Her Lycan Lover

by Susan Arden

  “Are you from London?” the stranger asked.

  Sherry tilted her head at the sound of his accent. One she knew all too well. “Not too far. Berkshire.”

  “I’ve traveled there. Beautiful city… and women.” One corner of his mouth lifted.

  “You have a silver tongue. From Ireland?”

  “Guilty. Can’t be helped.” He spoke with an alluring undercurrent of an Irish brogue. It was like silk to her senses. Wiping his hand down his face, he announced, “Rain is coming.”

  “Good to know.” Sherry gazed into his piercing eyes for a millisecond, and then her stomach churned. A bigger sucker for a player from the UK did not exist in all of LoDo, but this gentleman suddenly made her feel exhausted.

  “I thought I felt a drop.” He smiled, and she forgot all about the weather.

  Another man appeared behind tall, dark and Irish, grimacing impatiently. “How about it?” he asked.

  Smiling back at her, the man winked. Her move. This she knew. Time to call a stalemate.

  “I’d better run.” Sherry called over her shoulder and walked past both men, shaking off an odd drained feeling, only to have a raindrop hit dead center on her forehead as soon as she cleared the overhead awning.

  “Great,” she muttered. That was as long as her interactions with handsome men lasted. Less than ten seconds on average.

  Outside the sun had all but disappeared, overwhelmed by blanketing clouds. The stranger’s forecast had been spot-on. The wind began to pick up, and she wondered if she’d make it to her car before all hell let loose. Jogging in stilettos was nothing new. At least she wasn’t hightailing it up a flight of stairs on a mission to deal with edgy shifters. She power-walked down the sidewalk. At this time in the morning the place was jumping, and if she wasn’t careful she’d be drenched.

  As she rounded the corner, a high-pitched whining bounced off the brick buildings which stood on either side of the alley where her SUV was parked. The pitiful whining grew louder as though she were getting closer to it. She scanned the pavement, seeing only cardboard boxes stacked next to a garbage can. She bent down, searching for what must have been a small animal about to be left out in the open and alone in a rainstorm.

  A dark blurring form skittered under her car. She gasped and dropped her coffee cup at her feet. The dark liquid splattered the front hub cap and her ankles, a puddle spreading on the pavement. Then she heard the whining again. She crouched down to get a closer look. Her eyes widened. A wolf pup?

  “Are you okay?” she whispered to the trembling pup.

  It cowered near a back tire. A silver tipped muzzle and glowing eyes stared out at her helplessly. Sherry cooed, holding out her hand. The young wolf inched toward her outstretched fingers.

  “That’s it. Come on, little guy.”

  The pup crawled out from under the car, his belly to the pavement and his head lowered. After clearing the underside of the car, the wolf shifted into a boy, no older than five or six.

  He held out his arms, opened his mouth, and began to sob. “I can’t find my mommy.”

  “Don’t cry. We’ll find her.” Sherry had less experience dealing with children than she did with men, but she took the child’s hand. This was going to take a whole lot longer than a few seconds, she was certain. When his spindly arms reached up and hugged her neck, her chest convulsed.

  “It’s going to be okay.” She picked him up, opened her car door, and grabbed her jacket to wrap him in it. Rarely had she witnessed a child shifting and here she had a young wolf in her car.

  “Please, help me.” His bright eyes met hers, and the feeling of falling hit her stomach. His lips trembled. “I can’t find her. I looked and looked.”

  Taking him to the authorities would mean he’d be held in custody at one of the decrepit shifter detention centers. She wasn’t proud of the fact that humans were less than efficient in learning how to humanely treat shifters who’d become part of the civilized world when a treaty had been signed, well over fifty years ago. Shifters had rights, though so far not equal to humans. Vampires had even fewer, but they’d learned how to deal from an invisible vantage point within government circles to get what they desired.

  None of that mattered at this moment, when the child let out an earsplitting howl. Sherry covered his mouth with her hand. “You can’t do that,” she said. “Understand?”

  He nodded his head and she removed her hand, wiping away his tears. “Where did you last see her? Is she getting coffee? There’s a shop around front.”

  “No. Last night. At dinner over there.” The child pointed to a café across the street. Closed now, but the twinkling lights were still lit around the garden tables out front.

  Sherry didn’t know why but the sense of dread grew stronger, twisting her stomach at the thought of giving him over to the police department. Just this once, she thought. A small matter to turn back time. A pinch of divining, a string of words to invoke the elements, and time would reverse. This was second level spellcasting for Pete’s sake. Nothing she’d not already mastered as part of the Sisterhood training.

  “There, there,” she said, ruffling his hair. “I promise we’ll find her.” When she glanced down at the small boy with tearstained cheeks, the incantation came to her immediately, as if it had been waiting on the tip of her tongue.

  She whispered the ancient words of the spell, holding onto the child’s hand. The sky darkened and grew darker still until shimmering stars sparkled. The moon tracked backward, all in the blink of an eye. The street beyond the alley grew busy, cars honked, and there were people walking along the sidewalk. Sherry turned to see the restaurant was packed but outside on the sidewalk a young woman in a pastel yellow dress pressed her hands to her forehead. She called out, “Dorian!”

  Sherry held onto the child. “Is she your mom?”

  “That’s her,” he said, scrambling to get free from Sherry’s arms.

  “Wait,” Sherry said. “I’ll take you over.”

  She set him back on the seat of the car. Dorian was dressed in what he must have been wearing the day before—shorts and T-shirt—and even Sherry stood in the clothes she had worn last evening.

  “Heavens,” Sherry said, glancing down at her arm. A leather satchel cinched across her shoulder and her blade was strapped to her hand. Quickly, she unlaced the sharp knife that Dorian stared at as though spellbound.

  “Is that yours?” the child asked. “It might hurt you.”

  “Yes. Not to worry. See? It’s gone.” She opened her bag and deposited the dagger. The boy must have gotten separated from his mother while she was doing the energy shield maintenance work as she now wore sneakers and jeans. Shuddering, she recalled the details. Now the whole sequence of time was off.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. The air cooled the sheen of perspiration on her skin. Her mind somersaulted, unable to figure out how turning back time would play out in the scheme of voltage patterns over the ley lines.

  “Mommy,” Dorian called out, breaking into Sherry’s mental ramblings. He held her hand as they crossed the street.

  The young woman turned and her mouth gaped at seeing Dorian. She cried out, “Dory, where have you been? Silly willy, I’ve been worried.”

  Sherry walked up to his mom. Concern was written all over the woman’s face. Something flickered about her. An energy beacon. Probably related to the unnatural time sequence.

  “He was lost. But no longer.” Sherry squeezed Dorian’s hand before she let go.

  “Thanks. He does this a lot. Gets a scent and then follows.”

  Sherry smiled in relief. “So long, Dorian.”

  His eyes gleamed black. An icy chill jetted up Sherry’s spine. He tapped a hand over his chest, blinking and smiling, his features changing while he spoke. “Thank you, Sherry,” he said in a voice that sounded altogether different… low and gravelly.

  Flashing a peace sign at the guards, Quinn swerved his car into the par
king lot, doing his favorite version of Tokyo drifting. Screeching tires, and he had the doormen shaking their heads as he slammed his brakes at just the right moment to bring the Veyron to a standstill. Another perfect execution of parking diagonally within two spaces.

  “Score six points.” Music pounding, his heart raced, and Quinn’s wolf desired nothing more than to be set free. Impossible, of course, as he was due upstairs. A shifter hootenanny.

  He stilled the urge to strip bare, sniff the air, and race up a sheer granite wall just outside the city. Tonight the Rockies would have to wait. He tempered his restlessness with deep breaths, studying how the sunset tinted the wrought iron spindles across the fence top in golden hues. Fiery, just like the hunger that filled him.

  A slow smoldering that never ceased. Centuries since he’d come to understand the truth about his Lycan existence and each year the flames of discontent edged higher. He had no clues why; it was the life he’d been given. Some spoke of curses, but he wasn’t a werewolf, for fuck’s sake. He was the only Lycan on site. The only Lycan in Denver. There weren’t many like him in the United States or the world.

  At least he controlled his shifting instead of being at the mercy of the lame arse gravitational pull of the moon. Hell no—lucky him, he had a gut twisting urge to contend with day in and day out. Or more like night after night.

  Quinn picked himself up and climbed out of his recent acquisition. Languidly, he unfurled his long legs and stood, surveying the sleek lines of the newly purchased Bugatti. He’d be damned if this one would leave the Den with a ding or scratch less than twenty-four hours from the Denver showroom. Unlike the old aviators he wore and refused to replace. He snatched them off his face the second his phone rang.

  “What’s up?” he asked, his mood contracting as the hairs along his body vibrated.

  “Your friend’s bachelor party. Simon? Ring a bell?” Sherry’s velvety accent caressed his ear and he smiled, glancing up into the clear sky, and toying with the idea of pretending he’d forgotten and had flown to Vegas. God, he loved to yank her chain.

  “You don’t say. That’s tonight?”

  “For once Mr. Rothschild I wish you’d pull your weight around here? Seriously, do I need to hightail it back to the club?” The Pentagon had nothing on Sherry Delacroix’s ability to launch fully loaded missiles.

  “Doll, don’t get your pants in a bind. I’m on site. You, though, are the one missing.” He knew she’d be gone by this hour. She was as predictable as cable TV. More than likely off to the gym as was her habit. No complaints given her body had a majority of shifters in the place panting.

  For the last month, he and Sherry took turns manning the Downtown Den while Shawn, his partner, was off on family leave. A federal law enacted and hell, the wanker took advantage of their corporate benefits. Tosser.

  Quinn pivoted on his foot, and strolled up the wide front steps. “Any problems today?”

  “None. Why do you ask?” Sherry’s normally creamy tone tightened.

  “I thought that’s how one pulled his weight. By asking pertinent questions. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Is that it?”

  “Uh, let’s not go there. Back to the party. Set up is complete and Sonya is doing guest check-in until you relieve her.”

  “That’ll be in about in a minute.” Quinn stopped by his office. Low and behold, Sherry had left a detailed list of numbers where she could be reached in case she was needed. A more professional manager he and Shawn could not have hired.

  “Still, you’re late.”

  “I see you left me a love note,” he commented, tossing his jacket across the arm of a chair. Unbuttoning his dress shirt, he scanned her to-do list.

  “I wanted to go over some things before I left this evening.”

  “Hit me. I’m all ears.” His wolf senses were alerted. Had been for the last week. He’d chalked it up to an overburdened case load. For the last two hundred years, he’d enjoyed lawyering. Not like the days when Jefferson and Madison came blazing into a court, but the law held his attention unlike most transient things in life. His family were all immortals. They were one hundred percent lycanthropes aeterna. For a two thousand year old being, he looked relatively put together. His hair was jet black except for the recent graying at his temples. Perhaps a sign of wisdom. Or not, considering the way he spent each and every evening.

  “If I only could, but I suspect you’d enjoy it,” Sherry snapped. “Everything is set upstairs. Staff checked in and you really pulled out all the stops. I don’t understand why the big hush on the guest list. Your friend plays for the Broncos. It’s not like Simon hasn’t visited us on many occasions.”

  “Different. This is the night before Simon’s wedding. Wouldn’t want his future bride to get wind of what goes down. Hold on a sec. I’m putting you on speaker.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m taking off my clothes. Would you rather we web cam?”

  “Don’t think so. Why not call me back.”

  “Jesus, Sherry. One bloody second.”

  “Dominating much? Fine. I’m in traffic anyway.”

  After changing shirts, Quinn picked up his phone. “I’m back. I see you’ve a full day tomorrow.” He walked along the hallway toward the backstairs, away from the main floor, and flung open the stairwell door.

  “Another day in paradise. Business is good, so you should be thankful. I’m just swamped. I don’t mean to sound like a tight ass.”

  He almost dropped the phone, envisioning her tight ass. “Can’t Sonya help with some of the running around? Deliveries?” His voice boomeranged in the passage.

  “Enough said. I’ll work on making adjustments. Things are getting busier around town. Had another visit by Nicholas Carrigan. Is he on the invite list for tonight?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Anything I need to know about?” He stopped walking. His cavalier mood evaporated.

  “He said he wanted to talk business. With you. With me, he was evasive. We don’t need another supplier to the restaurants. Mick said he’d catch you this evening.”

  “Mick? You’re on a first name basis with Carrigan? He’s… Just don’t talk to him.”

  “Hold on. Don’t think I gave him any info. I did not give him any impression that either Shawn or you were interested. That’s your call. It’s on the note I left you.”

  He hated the idea of any of Carrigan’s family near Sherry. Especially that dumb fuck. The whole lot of them believed they still owned and ran Denver. Could do as they wanted and that included murder and extortion. “I’ll take care of him. Other issues?”

  “Just make certain everyone leaves the premises in one piece. Can you do that at least?”

  “Sure thing. Consider it done.”

  “I’ll be there bright and early. Hopefully, the place will still be standing.”

  “Maybe we can have coffee. I’ll stick around,” he said, while listening to her breathy voice. He waited to hear her response, not sure why his heart hammered in his chest.

  “Uh, I guess so. But I won’t be insulted if you’re too pissed to keep your eyes open and need to go home. Don’t you have court in the morning?”

  “I don’t mind.” His pulse thudded. Whenever he came near Sherry, a quickening of his senses ensued. Even a simple conversation over the phone had his skin tightening. At that moment, his blood pounded in his veins. Damn if he wasn’t half hard.

  If just talking with her spiked his endorphins… He grinned at the thought of something more heated with his sexy manager. Even fully clothed, Sherry did something to him. But she was staff. Hands-off. Probably why he continued with his secret fascination for her. Since they had met, he was struck by a strange kismet. Ms. Delacroix would more than likely karate chop him if he tried anything with her.

  “Quinn, I don’t know how you do it. Take it easy,” Sherry said. A click followed and she was gone. Good thing. These parties were out of control and no place for someone like
her. Yeah, right. Did he forget, Sherry held male egos hostage? Shifters, humans, vampires were all at her mercy with her seductive smile and incredible curves. One petite human could bring him to his knees and she didn’t even know it. Well, fuck. Just his bloody luck.

  Right now, he had some business to attend to. He punched Sonya’s number into his phone.

  Sonya answered, sounding frazzled. “Quinn, you’re here?”

  “Yes. Of course. Why does everyone act like that’s a miracle?”

  “I don’t know. But listen, there’s a man asking for you. Mr. Carrigan?”

  “Carrigan.” He inhaled, the pressure in his temples building. The past was the past. His mantra. “Perfect. Where is Mr. Carrigan?”

  “Down here. At the bar.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Quinn turned around and headed toward the front of the club. The corridors were dim, recessed lighting emitted soft rays that reflected off the mahogany walls, and his footsteps echoed along the shiny marble floors. The Art Deco doors of the bar came into view. It had been five years since he’d had a visit by Carrigan. The last time he’d had his hands full helping Shawn and he’d had too much on his plate from his family business. He’d not acted due to a pact he’d made with the Justice Council in forging ahead on shifter rights and laws. He’d promised nothing hotheaded as was typical shifter behavior. His mistake. Never again.

  This time he had his wits fully about him. Going into the club, Quinn zoned in on the man seated at the corner with his back to the door. He wasn’t a fool. A mirror on the other side of the bar gave Carrigan a full view of the room. Quinn shook hands with some of the club members on his way to the bar.

  Carrigan turned to face him as Quinn looked in his direction.

  “Well, well. Quinn, looks like you could be running for office. Busy as ever.”

  “Mick, it’s been a while.” Neither of them stuck their hands out. There was no need for pretense. This would be short and to the point. “What do you want?”