What the hell had she done?
Six
What in God’s name had he done?
Nic left the apartment in self-defense, like the proverbial rat, only what he’d fled wasn’t a ship; it was his engagement, and it wasn’t sinking. It had just gone up in flames.
“Holy hell.”
Just what had he thought he was doing, issuing his mate those sorts of ultimatums? Was he out of his mind?
Completely, he acknowledged, pacing down the sidewalk with long, angry strides. He had no idea where he was going at the moment; he just needed to get away from the mess he’d created of his own life. He knew he’d just screwed up on an epic scale, and he even had a pretty good idea about why—it was all Sass’s fault.
The minute he got within ten feet of his fiancée, he lost his ever-loving mind. He didn’t know how it happened; he just knew that one minute he was a sane, logical, amiable fellow and then his mate appeared and in an instant he became a jealous, irrational, possessive, controlling Neanderthal nightmare not sufficiently evolved to beat his own chest or pick his own ass. All he could do was bellow at the cause of his insanity, as if raising the volume on his inane ranting would make it sound any less ridiculous. How had this happened?
Just at the moment, he would have been perfectly content to blame the whole thing on Rafael De Santos, the absolute bane of his existence. Nicolas had never had a nemesis before, but the head of the Council had just won the title in a single round of unanimous voting.
It had started at the engagement party.
Nicolas had been on guard before that, of course. He’d known before Preda Industries ever made the decision to relocate its headquarters to New York—a purely practical decision based on the city’s position as de facto center of the business universe—that the Council of Others would not likely roll out the welcome mat for an influx of Tiguri. He had planned to remain civil, though, to prove to the Council and its head through his actions that he had no interest in and no intention of wresting control of the paranormal community from the hands of those currently in charge. Nic had enough on his hands, between running the company and starting a new phase of his life, complete with a mate and the new family they would start together. Why would he want to get mixed up in politics? As far as he was concerned, they were a thankless endeavor. He’d much rather concentrate on making money and cubs. He knew he was good at one and had no doubt he would thoroughly enjoy the other.
At the party, though, De Santos had set Nic’s downfall in motion by the simple and seemingly innocent fact of his conversation with Saskia. While Nic had been occupied by another guest, the slick werejaguar had moved in and engaged his mate in a seemingly idle conversation, all about how pleasant the party had been and how pleased she and Nic were that De Santos could attend. Nic had heard the words, but more important, he’d heard the tone within them and his attention had immediately snapped from an important business acquaintance to the woman at his side and the way the eyes of Rafael De Santos had raked over every inch of her lovely form.
The fierce rush of jealousy had startled Nic. He’d wondered at himself, not previously having experienced such an intense feeling of possessiveness over any woman, and although Saskia had agreed to become his mate, they had yet to form any real bond between them. That was supposed to come later that night, after they were alone. And naked. He had tried to tell himself not to act like an idiot, that he had nothing to worry about, but then the Felix had smiled at her, and Nic had seen the predatory heat behind the charming gesture, and he had known he had every reason for his jealousy. De Santos had all but devoured Saskia with those damned yellow eyes of his, and Nic had seen the moment when she became aware of it. He’d drawn her closer and attempted to diffuse the situation by deflecting the other man’s attention to himself, but he suspected now the plan had backfired.
Very few people had paid attention to De Santos flirting with Saskia. She was a guest of honor, after all, and the head of the Council had a reputation as a notorious Romeo. People almost expected a little bit of charged banter; but when Nic stepped in, the dynamic changed, all of a sudden becoming a lot more interesting for the nonhuman guests still present. More than one person had taken note of the ruthlessly restrained confrontation between the two men, neither Nic’s jealousy nor De Santos’s appreciation of Saskia’s charms going unnoticed. Nic more than suspected that the exchange had only fed the fire of suspicion against him once word got around of the attack on the head of the Council. Who had a stronger motive for attempted murder than a jealous mate publically challenged?
Nic supposed he should be grateful that no one thought to suggest that he’d been anywhere other than at his apartment during the time of the attack. Everyone knew that to say a newly engaged Tiguri would be out roaming the streets looking for revenge when he had a new mate waiting for him at home, ready and willing to seal their relationship in the most intimate manner possible, would do nothing other than make the one suggesting such a thing look like a fool. Especially when the mate in question looked like Nic’s Saskia.
And there Nic’s mind brought him full circle back to his current dilemma. What was he going to do about Sass?
He contemplated turning right around, crawling back into the apartment, and begging her forgiveness, but he saw one major flaw in that plan. Other than the possibility that she would take one look at him and slam the door on any and every protuberant part of his anatomy. Right now he might be thinking rationally, but all he had to do was get in the same room with Sass and he’d bet his entire business that his capacity for logical thought would once again fly right out the window. In other words, while he might go in intending to apologize, he had a sick, overwhelming feeling that once he caught sight of her he would once again transform into an ignorant jackass and only manage to further alienate the one woman he most wanted to keep happy.
How was that for a kick in the balls?
Nic grumbled to himself as he turned yet another corner and found himself in a familiar neighborhood. He recognized it instantly, even though he had last approached it in the wee hours of the morning. There, on the next block of the upscale, tree-shaded street, lay the classical stone edifice of the Vircolac club.
His lip curled in a snarl. From what he had heard, every other Other in New York City considered the private club to be a home away from home. Every respectable Other, that is. Membership only required that a being prove to be Other or to be mated to one. Inside the walls, vampires and shifters, changelings and magic users all congregated and enjoyed what was rumored to be truly outstanding service, including a highly regarded restaurant, private and public meeting spaces, select guest accommodations, and one of the finest bars in the city. In the basements, however, a whole other level of socialization took place—all run by the Council of Others.
The Council chambers took up at least half of the sprawling building’s underground space. Nic had gotten an impression of the size of them during his rather unwilling visit the other night. Decorated more like a medieval dungeon than a state building, the room had possessed an atmosphere that suggested one would be well served to remember that civilization was merely a construct of human history and not something to which the Council of Others felt itself bound. Needless to say, Nic had not enjoyed his visit.
The memory sparked a surge of resentment. At any other time and in any other city, a private club for Others would be falling all over itself to open its doors to Nicolas Preda, member of a noble supernatural race, ther of his streak, business owner. If the owners were looking for bloodlines, power, and conspicuous wealth, Nic possessed all those in abundance. There was no logical reason why he shouldn’t be welcomed into such a club, but the fact remained that he felt barred from the place as surely as if the owners had erected a fence around the building, something with heavy iron bars and about a hundred and twenty volts.
He felt about that level of shock when he saw the doors to the club open and a familiar figure step out into the afternoo
n sunshine. Nic blinked, but the sight didn’t change. He’d crossed half the distance between them on pure instinct before he even realized he was moving.
“What’s going on? What happened?” he demanded.
Stefan Preda fixed his son with an icy stare and jerked his head slightly toward the club. “The Council ‘politely requested’ that I return this morning to answer a few more questions,” he sneered. “They detained me for almost three hours demanding explanations for the most errant nonsense I have ever been forced to endure hearing. I had to cancel two very important meetings, and now I’m about to be late for a third because my driver couldn’t obey a simple instruction to wait. Here.”
“Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
“There was no time.” Stefan glanced at his watch, then down the street where a sleek black town car had just turned the corner several blocks away. “One of their little functionaries came to my home to escort me this time. I wasn’t even permitted to call my secretary. I had to have Robert call about rearranging my schedule after he dropped me off.”
Oh, the indignity. Nic heard the subtext; he just didn’t care at the moment. “Then she should have called me.”
“Didn’t she? Then how did you know I would be here?”
He returned his father’s frown. “I didn’t,” he admitted. “It was purely a coincidence that I happened to be walking by when I saw you come out of the building.”
“You were out walking?” Stefan’s voice rang with incredulity.
“I needed some air.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You need to be making use of the time you cleared in your schedule for your new mate and ensuring that she becomes pregnant as quickly as possible.” The town car pulled up to the curb and Robert climbed out to open the door for his employer. “You agreed to this arrangement, Nicolas, and now you need to follow through on your commitment. You have a responsibility to the future of our streak.”
As if he didn’t realize that, he thought, biting back a stinging retort. Sometimes he wondered if his father had paid any attention to the man Nic had become, except, of course, when he needed Nic to do something, like take over the company so he could retire or take the daughter of his old rival as a mate to further the purity of Stefan’s bloodlines.
“I’m more than aware of my responsibilities, sir,” he said, keeping his voice even with effort. “I’ve yet to fail at any of them.”
“Good.”
Stefan slid into the backseat of the car, clearly finished with the discussion, but there were a few things Nic still wanted to know.
“What exactly did the Council have to say to you that they neglected to say on Friday night?” he asked, holding up a hand to delay Robert from closing the car door and driving away.
Stefan snorted impatiently. “Just as before, they said very little. They asked intrusive questions about our people, questioned our motives for moving to the city, and generally made themselves look ridiculous. It was a waste of time, and mine is still of some value.”
“That sounds just like the other night. They didn’t mention anything new? Any new theories about who might be behind the attack?”
“Nicolas, who they think is behind the attack was never in doubt. They are convinced it was one of us, either you, or me, or Gregor. I can’t imagine there’s anything that could change their minds outside of the real culprit stepping forward and confessing. On the other hand, they have no proof to back up their suppositions, obviously. We all know we’re innocent. Eventually, the Council will realize that there’s no proof to be had, they’ll throw up their ineffectual hands, and they’ll move on. You should put them out of your mind and concentrate on your new mate.”
“You might be able to ignore it when someone accuses you of an attack on a head of state, Father, but I’m not quite so laissez-faire about the matter.” He leaned down into the car, his face set in grim lines. “I resent the hell out of the fact that the Council is trying to blame me for a crime I didn’t commit. I intend to prove that I wasn’t behind it, and then I intend to tell them exactly how little I care about the political power they think they wield. When I’m done, there will be no doubt in the mind of anyone on the Council that I wouldn’t take one of their jobs if they paid me for it.”
“Oh, relax, Nicolas. You sound ridiculous,” Stefan dismissed him. “You invest too much importance in the whole matter. As I said, the whole thing will blow over soon enough, and if it doesn’t … well, since none of us are guilty, the only alternative left to the Council will be to turn on themselves and tear each other to pieces. It would be no great loss, as far as I can tell. I’ve seen better organization at some of the properties we’ve pulled out of bankruptcy.”
Nicolas stepped back and shook his head. Clearly, his father really didn’t care about the accusations, beyond the annoyance he felt at having his schedule disrupted. Maybe that was what came of sixty years of playing the arrogant despot. Was that what Nic had to look forward to in another thirty? He grimaced.
“Now, go home, and put this entire matter out of your mind.” When Robert shut the car door and walked around to climb back behind the wheel, Stefan lowered the window halfway and leaned forward to get in one last jab. “I expect to hear I’m to be a grandfather within the next two weeks, Nicolas. Get to work.”
Nic watched the sedan disappear down the street and shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d love nothing better than to work on making those grandbabies his father seemed to want so badly, but in order to do that Nic would have to get close enough to touch his mate. Without her cutting off any important parts of his anatomy. Judging by the mood she’d been in when he’d left her, he thought his chances of that happening were what might politely be called slim-to-none.
He turned away from the Vircolac club and continued his way down the block, walking in the same direction he’d taken before he’d spotted his father. Until Nic figured out the way to make amends with his furious mate, he thought it might just be safer to keep walking. With any luck, he’d formulate a strategy before he reached Delaware.
* * *
“Oh, no, he didn’t.”
“He did. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he so did.”
Saskia and her guest sat curled up on opposite ends of the sofa in the cozy den of her new apartment, sipping cups of coffee and marveling over the idiocy and unmitigated gall of her darling mate. It had taken her a good thirty minutes and half a plate of the cookies she’d dug out of the cavernous pantry to bring Corinne up to date on the saga of her war with Nicolas, but she’d finally gotten through the fight they’d had in the spare room. Now Corinne stared at her with eyes so wide she looked like a cartoon character.
“Oh. My. Lord.” The reporter shook her head slowly. “I mean, I got he was dumb from when we talked yesterday, but I had no idea he was this dumb. How did you keep from just killing him?”
“I think it had a lot to do with the fact that I was unarmed at the time. And since there’s no fireplace in that guest room, there weren’t any useful weapons near to hand.”
“No weapons? Excuse me, but aren’t I talking to the girl who can turn into a five-hundred-pound Siberian tiger anytime she darn well feels like it? Sweetie, you are a weapon.”
Saskia made a face. “Maybe, but you’re forgetting that if I do that, Nicolas can turn himself into a seven-hundred-pound Siberian tiger. It’s not like I have some sort of unfair advantage. If anything, it’s the other way around.”
“Oh, right. There go my fantasies about what it would be like to have the upper hand over a man once in a while.”
“If you’re looking for stories on that subject, don’t come crying to me.”
Corinne reached forward to pat her hand. “Don’t look so gloomy, sweetie. You’re not alone in the man trouble arena, you know. Far from it. Every woman I know, including the stupid-happy ones—hell, especially the stupid-happy ones—had to whack some sense into her man before he was any use at all.”
“Think t
hey could give me some pointers? Because I just told you about the last time I tried that. We gave each other a set of ridiculous ultimatums, remember?”
“Yeah, that strategy probably wasn’t destined for success, but that doesn’t mean you can give up. I mean, not unless you’ve decided he’s not worth it.…” Corinne trailed off and looked at Saskia curiously.
“I don’t know,” Saskia said, feeling hope and doubt and anger and confusion all bounding around inside her like puppies on speed. “I thought he was worth it. I mean, I’ve always thought he’d be worth it, but—”
“Uhhhh-ohhhhh.”
“Uh-oh?” Saskia repeated. “What-oh?”
“You’ve been holding out on me,” the reporter accused, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Nicolas Preda isn’t just your fiancé; he’s your girl crush!”
Saskia felt her cheeks burst into flame, which made her immediate denial lack a certain something.
Like credibility.
“Girl crush?” She tried to make the words sound as implausible and distasteful as fat-free chocolate. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“Sure you do. Everyone’s got a girl crush, the boy you just fell madly and passionately in love with somewhere before the age of twelve. Mine was Jimmy Devellano. He lived next door to my aunt Renata. I was ten; he was fourteen. In his mind, I didn’t exist, but in mine, we were going to get married, move to Long Island, and have, like, five kids. And die of old age before thirty-five, of course. Most girl crushes never go beyond writing your first name with his last name over and over and over in your notebook while you’re supposed to be working on math problems, but some of us get luckier than that.”
Saskia shoved aside a mental flash of her childhood diary, the pink leather and little gold lock concealing line after line of “Saskia Preda” written in a loopy childish hand. “That’s just ridiculous. I never had a girl crush on Nicolas.”
Which was the truth … sort of. Saskia had never had a crush on her fiancé. She’d just had the infinite bad luck to fall in love with him at the age of eight and had never managed to find her way back out again.
On the Prowl Page 12
