Enthrall Me (Underbelly Chronicles Book 4)

by Tamara Hogan

  “Will you be joining your parents in the dining room, Miss Mila?”

  “Not today, Hansen. I think I’ll just go straight up to bed.”

  Hansen eyed her. “That might be wise.”

  As Hansen closed the door behind them, she hid a private smile.

  Whoever had said that Minnesota had only two seasons, winter and road construction, was one hundred percent right. Just two blocks away, up Washington Avenue, Sebastiani Security’s brightly lit windows taunted her. Tia had hoped to have a nice, long visit with Scarlett before attending the meeting Lukas had called, but at this rate, she and Scarlett would only have a stingy half hour before she’d have to go downstairs.

  But maybe that was for the best. When she and Scarlett were both single, they’d talk about their lovers for hours—who was great in bed, who wasn’t, and who was worth both time and effort. Once bonded with Lukas, Scarlett had clammed up tight, and Tia hadn’t had any sexual dish to share in quite some time. Now that she did, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  She was so confused.

  A horn blared behind her. She threw her hands up in exasperation, glaring at the tricked-out truck filling her rear-view mirror. “Dude, it’s not like I can go anywhere!” It took forever to creep the final two blocks, but she finally hit her blinker and turned into Sebastiani Security’s parking lot. As the F-250 passed, she saw a pair of those tacky truck testicles dangling from its trailer hitch.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Pulling her car into an open spot next to Bailey’s Mini Cooper, she grabbed her purse, got out, and slammed her car door behind her. Hours after sunset, Sebastiani Security’s parking lot was nearly full. The night was hot and humid, and smelled of road tar mixed with the muddy Mississippi. Across the street, Sex World was hopping, and the Warehouse District’s sidewalks seethed with people. Humanity had no idea that real werewolves, and other so-called creatures of myth, lived, worked, and played right down the street from where the Timberwolves played basketball.

  She glanced up to Sebastiani Security’s top floor loft space, where Lukas and Scarlett lived. Behind bulletproof glass, the loft lights blazed.

  Scarlett was still awake.

  She entered the empty lobby and waved at the security camera. She’d barely lowered her arm when Chico poked his head around the security door separating the lobby from the working areas. “Hey, Tia. You’re early, but come on back.”

  She jerked a thumb to the elevator. “Could you let me upstairs instead? I told Scarlett I’d say hi.”

  “Sure.” He joined her at the elevator, his heavy work boots silent against the carpeted floor, and set his palm against the biometric pad. “Quite the party going on up there right now.”

  “What do you mean?” They got on the elevator. When the doors whooshed closed behind them, they both faced front.

  “Sasha and Antonia got here about an hour ago, and Bailey just went up.”

  So an intimate chat with Scarlett was out.

  “Lukas called his sisters and asked them to keep Scarlett company,” Chico said. “He doesn’t want Scarlett to be alone. And then Scarlett called me, asking me to make sure Lukas ate something. What is this, junior high school?” He looked harried. “I’ll be so glad when she has that baby. Maybe then things can get back to normal around here.”

  “With a siren baby crying upstairs? Are you serious?” Who knew how much emotional energy the daughter of a legendary siren singer would shriek into the world with her little untrained vocal cords?

  “Surely the loft is sound-proofed?”

  When the elevator reached the top floor, the doors opened onto music she didn’t recognize. Negative on the sound-proofing; the sound bled into the hallway from behind the loft’s closed door. She got off the elevator and waved at Chico. “See you in a bit.”

  “Um, yeah. Right.” The doors closed on his dazed expression. No doubt he’d begin vetting sound-proofing vendors the minute he reached his desk.

  As she rang the doorbell, overhead cameras stared her down. After Scarlett and Lukas had nearly been killed here, by someone Scarlett knew and trusted, Lukas didn’t bother hiding the surveillance equipment. She couldn’t blame him.

  The door opened. “Hey, Tia.” Antonia Sebastiani had somehow managed to open the door holding Calamity, Scarlett’s twenty-pound black cat. “Come on in.”

  “Hi,” she said, carefully skirting the feline. The cat hated her—though, to be fair, Calamity hated almost everybody. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your visit.”

  “No worries.” Closing the door, Antonia gently lowered Calamity to the floor, then lowered her voice. “We’re doing what we can to keep her occupied. Now that you’re here, we don’t have to listen to this music anymore.”

  Over in the loft’s seating area, Sasha and Bailey both leaned over Scarlett’s shoulder, looking at the souped-up laptop teetering on Scarlett’s rounded stomach. It was the source of the music she didn’t recognize. “New band?”

  Antonia nodded. “Scarlett’s producing them.”

  Her reviewer’s interest was piqued. “They’re good.”

  “Not if you have to listen to the same eight bars over and over again.”

  “Tia!” Scarlett handed Bailey the laptop and started to lever herself out of the chair. Sasha quickly stepped in to help.

  Her eyes widened. “Stay there. Geez.” Scarlett’s stomach was huge. How could she walk without toppling over?

  Scarlett shoved against the arms of the chair, heaving to her feet with an assist from Sasha. “I need to move,” she said grimly. “I might look and feel like a beached whale, but I refuse to act like one.”

  Despite her obvious discomfort, Tia thought Scarlett looked happy, excited, and well-loved. When they hugged, the baby nudged its way into their embrace. “Wow, she’s really moving.”

  Scarlett scowled as she rubbed her stomach. “The kid’s got some really sharp knees and elbows.” She aimed a death-glare at Sasha. “I think she’s going to be a dancer. Or a place kicker for the Vikings.”

  Sasha held up her hands in self-defense. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t knock you up.”

  “It’s in the genes.”

  Now didn’t seem to be a good time to mention that the kid’s sense of rhythm could just as easily have come from her musical mother. Though Scarlett had disbanded Scarlett’s Web several years ago and no longer performed in public, she still wrote, still recorded, and was an in-demand producer. Between her music career, representing the sirens on the Underworld Council, navigating a new bond relationship with Lukas Sebastiani, and a new baby, her friend had her hands full. “You look great.”

  Scarlett’s eyes suddenly flooded. “I look horrible. My ankles are swelling, I’m constipated, and I have stretch marks that will never go away.” Her lips wobbled. “And my clothes are as big as a circus tent.”

  “You look awesome.” Scarlett wore an oversized black T-shirt over black leggings, with a colorful scarf cinched under her abdomen. “You’re the most stylin’ pregnant person I know.”

  “I’m the only pregnant person you know.”

  True, but—

  “This is Lukas’s T-shirt, and it almost fits me!” Scarlett’s disgusted gesture was so violent that she nearly lost her balance. “I used to wear skin-tight leather! I used to wear icepick heels! I used to be kinda hot!” she wailed. “How can Lukas stand to look at me right now?”

  She looked at Sasha, baffled.

  Sasha mouthed “hormones” over her shoulder as she led Scarlett back to the chair. “Do you want to change into a different shirt?”

  “No, of course not. This one smells like Lukas.”

  “Okay,” Sasha said evenly, making sure Scarlett was comfortably settled in the chair. “How about something to drink?”

  “I want potato chips,” Scarlett stated. “I’m craving salt something fierce.”

  Hadn’t Scarlett just complained about water retention?

  Sasha simply nodded, heading for
the kitchen. “Can I get anyone else a drink?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” she said.

  “Please, sit.” Scarlett waved a hand at the seating arrangement, and she and Bailey took seats on the furniture closest to Scarlett’s chair. “How’s work going? I understand you’re working on a series about human trafficking.”

  Tia glanced at Bailey. “Yeah, I’m doing some research on how the story plays out locally.” How much did Scarlett, Antonia, and Sasha know about Stephen’s activities leading up to killing Scarlett’s sister, Annika? Ah, hell, who was she kidding? As Council members, Scarlett and Antonia could get any information they wanted. Sasha, being related to so many Council members, certainly knew how to keep her mouth shut.

  Actually, Sasha had been the person to give her the idea for the human trafficking series in the first place, when she’d mentioned her concern for some of the young people who came into Crack House Coffee in the winter. Wary and worn, hungry and cold, runaways faced so many risks, even if they managed to escape the grasp of pimps and opportunists who’d exploit them. Some of the stories she’d heard from hotel and motel employees made her stomach lurch. “You know how it is,” she said. “Lots of interviews, lots of research.” Damn, now she sounded as non-committal as Commander Lupinsky had, but she didn’t want to upset Scarlett.

  “Lukas told me about the break-in at your house—the snakes, feeling like you’re being followed,” Scarlett said. “How are you holding up?”

  Their eyes met. Scarlett had had more than her share of experience with stalkers and batshit fans. “Fine,” she said. “I should be able to go home soon.” To her home, not Wyland’s. “And I don’t want to talk about my problems today. Can I ask you some questions about the GPL?”

  Scarlett shifted her bulky weight in the chair. “The Genetic Purity League? What about them?”

  “I’m working on a project with Wyland. The subject came up.”

  Sasha came back from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with potato chips, Top the Tater chip dip, a glass of ice water, and a steaming mug with a spoon standing upright in the cup. Ice cubes tinkled as she set the tray on the table next to Scarlett, then sat on the couch next to Antonia. Scarlett snatched the tub of chip dip, grabbed the spoon from the mug, then started eating the chip dip like it was ice cream. “Every bit of gossip you’ve heard about the Genetic Purity League? The reality is probably worse—not that we have any hard evidence.” Scarlett and Antonia exchanged a look. “Off the record,” Scarlett stated.

  “Of course.” Apparently Scarlett was as careful as Wyland was about protecting information.

  “We suspect the GPL is fronted and financially supported by Krispin Woolf.”

  Though she’d long suspected the same thing, hearing a Council member say it out loud was a sucker punch. “The werewolves deserve better representation.” She looked at Bailey. “Hasn’t he left a trail of some type?”

  “Not that we’ve found,” Bailey answered. “The WerePack Alpha is an avowed technophobe. The only time I’ve seen him touch an electronic device is to issue a Council vote.”

  “How convenient.” And how smart, damn it.

  “The GPL has had a markedly lower profile the last year or so,” Scarlett added. “I think Krispin was really surprised when Jacoby voted against his proposal that we fast-track genetic sequencing of the organic materials that Lorin’s crew found in that capsule, up at the Isabella dig.”

  Organic materials? Genetic sequencing? “What capsule?” She’d heard about the lockbox Lorin had excavated last summer—advanced technology found next to ancient wild rice kernels, and still functional despite being buried for a couple thousand years—but a capsule containing organic material was news to her.

  It took long minutes for Scarlett to describe the discoveries that Lorin Schlessinger and her bondmate, Commander Lupinsky’s brother Gabe, had made at the Isabella dig last summer. In addition to the lockbox and the tech unit, Lorin and Gabe had also found the doomed Arkapaedis’ debris field, and a capsule, nearly two feet long, made of the same unknown metallic alloy as both the lockbox and the ship’s wreckage. Gabe, a geologist, had been taking alloy samples at Sebastiani Labs when he’d accidentally touched a hidden mechanism that opened the capsule, revealing vials of organic material stored inside. “Thankfully Gabe was working under a bio-hazard containment hood, because several of the vials were broken.”

  Wreckage from the ship? Unknown metallic alloys? Organic material, stored with obvious premeditation and care? Her thoughts whirled like a prairie tornado.

  “We can’t yet state with certainty that the Isabella finds are extra-planetary in origin,” Bailey said, “but that’s the working theory, especially given your culture’s oral histories.”

  Every child of their culture had heard the story of how a ship carrying their ancestors had crashed to Earth, leaving the marooned survivors fighting for their lives in the dead of a Minnesota winter. “What did you find? In the vials?”

  “Sperm and ova from nearly thirty individuals, representing all of our known sub-species.”

  Tia sagged back in the chair.

  “Mind-blowing, isn’t it?” Scarlett said.

  “Um, yeah.”

  Scarlett licked dip off the spoon with a flourish. “Sebastiani Labs’ Cultural Anthropology department has been in a tizzy for months.”

  “I can imagine.” Were their ancestors explorers? Tourists? Was Earth their final destination, or was the ship en route elsewhere? Was there even…someplace else to go? The prospect, and its implications about the existence of extra-planetary life and culture, boggled the mind. “Why store egg and sperm in a capsule?”

  “Survival,” Bailey said flatly. “A hedge against catastrophe.” She drew up her legs, crossing them. “Space is…indescribably vast. No matter how sophisticated their technology, I’d think that any travel over such long distances would have to be considered risky. If the size of the debris field is anything go by, it’s amazing anyone survived the crash, but—” Bailey shrugged “—the fact that you’re all here indicates that more than a few managed it.”

  Scarlett picked up the mug. “Even before we confirmed the capsule’s contents, Krispin wanted to fast-track genetic research, with his goal being potentially reversing the genetic damage that generations of in-breeding and lack of diversity has produced in his wolves.” She took a sip of the tea, wrinkled her nose, and set it back down on the tray. “Every Council member thought his proposal was far too aggressive. Even Jacoby voted with the majority to take a more measured approach.” She rubbed her lower back, shifting uncomfortably in the oversized chair. “I think Krispin might have throttled back on the GPL himself, opting for a lower profile while he considers his next move.”

  Tia wanted to ask where and how the materials were stored, but decided not to push her luck. The new knowledge she’d acquired this evening, knowledge she couldn’t share, was already unexpectedly weighty. No wonder Wyland looked so tired all the time.

  “Krispin might have throttled back, but the younger contingent of the GPL still meets regularly.” Antonia explained that the GPL had two major groups, with a hard age distinction. “The Hitler Youth met just last week, at The Ivy,” she added.

  Goose bumps pebbled her flesh. “Really?”

  “The Underbelly grapevine is pretty accurate.”

  Yes, it was. She’d used it herself, on many occasions.

  “Well,” Scarlett said, digging into the dip again, “I’m glad you’re staying at Valerian’s house for a while.”

  Antonia stretched full-length on the couch, draping her legs across Sasha’s lap. “That’s not all she’s doing at Valerian’s house. You go, girl.”

  “What do you mean?” What the hell was she leaching? Her muscles still ached from last night’s sexual exertions—quite deliciously so—but she thought she’d done an okay job disguising it.

  “Nice hickey on your collarbone.”

  “What?” Tia slapped at her neckline, giving t
he shirt a reflexive upward tug. No wonder Thane had looked at her so strangely when she’d passed through the kitchen earlier.

  Sasha gave her sister a shove. “Antonia, what have we told you about violating people’s privacy?”

  “Dude, it’s right there for everyone to see.” Antonia sat up, snickering. “Valerian must really be feeling better.”

  “Very funny.” Tia looked at Scarlett. All signs of hormonal upset were gone, replaced by avid interest. Hell. Maybe if she acknowledged it, admitted it out loud, she could kill two birds with one stone—distract her friend, and maybe get some insight.

  “It’s Wyland, of course,” Bailey said from Lukas’s big leather chair. “I thought you and Chadden had a thing?”

  She and Chadden enjoyed each other’s company occasionally, but… “It’s not like we’re dating or anything.” And it had been months since she’d slept with him, or with anyone else. Maybe her long sexual dry spell was the reason she couldn’t get Wyland out of her mind.

  “So, are you and Wyland—” Bailey gestured vaguely with her hand “—together?” Her fire opal bonding ring flashed in the light.

  “No.” They’d had sex, but they certainly hadn’t talked about their relationship afterward. They hadn’t talked at all. She’d dozed off, blanketed by his weight, but she’d woken up in the basement alone, with a huge towel draped over her body. “We slept together.” She gave what she hoped was a blasé shrug. “It was great.”

  Bailey opened her mouth, then closed it. Concern lines creased her forehead.

  “Bailey, he’s an adult. I’m an adult. We wanted to have sex, so we did.” She shrugged again. “No big deal.”

  “That’s what she said,” Antonia quipped.

  “Stop joking. It’s a very big deal,” Scarlett said. “Do you have any idea what a monumental occasion this is?”

  “That we had sex?” Tia asked. “People—animals—have sex all the time.”

  Scarlett lowered her voice, as if Wyland could somehow overhear. “He hasn’t slept with anyone in years.”