“Yes. You do have to stay, Irene. I’ve got to work something out with the Löwes and the Duprises to ensure they don’t come after you. Until I have that, you can’t leave.”
“Jackie—”
“Is completely safe. She’s spending the night here and she’s more than welcome. She just went to bed about an hour ago after watching every move our doctor made.”
Without thinking, he carefully tucked the sheet around her body. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, doc. I promise.”
“I’m sorry,” she said after several moments.
“For what?”
Irene shrugged, then grimaced, probably regretting the move, considering the pain it most likely caused. “For always thinking you were an asshole.”
Van grinned. “I am an asshole. And you’re a cold bitch. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, doc.”
“Friends?” She nodded. “I don’t mind being friends. I have so few of them.”
“Really? With your natural charm?”
“Ha, ha, Van Holtz.” And she gave what almost looked to be a smile.
Van slipped out of bed and headed toward the door. “I’ll send one of the She-wolves in to get you to the bathroom and I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“You? Make me breakfast?”
“Of course. Just wait until you taste my waffles, doc. You’ll see God.”
“Considering my personal belief system, I somehow doubt that.”
Van stepped into the hallway and closed the door. As he made his way past his family’s rooms, he caught sight of one of the She-wolves and motioned for her to take care of Conridge. The look on the girl’s face was how he’d imagine she’d look if he’d ordered her to stand in front of a firing squad. As he walked down the stairs, he saw his sister sitting on the bottom step reading the newspaper. He sat next to her and shook his head in disbelief.
“You’re right.”
“I’m right about what?”
“About Conridge. I don’t think anything will be happening between us anytime soon.”
Carrie patted his shoulder. “Shut you down, did she?”
“You could say that.”
“She reminds me of the computer from Alien.”
“Huh?”
“You know, ‘This ship detonates in T-minus five minutes and counting.’ That’s her.”
Van chuckled. “She’s not that bad. She’s just different. I like her. We’ll probably be friends. Which means I’ll never have sex with her.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he said, standing up to head to the kitchen to make breakfast for the entire Pack and Irene. “I love you too, sis.”
“Oh, and Dad’s looking for you.”
Van stopped but immediately shook his head. “I’ll talk to him later. I can’t deal with him right now.” He again headed toward the kitchen, his sister following right behind him. “And get on the phone. I want that meeting with the Löwes and the Duprises set up as soon as possible.”
He went to the industrial-size refrigerator and began pulling out eggs and flour for the batter. “I mean, if I’m not going to fuck her, why have her in my house?”
Carrie sighed. “That’s lovely, little brother. You make us all so proud.”
“Well, ya know…” Van grinned. “I try.”
Three
Irene looked up from the book in her lap and out the open giant glass doors leading to the big lawn on the Van Holtz estate. For nearly seven days she’d enjoyed the luxury of the wealthy. And, to be quite honest, she could see herself easily getting used to it. Although no one was exactly friendly—besides Van Holtz himself—they were polite.
For the first time Irene could actually remember, she felt relaxed. She couldn’t really afford to go on vacations, so usually if she traveled, she often had work to do once she arrived at her destination. But due to her injuries, Irene didn’t do much of anything. And, to be honest, Van Holtz wouldn’t let her. When he found her on the phone with her teaching assistant during her second day at the house, she thought his head might explode. “Is this you resting?” he’d demanded while pulling the phone from her hand. They’d even had a minor scuffle over it, but when he started to pull up the T-shirt she wore, she released the phone. Then he’d had the nerve to look triumphant as he hung up the receiver.
She would have been extremely angry if she didn’t find the man so humorous.
Irene watched a squirrel creep down from one of the big trees littering Van Holtz’s property. She’d always found squirrels quite fascinating. The way they moved always kept her quite entertained. This one picked up something from the ground and quickly moved back to his tree. But, unfortunately, he simply wasn’t quick enough.
Irene grimaced when the first wolf pounced, tossing the squirrel in the air. Another wolf leaped over the first’s head, snatching the squirrel from midair, and took off running, the other wolf right on its heels.
“Hey, doc.” Van Holtz squeezed in next to her on the oversized chair. The man simply had no concept of personal space. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, merely sitting around being horrified.”
“Horrified? Why?”
The two wolves came back into view, now playing tug with what was left of the squirrel.
Van Holtz laughed until she stared at him and then he choked it back. “Sorry.” He leaned forward. “Hey, guys.” The two wolves stopped and stared. “Go play somewhere else.”
They trotted off and Van Holtz leaned back, comfortably resting against her. Since he always did this to her unwounded side, Irene didn’t bother arguing. She knew he’d only ignore her.
“Sorry about that. Those two just hit puberty and figured out how to shift.”
“I see.”
Grabbing the book out of her hands, he glanced at the cover. “So I’m off to meet with Löwe and Dupris. I can’t believe they made me wait this long for this meeting, but I’ll argue that point once I’m assured of your safety. I’m thinking you’ll be heading home today.”
“That’s fine.” She took back the book, relatively confident he couldn’t read ancient Arabic. “The doctor should be here soon to take out the stitches. And Jack will pick me up to take me home.”
“I can have our driver take you home.”
“No, thank you.”
“Fine,” he teased, “be difficult.”
“I will.”
Van pushed himself out of the chair and scratched Irene’s head affectionately. “Talk to you later, doc.”
“Good luck,” she said while opening her book. “You’ll most likely need it.”
Van had the front door open when his father’s voice stopped him and his sister.
“Where are you going?”
Van motioned his sister out and turned to face his father. “Meeting with the Löwes and Duprises.”
“Over the full-human?”
“Yes.”
His father stepped toward him, staring him straight in the eye. “Do you think that’s a wise thing to do, son?”
“It’s the only thing to do.”
“Are you attached to her?”
“No. I’m not.” Van grinned. “She’s a friend.”
His father raised one eyebrow. “A friend? Since when are women, not blood relations, your friends?”
“Since her.”
“Well, hurry up. When you get back we need to meet about the business.”
“I’ve actually got to—”
“Was there anything I said that actually led you to believe that was an option?”
Van gritted his teeth, the hackles on the back of his neck rising. Lately he couldn’t shake the feeling his father was goading him, but he couldn’t figure out why. “No, sir.”
“Then I’ll see you when you get back.”
Nodding, Van took a step out onto the porch.
“And don’t do anything stupid.”
Van made a fist but decided to keep walking before he did something he�
��d regret for the rest of his life.
Irene felt those eyes on her long before she lifted her head. When she did, she briefly wondered if all Van Holtz males had that smirk. Did the women, too?
“Dr. Conridge.”
Tamping down her sudden nervousness at having the head of the Van Holtz family and the Pack’s Alpha Male speaking directly to her, she answered, “Mr. Van Holtz.”
“Please, call me Dieter.” He sat down in a chair across from her. “So how are you feeling?”
“Much better, thank you. I get my stitches out today.”
“Good. Good. I hope my family has treated you right.”
“Yes. They’re quite polite.”
He grinned. “Polite?”
She shrugged. “Polite is satisfactory for me. I really don’t expect or want much more than that.”
“I see. And my son? Was he…polite?”
“I wouldn’t call him polite…but he was definitely pleasant.”
“Do you like my son, Dr. Conridge?”
Irene closed her book and stared at the older Van Holtz. “I don’t dislike him. But that was recent. I used to not like him but he’s been very kind since I’ve been here. So now I like him. I’d almost say we are friendly…but perhaps that’s too big a leap at this stage.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I see. Are you always this…uh…”
“Brutally honest?”
“I was going to say direct, but brutally honest works as well.”
“Yes. I am. And I know—it’s a character flaw.”
“Not at all. I love honest people.”
“Everyone says that…until I say something they don’t like. Then I’m a bitch.”
“Perhaps you haven’t realized it yet, Dr. Conridge,” Van Holtz said, that big grin still firmly in place, “but this is the one place in town where being a bitch is not only accepted but expected. So…it seems to me that you fit right in here.”
Dieter Van Holtz stood. “I’ll let you get back to your book. And I truly hope this isn’t the last we see of you, Dr. Conridge.”
“Not at all. There’s a charity holiday gala in December. I expect you to be there with checkbook in hand.”
“Of course.” And there went that smirk again. “But we both know that’s not what I meant.”
“Uh…we do?” But the strange man was already long gone.
“Genetics,” Irene muttered while opening her book. “Clearly the insanity flaw is in their genes.”
Van rubbed his forehead and tried to rein in his temper. It wasn’t easy when all he really wanted to do was pop one bitch lioness right in the mouth.
“So what are you saying?” he snarled at Melinda Löwe.
“I’m saying she can’t be trusted.”
“Melinda, she’s been living with a jackal since she was thirteen. She’s kept her secret all this time; do you really think Irene Conridge is suddenly going to snap and tell the world?”
“Friends are one thing. But she has no real stake in protecting us. And you know my feelings on jackals. They’re like the African wild dogs. I don’t really even count them as one of us.”
“That’s nice.”
“Don’t give me your bullshit, Van. Like you’re so above it all. You only took the woman ’cause you were hoping to fuck her.”
“I took her because I didn’t think it was right you wanted to kill her because the hyenas decided to have some fun with a full-human.”
Clarice Dupris glanced up from her cup of tea. “Why are you all looking at me?” she asked innocently.
“This is your fault,” Melinda accused. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Irene Conridge can’t be allowed to live. She knows too much and she has no reason to protect any of us.”
Nibbling on a piece of Scottish shortbread, Clarice said softly, “What if she were marked? As a mate?”
Once a shifter marked and mated with a full-human, the human was considered “one of us.” They were protected the same as all shifters, but they had to be ready to take on any challengers to their territory or to protect their pups or cubs.
Melinda frowned. “Who’d mark her?”
It took Van a minute to realize they were all staring at him. He grinned. “What? Is that a challenge, Clarice? You don’t think I would?”
“Uh…Van?” He waved at his sister to keep her quiet.
“Well?” he pushed.
Clarice shrugged rugged shoulders. “All I said was maybe someone could mark her. I didn’t say it had to be you.”
“Marking anyone is bullshit and you all know it.”
“I wouldn’t know if it was bullshit or not,” Melinda admitted. “It just seems like something you wolves like to do. Personally, I like keeping the males at a distance until I’m actually in the mood to breed.”
“We mock ours relentlessly,” Clarice added, “until they cry or turn on each other. It brings us joy.”
“But,” Melinda added, “if it keeps your precious full-human alive—”
“—and you don’t believe in marking anyway—”
“—then who could it hurt?”
They didn’t think he’d do it. And, if he believed even a modicum of the crap his parents tried to shove down his throat for the past twenty-seven years, he wouldn’t do it. But Van didn’t believe. If they wanted Irene Conridge marked, he’d mark her, all right. And then he’d walk away.
“Done.” He stood up. “Always nice to see you two,” he lied.
As soon as they stepped outside the tea shop, his sister latched on to his arm. “Have you lost your mind?”
He pried her fingers off. “Stop panicking. This is nothing. I bite her and send her away.”
“You are such a…why do you…oh!”
He put his arms around Carrie’s shoulders. “Stop. It’s okay. I know what I’m doing.”
“No, Van. For once you don’t know shit.” She glanced back at him. “And what, exactly, makes you think Irene Conridge will let you mark her?”
“Because the woman couldn’t care less. If the means to an end keeps her breathing, she’ll agree.”
“Not on your life, Van Holtz.”
Irene stormed into the kitchen, Van Holtz right on her heels.
“You’re being unreasonable. If this is all I have to do to keep you alive, what does it matter?”
Normally she’d agree with him. Normally, she’d turn around, pull her hair out of the way, and let the man have at it. Then she’d go on about her life and hopefully never see him again. But something, she didn’t know what, kept telling her that would be a mistake. A mistake she would never recover from.
“No.”
“I thought we were friends now.”
“We are. That’s why I can be clear and concise without fear of reprisal. And the answer is definitely no.”
Van Holtz let out one of his dramatic “look what I have to put up with” sighs and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Irene, don’t you want to go home?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you give me two minutes and you can be out of here.”
“Or I can just leave.”
“And not live through the night.”
“And that affects you how?”
“I made a commitment.”
“Yes. You did. And I do truly appreciate it. But I’m not going to do this. Nor am I letting you do this. I’ll just go.”
Irene stepped away from him and that’s when his fingers closed around her wrist, halting her. She tried to pull her arm away, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“I’m not joking, Van Holtz. Get off me.”
“I’m not joking either. I won’t be responsible for you dying.”
“You aren’t. I am. I absolve you of all wrongdoing in this matter. Now get the hell off me!”
She yanked her arm again and, with a growl, the presumptuous bastard yanked her back against his chest. Slamming her foot into his instep and her elbow into his face, she distracted him enough to release her and s
he tried to scramble away.
But he was fast. His big arms wrapped around her waist and dragged her toward him. Irene gripped the sink and held on.
Van Holtz wasn’t giving up, though. He pulled her back and her fingers slipped. Spotting a frying pan in the drying bin, Irene reached for it. He’d already taken a two-by-four to the head; a frying pan would probably cause just enough damage to get her free and away. Her fingers slid across a metal handle and she grabbed blindly for it. Van Holtz swung her around, and Irene lashed out but only hit him in the leg.
Then they stared at each other in shock before they both looked down at his leg…and the lovely chef’s knife protruding from his denim-covered thigh.
Horrified, Irene stepped back. “Oh, my…I mean…” She looked up to what had to be the angriest face she’d ever seen. “I swear, Van Holtz. I swear that was an accident.”
Van Holtz didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The expression on his face called her a liar, and the way his eyes shifted from human to wolf in a heartbeat told her she needed to run—now!
Irene made a wild leap for the door but she didn’t even get near the opposite counter before she heard that snarl and the loud clang of the knife hitting the kitchen floor, then those big arms wrapped around her one more time. He slammed her against the wall with her back to him, using his body weight to hold her in place.
She tried to push herself away from the wall but his knee pressed between her thighs, throwing her off balance, and he used his chest to force her back against the wall.
Irene knew she could have begged him to stop. Pleaded with him. Or simply asked him nicely. But, for some unknown reason that until the end of time she’d never understand, she decided fighting would be a better route.
Growling, she slammed her hand down onto his open wound and dug her fingers in. She’d apparently shoved that knife in far, because her fingers sank in deep and Van Holtz roared in pain. He didn’t let her go, though. Instead he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head to the side.
She made one last-ditch effort to get him off her by pushing back, but the big bastard wouldn’t budge. And then those fangs sank deep into her shoulder and Irene cried out in pain.
When He Was Bad Page 4