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The Wolf's Concubine

Page 4

by Erin St. Charles


  “I’m fine,” she said, squaring her shoulders and giving both men a hard stare. “Are we finished here yet? I’d like to get home.”

  The two men exchanged another look, and with it some communication Lola couldn’t decipher.

  “We’ve been investigating the disappearances of several women abducted from the red-light district,” Bubba said, pinning her with an assessing stare.

  “Have you?” Lola asked, trying her best to sound disinterested. Everyone who worked on Harry Hines knew about the disappearances.

  “Yes, we are,” said Bubba. “Did you know you fit the profile of the other abducted women?”

  “What profile is that?” Lola kept her expression neutral. She expected Bubba to say that the women had all worked in the sex industry, so she was caught off guard by his one-word answer.

  “Concubines,” said Bubba. He stared at her with avid interest, as if trying to gauge her reaction.

  “Concubines?” Lola parroted.

  “Yes," Bubba confirmed. "We think that’s why you were attacked.”

  Concubine records were kept only on paper, the better to protect the privacy of the woman— and the gods. There were no searchable electronic databases of current or past candidates. Applicants were not tracked electronically, nor were rejects like her tracked.

  So how did they know she had been a candidate?

  Bubba waited a beat before speaking again, watching her as if they were playing Texas hold ‘em. She stared right back at him. He was the first to break eye contact and she let out an involuntary sigh. She looked at Phelan, wondering what his reaction would be. Her face went hot when their eyes connected and she realized he’d also been watching her carefully for the entire exchange.

  It’s no one’s business but my own.

  She looked for censure in Phelan’s eyes, but his expression was as steady as it had been during the entire time she’d known him. The concubine system was not well-regarded. She realized she appreciated him in that moment, more than she wanted to, and for the first time in the two years since she’d left the program, her secret didn’t seem like a shameful one worth keeping.

  “Stay here,” Bubba told her, turning toward the door and grabbing the knob. Phelan stood like a statue with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes locked on Lola.

  Bubba paused, then gave Phelan a “seriously?” look, using a finger to jab the air in his cousin’s direction.

  “She’s staying," he said in a tone daring anyone to argue. "You’re coming with me.”

  Phelan’s shoulders sagged, but he followed Bubba, leaving Lola to sit and stew.

  Chapter 6

  Helen Castellano always started her day running.

  Even though she’d had no sleep the night before, today was no exception. Five AM on the dot she was up and steadily beating the nonslip belt of her mechanical treadmill with the soles of her trainers. Sweat trickled between her breasts and gathered on her upper lip, but her heart rate never rose above normal.

  Helen Castellano’s future dangled precariously between a rock and a hard place, and she had only herself to blame. Or rather, her ability to choose adequate minions to help her execute her signature special project. After last fall’s concubine handover debacle, she’d sworn off using any more of her changelings. The creatures were loyal to a fault, but less than intelligent. Until recently, this hadn’t been a problem. But that was before her little operation had been discovered.

  As Pantheon's Executive Vice President of Human Resources, Helen had complete authority over all aspects of the skin trade, most of which she turned over to her direct reports. For sentimental reasons, she preferred to see to concubine handovers herself. Her position also afforded her the opportunity to find the right captive brides to satisfy the buyer’s specifications. That had been her mistake-- getting too personally involved in the project.

  But she couldn’t do anything about the past. After the failed attempt to acquire Dolores Black, she’d simply moved down the list to the next viable candidate. While the shifter agency had been busy preventing Lola Black’s kidnapping, Helen had directed the changeling to acquire another suitable bride candidate. In a few weeks, the last bride would be transferred to Perdition, concluding Pantheon’s contractual obligation to the buyers. Instead of holding the woman at a secondary site, which invited potential disaster, she’d directed the changeling to hold the woman and keep her sedated near the portal in Perdition.

  Once this shipment was complete, she would have to dispose of the changeling— just to be on the safe side. The creature was extremely loyal to her, vicious when called for, but dumb as a bag of rocks. She was beginning to understand why the gods stopped trying to hybridize them.

  She needed to focus on the end phase of her project.

  After she showered, Helen's mind wandered over the details of the day and she pondered an appropriate outfit. Helen was not required to wear the uniform as most Pantheon employees were, but she thought it was a good management practice. She stood in front of her closet and rifled through nearly identical uniforms of leggings and cassocks. To the untrained eye, these were identical, but anyone with any sense of fashion and breeding could tell by the cut of the garments and the fabric the power she wielded.

  She chose a pale gray ensemble. It had tiny silver threads shot through the fabric, which brought out her silvery eyeshine— to those who could detect it. She wasted no time dressing and soon stood in front of her full-length mirror. She carefully applied cosmetics to enhance her pale white skin, her vivid blue eyes, and to set off her platinum blonde hair.

  She was ready to head to the office except for one thing. She needed to check on her eggs. Helen's father had gifted her with a clutch of changeling eggs the day she had joined Pantheon as a management trainee. He’d included instructions on how to keep them in stasis, hatch them, and how to get them to imprint on her. She kept them in a portable temperature-controlled cleanroom in the back of her closet.

  She opened the cleanroom box and studied her eggs. They looked exactly the same as they always had. It continually surprised her at how small the were. About the size of a robin’s egg, the green shells were lightly speckled with gold.

  Helen's clutch had originally contained fourteen eggs, one of which she had hatched over a period of weeks and regretfully had to terminate when the Julie Wheeler acquisition went sideways. Changelings were creatures of darkness, and the second one she had taken out of stasis and allowed to hatch was currently hiding in a sewer, waiting for Helen’s next command.

  She frowned, thinking of the loose end that was Dolores Black. It would be simpler, easier to move down the list of suitable women. And she may still do it, but Dolores Black was herself a replacement, and Helen felt she should at least try to recover the woman.

  The remaining twelve eggs were all still in stasis. Satisfied that the eggs were secure, Helen covered the portable cleanroom and stepped out of the closet. Everything was where it was supposed to be.

  She paused at her full-length mirror to appraise herself. She straightened her shoulders and practiced her smile. Friendly, but not too eager. Her countenance transformed her face from stern and icy to pretty and approachable. She relaxed her face, then smiled again.

  It was time to take the elevator from the penthouse to her office in the Pantheon building. She gave herself one last look, smiled a very human looking smile.

  "Showtime," she said to her reflection.

  Chapter 7

  Phelan puzzled over Lola Black as he steered his truck into the Dairy Queen parking lot and put it in park. He flexed his left hand, which was still bandaged after his encounter with Lola’s changeling-contaminated switchblade. Never had he considered his fated mate would stab him.

  He reasoned that Lola had been frightened of him, unaware of his motives, and therefore inclined to cut first, ask questions later. He really couldn’t blame her for not taking chances with her own safety, but the encounter still rankled him. What kind of a life
could he expect from this woman?

  After Lola’s interview, Bubba had cleaned and re-dressed the wound, told Phelan the creature’s blood had contaminated the cut, but that his shifter immune system would eventually heal the wound.

  Of course, this being Bubba, he had first given Phelan a hard time about allowing the tiny she-warrior to get the drop on him the way she had.

  “You may have met your match,” Bubba teased as he’d wound the length of gauze over Phelan’s hand and secured it with medical tape.

  Mate, not match, he’d thought.

  Phelan had given his cousin a baleful look and groused, “After I saved her, I would have expected a little more gratitude.” Phelan hadn’t looked Bubba in the eye, not wanting to betray his own mate-infatuated state.

  Bubba had raised an eyebrow at this. “Not everyone wants to be saved.”

  “But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  Bubba had scoffed in derision. “We’re here to protect, not save.”

  Phelan had held his hand out, flexing the joints and wincing at the pain.

  “Protect, save. Tomato, to-mah-to…”

  His cousin had been of the opinion that his shifter immune system would eventually heal the wound, but the contamination from the changeling meant healing would take longer than usual.

  The early morning sunlight slanted over Lola’s face. In the bright light, her dense Afro reflected various shades of brown, from almost black to deep auburn.

  Her head rested against the window, her eyes slightly open as she slept, but they popped open and she was fully alert when the car stopped. She jumped in surprise, eyes wide as her gaze skimmed over Phelan, then her surroundings.

  “You hungry?” He asked her, his face hovering mere inches above hers.

  “No, I’m not,” she said flatly. Although she already had her back to the passenger side door, she attempted to shrink even further away from him.

  Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

  “Yes, you are.” He grinned at her obvious lie, amused at her spunk.

  He steered them through the drive-through lane, where they ordered hot dogs and milkshakes. She’d left her blood-stained overcoat at the agency with the crime-scene techs. It might be possible to determine to whom the creature belonged through its DNA.

  Bubba had offered her one of his shock blankets to keep warm, but Phelan gave her his leather jacket instead. She was still wearing it, comically oversized as it was, and it pleased him to see her enveloped in his jacket. His scent would get in her skin like a scent-stain, and that pleased him so much he momentarily forgot about his hand.

  Phelan did not tell Bubba that Lola had triggered his mating instinct. He felt protective of her, and through the mating link they were starting to form, he could feel her dismay at learning they knew about her background as a concubine. Her eyes softened when they connected with his, but he could also sense her distrust. He could tell she felt the pull of attraction between them, but held back from pursuing it. He expected nothing less than skepticism and doubt from a former concubine who now worked in a brothel.

  He would have to convince her that she was safe with him, that he would care for her, and protect her until death. But first, he needed to keep her close enough to fall in love with him. Away from the life she’d known in Dallas, the creature hunting her, and the prying eyes of the other enforcers. So, he was headed to his parents’ old cabin in Perdition, where he could court her in privacy. Technically speaking, he should tell Bubba about finding his mate. But he rationalized the mating was none of Bubba’s business, and Phelan’s first duty would always be to his mate.

  The best part about the plan to take her to Perdition was that Bubba had suggested taking Lola to a safe house, at least long enough to determine whether the creature would come after her again. To Phelan’s surprise, Lola agreed to the plan.

  So now they were stopped in the parking lot of Dairy Queen. He watched her take a bite of her hotdog, depositing mustard at the corner of her mouth. He wanted to give into her pull, to get closer to her. Instead, wiped the bright yellow blob away with his thumb, wishing it was his lips instead. Her eyes grew big at the contact, then drifted closed, and she leaned slightly into his hand. A sizzle of lust exploded over his skin and a tiny mew escaped her throat. Then her eyes flew open with a start and she jerked away. He let his hand fall to his lap.

  He licked his thumb, put the car in gear, and pulled out of the parking lot. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she chewed thoughtfully and looked around the cabin of the truck.

  “How long until we get there?” Her voice was light and soft. Coaxing.

  He liked it. She hadn’t said much since they’d left the agency, and he wanted to hear her speak more. He kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel, knuckles white and his erection pressing hard against his jeans.

  “Couple of hours.” He kept his eyes on the road as they drove out of the city.

  She nodded, settled into the upholstery, and yawned.

  “You can take a nap, if you need one,” he said.

  “I’m okay, I’m not really tired.” Her jaw cracked on another yawn.

  “I can tell,” he said, amused, thinking she really was a contrary little thing.

  Five minutes into the drive, he wasn’t surprised to find she had fallen asleep.

  Lola had never been a good sleeper, the result of having been in foster care for so many years and not having any real privacy. The concubine dorms hadn’t been much better. It was hard to trust a large group of women, all of whom competed for the same few open positions.

  She was used to sleeping with one eye open and even when she got her own apartment, she couldn’t sleep without some kind of white noise to lull her. So, when she woke up in the cab of a truck, she was confused. Bright sunlight shone in her eyes. She blinked and looked around, shaking her head to gain her bearings.

  It took her a moment to remember she was in Phelan's truck. The vehicle had stopped and the cab was empty. Undoing her harness, she turned to look out the rear of the vehicle and saw what appeared to be a cable stretching from a fuel pump.

  They were getting fuel. But where were they?

  She looked around, uncertain of what to do next. It was quiet. Too quiet. No city noises. No bustling traffic of the town that never seemed to go completely asleep. They were parked at a crossroads, and each one seemed to stretch to the middle of nowhere. Two-lane highways, tall prairie grasses, and signs harkened to a rural location, reminding her of the drive from New Orleans to Dallas that she’d taken as an eighteen-year-old seeking a trade in the big city of Dallas, Texas.

  Where was this safe house he was taking her to? Based on what Bubba and Phelan had told her, she’d assumed they’d still be in the city. This was obviously not in the city. She felt her wrist for the thin band of her Omni and found it gone.

  Shit!

  Without her Omni, she had no idea where she was. Even more unsettling was the fact that she would have a hard time accessing her bank accounts, which she liked to check regularly.

  She could only guess the Omni was destroyed to prevent evil-doers from tracking their whereabouts. At least she had a back-up until she found out what happened to her Omni. She dug the old smartphone device out of her hobo bag.

  “What time is it?” she asked the device.

  The time is 5:04 am, the mechanical voice replied.

  “Where am I?”

  The device made a beeping sound as it pinpointed her location. You

  are in unincorporated Perdition, Texas. It then gave the longitude and latitude of her location, then told her she was about 150 miles outside of Dallas.

  Lola stared out at the prairie, a feeling of dread running through her. She did not agree to be taken out to the middle of Nowheresville, Texas. How had this happened?

  Phelan's image appeared in her mind. His piercing blue eyes that shone with tenderness. The constellation of freckles under his jaw that she wanted to kis
s.

  She inhaled sharply and his spicy scent lingering in the cab of the truck and on his leather jacket filled her lungs. She remembered the spark of awareness she felt when he touched her. Her body grew hot and her mind went to the sight of him after the attack. Specifically, his bobbing dick, which was long, thick and beautiful, and tasty-looking. Her skin began to tingle. She started to remove his jacket from where he placed it around her shoulders, and paused, thinking about how it felt when he had touched her skin-to-skin.

  Lola took a deep breath and reminded herself that she had goals. The fulfillment of these goals was not in Perdition, but in Dallas, and they didn’t include getting involved with a hot shifter, no matter how pretty his cock was.

  She took care of herself. She was in control of herself. Yet, here she was, spirited away unwillingly from the city, unable to easily check her bank accounts. She waited for the twinge of insecurity she should be experiencing in these circumstances. But nothing came.

  Her judgment must be clouded, she concluded. The attack had clearly clouded her judgment. Phelan had saved her life, so her subconscious had decided to trust him. However, she was no longer in danger and therefore, had no reason to leave her life in Dallas.

  Not the kind of danger you imagine.

  She shoved the thoughts out of her mind. She had goals, and they didn’t include Phelan. Self-reliance was the way to go. She needed to get back to Dallas. If she hurried, she could make her noon shift.

  “Does the Glide have a station in Perdition?” She impatiently waited while her smartphone thought about her question for a moment, then beeped when it had the answer.

  The Glide station is point seven-five miles from your current location.

  “Great,” she said to herself as she reached for the door handle. She could make it there in less than fifteen minutes.

  She peered at the convenience store a few yards away. That was the only place Phelan could have gone. Although, with the morning glare, she couldn't see inside the windows. Perhaps he was picking up snacks for the safe house.

 

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