“Yes?” She kept her tone clipped, playing the wary girlfriend part to the hilt.
“Ma’am,” his cheek ticked as he smiled shyly at her, “I’m Lieutenant Commander Osian Driscoll and I have some questions for you.”
From her preliminary notes, she knew the young Cathartine was relatively new to the squad, Brețcu’s second in command, newly promoted with an above average record. The dossier had been shorter on some of the more personal details but for right now, she had what she needed to handle this kid easily. “Call me Cora,” she offered with a tremulous grin and her arms wrapped protectively around her middle.
His questions were pretty standard, and she kept her answers to mostly truthful. They met in person tonight—and for the last few weeks, so far as anyone was aware—and went back to her place. She found out he was the prince later. She didn’t really pay attention to politics. Worrying caused premature wrinkles, after all.
For all the sharpness of his features and attire, his temperament was actually kind of sweet. He reminded her of a cuddly puppy, eager to do the right thing. His methods of interrogating were very casual, non-threatening which was impressive given his size. He loomed as a matter of fact, but he went out of his way not to be intimidating to her and she appreciated that.
His questions were brief overall, and she didn’t have a lot in the way of information she could share, so she played up her overall delicacy and daintiness. He seemed to take her exactly as she presented. All the better for her.
It’s hard when the cover you had to work with was yourself, or at least most of her. It was her burn identity, a last name of little renown locally, a socialite from out of town. It was all accurate, more or less, and held up to the deepest scrutiny because of its veracity. She even looked like herself, more or less. Opting to use a witch’s glamour as insurance because as much as she wanted to be herself as possible with Finn, this was still a treacherous assignment. She didn’t bear a lot of resemblance to her childhood self, but with the glamour, this was her, in as authentic a form as she could manage. He’d deserved that.
The only potential downfall would be her. Letting too much slip through would out her to the king and court in no time, and that’s the last thing anyone wanted. Still, this was as much of herself as she could give right now, so hopefully it would be enough.
“Finnegan. What the actual fuck, man?” Vasi’s supremely pissed-off growl reached her ears, bouncing off the glass nicely. “I can’t even tell you how many ways this whole thing is completely fucked but it’s an impressive number. I’d expect this from Brendan, honestly, but you?”
The deep sigh that followed made her toes curl. It was probably wrong that she could recognize his voice from a mere exhalation, but it wasn’t like she had a shortage of secrets she could take to the grave. “None of this was supposed to happen. I just came to see her and…” he trailed off on a heavy sigh and she watched him card his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“And that’s another thing!” The sharp tone in the Commander’s voice made her glance at the two men just in time to catch him snarling directly at her until her unrelenting gaze forced his silver eyes to the ground in front of her. Wuss. “Who is she?” he hissed with his face just inches from Finn’s. “What do you know about her? I have nothing on her in my files.”
“We were keeping it off the radar. She doesn’t want to be a public spectacle and frankly, neither do I. This was just something for the two of us.”
Damn if he didn’t sound sincere, he was surprisingly good at this. Cora exhaled so deeply she shrank two whole inches, not counting the heels. She’d been holding her breath waiting to see how that conversation would go, and he held up beautifully.
“Uh huh.” Not that she expected Vasi to buy into it, but it was enough to back him up a bit. “I’ll still need to check her out, of course.”
“Oh, of course.”
That was a cue if she ever heard one. “Sweetheart,” she purred as she slinked up to Finn, slipping a proprietary arm around his waist as she nestled into his side, “should I be worried they’re going to make off with my lingerie? You know I bought that little lacy pink thing for your eyes only…” And the way he slipped an arm around her and blushed at just the right moment felt like victory.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to get rid of this Corvid muistă?” Vasi asked the prince with a viperish grin.
“How’s about you mânca-mi-ai pizdă?” At his slack-jawed stare, Cora made a point to blink at him innocently with her head snuggled against Finn’s chest and kept her lips in a flirty pout, even if her words were filthy as hell. Under other circumstances, she’d snatch out his tongue, but that was not her role tonight. “I mean, since you know all about Corvids, I’m sure you’re aware of our facility with languages, no?” The wink wasn’t necessary, but the mortified red in Vasi’s cheeks and Finn’s subtle snort of laughter was worth it.
One of the flying monkeys from Vasily’s forensic team approached them with several small plastic bags in his hands containing bullet fragments and gods knew what else, followed closely by Driscoll. “Miss Westgate, I’m sorry, but it appears we’re gonna be here all night. Do you have a place to stay?”
Cora opened her mouth to reply, but it was Finn’s voice that responded, “With me.”
Vasi was suddenly struck with a fit of coughing, but the prince was unfazed as he turned to his friend. “She saved my life tonight, Vasily, and she didn’t have to. Having her as my guest at the palace is the least I can do.”
If he was going to challenge it, the Commander of the Night Watch clearly thought better of it. “Of course, Highness,” he clicked his heels with a deferential head tip. “As you wish.”
Chapter Three
VASILY
Vasily was fit to be fucking tied. Of course, he could not show that, watching over her shoulder as Finn’s curvă packed a bag for the night. It was difficult to pin down what bothered him about all this, but it was more than simply a matter of not knowing what was going on in the life of his best friend. It was something Cora Westgate-specific.
She spoke Romanian like a Slav. Like she learned it from a Slav. There was an accent there, something just to the left of center that set off more flags than a July 4th barbecue and it had his feathers ruffled and his talons dying to come out. He’d have to keep that to himself, though, because Corvids, though much smaller in size, were incredibly smart on the whole and vicious if provoked, not to mention the ability to rally more to her cause in an instant. It was one of their gifts. She wasn’t scared of an owl, and he’d bet money there wasn’t much that scared her at all.
A drive-by shooting, aside from how incredibly old school the method was, usually was cause for quite a bit of alarm, and yet, she’d been as cool as the other side of a pillow. Unbothered, unruffled to the point where he actually wondered if she’d taken fire before. She was too calm, and even as she played at being a flouncy little vapid side piece, her eyes, the way they slide from almost black to gold and back, told a different story, with longer words and a great deal more swearing. She knew something about this, a lot of something, and getting her to come up off that information was not going to come cheaply.
Watching her pretend to doze with her head on Finn’s shoulder, with her long legs thrown over his lap and his hand protectively on her thigh, it would have made for a cute picture if it wasn’t abundantly clear that something truly hinky was going on, and somehow, some way, this Corvid was smack in the center of it.
* * *
FINN
Pulling into the gates of the compound always felt a bit like a prison sentence, all guarded gates and intractable rules. It was a heavy mantle that settled over his shoulders the instant he set foot on the grounds. Yet, as he rode in the back of the Bentley with Cora snuggled up in his lap, he felt surprisingly peaceful.
It wasn’t appropriate, especially now since apparently someone wanted him dead, but the warm weight of her soft body curled up against his
shoulder, her strong thigh under his hand just below the hem of her skirt, they imparted a kind of peace on him that burrowed deep under his skin. This woman was dangerous in a lot of ways, but it was the potential damage to his heart that concerned him the most.
From the front seat, Finn heard Vasi murmuring to someone on his phone before he turned around with a somewhat bemused expression. “We have a welcoming party.”
“Do we, now.”
Given the late hour, the only ones who should have been up were the royal guards, so a welcoming party was neither warranted nor normal. He must have stiffened at his friend’s inference, since Cora stirred in his lap, whimpering softly as she turned her face into his neck. He shushed her with a kiss to her forehead as held her closer. It was hard to believe the warm woman in his arms, so soft and snuggly was the same one who’d shielded him bodily from gunfire and shot at his assailants.
“Tell me no one woke up my father.”
The King was terminally ill, a fact that hung over each and every moment in Finn’s life like a pall, and there was no need to get him out of bed for something as mundane as him being out without a minder. Especially since he was physically fine and none the worse for wear for the assassination attempt. His father’s fragile health was his motivation to seek the throne instead of his brother. To carry on his legacy in good faith as opposed to… well, otherwise.
Vasi shook his head as they rounded the final curve that led through the massive stone interior gate to the house. “Even weirder.”
Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed was the lithe frame of his dear older brother. Long black hair burnished with gold highlights from the streaky light overhead, he waited in a white undershirt and dark flannel pants over bare feet, looking more ‘average’ than he ever managed in daylight.
Brendan O’Casey was the face of House Lupine, the green-eyed cover model and the sexy heir to the throne. He got all their mother's looks and enough of her charm to be dangerous. Born to the spotlight, he was effortless in his manipulations of both the media and everyone around him. He reveled in his status as a ‘man of mystery’, banking on the royal mystique to smooth over any rough edges that occurred in his wake.
He guarded his true self like a cranky dragon, and honestly, it had been so long since Finn had seen it, he likely wouldn’t recognize it if it were in front of him. They hadn’t been what he would consider ‘brothers’ in a very long time. But this? Now? Brendan hadn’t really cared about him since BSB was around. The first time. It was one more shouting voice in a headful of them, not the least of which was Cora’s confident assertion at essentially gunpoint that the man in front of him, the man whom he loved as his family, wanted him dead. It was a lot to take in.
He fell on them the moment Vasi opened his door. “Thank goodness you're home.”
Ignoring his overbearing presence, Finn unfolded from the back of the SUV and then turned to hand Cora out of the car, holding her possessively to his side. “Is something wrong with Father?”
Brows drawn in confusion, Brendan shook his head. “Not at all, but I heard about tonight and I was very worried. Do you know anything about who might have done this?”
Almost out of reflex, his eyes cut to Vasi, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Now was not the time. “Not yet.”
“Well I know the Guards will look into this and keep us safe.” He smiled warmly at the waiting retinue before locking his emerald gaze on his brother. “I'm glad you're okay, Finn.”
This. This was the brother he remembered. Before their father fell ill, before everything went to hell between them. The level of affection he still held for this man was almost painful to acknowledge. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Brother.” Focusing his attention on the silent but watchful woman at his side. “Who is your friend?”
“Highness,” she murmured with her face downcast in an exhausted approximation of a bow.
Unsure if he should let her continue to speak or not, Finn tightened his hold on her to convey his intent as he replied, “I was with her when all this happened. She saved my life.
Brendan’s expression never wavered. If anything, his smile broadened as he took her in. “Well, then I owe her a debt of gratitude.” He dipped his chin to her deferentially, a move his older brother rarely practiced. Turning back to Finn, he held a hand out toward the door. “Tonight was such an ordeal. Why don't you head upstairs to bed and truly, I'm glad you're alright.”
Away from the strange interaction with his brother, Finn didn’t know what to think. The silence that followed them through the muffled halls to his chambers was offensive. This place was his home, had been his home his entire life, and this woman, who moved mutely beside him like a wraith, had, in the course of an evening, blown his whole life to hell. And he wanted answers.
As soon as Vasi drew the doors to his antechamber, he turned on Cora. “I need to know everything you do. Tell me who you’re working for.”
* * *
CORA
Returning to the palace had been hard on her, feeling like the air was slowly being pressed out of her the moment their car turned on the property, one painstakingly manicured tree at a time. She, too, had been raised here in this imposing stone compound, in the diplomatic wing, and the scent of her father was in every breath she took.
Her family and the O’Caseys went back to the beginning of time, practically, at least to the time of King Arthur. Their families had occupied Castle Bisclavret since its construction sometime in the 1100s. Initially built in Brittany, France outside the town of Carnoët, it had been moved to the New World a brick at a time to avoid the house of Valois’s penchant for hunting shifters. With all the history behind it, it was as much a prison to her as it was never a home.
Keeping silent and playing sleepy with the crown prince and then on the quick walk through the ground floor of the royal wing had been both her best plays and the easiest, lest she be recognized, and her cover summarily blown in spectacular fashion. This was now an infinitely more dangerous game, and any time her family was involved, intrigue and treachery were the default settings.
And all of that was before the masterclass in duplicity as performed by Brendan O’Casey. Prince Brendan, scion to a lineage of wolves that dated back to Sir Marrok in the court of King Arthur and the Faoladh in Ossory before that. Beautiful, beguiling, and as dangerous as any viper. Oh he’d poured on the charm when they’d arrived, all sleep-warmed and welcoming to hide the oily sheen of his rage. She’d seen his face when he laid eyes on Finn, lips pulled taut to bare the teeth, the vein between his perfectly manicured brows throbbing, and then it was gone, the expression ethereal like a mist. It was easy to see how he was able to fool people, but that didn’t make listening to him simper about his ‘concern’ for his brother any easier.
The room beyond the dark wood cloister of the antechamber was immense. Paneled walls lined with intricately patterned lead glass windows, the space was dominated by a recessed sitting area furnished in burgundy velvet mausoleum chic and a glistening black grand piano in the corner. She didn’t even know he played, at least it wasn’t a ready memory for her.
Wandering through the room, checking lines of sight from the windows and potential escape routes, she moved by rote, allowing her mind to wander. There was a lot they didn’t know about each other as adults, though that was by design, at least on her part. She’d studied him, as much as one could through media files and a prepared dossier from her crew of two skilled analysts and a few operatives, preferring as recent information as possible, to blot out the sweet, fragrant nostalgia of their childhood together here. It was all she could do to keep everything straight, and the consequences could not have been more dire.
This was just supposed to be a job, and now she was leading a drunk and clumsy wolf through a minefield that could easily obliterate them both. Still she supposed answering his question as best she could was only fair, given that their lives were so intimately intertwined.
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br /> “You suddenly hard of hearing?” He grabbed her arm, abruptly pulling her out of her musing. The steel in his voice was new, as was the cold look in his eyes, but given their location, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. “I asked you a question.”
Cora held up a finger as she shook off his grip, unflinching at the arctic chill in his blue eyes. Opening her valise on the bed, she immediately removed all the clothes before feeling around for a moment. Seconds later, she emerged with a small electronic device pulled from what appeared to be the false bottom of the suitcase.
Ignoring his unabashedly curious gaze, she toed off her shoes next to the bed and made a nearly silent circuit of the room with the device in her hand flashing with red and green lights. It was difficult to plant listening devices with Lupines, what with their advanced hearing, but it wasn’t impossible. Satisfied when the little black box remained silent, she crooked her finger at him to follow her.
“I was hired,” she acknowledged softly as she strode deliberately over to the sitting area and poured herself a tumbler of whiskey from the crystal decanter disguised as a globe side table, “to keep you alive.”
To his credit, he was right on her heels. “Hired by whom, and why?”
Perching delicately on the edge of a couch cushion, she sipped her drink. “Don’t know and given how we both ended up in your quarters tonight, I would think the second question would be obvious.” The whiskey burned on her tongue as she tracked him through the room with her eyes.
The wolf in him was restless, pacing, occasional huffed growls of annoyance and irritation as he stripped out of his sweater and returned from his wardrobe in white tank top undershirt over his jeans. It was wrong that the image made him even hotter. “Before that, though. You were hired before that. What was the threat to me? You said my brother….” It was clear from the tight set of his mouth that he couldn’t even bring himself to voice the accusation. “He couldn’t do this! You’ve met him! You’ve seen him!”
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