Enthrall Me (Underbelly Chronicles Book 4)

by Tamara Hogan

  About what? Working at the Archives? The argument they hadn’t had? The incendiary kiss they’d just shared?

  She didn’t wait for him to answer. Nodding, she left.

  He and Thane watched the kitchen door swing back and forth until it stilled. Her departure created an odd vacuum in the room, as if she’d taken all the oxygen with her.

  Thane turned toward him, his eyes dancing.

  “I don’t want to hear it,” he muttered. “Where’s Nick?”

  “In his office, but you might want to change before you see him.”

  “Why?”

  Thane gestured to his lower legs. “You have blood on your pants.”

  Sure enough, there was blood splashed on the summer weight wool—and though Thane was too polite to mention it, he was still half hard. “Bloody hell.”

  “Indeed.”

  Ignoring Thane’s poor joke, he left the kitchen with as much dignity as he could muster.

  “You might want to check your hair while you’re at it,” Thane called after him.

  He stalked to the stairwell and checked his reflection in the ornately framed mirror hanging at its foot. His hair was noticeably mussed, his queue hanging askew. His lips were swollen, and his cheeks were ruddy with arousal. Never mind Thane’s overdeveloped powers of observation; any teenager with dancing hormones would know exactly what he and Tia had been doing in the kitchen.

  The evidence of his weakness was there, for anyone to see.

  Embarrassment belly-crawled, but he stiffened against it. Pushed through it. Allowed the self-preservation instincts that had served him so well for three centuries to shove to the forefront. Yes, he’d been weak, but thankfully only Thane had witnessed his hormone-addled folly.

  It wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen again.

  Good luck with that, boy.

  Ignoring Thane’s snarky mental comment, he stalked upstairs to change.

  Chapter Five

  As Dominic plopped down on Crack House Coffee’s leather loveseat, he swiped a bead of sweat away from his temple and surreptitiously sniffed his armpit. The sun had gone down over an hour ago, but it was still hotter than a mofo outside. The Pathfinder’s AC had crapped out on the way back from Stillwater—one more thing he had to find time to take care of—but thankfully his anti-perspirant was holding.

  At least one thing was going right today.

  The Twins game had just ended, and the place was a madhouse. Every table was full, but Mila hadn’t arrived yet. He had a couple of minutes to check In Like Quinn. Had anyone responded to his comment about Jacoby Woolf? He flicked at his phone and squinted at the screen.

  This comment has been moderated.

  She’d modded him? What the…?

  With a few more pokes and swipes, he went to the financial section, to the comment he’d left about Sebastiani Labs’ corrupt board of directors. That one was gone, too—whitewashed, scrubbed away. His father had warned him that Tia Quinn was more concerned about preserving access rather than speaking truth to power, and here was proof. She’d failed the test—not surprising, given her tainted blood.

  When he’d first started digging into her background, he’d been curious how she earned a living, because ILQ didn’t accept advertising. He hadn’t been surprised to find old family money and a massive trust fund—nothing unique there; even the most clueless vampire could amass a fortune when investments had hundreds of years to appreciate in value—but the genealogy database had revealed a nasty surprise: her fraternal grandmother was a faerie.

  Faeries were empathic. Some could gauge complete strangers’ emotional states with pinpoint accuracy, and those with off-the-chart skills could influence others’ feelings telepathically.

  She’d probably sensed him following her from the start. Hell, he was probably the reason she’d moved away from the city in the first place.

  Thankfully, Tia was an infant in vampire years, so at least he didn’t have to worry about her thralling or glamouring him, but…a vamp/faerie cross? How did each species’ innate abilities combine in Tia Quinn? She was a wild card, an unknown quantity.

  Someone tapped on the plate-glass window. There was Mila, smiling at him from the other side. He smiled back. With a tiny wave, she pivoted and strode toward the entrance, eating up the sidewalk with long, confident strides.

  All thoughts of Tia Quinn vanished.

  He’d known Mila was pretty, but in casual clothes she was a knockout. She wore skin-tight, low-riding jeans that showcased long legs and a first-class ass, and a brown leather belt clung for its life at her hips. A thin, long-sleeved white T-shirt covered her arms down to the wrists, but exposed a slice of belly just above the belt. Her dark hair was pulled up in a loose bun. A colorful scarf hung from her neck, and she carried a bright blue jacket.

  He inhaled slowly, felt his chest expand. He hadn’t mistaken the attraction he’d felt at the GPL meeting, and…it really complicated things. He’d asked her out so he could pick her brain about her job—having access to patient information could really help the GPL’s cause—but his body had an agenda of its own.

  When Mila entered the coffee shop, she stepped out of the traffic pattern and slipped the jacket on, covering her graceful arms and small, high breasts with fabric encrusted with beading. Strappy leather sandals exposed her feet, and her scorching red toenails screamed sex. He stood as she approached, suddenly conscious of his plain T-shirt and no-name jeans.

  She looked him up and down with an approving smile. “Hello.”

  The hair on his arms stood at attention. “Hey.” After a slight hesitation, he leaned down and kissed her cheeks. Her scent, a combination of a light, citrusy perfume, fabric softener, and musk, swirled in his head. “Please, sit down.”

  “Thanks.” She set the purse on the floor and curled into the corner of the loveseat, her feet hanging over the edge so she didn’t transfer dirt from her sandals. “I haven’t had my first cup of coffee yet.”

  Vampire, he reminded himself as he sat. She’d probably just woken up. “I could use a cup myself.”

  “Long day?”

  “Yeah.” And it wasn’t going to end once he got home. The clothes he’d worn delivering Tia’s surprise earlier that day were stuffed in a duffel bag in the back of the Pathfinder. He had to wash them before his mother and sister picked up the unusual scent.

  “With your father in the hospital, I imagine you have a lot on your plate right now.” Mila’s porcelain skin glowed in the light of the nearby floor lamp. “Just let me know when you need to leave.”

  He nodded.

  “Hi, there.” A waiter with flame tattoos climbing his arms suddenly appeared on the other side of the coffee table. “What can I get for you tonight?”

  “I’ll have a red cappuccino, please,” Mila said. “Caffeinated.”

  His first week working at the health club had started with a rotation through the snack bar. Though he’d learned to disguise his revulsion, blood drinks still squicked him out. “A tall Crack House Blend, please.” A big cup of the coffee house’s namesake beverage should do the trick. “Caffeinated, no cream or sugar.” If Mila was surprised that he’d ordered a caffeinated drink at 10:00 p.m. on a weeknight, she didn’t show it. “Can you drop in a couple of ice cubes?” The sooner he could mainline the kicky brew, the more alert he’d be.

  The waiter nodded. “Be right back.”

  Silence as he walked away.

  “I’m nervous,” Mila blurted.

  He laughed in relief. “Me, too.”

  She leaned the slightest bit closer. “Somehow meeting here by ourselves seems a lot more…loaded than it did when we talked at The Ivy.”

  She probably hadn’t intended the movement to be flirtatious, but his body sure interpreted that way. The air suddenly seemed heavy and viscous.

  They shared some small talk—the hideous traffic delays caused by summertime road construction, the weather, the Minnesota Twins’ winning streak—while they waited for their cof
fee. The conversation flowed smoothly from subject to subject as they got to know each other better. The longer they talked, the more Mila seemed to relax, her face bright and animated, curving her body toward his. She listened as if she was genuinely interested in what he said.

  Where had he gotten the impression that she was snooty and stuck up?

  The waiter came back with their coffee, setting it on the low table in front of the couch before leaving. Mila picked up the bowl-shaped mug in both hands and took several dainty sips, closing her eyes and humming in appreciation. When she came up for air, a dollop of pink-tinged foam clung to her upper lip. She swiped it away with her tongue.

  Jesus. He took a quick gulp of his own life-saving brew. Thankfully, the ice cubes had done their job.

  “So, tell me about your job at the health club. I worked at a hotel one summer, back when I was in school.” Mila’s eyes rolled in self-deprecating amusement. “Let’s just say I learned more about human nature than any teenager should.”

  Once he talked about his work, he could ask about hers. “I’m one of the club’s assistant managers.” He described his day-to-day responsibilities—facilities management, administration, reams of paperwork—certain he was boring her stiff. “I started working there after I graduated from the U in May.” Had graduation only been three months ago? With what had happened to his dad, the big party his parents had thrown for him had faded from his memory. “I’m learning the ropes from Andi Woolf. She manages the place.”

  “The Alpha’s daughter, right?” She sidled closer. “Does Krispin Woolf ever show up at the club?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.” Actually, the last place he’d seen the Alpha had been at Memorial Hospital, just a couple of nights ago. Flanked by bodyguards, he’d arrived just as Dominic was leaving.

  “Andi seems nice,” Mila said. “I’ve seen her at Underbelly a couple of times.”

  He tried to hide his surprise. Mila Stanton was the last person he could envision drinking, dancing, and cutting loose at the raucous nightclub next door—but then again, she’d proven several of his assumptions wrong already. There was obviously more to her than met the eye, not that what met the eye wasn’t very, very fine. “How about you?” He took another sip from the tall black mug. “It must be interesting working in a hospital.”

  She shrugged one thin shoulder. “It doesn’t seem like a hospital to me. I park in the ramp, badge into the IT department, and then sit in a cube. Sometimes, for an exciting change of scenery, I go downstairs to the server room. It’s warmer there.”

  “Are you warm enough now?” He gestured to her jacket. “The AC is jacked in here.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I’m always cold, no matter what the season.” A shadow seemed to cross her face, but it quickly disappeared. “Thin blood, I guess.”

  “So, what is it you actually do at the hospital? When we talked the other night, I was a little surprised you seemed to know so much about my dad’s condition.”

  Color flooded her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It was a complete invasion of his privacy—”

  “No.” He laid his hand on her forearm. “I’m not upset. I just wondered how you—” he casually shrugged “—knew. Aren’t there policies and procedures about that?”

  “There are, definitely, even though we’re not bound by human law. But policies and procedures don’t really account for someone whose job requires them to analyze huge volumes of data, and—” she lowered her voice and slanted him a guilty glance “—who has a photographic memory.”

  “You remember everything you see? Everything you read? How awesome!” And how potentially useful. He shot her a teasing glance. “I bet that came in really handy in school, studying for exams.”

  She seemed to relax at his reaction, tucking a tendril of dark hair behind her ear. “Sure, but it can suck, too. Intake records at the ER? Surgical reports?” A shudder wracked her slim frame. “Just one glimpse of some of my test data makes me want to reach for the brain bleach.”

  “I can imagine.” If she could read the data, it wasn’t encrypted. Could she query medical records without setting off red flags? Questions buzzed like bees in a hive. She had a treasure trove of information stored in her head.

  She suddenly seemed spooked about what she’d just revealed, because she shrank back against the loveseat, focusing on her cappuccino like it held the secrets of the universe. “So, I have to ask. Do you find GPL meetings as big a waste of time as I do?”

  “Thank you! I thought it was just me.”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t know why I even bother to go anymore.”

  They both knew why; their parents expected it. The odd sense of communion he’d felt with her deepened. “It’s just one big party,” he said, sighing. “We haven’t had a concrete mission for ages. And talk about hypocrisy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jacoby Woolf, and his...what’s his health problem called again?”

  “He has a motor neuron disease, like ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease in humans.”

  She’d answered his question without batting an eyelash. What other data did she have available at her fingertips? Go slow. “All I can say is, it must be nice to have power and connections.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “If Jacoby Woolf was anyone else’s son…” He drew his finger across his throat in a slashing motion.

  “The Old Ways?” She looked aghast. “You cannot be serious.” He could smell her anger, and an odd, inexplicable panic. “Jacoby Woolf was perfectly healthy at birth. His condition wasn’t diagnosed until a couple of years ago, when he started having mobility issues, and he’d been the Beta for years by that point.” She looked at him like he had the intelligence of an amoeba. “Seriously, what do you expect the Alpha to do?”

  “Put him out of his misery, like any good father would.”

  She recoiled. A wave of cappuccino sloshed onto her jacket.

  “Oh, hell. I’m sorry.”

  Setting the cup down with a click, she snatched up some napkins from the pile on the coffee table and started blotting the spill. Somehow, she managed to look down her nose at him—a fine trick, being she was a foot shorter than he was.

  He’d obviously upset her, but…hell. Could Jacoby Woolf run? Follow a scent trail through the woods? Enjoy a lover? Could he even shift anymore? “Why would anyone want to live such a stunted life?”

  “His brain works just fine. He serves his people well.”

  “Easy for you to say,” he scoffed. “These days, he votes with the majority more often than with his father.”

  “And from what I hear, he’s right to do so.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said scathingly. “Do you really think we receive accurate information about what’s going on at Council meetings? It’s a nest of nepotism. The information we receive is carefully crafted to keep powerful families in power.” Just look how dominant the Sebastiani family had become in such a short period of time. “It’s all propaganda.”

  Her chin rose. “Wyland keeps the vampires quite well-informed.”

  “So you think.”

  “So I know.”

  The silence hung.

  “I didn’t mean for us to get into an argument,” he said. She obviously had no clue how big the Council’s propaganda machine was. “My question is, why are there different rules for those in power than there are for everyone else?”

  “Exactly which rules—” she made an air quote gesture with two fingers of her free hand—“are you talking about?”

  He couldn’t believe she was going to make him say it. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, and I think The Old Ways are retrograde, ignorant crap.” A sudden sadness flitted across her face as she gestured to the street, and to the other patrons in the restaurant. “Look around, Dominic. Times have changed.” She shifted another inch closer, lowering her voice to a soft murmur. “Consider your own species. We all know abou
t the genetic mutations so prevalent in the wolves—the sensory damage, the limb abnormalities. If The Old Ways were still followed as frequently now as they were in the past, people with these conditions wouldn’t be here for us to see.”

  It was because The Old Ways were practiced that people didn’t see even more damaged werewolves. He held his tongue. Punishment for revealing such information would be swift and severe.

  “Look at the Lupinsky family,” she continued. “Gabe Lupinsky has macular degeneration. His mother and sister have missing limbs, and his other sister is deaf. Yet just last year, Gabe not only made an important discovery about the possible origins of our culture, he became a Council member’s bondmate. Where’s the hypocrisy there?”

  If the rumors were true, it was the Alpha’s childhood friendship with Gabe Lupinsky’s father that had brought the family special dispensation. Proximity to power, and to the Council, meant rules could be made or broken. He suddenly frowned. “What discovery?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes widened angelically. “Did the Alpha not inform you?”

  Direct hit. Surprise grew as Mila described what Gabe Lupinsky and Lorin Schlessinger had found at the northern Minnesota archaeological dig last summer. Otherworldly metal fragments? A capsule containing ancient organic material?

  “Dominic, these ‘rules’ you’re talking about… They’re archaic and barbaric. Outdated. Medicine has advanced to the point where serious health conditions can be treated or managed. We know better now. We know better.” She looked out the window, but not quickly enough to hide the sheen of tears.

  What the hell—?

  “Hi, there.” Sasha Sebastiani stood on the other side of the coffee table holding a damp cloth. “Let me help with that spill.”

  Being succubi plucked emotions out of thin air, her attention had probably been snagged by more than spilled cappuccino.

  Hell. This date was not going as he’d planned.