What girls?”
“You know, the ones who want to have sex with Aric.”
Peter continued on his merry little way while the world stopped spinning on its axis directly below my feet. “What?”
He answered while he fumbled with the keypad to Aric’s door. “Yeah, they have a club and everything. Anyway, they got tired of standing around waiting for him so they all chipped in and bought that ugly thing.” He punched in a few more numbers. “Sorry, I forgot the code,” he said when the light finally flashed green.
He reached for the handle, but became distracted by my death grip on his wrist.
Anger spread through me, heating my body so fast perspiration gathered along my crown. “Just so I’m clear, there are women—who want to sleep with my fiancé—and they sit there”—I motioned with an accusing finger to the fucking couch�
�“so they can pounce on him the minute he shows?”
Peter stared down at his wrist, then back at me. “Ah, perhaps I’ve said too much.”
I tore my eyes away from Peter and looked down the hall to where playful giggling echoed from the level below. Two of Aric’s fans skipped up the steps, pausing when they caught sight of me.
Instead of running for their lives, as they very much should have, they strutted like runway models on a catwalk. Then again, runway models didn’t typically dress like whores.
The one with red hair down to her elbows wore a black mesh top, no bra, and tiny black shorts. The other one, a brunette with short spiky hair and long bangs, let her open red robe sway behind so I’d have a direct view of her lacy panties and massive boobs stuffed into the matching bra.
Neither was barefoot. It seemed clear heels were the preferred footwear of were tramps everywhere.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open, still attached to Peter who’d begun to struggle. The members of the slut club smiled, obviously pleased by my dumbfounded reaction. They fell onto their couch, crossing their long legs and laughing.
The redhead who sat nearest to me tossed me a wicked grin over her shoulder before ignoring me completely. “So,” she said to her friend. “Did you get a new car yet?”
“No,” the brunette pouted. She stuck out her bottom lip in a way that made me think she’d practiced that move in the mirror about a thousand times. “But you know what they say, ‘Don’t have a car? Ride Aric Connor.’ ”
Peter dropped my basket and shot off like a jet the moment I released him. He hadn’t quite made it to the second flight of stairs when bimbo number one and bimbo number two crash-landed in the foyer with their demolished love seat on top of them.
I kicked off my shoes and leapt down into the foyer after them, landing in a crouch. It was the furthest and hardest I’d ever landed. And it hurt.
But hell would freeze before I’d show them weakness.
The redhead charged. I had enough time to flip her to the ground and knock her out before the brunette tackled me. Her scent of pine and musk told me she was a werecougar. She was tough. I was tougher. We exchanged a few hard blows before I punched her in the nose and tore her pouty lips right off her face.
She screamed, a ghastly, wet scream, stopping to gape at what remained of her mouth on the floor.
The redhead came to, slamming me down chest first and wrenching my arm brutally behind my back. She would’ve had me if experience hadn’t taught me one thing: Ignore pain and focus on hurting the being trying to kill you.
I rolled in the direction the bitch wolf was wrenching my arm and used my free arm to ridge-hand her across the nose. That didn’t stun her, but my follow-up kick to the temple did.
The lipless cougar then tried to take me out by the knees. She missed. I didn’t. I kicked her with enough force to bounce her flailing body off the floor. They were both bloody, groaning, and limping when Peter raced back through the front door followed closely by the Pack Elders.
Martin was a big man. If I had to go by sight instead of smell, I would’ve pegged him a werebear. He was in his seventies, with the body of a thirty-year-old triathlete who preferred shards of glass for breakfast instead of Wheaties.
He scowled when he caught me holding the redhead up by the throat. She slumped to the floor when I released her then quickly scrambled to stand. She joined her friend and together they bowed to Martin and Makawee.
Martin scanned the large foyer. All that remained of the casting couch were pieces of torn fabric and splintered wood smeared with were blood. Broken chunks of furniture—an end table, a few chairs with missing legs, and a small cabinet—also littered the area from the throw-down.
It was a vicious catfight.
And I’d owned it.
The problem was, I didn’t technically belong in the Pack and I’d fought weres who did, in their sacred institute. I didn’t know all the rules and regulations but was fairly certain this was a big no-no.
The knowledge did nothing to cool my anger. I was livid. I stepped forward, not bothering to bow. “With all due respect—”
Martin cut me off with a simple lift of his hand. He continued to scowl, but now I could see his anger wasn’t directed at me. “Lindsey, Dara, I warned you Aric’s mate wouldn’t tolerate your blatant disrespect of their relationship. Clean this mess up.” He walked toward me and gave me a brief nod before continuing toward the offices located in the rear of the building. “I expect the disbandment of your group, but not before you collect monies to reimburse what you have damaged and destroyed.” He didn’t bother to glance back, yet it was clear his word was law.
The weres hurried to clean the area. The cougar paused to pick her shriveling lips from the floor and toss them in a wastebasket. Eventually, her missing pieces would grow back. I couldn’t say the same if she’d torn off my face.
I stared at my red-stained hands. I was angry, yes, but my response had been cruel. I was many things. Cruel wasn’t one of them.
My own voice filled my head, saying things I didn’t want to hear.
They deserved it.
You should have killed them.
It’s not too late.
Make them suffer.
A horrible sense of hate claimed me, but just as quickly as it came, it left me when Makawee approached. The peace affiliated with her power as the Pack Omega dissolved that awful sense of loathing and reined in my anger.
She took my hand and watched me with sad, dark eyes. “Celia, will you join me in my chambers? I’d like a word with you,” she said gently.
Chapter 6
Makawee and I weren’t friends. But she had always shown me kindness and was one of many who fought to keep me alive. As the Omega of the Pack, she embodied calm, nurturing magic like a second skin. So why did her touch disgust me? And why did I pull away?
Run, my inner voice urged.
“Why?” I questioned aloud.
Makawee cocked her head, believing I was speaking to her. “Forgive me, Celia, but what I wish to say is of a sensitive nature.” Her attention left me to glance at the weres hurrying to clean. Her brows drew together ever so slightly, but it was enough to make the tramps avert their gaze and move faster.
I forced myself to speak. “All right.” Although I agreed to follow her, that urge to flee poked at me. I was afraid to be alone with her. My thoughts, though, didn’t make sense. Out of everyone, why would I be afraid of Makawee?
Because she was friends with Anara, my voice insisted.
Yes, but he betrayed her, too, I added.
Makawee paused at the entrance to the corridor that led to her office, watching me as I debated with myself.
The small smile she usually gave me was noticeably absent, while her concern was more than obvious. “Is something troubling you, Celia?”
“Um. No.” Although that’s what I claimed, I remained cemented in place.
“If you have another appointment, child, I’m certain we can speak at another time,” she suggested.
“No.” I pushed forward. “Now’s good.”
My speech was off, and everything felt forced. If Makawee noticed, she failed to show it. Her waist-length white hair drifted behind her while she walked, despite the lack of haste in her step. Like always, she wore an earth-tone dress, no patterns, no frills. This dress didn’t even have buttons. It was a simple brown pullover with short sleeves.
Her bare feet passed silently over the dark wood. For someone who rarely wore shoes, her feet always seemed perfectly clean.
Although I’d never stepped into Makawee’s office, it was exactly as I’d imagined it. Simple tones of cream lightened the otherwise dark wood, and Native American tapestries and throws of deep reds added color to the walls and furnishings.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” she said, motioning to the worn leather couch. She turned away from me as she stepped into a small kitchenette.
I was glad she wasn’t
watching me. I had to force myself to sit, the urge to race away from her continuing to needle me.
She poured hot water from a teapot into an antique ceramic pitcher. “May I make you some tea?” she asked.
No. She means to poison you.
My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe where my thoughts had wandered. My tigress typically ruled my instincts, but as I reached to stroke her, I sensed her pulling away from my caress. She didn’t appear to know me. Or welcome me.
What the hell?
“Celia, would you like some tea?” Makawee repeated.
“Y-yes. Thank you,” I managed.
Makawee used a small wooden tray painted with flowers to carry the pitcher, ceramic mugs, and tea supplies. She placed it on an old oak table in front of me, using care not to spill the contents. The pitcher and mugs appeared to have come from different sets, but they were pretty and complemented one another beautifully.
Makawee filled two small gold balls with loose tea, placed them in the cups, and added hot water. “How is the pain from your injuries?” she asked.
“Fine.” She raised her eyebrows slightly, enough to let me know she didn’t completely believe me. “It comes in spasms,” I admitted. “But for the most part it’s manageable and doesn’t impede me in any way.”
Makawee nodded, seemingly satisfied with my more honest response. “Forgive me for asking, but has your cycle returned?”
Her question caught me off guard. But I answered in spite of the emotions it stirred. “No.” My cycle had always been irregular, but after how Anara had butchered me, it hadn’t returned. Makawee was probably hoping I could still become pregnant.
But you can’t.
You’re barren.
And it’s her fault.
My thoughts betrayed me, hurting me more than anything Makawee could have asked. Yet my response was uncalled for—and I couldn’t stop it. I leaned back, patting my belly and smiling as I spoke. “Sorry, no future saviors of mankind growing in here,” I said simply.