Wolf Pawn: A Dark Mafia Shifter Romance (Wolves of New York Book 2)

by Bella Jacobs

  “A baby, huh?” I say, the sight of my swollen belly in the red dress flashing on my mental screen. Figuring playing Pax once worked, I try again, “I haven’t heard anything about that. Maybe you’re reading the wrong prophecy.”

  “I didn’t read shit, you dumb bitch,” he snarls, sticking his other paw into my trap. “My dad knows all about it. All the top level Alphas do. And yeah, a baby is part of it. The Queen will be Seeded before the King is Seated—it’s the most important part.” He lets out a low, ugly laugh. “You think I would have touched you otherwise? You think chubby nerds do it for me or something? ’Cause they don’t. It was to fuck a baby into you so I can rule. That’s it.”

  “Hmmm. Well, that’s kind of hard to do when you can’t get it up, isn’t it?” I say, just to be mean.

  Because Pax deserves mean.

  He deserves far more than mean, but I can’t stab him in the dick through the phone any more than he can strangle me.

  “Such a stupid cunt,” he says with another oily laugh. “We’ll see if you’re still laughing once I’ve fucked you raw. I’m going to tie you up with your legs spread and dump come in you until you learn some fucking respect.”

  Again, the insult hits my invisible shield and rolls off, but not before the imagery he conjures makes bile rise in my throat.

  I should have killed this monster when I had the chance—screw my moral code. There is nothing good or worthy about this man. He’s a spoiled sociopath who would have been dead a long time ago from sheer stupidity if his father hadn’t hired a fleet of men to protect his idiot offspring.

  Pax doesn’t have street smarts or book smarts.

  The only thing he’s truly good at is causing pain.

  But I can take comfort in knowing he won’t be causing me any more pain or suffering. And he won’t be putting babies in me or anyone else.

  The knowledge rises from that well of truth inside, and I purr, “You can fuck all you want, buddy, but you’re shooting blanks. You’re never going to be a daddy. Your line ends with you.” As soon as the last word is out, my eyes blaze bright gold behind the green.

  A laugh burbles from my lips. I’m delighted by the way I’m connecting to my gift, learning to sense it and communicate with it, but Pax clearly thinks I’m laughing at him.

  Which is just fine by me.

  As he lets forth a flood of increasingly vicious threats, I pull the phone away from my ear, call out, “Your dick is way smaller than average, too. In case you were wondering,” and hang up, still grinning.

  I have no idea if that’s true, but I know the insult will torture Pax until the end of his days. And I do know he’s smaller than the two other cocks I’ve seen in my life. Zeke’s was at least an inch longer and Maxim’s…

  Well, Maxim has a fucking monster between his legs, which is fitting. A monster dick for the monster prick calling the shots in this tower.

  But maybe not for long…

  Smile fading, I look into the mirror, a little afraid by what I might find there. But when I meet my gaze, there’s no glow. But there’s no invisible shield either and nothing flows from that well of wisdom inside me.

  Maxim’s destiny isn’t certain yet. And neither is mine.

  But I know more than I did before, and I’m betting at least one person in this tower would be interested in hearing my thoughts about prophecies and power and how far I’m willing to go to make sure I never help crown a monster. Pax said all the top level alphas know about this prophecy.

  Time to see if that’s true…

  I pick up the phone again, dialing the tower operator. When he answers, I say, “Could you connect me with Jukebox Thorn, please? Tell him it’s about his future grandchild.” When the sputtering operator asks me to hold, I coo, “Of course, not a problem,” and sit down on the edge of the desk to wait for Jukebox to answer.

  I sense he won’t keep me waiting long.

  Chapter Six

  Maxim

  I sleep for just a few hours—plagued by nightmares filled with explosions and bloodied swords and the sound of Willow weeping at my feet—and awake more exhausted than I was before.

  But as soon as I settle at my desk with a cup of coffee and a binder of prophecy intelligence Maggie pulled together so swiftly that I suspect she’s been preparing for this potentiality longer than a few hours, the synapses begin to fire. I read everything through once to get an overview of the situation and then go back to the beginning, jotting down notes of the most pertinent pieces of information as I go.

  And then I sketch out a rough response plan.

  The quickest way to defuse this situation?

  Prove the prophecy wrong and suck the air out of the crazy peoples’ hope balloons. The fact that my brother is likely one of the crazy people is troubling, but upon further consideration, not entirely surprising. I worshipped Bane growing up and have missed him every day since he left, but my brother…

  Well, self-esteem was never a problem for him.

  Bane thought a lot of himself.

  If they’d had a category for “Most Likely to Believe He Deserves to Be Crowned King of the World” in the high school yearbook, Bane would have won, hands down.

  Still, the fact that he put our people at risk with that explosion doesn’t sit well. That’s not the man I knew, and I can’t stomach holding him responsible for that kind of violence without more evidence. The penalty for acts of terror perpetrated upon our people is death. I won’t put a price on my brother’s head unless I know for damned sure he’s to blame.

  By the time I finish with my preparation, it’s nearly two in the afternoon. I emerge from my office to see a frantic expression on Samantha, my secretary’s, face and a pile of messages by her phone.

  “Your father’s been calling every fifteen minutes,” she says, pushing the stack of notes across her desk. “Last time he threatened to come up here and put me in a time out if I didn’t go in and get you.”

  I grunt. “I’m sorry about that. You were obeying orders from your Alpha. He shouldn’t have put pressure on you to disobey.” I gather the stack of messages, flipping through them as I add, “And you’re too old for a time out.”

  “Logically, I understand that,” Sam says. “But my inner child was shaking in her boots. Getting put in time out by your dad as a kid was like…the worst thing that could happen. No matter how sweet he was about it, I cried every time I got caught breaking the rules.” She shudders. “So embarrassing.”

  My jaw clenches and a wave of longing rushes through me.

  My father is like a father or grandfather to this entire pack. During his time as Alpha, he ruled with a firm but kind hand and our people loved him for it.

  I already know I’ll never be that sort of leader—I’m not the paternal type—but that doesn’t keep me from wishing I could be. I want that for my wolves and…for myself. I miss watching my father make his rounds at pack gatherings, seeing every face light up with not just respect or appreciation, but love, as Jukebox pulled them in for a hug or a handshake.

  I was so proud to be his son.

  I still am, but it’s more complicated with so much resting on my shoulders. I didn’t realize what a delicate dance being Alpha would be, how carefully I’d have to balance compassion and consequences, tolerance and punishment, truth and the gentle fictions that keep the peace.

  My father made it look so easy.

  But it isn’t easy and the complexities of ruling a pack is one more thing he didn’t prepare me for.

  Just like this fucking prophecy.

  Dumping the messages—all variations on “Come to my place as soon as you get this, Maxim, or else”—in the trash, I tell Samantha I’ll be back for the four o’clock advisory meeting and where she should be able to find me until then.

  Two hours should be enough time with my father. He may have more to say, but he won’t have the energy to say it, and I don’t want to waste any more time with this prophecy nonsense than absolutely necessary.
>
  I have a plan, I’ll communicate that to Dad, and he can…deal with it. I’m Alpha now, and as much as I love and admire my father, I have to do what I think is right for our people. And buying into superstitious mumbo jumbo isn’t anywhere on my list of priorities.

  All the way up to my father’s apartment, I compose my speech, one I hope will placate him, while also making it clear I don’t intend to let a prophecy dictate my choices. If I take a mate, it will be because she’s my fated mate or I’m irresistibly drawn to her for some other reason, not because deluded people believe she’ll make me a king.

  And what if your fated mate and the king-maker are one and the same?

  I ignore the inner voice and the memory of how fiercely I wanted to make Willow mine when we were kissing in my living room. And not just mine for an afternoon, but mine. For keeps. I didn’t just want to fuck her, I wanted to possess her, claim her, and breed her while I was at it.

  That was the most troubling thing. Children aren’t anywhere on my radar, or they weren’t until that curvy little wolf showed up and threw my entire life into chaos.

  I’m thinking about Willow and how much she must hate me, acknowledging how unlikely it is that I’ll ever get my dick inside her now—let alone my baby—when my father’s guard detail shows me into his study and…there she is.

  Willow.

  Sitting across from my father in one of the matching leather armchairs, a teacup and saucer balanced on her knee, laughing softly at something my father has just said.

  But as soon as I step into the room, they both stop laughing.

  My father turns to me with a scowl, snapping, “It took you long enough,” and Willow’s gaze goes frosty over the rim of her cup.

  Frosty, but not fearful.

  Looks like I got my wish, and my little wolf has rallied from her brush with terror last night. But she clearly hasn’t forgotten about it, or that I’m the one responsible for her suffering.

  She makes that clear as she adds in a cool voice, “I don’t mind that you took your time. Jimmy and I worked everything out just fine without you putting your oar in.”

  My brows pinch together. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, it’s all settled,” Dad says with a satisfied nod Willow’s way. “We’ll announce the engagement tomorrow night. That will give you the full thirty days of reflection customary for an Alpha taking a mate, but you’ll be married before the winter solstice, when pack fertility levels will be at their peak.” He motions toward me with two fingers, but scarcely spares me a glance as he adds, “Hopefully that won’t be an issue for you, son, but your mother and I did have some trouble when we were first trying. I had to take herbs to get my swimmers moving a little faster.” He winces sympathetically at Willow. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about your future father-in-law’s fertility issues, but I want to be totally up front with you about our family and our pack. From here on out, there are no secrets between us. Family should be kind whenever possible, but honest always. That’s my motto.”

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” I demand tightly, though I have a pretty good idea.

  Still, I don’t want to believe my father would arrange a marriage behind my back.

  “You’re marrying Willow,” my father says, erasing any remaining doubt. “We’ll announce the match tomorrow at a small ceremony, I think. Or a larger one. Up to the two of you.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to lose my temper. I remind myself how hard it must have been for Dad to go from a man at the peak of his power to a recovering invalid who only has the energy to focus on pack issues a few hours a day. I remind myself that I love and respect my father and take a deep breath in and out before I say in as calm a voice as I can muster, “That’s an interesting suggestion, but according to pack law, you can’t compel me to marry anyone but my fated mate. Considering Willow’s already been matched and married to another man…” I smile. “Well, I’m sure you can see that’s problematic.”

  Dad motions toward his desk by the window. “The Blood Moon pack’s star chart readers were mistaken. Take a look at the charts our readers worked up last night, son. You two were born for each other! And you know my people don’t lie about those sorts of things. That’s not our way.”

  “And what about the baby she may be carrying?” I ask, keeping my tone calm though my pulse is spiking. “The child that’s absolutely not mine.”

  “Good news there,” Willow says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “My moon came this morning. I’m not pregnant.”

  “And what a relief that is for everyone,” Dad says, sincerely. “Especially you, my boy. Truly, I’ve never seen such a perfect match in my life. You and Willow are like puzzle pieces, but you must feel that. I remember when I met your mother, how irresistibly drawn I was to her. Looking at her just…lit me up with happiness. From the moment I first held her hand, I couldn’t have imagined spending my life with anyone else.”

  “That’s very sweet,” Willow says. “But I want to be honest with you, too, Jimmy. Maxim and I definitely don’t have that kind of connection. It’s more an ‘I hate that I’m drawn to you’ kind of thing that we’d both prefer to ignore if things were different. Isn’t that right, big bad?”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, taking my turn with the chilly tone.

  “You call me little wolf,” she says with a shrug. “I thought it was only fair that you have a nickname, too. Big bad bully was also an option. Or just…asshole, but that felt a little on the nose.”

  My father bursts into delighted laughter, clapping his hands together as he rocks back and forth in his chair. “Oh, son. She’s perfect for you. Just what you need, a woman who will keep you on your toes. Uniting the packs won’t be easy. You’ll need a strong mate backing you up, watching your back.”

  “Or stabbing me in it,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’d like a word with you alone, Dad, before you marry me off to a stranger who might want to kill me. If that’s all right?”

  “I definitely want to kill you,” Willow says flatly. “But I won’t. That’s not who I am. But I won’t be treated like a prisoner or an enemy anymore, either. I’ve proven to your father with my gift that I only want what’s best for this pack.”

  “It’s true,” Dad says, still catching his breath from his laugh attack. “And I’m going to help train Willow to use her pack gift for the good of our people. We’re lucky to have her, son. All of us.”

  Lucky isn’t the word I would use.

  I’m not sure what word fits Willow Astor, but “thorn in my paw” feels pretty fitting.

  As does “noose around my neck” and “anchor tied to my ankle.”

  But all of those are phrases, not single words, and I know none of that will matter. My father doesn’t care if my gut is screaming that this is a bad idea. Dad cares about star charts and prophecies and ensuring the continuation of our family line—all of which will be served by marrying me off to Willow.

  From everything I read today, the prophecy makes it pretty clear that the first man to put a baby in one of the “chosen women’s” wombs will be the next king.

  But I don’t believe in prophecies, and I like having my free will ripped away from me about as much as Willow enjoyed being re-introduced to her traumatic memories last night.

  That’s at least one good thing to come out of this meeting—I don’t feel guilty about what I did to Willow anymore.

  I just feel…determined.

  Determined to regain control of my life and my pack.

  Now that I know the game we’re playing, I have no doubt I’ll come out on top. Thanks to her surprise attack, Willow won this battle, but I will win the war.

  Easily. Swiftly.

  I don’t care if those charts are right, and she is my fated mate, I won’t be bullied into a pizza topping, let alone a marriage. She made a serious mistake when she decided to get my father involved, and she’s going to pay for it.

&n
bsp; But in the meantime, the best thing I can do is stay on Dad’s good side and lull my little wolf into dropping her guard.

  So, I force a weary, resigned sigh and nod. “Okay. We’ll announce the engagement tomorrow. But we’re not going to mention the prophecy, just that we’re fated mates. I don’t want to encourage that sort of thinking. We’re a logical people, not a superstitious one.”

  Dad smiles. “Willow was just saying the same thing, how she wants to apply logic to her gift. And compassion.” He sobers, holding my gaze with an intensity that makes it obvious he’s not buying my easy surrender. “Truly, son, this match will be a gift to you. If you’ll allow it to be. Fighting it will only cause pointless suffering for everyone involved, and that includes you. Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.”

  “Of course not, Dad,” I say. “My nose and face are both on board.”

  But my heart and my head sure as hell aren’t and I won’t regret getting rid of Willow. Not for a single fucking second.

  First, I’ll prove to her that I’m her Alpha, dominant to her in every way.

  Then, I’ll make her pay for trying to steal power that doesn’t belong to her.

  She’s going to be very sorry she crossed me, very sorry indeed.

  Chapter Seven

  Willow

  Maxim wants to kill me.

  Dead.

  With a toothpick, a thousand tiny stab wounds, and a gallon of lemon juice, so I’ll be in as much pain as possible before I die.

  I fully expected him to be pissed once he realized what I’d set in motion behind his back, but he’s more enraged than I even imagined he would be. I could feel the waves of animosity rippling off of him in his father’s study like heat from a fire, making my cheeks flush and sweat break out along the hollow of my spine.