Deceit can be Deadly (Law of the Lycans Book 8)

by Nicky Charles

  Damien stared at him, then abruptly stood, his chair legs scraping loudly on the floor in the silence that had filled the room. He put his cup in the sink then stayed there, looking out the window, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. “Did I ever tell you, I despised Dante as soon as I met him? He looked at me and made some comment and that was it, hate at first sight. And now I find out he’s my father, that he’s just avenged my mother’s death.” He shook his head. “I’ve no idea how I feel or what the hell to do about it.”

  Chapter 31

  Dante stood by the window of his hotel room. He’d left Gwyneth at the Club. She was waiting for a delivery and then had to make the bank deposit. They hadn’t exactly parted amicably. She wasn’t pleased he was pushing her for more than just sex. As near as he could determine that was the norm in her life and, if he had his way, it wasn’t going to remain the status quo.

  In the meantime, he had some loose ends to tie up. He needed to contact Higgins. Yeah, that was going to be an interesting conversation. And a meeting with Damien was also needed, provided the boy would see him.

  Boy.

  He chuckled to himself thinking Damien wouldn’t appreciate the term, then sobered as he allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to actually be a father. To have watched his son learn to walk, to be called dad, to help him learn to ride a bike. Those experiences were lost forever. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get to experience them vicariously when the baby, his grandchild, was born.

  If he was allowed into their lives.

  His son deserved a full explanation. Plus, he’d like to tell Damien about his mother. And, of course, warn him about the curse. If there was a way to keep Damien from experiencing more heartbreak, he’d do his best to see it happen.

  There had to be a way to reverse the curse. He’d study the spells on his phone again, maybe even ask Gwyneth for some help.

  His phone rang and he checked the number. Higgins. Apparently, the director of Lycan Link was impatient to hear from him. The man might wish he’d waited once the conversation was over, though.

  “Hello Higgins.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

  “Aww. You miss me.” He blew a kiss.

  “Cut the comedy routine. I heard you took care of the malefic witch.”

  “The rumour mill has been busy.”

  “You have your sources. I have mine.” Higgins sounded entirely too satisfied with himself.

  His radar went on alert. What was Higgins up to? Some kind of double-cross?

  “I’ll arrange for the remainder of your payment to be paid into your account.” Higgins cleared his throat. “What are your plans now? Staying in the city for a while?”

  Yeah, Higgins was planning something. The director of Lycan Link was an ass but not an idiot. If Higgins sensed he was planning on cutting loose, it wouldn’t sit well. Putting the infamous Dante Salazar in detention would be a feather in Higgins’ cap.

  Dante pursed his lips. Smith was in town. The Enforcer had been a decent sort while they were working to bring down Cyrus but how far could he be trusted? After all those years at Lycan Link was Smith so entrenched in the culture of the place that he’d follow Higgins’ orders regardless of his personal feelings?

  It would seem the time had come to play his ace.

  He sat down, lounging back in his chair. “I was considering somewhere in the Caribbean. Have you ever been there?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “I had the impression you had.” Dante smiled. “By the way, Higgins, I’ve come across an interesting bit of information. It seems you have a substantial sum tucked away in a Caribbean tax haven.” The remark was met with silence and Dante laughed silently to himself. There was a perverse pleasure in making men like Higgins sweat. “Selling passwords to Lycan Link’s classified files must be a lucrative sideline.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Now if I told you, it would ruin the mystery in our relationship, wouldn’t it?”

  “You have no proof.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It was a minute before Higgins replied. “What are you planning?”

  “Nothing. For now. I’m simply pointing out I carry insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  He didn’t elaborate. Higgins knew damned well what he meant. “You’ve been treating me like your trained dog lately.”

  “That’s your opinion. I say we had a fair deal. Masterston’s name was cleared and you agreed to work for me.”

  “And I did but this was my last job.”

  Silence. When Higgins spoke again, his tone was ingratiating. “Of course, Dante. You’re a free agent. We have no hold over you.”

  “There’ll be no bounty on my head. No files suddenly being reopened. Damien’s name stays in the clear. If I go down or anyone I have connections to goes down, you go down as well. I’ve left instructions with my lawyer. If something should ever happen to me, papers outlining your activities will be sent to every member of High Council.”

  “But—”

  He hung up while Higgins was still sputtering.

  Well, that was one job off his list. Next was contacting Damien. He tossed his phone lightly in his hand wondering if he should call or go right to the pack house. Calling was the coward’s way and he knew it. Facing Damien and seeing the hatred in his son’s face wasn’t going to be easy though.

  During their first face-to-face meeting years ago, he’d purposely pissed Damien off with the intention of keeping the boy at arm’s length. It had worked. Too well. And it hadn’t helped that his role at the time had been exceptionally disreputable.

  He was pacing the room wondering what he’d say when there was a knock at the door.

  “Housekeeping.”

  He checked the peep hole and then unlocked the door.

  “Roxi?” It was his local snitch.

  She pushed a cleaning cart into his room. “Surprised to see me?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yes. I don’t recall giving you permission to contact me here.”

  “I’m not contacting you. I actually work here when I’m not with Magic Cleaners.” She looked about the room, then headed to the bathroom speaking over her shoulder. “This isn’t my usual floor. I only started here yesterday.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You deciding if you believe me?” She returned with the dirty towels, dumped them in the hamper and grabbed clean ones from her cart.

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose you could check with the management if you want, but I promise I’m legit.” She shrugged. “You shouldn’t complain though, I’m a much better cleaner than the previous one. She didn’t vacuum very well.”

  “Dust bunnies under the furniture?”

  “No. Magic spells under the bed.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket. “I found this yesterday. Sorry it ripped but the vacuum was already sucking it up when I caught it.”

  He took the envelope she offered and looked inside. A page from the grimoire he’d purchased was in there. It was torn in three, the edges tattered.”

  “You must have dropped the book or something and a page fell out.” Roxi suggested as she carried the clean towels to the bathroom.

  “Right.” He thought of the night he’d fallen asleep looking at the book. It had fallen on the floor, some of the pages scattering. He’d never thought to look under the bed. “Thanks for rescuing it.”

  “No problem.” She grinned. “Do I get an extra tip for service above and beyond?”

  He dug some bills from his pocket and she scooped them from his hand before he’d even counted them.

  “Roxi…”

  “You know you love me, Dante.” She grabbed a rag and began to dust.

  Deciding to ignore her, he moved to the table and tried to fit the pieces together. The text was still intact and he began to decipher the writing.

  Roxi walked passed and glanced down. “It’s a generation
al curse.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, a curse. Bad luck, that sort of stuff. This one is worded to last several generations.”

  He stared at the words. Was this it? The spell that had plagued his family?

  “You said several generations. Can you be more specific?”

  “Nope. It all depends on the phase of the moon.” She started to plump the pillows. “If the spell was cast under a quarter moon, it wouldn’t last more than a generation or two. Under a blood moon or a black moon, it could last for centuries.”

  He frowned and rubbed his neck staring at the piece of paper. “How do you know all this? I thought you were a demi-witch.”

  “I am. Not enough magic in me to boil water but my cousin is a full witch and she tells me stuff she’s learned.”

  “Would your cousin know how to reverse this spell?”

  “She might.” Roxi folded her arms. “What’s it worth to you?”

  He mentioned a sum that made her whistle.

  “Hot damn.” She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the paper. “I’ll show her this and get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Gwyn had finished taking delivery of a shipment of beer when she heard a key in the front door of the club. She left her office wondering if Dante had returned, though he’d pick the lock if he wanted in, the annoying dog.

  Surprisingly enough it was Matt. She checked her watch. “You’re way too early. We don’t open for hours. I thought you’d be busy getting caught up with your construction projects.”

  He shook his head. “I have a good crew. Everything was under control. And after being away for so long I thought I’d come in early and get reacquainted.” He slowly turned, surveying the room. “I missed this place.”

  She glanced around, taking in the familiar sights. Mystique had been a hole in the wall bar when she’d bought it. Since then she’d worked to make it a respectable club. Not too upscale but a place where you weren’t ashamed to be seen either. No drugs, good booze, a small but varied menu, music for those who wanted to dance, a close-captioned TV in the corner if you wanted to watch a game. She’d miss it when it was time to move on.

  “Anything interesting happen in my absence?” Matt walked over to lean against the bar.

  “You mean besides kidnapping, black magic and killing a malefic witch? Not much.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, that was a dumb question.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile crooked.

  She reached out to touch his arm. “In case I didn’t say so yesterday, I’m really glad you’re safe.”

  “Thanks.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

  She didn’t respond and he slowly pulled away.

  He cocked his head to the side. “It’s Dante, isn’t it?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “We’re not—”

  He held up his hand. “It’s okay. I thought maybe the reason you ended things was because you were trying to keep me safe.”

  “That was the reason, Matt. But,” she frowned. “In retrospect, I realize Cyrus encouraged me to let you go. He probably thought if we were split up, I wouldn’t notice your disappearance right away when he nabbed you.”

  “Perhaps.” He looked down and traced a scar in the wooden bar top. “I think we might have been coming to the end of our relationship anyway. For all that I said I didn’t want more, I think I’m ready to settle down.” He looked up at her, a sad smile on his face. “That’s not in your plans, is it.”

  “No. Not ever.” She reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I’m sorry, Matt.”

  He nodded. “It’s okay. You never promised more and I knew that. I guess it’s familiarity that made me start to consider you.” He took a deep breath and then sat up straight. “So, tell me about you and Dante.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  He tapped his nose. “Werebears have an excellent sense of smell. His scent is on you.”

  “There’s nothing between us. We slept together but that’s it.”

  “Same old Gwyneth. Never commit.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “And I’m sure you think they’re valid.” He took her hand and held it in both of his. “Just don’t hang on to those reasons too long or you might miss out on something good.”

  She arced a brow and he elaborated.

  “From what I saw of Dante, he’s a good guy. Smart, calm under pressure, sense of humour. I think you’d be good together.”

  “I can find my own companionship when I need it.” She pulled her hand free.

  “Is it because he’s a Lycan?”

  “I—” She paused and then gave a soft laugh. “I’d actually forgotten that.”

  Matt grinned. “Then we’re making progress. The unbudgeable Gwyneth O’Donohue has moved an inch.”

  She made a face. “Go. I need to make the bank deposit.”

  Several hours later the club was full. Servers moved from table to table, dodging dancers and taking orders with practised ease. Regular patrons were happy to see Matt had returned from his ‘vacation’ and Rudy appeared his usual self now that he was no longer worrying about the well-being of his cousin.

  Gwyn checked the crowded room once again and then scanned the line-up of people waiting to get in. No sign of Dante. She had played out this scene before. Last time he didn’t reappear for days.

  She pressed her lips together. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned their association. She’d expected him to come looking for her. That’s what usually happened in her relationships. Of course, Dante seemed to be a law unto himself. Take his ‘I don’t fuck’ statement this morning. Utterly ridiculous.

  A table near her emptied and she automatically began to gather the glasses. Could Dante have left town without even a goodbye? Her gut said no. On a whim, she set the dirty glasses on the bar and headed to her office to place a call.

  The switchboard at the hotel rang his room but all she got was his voicemail. Either he wasn’t in his room or he was ignoring her. She really needed to get his cell phone number.

  She drummed her fingers on her desk and then nodded. It wouldn’t take long to go to his hotel and see if he was there. After all, he’d been injured yesterday and she really should check his wounds were healing. Cyrus had been using an athame and there could have been some latent magic on it that might fester in Dante’s wounds. After telling Rudy she’d be gone for a while, she grabbed a jar of salve and some medicinal tea and headed towards Dante’s hotel.

  The cab ride was uneventful and soon she was knocking on his door. She could hear movement inside and eventually the door swung open.

  She stepped back as the smell of alcohol wafted out of the room.

  “Were you having a drunken orgy in here?”

  Dante shook his head. “Just me.” With a wave of his arm he invited her in and then made his way back to the bed where he flopped down, arm over his eyes.

  She entered the room eyeing his appearance. He was uncharacteristically dishevelled; his hair ruffled, stubble shadowing his jaw. His shirt was unbuttoned, his feet bare.

  “Is there a reason you’re pie-eyed drunk?” She walked over to the bedside table and picked up the bottle to read the label. Scotch. Lycan strength. Judging from the amount missing, it was amazing he could walk.

  “Not pie-eyed yet, just on my way.” He uncovered his eyes and stretched out his arm for the bottle but she held it out of his reach. She’d run a bar for too many years to give alcohol to someone who was obviously over the limit.

  “Well you’re not getting another drop.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Gwyneth.”

  “So I’ve been told.” She capped the bottle and set it on the dresser on the other side of the room. “What’s the occasion?”

  “It’s the anniversary of Carlotta’s death. My beautiful Carlotta.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed and his lashes suspiciously damp.

  Right. She recalled him mentionin
g it last night. And what else had he said? Something about love never forgetting? She frowned thinking how hard it must be for him, always reliving that day every year. And yet, she considered another point, wasn’t it a lovely tribute to Carlotta that she had inspired such affection.

  She walked back to the bed and eased down on the edge. “What happened, exactly?”

  He gave her a brief recount and she squeezed his hand. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s my fault she’s dead.”

  “From what you said, you did your best to save her.”

  “I should never have fallen in love with her. If I’d stayed away—”

  “You can’t know that. Most likely Cyrus would have still found her pack and used them.”

  “No. I’m cursed.”

  “You’re drunk.” She reached out to brush his hair from his forehead. Her hand then trailed down to his cheek, the stubble on his jaw rough against her palm.

  He leaned into her touch, his eyes drifting shut. “Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to check your injuries from last night to ensure they weren’t infected.”

  “I’m fine. Lycans heal.”

  “I’d like to see for myself.”

  “You just want your hands on my body.” He mumbled.

  “Of course.”

  “I’m going to sleep now. Have your way with me.”

  “I don’t ravish drunk men.”

  “Pity.” He took a deep breath and fell asleep.

  She shook her head and laughed softly then checked his wounds. They were almost healed but she applied a bit of salve anyway and then pulled the covers over him. For a moment she stood by the bed watching him sleep.

  His face was relaxed, the faint lines smoothed out. She thought of what he’d told her. When he’d initially told her his name, he’d said he’d been through hell; he’d been telling the truth. Poor man. He’d basically sacrificed his whole life for Carlotta. What must it be like to inspire such devotion?

  “Good night, Dante.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and then left the room, rubbing the vague ache in her chest where her scar was.