by Sky Winters
"I wouldn't worry too much about it," said Smith. "The only talk I'm hearing about it is people saying they wish they had the balls to do the same thing."
But it wasn't Damien's image he was worried about – he was mad that he'd lost control in the way he did. He felt he should be above that sort of thing, especially in a scene like this.
"Jesus, man," said James. "You gonna introduce us to your date or what?"
"Oh, of course," said Damien. "This is my date for the evening, and my new nanny – Ingrid Parker. Ingrid, these are the Red Claws, my mercenary group."
The group introduced themselves to Ingrid, and Damien watched them closely. He could tell they wanted to do more than give a polite introduction, but they knew better than to act too boorishly in front of the boss. The girls, on the other hand, were clearer in their intentions; the best Ingrid got from them was a curt "hello" and a cold handshake.
Goddamn, thought Damien, a little amused by the whole thing. I'd take a pack battle with another group of wolves before a day in the life of a beautiful woman.
Before the conversation could continue further, the side doors to the ballroom opened and another group of hard-looking men entered. They were similar to the Red Claws, but their tuxes were all a little more ostentatious, and the girls on their arms had far more piercings and tattoos. The men all carried on as they entered, beers in their hands, their voices carrying over the gentle strains of the string band on stage.
And they were led by Miller, a tall, brawny man with wild blue eyes and even wilder blonde hair. His arms were raised in some kind of alpha-male gesture as he entered, and it looked like his muscles were about to burst out of his gaudy tuxedo.
Damien knew right away that this was the Blood Moon Mercenary Group, his biggest competitors in the city.
"Was wondering when these fuckers were gonna show up," said James.
"Who are they?" asked Ingrid. "They…don't seem like they fit in. At all."
"That's the Blood Moon Group," said Damien. "We're not the only merc group in the city. And these guys, well, what they lack in professionalism, they make up for in efficiency."
Cutter scoffed.
"Leave it to the boss to say things in the most diplomatic way possible," he said. "'Efficient' is one way to put it; I'd say these guys are ruthless psychos who'd kill their parents for an extra zero on the payday check."
Damien watched as Blood Moon approached a group of congressmen. The stuffy, stiff congressmen regarded the group with polite tolerance, but one of them, a slight, elderly man with short silver hair, eagerly welcomed the group. Damien recognized him right away as Senator Alderman.
"Look at that scene," said Cutter. "Talk about your mismatched couples."
"No kidding," said Smith as the group watched Miller slap Alderman so hard on the back in greeting that the tiny man's drink sloshed over the rim of his glass.
The commotion from where the Blood Moon was gathered with the congressmen carried through the room.
"I don't like this," said Smith. "Those two've been getting pretty goddamn cozy recently."
Damien agreed, but he wanted to learn more about the situation before coming to any conclusions. Normally, mercenary groups would move from client to client, preferring not to become the chosen bodyguards of any particular VIP. This prevented any sort of deeper entanglements forming that might affect a group's ability to be impartial protectors for anyone who needed them. But over the last month or so, Blood Moon had been working exclusively with Alderman, and Damien knew it could only mean trouble, one way or another.
Damien did his best to take the attention off the Millers and the rest of the group, turning the subject to lighter topics. After a time, the group broke up to make the rounds and he took Ingrid aside.
"How you holding up?" he asked her.
"Um, it's still a little overwhelming, but I think I'm getting used to it. Kind of. I don't think any of those girls liked me, though."
Damien smirked.
"My boys like beautiful women, and beautiful women tend not to like other beautiful women around their men."
A deep red blush broke out across Ingrid's face.
"You think I'm beautiful?"
Damien felt a strange tugging at his heart at this question. There was something about Ingrid's sweetness, her down-to-earth nature, that he'd be lying if he said didn't appeal to him. In a town full of status-seekers and people out for nothing but whatever power and money they could get their hands on, a girl like her who had her head on her shoulders was a breath of fresh air.
But he did his best not to let his emotions show. Despite what happened the other night, he wanted to keep things as professional as possible between them.
"You're a very good-looking girl," Damien said. "And you'd better accept that. Because in a town like this, a beautiful girl who doesn't know how gorgeous she is makes an easy target for a flatterer."
Ingrid's face stayed red and she looked away, clearly unsure of whether or not to take this statement as a compliment, or a warning, or both. And that was exactly what Damien wanted.
Damien took Ingrid's arm into his and the two of them made their way through the party. He stopped in with some of his previous clients, all congressmen or high-ups in lobbying firms – the types who'd need the sort of protection he offered. Ingrid started off the interactions being a little shyer than Damien would've liked, but she warmed up quickly. After about their fourth senator, Ingrid was the perfect date.
"I think that went well," said Ingrid as the two of them left a conversation with one congressman or another.
"You're acclimating yourself well," said Damien. "You might just have a knack for elbow-rubbing."
"Oh, I don't know about that."
But the little smile that appeared on Ingrid's face told a different story. He'd brought many, many different women over the years to events like this, and all of them seemed to always go gaga at the idea of meeting so many powerful, influential people. And once they got their first taste of this kind of life, they only seemed to want more and more. Damien hoped Ingrid would be different, that she would retain that humble, sweet nature that was causing him to be more attracted to her by the day.
Dammit, he thought. Don't fall for the fucking help. That's the last complication you need.
The walls of the ballroom were lined with mirrors, and spotting Ingrid at his side, looking radiant in her dress didn't help matters much.
"Well, well, well," came a cocky voice from behind Damien. "If it isn't the fuckin' paparazzi-choker himself? And the man who's stealing all my goddamn business in this town?"
Damien winced. He didn't need to guess who was behind him. And if there were any doubts, a whiff of the raunchy wolf-scent in the air would've made it abundantly clear.
"Miller," said Damien, turning around and coming face-to-face with the alpha wolf of one of his biggest competitors.
Miller looked as cocky as ever, his eyes just as wild as they were when Damien first spotted him from across the ballroom. Miller always seemed slightly manic to Damien, like he was always on the high of finishing a dangerous mission, mixed with the buzz from a few shots of whiskey. Miller had found another one of the floozy-type girls, the kind with tattoos up and down their arms and dresses that were just a little too scandalous for settings like this, and now had two adoring women on his arms.
"I heard you sent that poor kid with his cheap DLSR packing, my man," said Miller. "Good! Fucking great! Someone's gotta keep those little shits in line."
"Heard he pissed his Dockers," said one of the women. "Deserved it."
Miller let out a loud, barking laugh.
"Yeah, he did. But don't act like you two fuckin' girls don't get wet at the idea of landing on the front page of some gossip blog."
The two girls exchanged a look of agreement.
"And who's this fucking smokeshow?" asked Miller, looking Ingrid up and down. "Got plans for later tonight? I think I got room for one more over here."
Ingr
id didn't know what to say. It was clear to Damien that she wasn't the type of girl who was used to being talked to that way.
"Miller, I know being a fucking child who acts like every pair of breasts is the first he's ever seen is your thing but try and act professionally for just one goddamn night."
Anger boiled in Damien. Part of him wanted to grab Miller by the lapels and put a claw right into that too-pleased face of his. But the better part him, the part that realized this would go over about as well as a dead cat in the punch bowl, prevailed.
"Saw you and Alderman have been getting pretty cozy," said Damien. "When's the wedding?"
Miller let out a dismissive snort.
"Payday's a payday," said Miller. "But there's a little more to it than that."
"Oh?" asked Damien, intrigued.
"Yeah," said Miller. "But I'll leave it at that. Let's just say that when our working relationship is over and done with, there won't be much more competition here in Capital City."
"Sounds promising," said Damien.
"You don't know the half of it," said Miller.
Damien and Miller exchanged another look before Damien raised his hand in a gesture that indicated he was ready for the conversation to be over.
"As much as a pleasure as it always is, Miller, I should get back to it."
"Peace!" said Miller, turning to leave. "Be seeing you real soon, Kennedy."
Damien, out of the corner of his eye, saw the eyes of Miller's dates linger on him as they left. He shook his head, knowing this was par for the course for women like that.
"I didn't like that guy one bit," said Ingrid.
"That's because he's a real piece of shit," said Damien.
He was very, very suspicious about Miller's relationship with Senator Alderman, knowing that a man like Miller was never up to any sort of good. Damien had known enough wolves like Miller over the years to understand they weren't in the business of looking out for anyone but themselves. Hearing that he was forming something more than a temporary working relationship with a senator made every one of Damien's nerves stand on edge with suspicion.
The two of them went back to the party and Damien, despite himself, found himself enjoying the evening. He was never one for these types of affairs, but something about Ingrid's company allowed him to relax and enjoy himself.
"I don't want to ruin the evening," said Ingrid as the two of them danced. "But I can't help but ask about, um, what happened the other night."
Damien winced. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially tonight, but he knew he was kidding himself if he didn't think this was going to come up sooner or later.
Might as well rip the Band-Aid off now, he thought. If she takes being turned down poorly enough to leave my employ, better to know now rather than weeks down the road.
"That was a…mistake," he said. "I wasn't in control of myself that night, and I let my more…base desires get the better of me."
"So…then it was just sex, and that's it?" she asked. "Nothing more to it than that?"
"Why would there be more to it than that?" asked Damien. "I lost control of myself; that's all. And we're going to need to move past it if you and I are going to continue this working relationship."
Damien made sure to keep his tone tight and professional, without the slightest trace of emotion other than a carefully-calculated disbelief at the idea she might think it was something more than what she might be thinking it was.
"Oh," she said, her expression dropping. "I see."
Good, thought Damien, disappointed but accepting. As long as she's not throwing a fit in the middle of the party.
They danced and mingled for a little while longer, but Ingrid seemed to have mentally checked out just a bit. After Damien put in his requisite time with the elite of the city, he decided it was time to get back home. He hoped that, after a good night's sleep, Ingrid would be back on the ball and ready to work.
"I think I've had enough tuxedos and ball gowns for one night," he said. "What do you say we head home?"
"Sounds good to me," said Ingrid.
Damien said his goodbyes to the rest of his mercenary crew and headed out with Ingrid on his arm. And as he left, he noticed Miller watching him carefully. Miller didn't have the usual cocky expression on his face. Instead, he had a careful look on his features, as if he were making sure Damien was leaving for the night. It struck Damien as strange, and his stomach tightened, as though sensing some kind of danger.
The two of them headed out of the building and stood near the area where the limo was to pick them up. But seeing how crestfallen Ingrid was, he knew he needed to do something. He couldn't explain just how Ingrid was making him feel. Normally, it was a relief to break the news to a woman that he'd slept with that she shouldn't expect anything other than what they'd already had. But, with Ingrid, he felt like he'd done something wrong, like he'd been careless with something very valuable.
"It's a nice night," he said. "How do you feel about walking home?"
"That sounds nice," said Ingrid.
Damien nodded. Dialing up the limo, he called off the pickup and the two headed down the city streets.
"Quite an evening," said Damien. "How do you think you did?"
"It was…definitely that," she said. "I don't know. I think I did okay, considering I was about as out of my element as I'd ever felt in my life."
Damien chuckled.
"You did fine. You look amazing, and that's half the work right there. And the sorts of people who attend these events are always happy to see a young woman like yourself who isn't clearly plotting her crawl to the top of the DC social world."
"Maybe I am," said Ingrid. "Maybe I've got a line on some congressman who needs a nanny."
Damien smirked.
"In that case, I'd be a little impressed at how fast this city managed to wring the innocence out of you."
"Is that what you think I am?" asked Ingrid, raising her eyebrows. "Some innocent girl who can't handle herself?"
"Now, I never said the second part," said Damien. "But you're most definitely innocent. It's painted all over you. And take my advice: keep it for as long as possible. Stay who you are. And make no mistake – there will be plenty of opportunities to trade it for all sorts of things. Then you're no better than the girls hanging off Miller's arms."
Ingrid shuddered.
"That man…something was strange about him. I mean, he was a sleazeball, sure, but there seemed something deeper to him. Like, something more…sinister."
A good judge of character, too, thought Damien.
"You're right about that. He's my main competition in the city, and part of me wonders when he's finally going to pull the trigger and do something drastic to move to the top of the heap."
Ingrid took a moment to process what Damien had just said.
"Senators, mercenaries, beautiful women – this is quite the world I've found myself in."
Damien smirked.
"If it's any consolation, you're doing great so far."
If she thinks this is bizarre, thought Damien, just wait until she finds out about the rest.
The two continued their walk in silence, eventually reaching a quieter part of the city. Fewer cars passed them on the streets, and no other people were to be found.
"Here," said Damien, gesturing to a through-street. "Shortcut. We can get back home in time for a glass of wine before bed."
Ingrid smiled.
"Sounds perfect."
The two of them cut through the narrow, darkly-lit street. But as soon as they ventured away from the larger blocks, Damien began to regret his decision.
This is too isolated, he thought. Don't like it one bit.
But before he had a chance to think another thought, a voice called out to him from behind.
"Yo! Kennedy!"
Damien whipped around and was greeted by the sight of three beefy men dressed in black. They approached him walking side-by-side, the dim lights of the street
just bright enough he could make out their expressions of menace.
"Who the fuck are you?" shouted Damien.
None of the men said a word as they cut the distance between them and Damien and Ingrid. Damien knew this had bad news written all over it, and he prepared himself for a fight.
"We're a few guys sent to do a job. To find you. And it looks like we've done it."
"Stay back," hissed Damien to Ingrid.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice gripped with fear.
"Just stay back!" Damien barked.
Ingrid complied, moving behind Damien.
"You've got about two seconds to tell me just what the fuck this is all about," said Damien. "Or you're not gonna like what happens."
The men all exchanged a knowing look.
"I think you know what this is about," said the middle man. "This is about taking you out of the picture."
His eyes then fell to Ingrid.
"And her, well, let's just say we've got special instructions for that little piece of ass. But maybe we'll have our fun with her first. Not like anyone's gonna stop us."
The men chuckled to themselves.
"Do it!" shouted the man in the middle.
Then, the three men shifted into the forms of three fearsome black wolves.
"What…the fuck!?" shouted Ingrid.
Goddammit, thought Damien. No time to explain. Gotta fight!
The three wolves approached slowly, snarling as they did. Damien closed his eyes and shifted into his wolf form, letting out a bark of warning as soon as he'd assumed his form.
His bark didn't appear to have any effect on the wolves. Instead, they spread apart, the one in the middle staying focused on Damien while the other two moved to a flanking position. Damien knew that if he let them get into position, he'd be screwed. He didn't have any other choice but to strike first.
As soon as the wolf on the left moved into striking distance, Damien made his move. With lightning-quick speed, he lunged at the beast and sank his teeth into the wolf's neck before he had a chance to react. Damien's mouth filled with hot blood as he delivered the killing bite, and after a coarse whimper the wolf went limp in his jaws.
One down, thought Damien as he tossed the wolf aside and turned his attention toward the remaining wolves.
