He cursed and threw back the rest of the vodka in his glass before slamming it down on the bar. He looked up to find Dante and Kerry smirking, clearly amused by his obvious frustration with his mate. William sat up straighter in his seat, pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, and loosened his collar as they continued to study him through amused expressions.
“Man, oh man, have you got it bad,” Dante said, smiling. “Your foul mood wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’s been staying in a separate bedroom from you, would it?”
“Piss off,” William said as he kept his gaze fixed on Layla.
Dante was right on both counts. He did have it bad, and he was positively irked that she chose to sleep away from him. It wasn’t the lack of sex—although that admittedly sucked—it was the lack of her presence, and that was most unsettling of all. He missed having her next to him and feeling her heart beat in time with his, the steady pattern of her breathing as she slept… all of it… absent.
When she wasn’t with him, there was an empty space that only she could fill, and that was a new challenge. The only thing harder to accept was the fact that Layla didn’t seem to suffer from the same affliction.
“Yes,” he bit out. He glanced briefly at Dante and Kerry as he struggled to admit the truth. “I do have it bad, but she apparently doesn’t.”
“It’s funny.” Kerry laughed. “I never pegged you for a moron.”
“Excuse me?” William’s dark eyes flew to hers. “What did you say?”
“You can’t be so dumb and blind to think that she doesn’t love you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Can you?”
Kerry picked up her margarita and took a sip as she eyed him over the glass. William struggled with his growing annoyance, and if it had been anyone other than his friend’s mate, he would’ve told her to piss off too, but out of respect for his friend, he gave her a chance to finish.
“I guess you can.” Kerry made a sound of disgust. “She told me about how her mother went crazy and got all drugged up, and we heard about Raife and Tatiana’s mother too.” Kerry licked some salt off the rim of her glass. “You should’ve seen the look on her face when she heard what happened to my biological mother and Sam’s mother. I thought she was going to shift into her cheetah, run away, and join the circus.” She leaned one arm on the bar and put her drink down but kept her eyes fixed firmly on William’s. “Can you really blame her?” Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “How can you fault her for being afraid?”
William watched Layla as she took test shots of the band, and he couldn’t help but notice the growing crowd. Her energy signature flowed thick with confidence and comfort as she worked in her wheelhouse and snapped pictures furiously. Every now and then, there would be a blip in her energy waves, and he knew it was from whatever psychic impressions she was getting through the digital shots.
It was the first time since Rosie’s attack that she seemed completely comfortable.
“No,” he said quietly. “I suppose I can’t.”
“She’ll come around.” Kerry stood up from her stool and gave William’s arm a squeeze. “But it has to be on her terms, William. If you push her, she’s just going to bolt.”
Dante stepped aside so Kerry could get by but gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as she escaped his grasp. William watched her walk over to Layla and whisper something in her ear before heading to the ladies room. She was right. Intellectually, he knew she was right, but his brain was overrun by his heart… and other parts of his anatomy.
“I spoke to Malcolm,” Dante said between sips of beer. “He and Samantha are headed back to the farm, but Raife is staying at the hospital again.” He glanced at Layla. “Malcolm said Rosie has made some progress, and they’re easing back on the sedation. She may be out of it by tomorrow.”
“Good,” William murmured. “Perhaps she’ll be able to tell us who attacked her.”
William could feel Dante’s eyes on him, studying him, while he in turn tracked Layla. “What’s on your mind, Dante?”
“You sure do have your hands full with Layla.”
William’s eyes flickered briefly to their clan form before latching onto Dante’s. “What does that mean exactly?” he asked in a low, deadly tone.
Much to his surprise, Dante burst out laughing and slapped the bar twice between guffaws. William looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. Red-faced with tears streaming down his cheeks, Dante wiped at his eyes as the laughter subsided, but William looked no less confused.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled as he swiped at his eyes. “I just never thought I’d see the day that you’d be undone by a woman.” He let out a long sigh and took a pull of his beer. “I meant what I said. She’s a handful, man. And believe me, I know what I’m talking about because Kerry is the most spirited woman I’ve ever met, and my life will certainly never be dull with her.” He wiggled his eyebrows, but his smile faded when William remained unamused.
“Layla, Kerry, and Samantha want to confront Bianca in front of the rest of the Council. Their theory is that if the three of them call Bianca out for hiding hybrids, then it will rile up any Purists that might be on the Council.”
“Interesting,” William murmured. “What are your thoughts on this?”
“I think they’re absolutely right.” Dante took another swig of his beer. “If we go there with our hybrid mates and tell everyone what Bianca’s been up to… I can’t imagine that the Purists in the room will remain silent. We kill two birds with one stone. Layla gets to take Bianca to task, and we get our enemies to show themselves.”
The band broke into their first number with ear-shattering volume, and William instantly sought out Layla. She was down in front of the band, shooting from every angle she could get amid the swiftly growing dance mob and groupies. The bass beat thrummed through the small bar, and the wispy energy waves of the humans buzzed around the room like annoying flies that he couldn’t shake. In the middle of it all was Layla—as beautiful, elusive, and wild as ever.
As lead attorney for the Amoveo Corporation, he had direct ties to the Council and the prince. Attending the meeting wouldn’t be an issue, but he knew that the subject matter was likely to generate nothing but trouble. However, if it would give Layla peace of mind and resolution to speak with the Council, then he would do it.
“I’ll set it up.”
Dante stilled and kept his sharp amber gaze on William. “You’ll set what up?” he asked warily.
“The meeting.” William’s dark eyes locked with Dante’s. “We will take our mates to the Council and see if it gives us the results we’re looking for.”
“My sister, Mariana, took my father’s place, and she’s expressed concern about certain members on the Council. I don’t think she knows what to make of it, and since she’s new, she doesn’t say much in or out of the meetings.”
William watched as Dante struggled with the unpleasant memories and steeled himself against his rumbling energy waves. He still blanched at the fact that his own father had been a Purist and had tried to kill Samantha. William couldn’t imagine dealing with that kind of betrayal.
“I can’t believe she’s on the Council.” Dante shook his head and let out a short laugh. “She’s always fighting against the grain, y’know. The party girl who never wanted to grow up.” He sighed. “And now, she’s seated on the Council representing the Bear Clan.” He shook his head. “It’s bizarre.”
“Does she know?” William asked above the music. “Does she know about what Brendan—your father—did?”
“No,” he bit out. Dante’s jaw clenched, and he took a swig of his beer. “She thinks he died trying to protect Samantha, not kill her.”
William made a small sound of understanding but silently wondered if that impacted Marianna’s overall feeling about the hybrids. If she thought her father died in an effort to p
rotect one, would she embrace their existence at all?
“I do have one lingering concern,” William confided. “Since Layla and I haven’t completed the mating rite, our powers aren’t as strong as I would like them to be.”
“You don’t even have to ask.” Dante cut him off before he could say another word. “We’ll have your back, just like you’ve always had ours.”
“Thank you.” William shook his hand firmly. “I’ll confirm the meeting time tomorrow.”
“What meeting?” Kerry asked as she draped one arm over Dante’s shoulders. Her dark eyes widened as she realized exactly what he meant. “Holy crap! We’re gonna do it. We’re going to the Council.” She threw her head back and let out a lusty laugh. “I freaking love it.”
“Good God, woman.” William’s brow knitted together in confusion as he watched Kerry’s reaction. “Can you please tell me what on earth is so funny?”
“You, that’s what.” She leaned over, snagged her drink off the bar, and took a sip. “A few weeks ago, the idea of stepping outside the box of your three-piece suit would’ve been totally unheard of. You were so uptight, if I shoved a lump of coal up your butt, I would’ve gotten a diamond in return.” She raised her glass in his direction and looked him up and down. “Now here you are, in a pair of jeans, no tie, hanging out in the middle of a loud hometown bar, planning on taking three hybrids into a Council meeting so your mate can confront the woman who’s been meddling with her life, and provoke any Purists to reveal themselves for the prejudiced bastards they are.” She let out a hoot, planted a kiss on Dante’s cheek, and grinned at William. “You, my friend, are finally likable, and you owe it to that spunky chick with the camera.”
“She’s right.” Dante stifled a laugh. “But I always liked you… most of the time.”
“Ah, bullshit.” Kerry bumped him with her hip. “You tolerated him, but now you like him.” She winked at William. “Just kidding, tough guy.” She grabbed Dante’s hands, pulled him out of the seat and up against her long form. “Come on, lover. It’s time to dance.”
William watched them hit the tiny dance floor, and memories of his dance with Layla came flooding back in living color. He reached to her with his mind, an instinctive reflex, but found that same mental barrier solidly in place. He cursed under his breath and flagged down Joyce for another drink. He had to do something to put out the combustible force of desire and frustration.
Joyce complied with a wink and made quick work of his drink, but before he could take another sip, a vaguely familiar tendril of dark energy slithered into the bar. William’s entire body tensed, and he instantly sought out Layla.
She stood in the midst of the crowd, but instead of shooting pictures of the band, her camera was aimed at the front door. She remained frozen in the throng of dancing bodies, the camera glued to her hands, her eye placed firmly at the lens, and her finger on the trigger. Her energy waves pulsed like rapid machine gunfire and hammered at William with vicious intensity as she kept her sights fixed firmly on her subject.
In a blur of inhuman speed, he cut through the crowd, and seconds later was standing at her side, along with Dante and Kerry. With one hand placed gently on her lower back, he sent her subtle waves of reassurance as he looked up to see what had her so transfixed.
Anger flared as his suspicions were confirmed. Sylvia Clark was back.
***
The shadowy tentacle of unpleasant energy had skittered over Layla and grabbed her by the throat with record speed. She knew it was Sylvia, but it was stronger, denser than it had ever been, and she’d picked up on it faster than ever. Layla had instinctively turned with her camera, poised and ready to shoot, but nothing could’ve prepared her for what she saw, and for the first time, heard through that lens.
Frank Clark. Red-faced. Screaming. Menacing. Physically restraining his weeping, pleading daughter by the shoulders. You’ll do as I say, or we both end up in prison. Backhand smack across the face. Blond hair whipping through the air. Screams… and then… nothing.
The deep bass of the band pumped through the bar, and the sweating bodies writhed around them, blissfully unaware of the private feature Layla had just witnessed. She lowered the camera with shaking hands. Her breath came in short, thready gasps, and the only reason she wasn’t passed out on the floor was because William had somehow gotten to her side. He was holding her up, physically and mentally.
What did you see? William’s soothing baritone floated into her mind, but she couldn’t answer him because she was too fixated on Sylvia, who was staring right back.
Layla struggled to fight through the lingering violence of the vision and leaned against William’s strong body as she watched Sylvia walk directly toward them. His arm linked around her waist easily and held her against him. Layla, what did you see? He asked again, pushing her to answer him.
Layla glanced up and sucked in a shaky breath as she opened her mind to him again. Her father smacked her around pretty good, and she’s terrified. She turned to Dante and Kerry, who had sidled up to her right, and looked primed and ready for a fight. Their energy signatures hummed and pulsed around her in a protective manner. She’s a bitch, but she’s harmless.
Kerry hooked her arm around Dante’s waist. I doubt it. She’s psychic. I can tell by her energy signature. She arched one eyebrow and threw a quick look in Layla’s direction. And don’t even try to tell me you haven’t suspected it.
“I agree with what Kerry said.” Dante exchanged a look with William. Her energy signature is definitely not normal for a human. She’s not a hybrid, but she’s got something beyond a typical human.
Layla heard them loud and clear, and based on William’s energy signature, he’d heard them as well. As Sylvia got closer, Layla saw faint red marks and what looked like a bruise on her left cheek, obviously left over from where her father smacked her. Her large blue eyes, usually filled with disdain, were round with fear as they flicked around the room nervously.
She stood in front of them, looking and acting nothing like the cold-as-ice woman she’d always been. Huddled up in an oversized sweatshirt, she wore no makeup, and she’d definitely been crying. Her blond hair, usually coiffed to perfection, was thrown up in a hair clip and looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days. Quite frankly, she looked like a hot mess.
“I have to talk to you, Layla.” She sniffled and hugged her arms tighter over her breasts. Please. Her tear-stained eyes flicked over all four of them, and she nibbled on her lip. There’s something I need to tell you.
When Sylvia reached out to them with her mind, Layla’s jaw dropped, William’s body tensed, and Dante and Kerry cursed out loud. Sylvia was telepathic? What the hell? Before Layla could formulate any coherent response, telepathic or otherwise, Sylvia was making a beeline for the door at the back of the bar that led to the enclosed courtyard.
God, I love being right, Kerry teased as they followed Sylvia through the white-paneled door and out into the crisp, fall evening. In the warmer months, the courtyard would be buzzing with customers and the occasional DJ, but since it was so chilly out and a band was playing, it was empty, except for the two smokers hanging by the door.
Sylvia brushed past them, pulled the hood of her sweatshirt on, and headed for one of the leaf-strewn picnic tables to the far right of the courtyard. She slid onto the bench and squished herself far into the corner. Back to the weathered picket privacy fence, she eyed them intently as they sat down. Layla sat next to her, leaving as much space as possible between them. Dante and Kerry slipped into the other side, and William grabbed a lone folding chair and positioned himself at the head of the table.
Their amped-up energy signatures mingled with the brisk wind as it whipped around them and blew leaves onto the table. The only sound was the muffled music coming from inside the bar. They stared blatantly at Sylvia, and it was a moment before anyone said anything. Wil
liam, seated ramrod straight with his hands folded serenely on the table, was the first to break the silence.
“You’re full of surprises, Ms. Clark.” His voice seemed unusually loud now that they were no longer amid the music and din of people. “I suspected that there was more to you than met the eye, but I must admit—I wasn’t expecting telepathy.”
Her eyes grew rounder. “You heard me too?” She looked from William to Layla. “I only thought you’d be able to hear me, like Raife can.” She shrugged and shook her head quickly. “Or could anyway.” Her gaze lowered to her hands, and her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I haven’t spoken to him that way for a long time.”
“What?” Layla shouted and looked wildly around the table at her equally surprised friends. “What the hell are you talking about? What is going on?” Her heart thumped in her chest, and her hands curled into fists, ready to pummel her into the ground, if she didn’t come up with answers pretty damn quick. “Start talking.”
“My father,” she said through a shuddering breath. “My father is responsible for Rosie’s attack.” Her blue eyes, rimmed with tears, latched onto Layla. “He’s to blame. He’s to blame for everything.”
Layla’s head was spinning. Frank Clark attacked Rosie, and Sylvia was throwing him under the bus for it?
“Wait. I don’t get it,” Layla said. “Why would your father beat up Rosie? It doesn’t make sense. If he really did this, why on earth would you give up Daddy dearest?” She looked at her with blatant suspicion. “You don’t do anything that he wouldn’t approve of. I mean, you broke Raife’s heart and ditched him at the altar to please your father, so why tell us something that you know will land him in jail?”
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