by Anna Lowe
She cleared her throat and fiddled with the camera settings, trying not to peek in his direction. Not that it would reveal much. Sergio had that Secret Service look down to a science. Aloof. Intense. Deadly. Or was that a shifter thing?
Either way, he always seemed to know when she was about to glance his way. It was only when her gaze strayed over to him by accident that she caught that yearning, wistful look he let slip sometimes. Did he want her as much as she wanted him?
And, yikes. Was that a shifter thing too? She’d never felt such constant, smoldering desire, along with an intense urge to settle down with a man. Forever.
But that was exactly what her mother had warned her against, right? Letting an irresistible stranger sweep her off her feet. One who could turn into a Big Mistake.
“This fountain is too small. I want to go back to that big one,” Amber complained.
Lena looked around. They were at the Fontana del Moro. Bernini had sculpted one of the statues, and it was over four hundred years old. Not good enough?
“This is a really famous fountain,” Lena tried.
Amber didn’t look impressed. “I like the other one better. What was it called again?”
“Trevi Fountain,” Lena murmured, snapping another few frames.
“I had a great idea. I can wear a white T-shirt and get wet.”
Not in Rome, you can’t, Lena nearly said, but Amber was already on to another idea.
“Or, wait. Maybe a red dress. Red is sexy. Provocative. Or even better — let’s go to the Colosseum. Gary can’t miss that message.” Amber’s eyes glinted.
Lena could see it now: Amber in a sexy dominatrix outfit altered to make her look like a female gladiator.
“You have to wait hours in line to get into the Colosseum,” Lena pointed out.
Amber’s brow furrowed. “I’ll see if I can get Vicente to pull a few strings. Anyway, how’s this?” She stuck a leg up on the edge of the fountain, letting her skirt fall back to reveal pale thighs.
“Um, good.” Lena snapped another few pictures. “How about a quick break?”
Amber pulled out a pocket mirror and checked her makeup. Lena reached for the water bottle in her backpack, but when her hand brushed against her faux diamond, heat flared through her, and she froze.
“Ready for a few more?” Amber called, not really listening, as usual. “How’s this?” She tugged the sides of her too-low blouse apart, exposing even more flesh.
Basta! Lena wanted to shout. Enough!
But Amber had no concept of enough. Not when it came to making her ex-lover jealous or promoting herself. Besides, Lena had worse problems than that. Her skin itched, and her bones creaked exactly as they had before each time she’d started to shift.
“Dammit…” she muttered. Not now. Please.
Amber frowned. “What’s the matter? Don’t I look great?”
Sergio snorted under his breath — so quietly, Lena doubted anyone would have heard. Not even her, except that her hearing was twice as sensitive as it had been before she’d started to shift. Now, she was picking up sounds she’d never heard before, like the whine of a passing van’s cooling fan and the low bubble of water draining from the fountain.
“You look great. I just need to get the light right,” Lena hurried to say.
That was a fib, but hey. She couldn’t exactly say, It’s my fingers. I think they’re starting to change into claws again.
Something tapped at a corner of her mind, and she looked up to find Sergio there in his usual dark suit, tailored to every powerful line of his torso. The man looked sinfully good. Sinfully hard, too, with those tough-guy eyes and the firm set of his lips. Badass as anything on the outside. On the inside, he was caring. Warm, even. Soulful. All the things a man couldn’t hide, not when they were revealed through his eyes.
“So, I was thinking we could shoot at the Vatican in three days, when I’m free again,” Amber said.
“Sunday?” Lena said doubtfully, flexing her hands.
All good. All good, she lied to herself.
Surely, she could handle this. She could handle anything. At least, she could pretend to.
Concentrate on your fingers. Picture yourself human, Sergio had said.
“Sunday is perfect. More people can watch me pose.” Amber fluttered her eyelids. “And I hear those Swedish guards are really something.”
“Swiss Guards,” Sergio muttered.
“Whatever.” Amber waved a hand, unconcerned.
Meanwhile, Lena’s skin felt drier and tighter by the minute.
“Please, not now,” she whispered. Not in broad daylight.
Still, her fingers continued to elongate, and her nails sharpened into claws.
Thank goodness Sergio stepped up, blocking her from view. Amber, meanwhile, jabbered away without noticing a thing. “I could wear white…”
“You’re okay,” Sergio whispered to Lena. “Look at your fingers. Concentrate there.”
She was trying. But, crap. The skin on the back of her hands grew tough and leathery.
She gulped for air. “I have to get away from here.”
Sergio’s voice was clipped and growly. “Concentrate. Picture yourself as a human — one body part at a time. Start with your fingers. Here.”
He cupped her hands, and gradually, her racing pulse slowed.
“Oh, I could wear a crucifix,” Amber babbled on. “A big one, like Madonna.” Did she even realize they were ignoring her?
“You’re in charge, not the other part of you,” Sergio whispered.
Lena nearly snorted. That other part of her had claws, a snout, and a tail. How the hell was she supposed to control that? The more she thought about it, the more it freaked her out.
Luckily, Amber started flirting with a man who’d catcalled her then strutted over for a selfie. Apparently, he thought Amber was a genuine star.
“You’re the boss, Lena,” Sergio murmured, rubbing her shoulder.
And, wow. Maybe Sergio wasn’t just part wolf. Maybe he was a wizard too. His words worked magic, making her feel like she really was in charge — not just of her body, but of her world. Her destiny, even.
“Good. Now lock your beast back in its cage.”
Let me out, a voice growled from deep in her soul.
“Ignore it,” Sergio hissed as if he’d heard. “It will have a chance to come out later. But right now, it has to behave.”
“Are you coming?” Amber whined, having exchanged phone numbers with her new friend.
“Just a second,” Lena called in a wavering voice.
“Show it who’s boss,” Sergio went on in that low, sandpapery, I believe in you tone. “Nothing — no one — controls you. Not the moon. Not your beast. Not anyone.”
Lena closed her eyes, letting those words echo through her mind. But that took her to a frighteningly dark and lonely place, so she looked up again — directly into Sergio’s deep, intense eyes.
You’re the boss.
Her pulse slowed, and the insatiable itch of her skin faded.
I’m in charge, she told herself.
Amazingly, it worked. Her fingers remained fingers, her skin went back to its normal texture, and the voice in her mind grew ever fainter. She blinked a few times, then straightened.
Wow, I did it, her smile must have telegraphed.
Sergio grinned back. I knew you could.
She took a deep breath, feeling stronger than ever. Excited, even. Maybe being a shifter wasn’t so bad. Maybe she really could figure it all out.
But then Amber squeaked, bursting Lena’s short-lived bubble of calm.
“Vicente!”
Sergio whirled, putting his body between Lena and the man prowling up to them.
Vicente kicked at a street cat that yowled and raced away. A dozen heads turned at the sound, and Vicente grinned. He pulled out his cigar and met Amber with what had to be a huge, smoky kiss.
Yuck. Lena winced.
Amber didn’t seem to mind, tho
ugh. In fact, she went with it, and soon, the greeting turned into a groping, exhibitionist, hug/lick/kiss that invited everyone within a hundred-meter radius to have a long, close look.
Check us out, their movements crooned. Look at how good we rich, beautiful people have it.
When Amber looked up from her overt display, she winked at the camera then glanced at Lena as if to ask, Did you get that?
Lena moved her finger over the buttons on her camera, pretending she had.
Vicente fingered the ruffle around Amber’s cleavage. “Looking good, pulcina. Too bad I can’t stay long.”
Amber pouted. “But Big V, you said…”
Lena’s eyebrows jumped up. Big V?
Vicente covered Amber’s mouth in a rough, careless gesture than made Lena wince. If this was Vicente in a good mood, how dangerous was the man in a bad mood?
“No time, pulcina.” He puffed on his cigar and held up his phone. “Work.”
Amber crossed her arms as if to deny him the wondrous sight of her tits. “You’re always working.”
That’s how you pay bills, Lena nearly murmured.
“Bella, don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you. This weekend. On my yacht.”
Amber clapped like she’d won a game show and threw herself into another hug. “Your yacht? Absolutely!”
Greed shone in her eyes, while Vicente… Lena looked away from the disturbing combination of self-absorbed machismo, lust, and thirst for power. In a way, Vicente and Amber were a perfect match, but Lena shuddered to think of how the inevitable breakup would go. Did Vicente allow women to break up with him, or did they fall victim to convenient accidents?
Amber cooed and clapped with her latest, greatest idea. “Can I bring my photographer?”
The blood drained from Lena’s cheeks. Vicente treated women like playthings and acted as if he owned half of Rome. How bad would he be aboard his own floating kingdom?
Sergio made a cutting motion behind Vicente’s back — as if Lena needed the warning.
Vicente shrugged. “Sure. Bring anyone you want.” Then he split into a grin and turned to Sergio. “I might even invite you.”
Sergio’s face went rock hard, and a tic pulsed in his cheek.
“I have a previous engagement,” Lena tried.
Vicente snapped around, making her feel like a deer in the cross hairs of a high-powered rifle. “Change it.” His voice was cold and commanding, cutting right into her bones.
Lena froze. God. What to do?
Sergio stepped forward, and when Vicente turned to him in challenge, the tension in the air skyrocketed.
“Don’t be silly,” Amber laughed, clueless as ever. “Vicente will pay double. Won’t you, baby?”
Lena racked her brain for a way out. But how?
Vicente turned back to her, wearing a huge, fake smile. “Two thousand euros. Per day. Cash.”
Lena’s stomach roiled. Vicente’s words were a proposition designed to belittle her and to provoke Sergio. Any woman in her right mind would have spun on her heel and stomped away.
But a little devil might as well have appeared on her shoulder, whispering, All that cash…
Four thousand euros would allow her to devote a month — two, even — to work she really cared about. She could take long, epic walks in the city and out in the countryside, shooting photos. It would give her the chance to put together a proper portfolio and follow up on a few leads as well. She could even be picky about who she licensed her photos to. Small nonprofit organizations didn’t have generous budgets, but she would be able to put principles ahead of money for a change. And who knew? A picture was worth a thousand words, and her photos could help critical messages get through. They could inspire people to think. To vote. To take a stand for what was right.
So, really. How hard would it be to endure a few more days with Amber? Lena could keep a low profile, cash in, and then get the hell out. Some activists risked going to prison for causes they believed in. Surely she could manage a weekend on a luxury yacht?
Sergio’s eyes flashed. Don’t even consider it.
But she had to. And, really — did Sergio understand what she might accomplish as a result?
No. Absolutely not, Sergio’s hard look said.
He was just looking out for her, but somehow, her hackles rose at that. She was her own boss, right? A strong, independent woman, not one who waited for the approval of handsome strangers.
“I’ll do it,” Lena announced.
Vicente flashed a smug, I know you would look.
A bitter taste filled Lena’s mouth, but she gulped it away. Fine. Let Vicente think he’d won. All he would gain were more pictures of his pulcina — little chick. Lena would earn the means to pursue something truly worthwhile and make a mark on the world. Even if it was a modest mark, it would be worth it.
Amber wound her arm through Vicente’s. “Perfect. Let’s call it a day, then. I need to go shopping, and then I need to pack for the yacht. I’ll be in touch.”
Lena watched them go, avoiding Sergio’s eyes as long as she could. Finally, when the others were gone, Sergio shook his head bitterly. Obviously, she’d let him down, and that hurt.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he muttered.
She bit her lip. No, she didn’t, but she had her reasons. “This could be the break I need. My chance to make a difference.”
Sergio sighed wearily. “Soldiers say that when they head into battle, but all they come back with are scars — if they come back at all.”
A chill crept through her veins, but she stood her ground. “This is important.” Then she flapped a hand, trying to strike a flippant tone. “Anyway, you don’t have to come.”
He jerked his head in a clear no. “If you go, I go.”
His voice was sharp, uncompromising. Sincere, as if he were making a vow — one he’d fight to the death to keep.
She gulped. For her?
“Please understand. I have to go,” she whispered.
A long, awkward silence stretched out between them. One marking what felt like a momentous crossroads, though Lena wasn’t sure why.
Then Sergio kicked the ground and nodded glumly. “You’re the boss.” He sighed. “You’re the boss.”
Chapter Six
“Benvenuto a bordo. Welcome aboard.”
Sergio scowled as a hostess greeted the next batch of guests boarding Vicente’s megayacht. There were more arriving by the hour, and everyone looked suitably impressed by Audace.
Audacious. Sergio snorted. Leave it to Vicente to come up with a name like that.
The yacht was everything Sergio despised — and envied — about wealth. Audace sported every luxury a man could imagine and many he never would have dreamed of, like a two-person submarine. That was in addition to a fleet of jet skis, a helicopter, infinity pool, elevator, SCUBA gear, a floor-to-ceiling fish tank with a reef shark, and — well, a lot more. If Vicente actually enjoyed and appreciated those extras, Sergio would even have been okay with it all. But Vicente was like Amber — everything was aimed at showing off, not at living life well.
Sergio stared into the inky waters of the bay. God, he hated boats. He hated the ocean.
Visions of an anguished face and frantic hands filled his mind. His father had drowned — make that, been held underwater until he drowned — by his own identical twin, Sergio’s power-hungry uncle. And seven-year-old Sergio had witnessed the whole thing.
Which begged the question — what was he doing here?
Protecting Lena, his wolf growled.
That, and the fact that the Guardians had assigned him a second task: to learn more about Vicente’s mysterious VIP guest for the evening.
There’s trouble stirring, Dante had said. I can feel it in my bones.
Normally, Sergio wouldn’t have taken the old dragon too seriously, but the fact that Vicente had openly invited him aboard the yacht — flaunting his immunity, almost — didn’t bode well.
; Sure, check my yacht, my mansion, my private helicopter. I challenge you to find any dirt on me.
Sergio frowned. The dirt was there. He was sure of that. But Vicente had it all hidden under layers of concrete.
Sergio gripped the safety rail. What he wouldn’t give to have Marco as backup. But Marco was flying patrols, guarding against the ever-present Lombardi threat.
“How’s this?” a shrill voice rang out.
Sergio gnashed his teeth. That was Amber, posing for the camera — again. How did Lena find the patience to work with that self-centered bitch?
They were on the aft deck, where Lena dutifully aimed the camera at Amber in the fifth photo session of the day. A very long day on a yacht bursting with places for Amber to pose in. Lena had already captured an entire series of shameless bikini shots and endured a session of Amber sporting a captain’s hat while practically humping the ship’s wheel. Then there was a wetsuit session in which Amber had zipped the neoprene suit halfway up her torso, capturing those oversized, artificial tits in a vise grip and presenting them for the world to admire. How Lena hadn’t lost her lunch, Sergio didn’t know.
Then there had been a sitting-at-the-bar-in-stiletto-heels session. And now, this. An evening-wear photo shoot featuring Amber in a dress cut low where it ought to have been high — her cleavage, which Sergio had really, really seen enough of — and high where it ought to have been low, like her thighs.
Lena, on the other hand, was eye-catching without trying to be, in her purple blouse, sand-colored capris, and a pair of matching sandals. An understated kind of chic that none of the overpainted beauties clambering aboard Audace could match.
“Yoo-hoo, Vicente.” Amber blew a kiss through her Botoxed lips.
Vicente barely nodded from his phone as he emerged onto the aft deck, flanked by a pair of nubile young hostesses. Each wore a perfectly blank expression, though their sticky-sweet scents made it clear they’d been rolling in bed in a steamy threesome with their boss not too long ago.