by Juniper Hart
A swell of emotion overtook her, and she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest.
“Woah, what’s this about?” Marcel asked in surprise, his hand reaching up to stroke her silken tresses.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she murmured against his skin. “Just let me go back to New York to tie up everything there.”
“Emily, look at me,” he said tenderly. She raised her head, blinking away the tears forming in her eyes. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want. You didn’t ask for this, but we’re a team now. If you want to go back to New York to stay, we’ll figure out a way to make it happen.”
Even if I have to step down as Alpha to do it. She read his thoughts clearly and painfully, and she almost reeled back, gaping at him.
“You’re not giving up anything else for me,” she said. “I’m coming to you.”
They stared uncertainly at one another, neither sure exactly how they were going to meet a happy compromise at that moment. Yet in those minutes, Emily was sure that no matter where she ended up, she only wanted to be with Marcel.
You missed out on eight years with him, she thought. Eight years when you didn’t even know how much you were missing. I won’t make the same mistake again.
“Seriously, though,” Marcel said, staring down into her face. “Are you going to get ready so we can go eat? I’m starving.”
“Right. Operation Emily Bait commencing,” she agreed. Marcel snickered in response.
Marcel found a quaint Italian restaurant on the outskirts of Salem for dinner, and Emily glanced at him speculatively.
“Italian is my favorite,” she told him. “Did you know that?”
“Officially, no,” he replied, unfolding a napkin to put it on his lap. “But you really loved lasagne and spaghetti nights at my place.” Her eyes widened appreciatively.
“You remember that?” she demanded.
“I remember a lot of things.” A warm tinge touched Emily’s face, and she looked down at the menu nervously. Her eyes popped when she saw the prices.
“Geez,” she muttered. “These are New York prices.”
“Stop looking at the prices,” Marcel instructed. “It’s my treat.”
“It better be,” she joked. “I’m going to be unemployed soon.” She heard the sadness in her voice as she spoke and winced. “Ignore me,” she said before Marcel could speak. “I’m pining for smoggy air, overpopulation, and a cost of living that will break 85 percent of the population.” She grinned wryly. “You may not believe this, but I actually hate New York.”
Marcel arched an eyebrow in disbelief.
“It’s true!” Emily insisted. “It’s a terrible city, but it’s exactly what I wanted when I was a kid. I wanted to get out of Salem and lose myself in a huge city where no one smiled and everyone was expendable.”
“That may be the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard,” Marcel commented. “How did that work out for you?”
“I’m a tiny minnow in an ocean, so I got what I thought I was looking for.”
“Wasn’t what you thought, huh?”
“Is anything ever what you think it will be?”
The waiter approached their table with a bottle of pinot noir and poured the glasses before they continued speaking.
“I believe that some things are better than we expect,” Marcel answered enigmatically, picking up his wine glass. Emily followed suit, and they toasted lightly.
“To things being better than we expect,” she said lightly before taking a small sip.
“I think you’re the one who told me that we’d get through this together,” Marcel added, placing his glass back on the table. “And I happen to think you’re very wise.”
“Ha!” Emily scoffed. “You need a better prophet than me.”
“I don’t know. I’ve known a lot of people in my life, and you’re the only one who ever broke me out of detention for an interview.”
Emily laughed genuinely. “God, I was so stupid. Why didn’t you turn me in back then?”
Marcel stared at her pensively. “Maybe I appreciated your boldness. Maybe you were cuter than I told you I thought you were. I don’t know. You were no threat to anyone.”
“Funny how things change, isn’t it?”
“You’re not a threat to anyone now, Em. You’re actually less of a threat now than you were back then. You’re one of us now.”
A rush of excitement flowed through her as she thought of what that meant for her. It was true that over the years, she’d noticed small differences in herself, but until Marcel had told her why, they hadn’t seemed that big of a deal. Suddenly, however, her improved eyesight, sense of smell, and hearing meant so much more.
And one day, I might shift, but even if I don’t, I will give birth to shifter children. She was sure her face was crimson. Children. I’m thinking about children with this man already. How is this happening?
But it didn’t feel too fast, too rushed. It felt right, like all the stars had aligned and she and Marcel had always been meant for one another.
“When do you need to go back to New York?” Marcel asked, rousing the question that he’d likely been sitting on for hours.
“The sooner, the better,” Emily answered.
“We’ll leave tomorrow on the first flight,” he said matter-of-factly. Emily blinked at him.
“Are you sure you can leave so soon?”
“The club is closed until Thursday night. Do you think we can be back by Wednesday so I can deal with the books for this week before Snaz has a heart attack?”
“Do Lycans get heart attacks?” Emily asked dubiously, and Marcel howled with laughter.
“There’s not much that will kill a Lycan,” he confided. “But that’s not exactly dinner conversation. Tomorrow, we’ll discuss business. Tonight, let’s pretend we’re a normal couple enjoying each other’s company.” A warm smile touched Emily’s lips.
“No need to pretend,” she assured him. “I’m enjoying your company fully.”
“Good,” Marcel said, reaching across the table for her hands. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
9
Marcel looked at the boarding pass in his hand and then at his watch. He knew he’d just done that, but he felt like the time was not going anywhere.
“You’re making me antsy,” Emily told him. “Stop doing that.”
“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. “Is it just me, or is time going backward?” She gave him a long look.
“You don’t like flying!” she realized with a gasp, and he chewed on the insides of his cheeks. Was he that transparent? “Why didn’t you say anything?” Emily demanded.
“Because I’m coming with you, whether I hate flying or not. This doesn’t change anything.”
Over the intercom, a nasally voice announced that their flight was boarding just as Emily’s phone began to ring. Her brow furrowed curiously.
“Hang on,” she said. “It’s Greg.”
“Go ahead.” Marcel watched as she stepped aside, pressing a finger into her open ear to block out the sound of the airport. He looked around reluctantly.
Wolves and airplanes do not mix, he thought. It’s not just me. It’s every wolf. The fact that Emily isn’t fazed only proves that she was turned.
“Okay, thanks, Greg! Yes, I’m on it!” Emily was saying as she stalked back toward him, her eyes bright. “I’ll do that right now!”
“What’s going on?” he asked. She looked at him in nearly palpable excitement.
“I’ve got another interview with the senator’s mistress!” she squealed. “Patricia Hutton finally resurfaced. We’re staying.” Her face fell. “Please tell me we can get a refund on the tickets.”
“Nevermind the tickets,” Marcel said. “How did this happen?”
“She reached out to Greg, begging him to let me come back to Salem to interview her. She claimed she got cold feet. She thought I’d left Oregon already.”
“She didn�
�t email you, though?”
“Honestly, I haven’t checked since I’ve been at your place. I’m looking now.” Her dark strands of hair fell over her cheek as she peered at her inbox. “Yes! See? She emailed me yesterday…” Her face twisted into a look of confusion. “That’s weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“It’s probably nothing,” Emily said quickly, scrolling through the email. “She probably used spell check or something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She always spells ‘receive’ wrong. Not here.” Emily raised her head, a faraway look on her face.
“Em?”
“Hm?”
“Is something bothering you?”
“No, no,” she insisted. “I was just thinking about why she had a change of heart.”
“Are you having a bad feeling about this?” Marcel demanded. “Because you need to trust your gut, not only as a journalist, but as one of us.”
She scowled slightly. “Marcel, this could open doors for me all over America. If I get this exclusive…” She sighed and smiled. “I know it’s your job to worry about me, but I’ve got this. This was happening even before Gabriel surfaced.”
A peculiar sensation tickled the back of Marcel’s neck, and he gritted his teeth. She’s brushing off the fact that this doesn’t feel right, and I can’t fight her on this.
There was only one thing he could do: his job.
Sammy didn’t seem overly impressed about being back in Salem, and he made his indignation clear.
“I feel like this is a wild goose chase, Emmy,” he grumbled, and Marcel felt slight jealousy at the pet name.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Emily told Marcel, the pink in her cheeks displaying her anticipation. “I’ll message you when I’m on my way back.”
“Okay,” Marcel said, barely looking up from his phone as they hurried toward the entranceway. As soon as the door closed, he jumped to his feet and rushed after them. He waited until the van was safely out of the drive before hopping in his BMW and following them through the back roads toward the house where Patricia Hutton was apparently staying.
Something about this reeks, he thought firmly. I shouldn’t be following her, but if something happens and I’m not there… His foot fell heavier on the gas, but just as quickly as he had found their trail, he lost them again. I should have gotten the address before they went, he thought, though it was irrelevant. He would just track Emily’s phone if he didn’t pick up the path again.
To Marcel’s chagrin, he didn’t locate the van, and he groaned to himself for losing them as he pulled over on the I-5, determined to find his lover. Instantly, the GPS picked up Emily’s location, and he was on route again, finding himself on a residential street. The van was parked in front of a small yet graceful house, but neither Sammy nor Emily was in view.
Marcel parked behind the van and waited, his pulse quickening as he watched the house for signs of movement. He saw nothing through the lace curtains. It looked like Emily had gotten her interview. He knew he should feel good about that, but the nagging in the back of his mind wouldn’t be silenced. On a whim, he sent a text to Emily.
Hope you’re having a good interview!
He stared at the delivered message, waiting for the “read” tag to appear. It didn’t, and he sighed in resignation, drumming his fingers over the steering wheel impatiently. The urge to burst into the house was overwhelming, but if he was overreacting, he knew how that would look to Emily.
And if you’re right and did nothing… He decided to compromise. Twenty minutes. I’ll give them twenty minutes, and then I’m going in.
If he thought waiting at the boarding gate was excruciating, the twenty minutes was torture to the nth degree. But as the clock hit the mark, Marcel almost leaped from the car and raced up the walkway to the house. He paused, his heart racing as his nostrils flared to inhale the scent of fear permeating the air around the door.
It was all Marcel needed, but as much as his body longed to rush the door in his full Lycan form, he didn’t shift. He could smell mortals beyond. With all his weight, he kicked in the front door and steeled himself for what he was about to walk into.
Sammy lay in an unconscious pile near the door, his camera equipment strewn about on the tile floor in pieces. Marcel dropped to his knees to check his pulse and exhaled with relief when he realized that the thin man was still breathing. He raced through the house, yelling for Emily, and when he reached the basement, his heart stopped at the sight of blood pooling on the floor.
“Emily!” he choked, flying down the steps toward the crumpled form on the floor. Her head was stained in red, but her hair had once been blonde before the fate of death had consumed her.
Upstairs, Marcel heard a dull thud, and he was on the main floor, ready to shed blood. As it turned out, the noise was only Sammy sitting up and attempting to orient himself.
“Where is she?” Marcel roared at the discombobulated photographer. “Where is Emily?” Sammy stared at him with a dazed expression on his face.
“W-what?” he mumbled. “What?”
“What happened? Who did this?” Marcel yelled, even though he had a good idea exactly who was responsible.
“Two men… blond guy… little guy…” Sammy slurred. “As soon as we walked in—oh, my God! Where is Emily? Is she…? Where is she?” It was clear to see that Sammy had no idea what was going on.
He needs a hospital, Marcel thought, and that woman needs a coroner.
“Who is that woman in the basement?” he demanded, reaching for his cell phone. Sammy blinked several times.
“Emily?” he whispered. “Is it Emily?”
“No,” Marcel barked as the phone rang to 9-1-1. “She was a blonde.”
“Patricia Hutton,” Sammy said dully. “This has to be the Senator. The Senator did this.”
Maybe, Marcel thought grimly. Or maybe Gabriel came and took the one thing I swore to protect.
Detective Eric Colvin from robbery/homicide pulled him aside.
“It’s Gabriel,” Marcel muttered under his breath to the Lycan cop. “And he’s taken a hostage.”
“Is she a hostage, or is she one of them?” Eric demanded. “There are rumors circulating that he’s just trying to claim his females.”
“He doesn’t have any females to claim!” Marcel hissed in disbelief. “He has no rights to anything, least of all Emily Piper.”
Eric eyed him with interest. “Do you have a special interest in the reporter?”
“Yes,” Marcel retorted. “She’s a member of my pack.” Eric was taken aback by the information, but he kept his face impartial.
“All right. Well, I’ve got a BOLO out, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. You know how elusive Gabriel’s pack can be.”
“Can I go?” Marcel yipped. “Or do you have any more philosophy to share with me?”
Eric glowered. “I’m just telling you to be realistic.”
“And I’m telling you that you’re useless,” Marcel countered, spinning to leave. They had found Emily’s cell in the house, so tracking her phone would be useless. There had to be another way to find her and Gabriel.
Blond guy and a little weasel. Sounds like Gabriel and Aiden. His phone rang as he made his way out to the car, and he snatched it up with false hope. It couldn’t be Emily.
“Hello?”
“Did something happen to Emily Piper?”
Marcel inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. “It looks like Gabriel got her, Landon.”
The silence spoke for itself, and for a moment, Marcel was sure Landon had hung up.
“You better find her before that psycho does something he can’t undo.”
“I’m working on it, Landon.”
“Don’t tell me I assigned the wrong person for the job,” Landon said coldly.
“THIS IS NOT A JOB!” Marcel roared. “I’ll keep you updated!” It was he who disconnected the call, and he sat in the car with shaking hands as h
e tried to get his head on straight. He needed to go to the hospital and talk to Sammy, see if he remembered anything at all. It was a long shot, but it was the only one he had.
For eight years, the Council of Seven had been trying to track down Gabriel and his pack. What chance did the youngest alpha wolf have if Enchanted beings with literally thousands of years more of experience couldn’t catch Gabriel?
The difference between me and Landon Burke, Marcel told himself, is that finding those bastards will be my only job until Emily is back where she belongs—in my arms.
Landon stared at the disconnected phone in his hand, a bemused smirk on his face.
“What happened?” Lane asked, noting his expression.
“The bad news is Emily Piper has been kidnapped by Gabriel and his pack, it seems,” Landon sighed, his jaw locking slightly as he spoke.
“He wasn’t watching her?” the Council witch demanded, her face twisted in shock.
“He was, but they still managed to get Emily,” Landon replied.
“What’s the good news, then?” Lane wanted to know, a dubious expression on her face, as if she didn’t believe there could be any good news following that.
“The good news, my dear Lane,” Landon drawled, smiling and winking, “is that your spell seems to have worked.” Her green eyes widened.
“Really?” she asked in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Landon answered. “The turned females will find their mates thanks to your spell—as long as they can stay alive long enough.”
10
All Emily could see was black all around her, but she was sure she wasn’t unconscious anymore. Still, her eyes were blocked, and when she raised her arms to move the obstruction, she realized she was bound.
