They all took a moment to digest that information, and the atmosphere in the room became more tense by several degrees.
“Charlie’s quite a catch, I’ll admit, but there might be another reason for the Council intervening like this,” Caige suggested. He chewed on his cheek as the others turned to look at him. Malcolm’s green eyes glittered. Caige shrugged. “Well, the warlock was one nasty guy. I mean, think about it. We could smell the bastard even after he’d gone. That’s some powerful mojo there.” His smile turned spiteful. “And very, very tainted.”
“You think the Council wants to question Claire about the warlock working for Phelan?” James asked.
Again, Caige shrugged. “Maybe. Plus, Phelan got away. That can’t be sitting well with them.”
“It isn’t sitting well with anyone,” Cole said softly. He wasn’t thinking of himself. He was thinking of Charlie. Her parents’ murderer was still out there somewhere and had yet to atone for the heinous acts he’d committed. “But, whatever the reason, we’re about to find out,” he added as he cocked his head to one side and listened. Beyond the door to the suite and down the hall, he heard the elevator doors ping open. “Kavanagh is here.”
* * * *
Charlie turned off the hot water and gently squeezed the excess moisture out of her hair. Fat droplets showered to the floor and ran down the drain. She then threw her long, dripping locks over her shoulder and opened the stall door, grasping the towel that hung on the hook beside it.
She ran through these motions on auto-pilot, not really present in the moment or fully aware of what it was she was doing. Instead, she thought of Malcolm Cole.
For weeks before meeting the werewolf, she’d seen him in her dreams. In those night time reveries, his impossible green eyes scorched her insides and melted her on the spot. She always awoke from those dreams with a sense of longing, frustration, and un-spent sexual energy.
And now she knew why.
According to Lily Kane, Malcolm Cole was meant to be her mate. He was an alpha werewolf with a boat load of power, a British accent that brought nerve endings to delicious life, and a face and body to die for. And he wanted her. Out of every woman on the planet, Malcolm Cole wanted Claire St.James.
Charlie.
He had made a ton of money on his books, which meant that he was a talented artist. And that probably meant that he would understand and empathize with that same kind of creative streak within her. It was something she had always longed for in a man… should she ever decide to actually hook up for good with anyone.
Apparently, Malcolm Cole would go anywhere and do absolutely anything in order to obtain her. His pursuit would be relentless. It was all part of the chemistry, Lily said. It was a kind of fate. It was just the way things worked.
Surprisingly, Charlie was okay with that. There was a part of her that had always been able to appreciate the more animalistic aspects of human nature. Though she’d always been forced to play it safe around guys, there was a side to her that longed to flirt. To tempt a man into giving chase. She read romance novels ripe with powerful, intelligent men who knew how to get what they wanted and went to great lengths to make it so.
She liked it rough. She knew that such a thing labeled her as a freak in many people’s eyes, but there it was. She couldn’t help it. And, as long as he didn’t really hurt her, she liked a man who knew how to be a man. Dominant. Strong. Persuasive.
Well, she was lucky. Because apparently dominant, strong, and persuasive was an alpha werewolf to a T. It was why Cole had marked her against her will two days ago in the tattoo parlor on the Strip. In an act that at the time had seemed chaotic and surreal and crazy, Malcolm Cole had placed a protective brand upon her that would prevent any other werewolf from mating with her and claiming her as their own.
Charlie wrapped her hair in the towel and glanced down at the shimmering green mark on her arm. It was quite stunning. No tattoo artist in the world would have been able to pull off something so intricate or beautiful. It almost looked fake. Too good to be true. Like the man who had put it there.
Charlie sighed and lowered her arm. Malcolm Cole. She closed her eyes and called up his image in her mind. He was tall and hard and had the kind of face that model agencies would kill to sign; chiseled, strong, and manly. Then there were those eyes. Those damned eyes! They ate her up inside. Every time she was near him, he ignited something within her. In the club, when they’d first met, on the sidewalk when she’d run from him, in the car after escaping Phelan and his warlock, and even out in the main room of the hotel’s suite, his gaze had done her in. While surrounded by Lily Kane and men who were apparently members of Cole’s pack, the British werewolf’s very presence had caused Charlie’s stomach to tighten, her chest to feel strangely heavy, and her pulse to race. She’d actually experienced a bit of dizziness.
Lord, he made her hot. And wet....
And she knew that he knew it, too.
It wasn’t fair. It was senseless. How could she be thinking about him at a time like this? The world was spinning out of control! Far too much was happening!
Gabriel Phelan had murdered her parents. The gods only knew what he wanted to do with her as well. He was still out there somewhere, along with that warlock, Seth and his red, glowing eyes and sharp, white fangs.
And Jessie was a werewolf!
That one, she had a hard time wrapping her head around. She knew in her heart that Jessie hadn’t meant to hurt her. He would never willingly or knowingly hurt her. Not really. But when he’d drawn her into his arms on the green at the Silverstone golf course, her immediate, knee-jerk reaction had been to pull away – to escape the sudden pain that his touch had caused.
It wasn’t as bad as Gabriel’s had been – nowhere near as bad. But it was icing on her pain cake and she’d known what it meant. She’d been so stunned, so caught off guard. How many years had she known him? How close were they?
She’d even slept with him. He’d touched her in ways that she had never let any other man touch her. And all that time, he had been something more than human.
Had he been able to smell her when she was turned on? Could he smell her fear? Had he been able to hear her heart beat? What else did he know about her that she hadn’t told him? And why? Why was he a werewolf? Why was a werewolf her best friend? What did he want?
In the end, she had needed her best friend’s touch. She’d needed the solidness of him, to know that he was there, and to feel the familiar safeness that always wrapped around her when he held her secure in his arms. So, she’d ducked her head into his chest and forced herself to ignore the pain.
She was getting used to it, anyway.
She shook her head now, as if to clear it. She sighed and opened the door of the bathroom. Beyond, a lush private room awaited and new clothes were draped over the end of the king-sized bed. They had been purchased for her at the forum shops beneath Caesar’s palace. Lily had picked them out. Lily had excellent taste, as far as Charlie was concerned. There were Lucky jeans, and an Ed Hardy T-shirt; Ed Hardy was big in Vegas. A Victoria’s Secret lace bra and panties joined the outfit, along with a new pair of slip-on Converse sneakers. Charlie smiled and picked up the shoes, always happy to receive a new pair. She turned them over to find what she knew she would find there. A Christian Audigier signature.
Definitely big in Vegas.
She put the shoes back down and began to dress. As she did, her thoughts once more wandered.
Her friends were alive and she was out of Phelan’s grasp for now, but there was a wealth of Big Bad waiting outside her proverbial door. All she had to do was mistakenly unlock it, and she would be trampled under Evil’s foot in its race to subjugate her world.
Any sane person in her situation would believe they’d gone mad at this point. Sanity was a fickle thing sometimes, here today and quietly ushered away tomorrow. But Charlie had lost that gentle, complacent sanity long ago. The majority of the submissive logic that was so easily waylaid by a chan
ging world and things “not dreamt of in our philosophy” had slipped away from Charlie when she was twelve years old. It had drifted off on a silent wind as Charlie stood with her godmother in a vast cemetery wearing a yellow dress because it had been her mother’s favorite color. The rest had gone missing over the last forty-eight hours, and she knew that she would never see it again.
What was left in its place was a toughness that most people only dreamed about. It was a kind of hard-rock, diamond-edged acceptance that realized the world was not as two-dimensional as we are lead to believe, and that just because you’d never seen something didn’t mean it wasn’t real.
Charlie took the towel out of her hair, pulled on her new jeans, and slipped on her shoes. Then she made her way to the window and looked out through new, wiser eyes at the world beyond.
The sun was going down in the distance, its last defiant rays glinting off of the Bellagio fountains down below. Across the street, the Paris Hotel’s Eiffel Tower turned blue beneath the fading light, and the darkening horizon brought the neon lights of the Strip to stark, gorgeous life. From up here, just now, it seemed that Vegas was the only city in the world.
“It’s rather lovely, isn’t it?”
Charlie turned at the sound of the British voice, deep and low and practically laced with sex. She tried to hide the shiver it sent through her spine, but she knew it was pointless. He was a werewolf, right? He could probably hear her heart hammering behind her rib cage.
Would it always do that when he was around?
He smiled at her, flashing perfect white teeth, and she hugged herself. She smiled back, a little nervously.
He was dressed in light beige linen pants and a long-sleeved white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose two leather bands around his wrists. When Charlie’s gaze fell on the bands, her smile wavered.
Lily had told her about those. Cole’s curse.
“I’ve always loved the twilight view from the Bellagio towers,” he said softly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and came forward. His green-eyed gaze skirted from her to the view beyond.
She watched him move through the room to stand beside her at the windows, a tall, powerful figure of grace.
“When you’re up here, at this time, it seems you’re looking down on the only city in the world.” He spoke so softly, it was nearly a whisper.
Charlie blinked. That was exactly what she had been thinking about Vegas. Oh, no! Don’t tell me he can read my mind, on top of everything else!
He glanced down at her and frowned. “Charlie? Did I say something?” His beautiful features were suddenly etched with concern. His jade green eyes appeared so soulful that she knew at once he was being genuine. He hadn’t read her mind. They just had something else in common.
“No,” she told him, shaking her head and turning to look out at the lights below. “I was just thinking the same exact thing.” She glanced back up at him again, and managed another smile, this one not quite as nervous. “That’s all.”
He looked relieved and his own smile was back. It was killer. “Have you ever seen the fountains, luv?”
Charlie frowned. “I’m seeing them right now,” she said, not understanding.
His smile broadened. “Ah. Well, then. It’s settled. I’ll take you down myself.”
Charlie blinked. “What do you mean?” She could see the fountains very well from where she was standing. The room had the most incredible view. It must cost a fortune.
“I wouldn’t spoil the surprise,” he told her confidently. His voice continued to send shivers through Charlie’s body, and the mark on her arm was warming up, sending rivulets of pleasure up her arm and across her chest. It felt very good. “However first,” he continued, turning fully toward her and compelling her to look up at him once more, “there is someone in the next room who very much wishes to speak with you.”
Charlie’s heart sank. She didn’t want to speak with anyone else. Lily Kane had been very kind and it was clear to Charlie that the woman knew what she was doing when it came to people who had been through traumatic events. However, Charlie was all talked-out. She was sort of numb and more than a little tired. Could there really be anything else in the world that anyone could tell her right now that hadn’t already been bomb-shelled on her over the course of the last two days?
“Who?” she asked. It was all she could really muster. She kind of didn’t want to know.
As if sensing her hesitation and weariness, Cole’s smile became reassuring. He leaned toward her and offered her his hand. “Trust me.”
It was a strange request; a little disconcerting. And yet, Charlie found herself flushing beneath it. He wanted her trust. She’d never before given anyone but Jessie her complete trust. It was as if Cole knew that by asking this of her, he was asking for everything she could really give. He was asking for all of her. That was what he wanted. All of her.
It made Charlie feel very special. Coveted.
She couldn’t help the rush of heat that climbed her neck and painted her cheeks pink. Her nipples were hard against her lace bra and t-shirt when she hesitantly ducked her head and accepted the hand he offered.
His fingers were cool and strong and wrapped possessively around hers. The heat that had stolen across her chest suddenly raced up her arm and down her stomach to coil between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat, and she jerked her head up, her eyes searching for his.
Cole’s smile was gone. His eyes had darkened, the pupils at their centers expanding to encompass most of the green. It seemed that shadows had angled across his face, forcing his handsome features into stark lines. He looked hungry. He looked very much the wolf.
Charlie swallowed, audibly forcing the lump in her throat back down from where it had climbed. There was no hiding the tremor in her body now. There was no denying the moisture that was pooling between her legs. She could barely breathe.
Fortunately, Malcolm Cole seemed to possess faculties that Charlie had somehow lost when he touched her. He straightened and pulled his keen gaze from her own, though his grip on her hand did not ease. She knew instinctively that if she’d tried to pull away from him in that moment, he would not have let go.
He turned away from her and lead her across the room toward the door. She followed, if somewhat reluctantly, but a touch relieved to have an out from the situation. His heat was stifling.
Malcolm piloted her through the door and down the short hallway beyond, to the living and dining room area of the two bedroom, four bathroom suite. As they entered, Charlie’s gaze locked on the tall man who was standing at the windows.
She could sense Malcolm Cole’s power, like a massive mountain casting his shadow over the flat topography of the rest of the planet. She’d sensed the same kind of power in James Valentine. However, this man overshadowed both of them. Perhaps put together.
Charlie found her legs locking in place, refusing to allow her to go any further. As if sensing that she was there and that she had noticed him, the man at the windows turned to face her.
When his ice-blue eyes met hers, Charlie’s world fell out from under her. He was the spitting image of her father.
“Charlie, allow me to introduce Mr. Alexander Kavanagh,” Cole said. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, drawing her gaze to his. “Your grandfather,” he finished, softly.
Charlie could feel her eyes grow wide and her jaw drop, but she was still frozen in place. Malcolm’s reassuring smile was back and he nodded toward Kavanagh, releasing Charlie’s hand.
It took her a moment to regain her ability to move. When she did, she turned to look at the man across the room. He offered her a smile of his own. It was also her father’s smile.
And then the world cracked open and the levies broke and, quite suddenly, Charlie’s eyes were filled with tears. She could feel Cole move away from her and out of the room, leaving her alone with the man that she had long thought was dead. It was what her parents had always told her.
“Hello, Charlie
,” Kavanagh said. His voice rolled over her like a thousand hugs, soothing and warm and comforting. It felt the way hot chocolate tastes. The way Beethoven sounds. Like the New York skyline to world-weary eyes.
His smile was gentle, his light blue eyes filled with moisture of their own. “We have a lot to talk about.”
* * * *
Malcolm left the hotel room and strode down the hall toward the elevators. He needed some fresh air. Of course, in order to get to the fresh air downstairs, he would have to walk through the casino, which sported anything but fresh air. But it would have to do. The walk would do him some good as well. It was either that, or a cold shower.
He pushed the button for the elevator and ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to breathe deeply. In. Out.
Christ.
All he’d done was hold her hand. One little touch and he was lit up like a firecracker. Every muscle in his body was tensed to the point of pain. His gums ached where his fangs threatened to lengthen, and it took nearly every ounce of self control he possessed to keep his dick from sucking up all of the blood in his body.
Need was riding him hard. No Dormant had ever, ever, smelled as good as Claire St.James did, and the woman bore his mark. There was absolutely no part of Cole that didn’t feel like claiming her now, here – in this hotel room, before the clock struck its next hour.
He had to calm down. He had to find a way to give Charlie the time she needed.
The elevator doors pinged open and Cole frowned. As he stepped into the lift, he thought of the way she’d reacted to his touch. She’d been just as turned on as he was. He’d been able to scent her arousal. He could hear her pulse quicken, her breath catch. He’d seen the desire in the fathomless blue of her eyes. She wanted him. He would bet every last dollar he possessed at any table downstairs on those stakes.
But Lily was right. Charlie didn’t know what she was getting herself into. If he took her to bed, he would not be able to stop himself from turning her. She would become a werewolf, and there was a slight possibility that she did not fully realize those consequences, or had not come to fully accept them.
The Strip Page 20
