“Oh, whatever,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes before tucking her skirt under her and settling primly on the edge of the cushions. “Heather, be a love and get the drinks started, would you? I have the feeling we’re all going to need them before this is over.”
By the time Heather returned with the drinks, Tiffany was just pulling into the driveway. The other girls feigned indifference, but the amber glow to their irises and tension in the set of their shoulders gave them away. Tiffany brought a Claire Chase messenger bag in addition to her purse, tucking the strap over her shoulder before striding with her head held high to meet with the werewives inside.
Heather met her at the door, showing her into the room and seating her as far as was polite from Vera as was possible. The two ladies glared daggers at each other, but were civil enough to exchange tight nods, never taking their eyes off one another.
“Well,” Tiffany said, pausing to sip at the Long Island iced tea—heavy on the rum—that Heather had pushed into her hand, “now that I’m here, I’m not sure where to begin.”
Cassandra cleared her throat. “Tiffany, you know that we all like spending time with you and having you here—”
“All of you?”
Vera smirked at Tiffany’s pointed look, her lip gloss adding an extra sparkle to that killer smile.
“You know what I mean. Now, you know what we are. By your own admission, you’ve known for a while. While we certainly appreciate your desire to join us, I’m sure you can understand why we might be hesitant to let someone with your ... background ... join our ranks.”
Tiffany turned her disapproving look from Vera to Cassandra, her frown deepening. Cassandra didn’t give, meeting her gaze without flinching, and holding it as an uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Tiffany would neither acknowledge nor deny that she was a threat, while Cassandra wouldn’t let her ignore the possibility any longer.
While their bodies tensed and gazes narrowed, Alexis sat up, and Heather chewed on her lower lip as the two had their stare down.
As it seemed neither was willing to break the silence and put an end to the silent contest of wills, Vera cut in by dropping her file folder on the coffee table with a crack sharp enough to draw all eyes.
“I believe what she’s trying to say is, your past history does not make you a suitable candidate for our pack.”
Tiffany ground her teeth, setting her drink aside with some care and leaning forward in her seat to point an accusatory finger at Vera. “You don’t know the first thing about me, Vera, and don’t pretend otherwise. None of you, not even Heather, knows me well enough to make that kind of assumption.”
“Oh really?” Vera purred. “Then, by all means, enlighten us about these.”
With that, Vera opened the file and spread the newspaper articles and accompanying photographs over the coffee table for all to see.
The headlines of the articles screamed about the injustices and property damage caused by illegal battles between humans and Others. The anti-Other groups had picketed Other-sympathetic businesses, destroyed entire buildings, and killed several vampires and werewolves without valid warrants. Interspersed with the articles were pictures. Irrefutable pictures of Tiffany showing her allegiance as a White Hat, with the trademark white cowboy hat pin attached to her lapel in every one.
Protest marches. Riots. One even showed her with several other White Hats on the run from police dressed in full riot gear, a flaming building in the background. Surrounded by others like her, all wearing the same pins or logo emblazoned on their shirts.
Tiffany whitened under the bronze shimmer of her foundation, her lips pressed into a thin line as all eyes turned to her.
CHAPTER 12
Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.
—Kurt Cobain
“I’ve said before that I’ve made mistakes,” Tiffany said, avoiding the accusatory looks from the rest of the ladies by staring down at the photos spread on the table in front of her. Heather was particularly incensed, her balled fists and clenched teeth betraying her raw anger and hurt. “I have no good excuse for those pictures. They were taken while I was still married to my husband—”
“So you admit you hunted us before?” Vera’s tone was triumphant and poisonously sweet, her nail polish fracturing as the tips of her fingers grew into claws.
Tiffany looked up and met Vera’s yellow eyes with her own icy blue ones, baring her teeth in the semblance of a smile. Slowly, deliberately, she reached down to the messenger bag at her feet. The others tensed, ready to react if she pulled a weapon—but all she withdrew was a tiny laptop.
“Vera, I’ve said a number of times already that I haven’t participated in that lifestyle for quite a while. Though I suppose that’s not entirely true.”
As Tiffany spoke, she booted up the netbook, searching for a file. Though wary, the other women watched her without interrupting, four pairs of glowing amber irises focused with single-minded intensity on her every move.
“You see, I realized early on that you were going to make things difficult for me. I prepared for this eventuality the only way I knew how—using skills I earned while working with my ex-husband. I do want to caution you all that this is not the only copy, and that if something happens to me or you do not reconsider your actions and my future place in your pack, this video will be uploaded onto YouTube and forwarded to every TV station in the country.”
Though that last statement caused some confusion, in moments, all four of the werewives were on their feet, growling and snarling in rage. The video quality was far from that of a high-definition movie, and the playback of the audio was choppy, but there was no mistaking Vera, Cassandra, Alexis, or Heather’s faces taken from some nearby vantage point in the trees—or their shifts in the woods outside of Alexis’s home into werewolves.
They all watched, stunned, silent, as their banter was captured on film, as was their undressing and their change into their inner beasts. Tiffany didn’t have to tell them what a danger this video posed to them. They knew. To a one, they knew that they could be connected to their husbands, some of the richest and most influential businessmen in the state—if not the country—and that it could bring the livelihoods of their families and fellow pack members crashing down around them if it ever went public. Cassandra in particular went cold, considering her husband, who was running for office next term, would likely flay her and the other werewives alive if he ever caught wind of the existence of that video.
After the wolves had rushed off into the woods to play, it showed close-ups of the clothing and jewelry left behind by the women, then faded to black. As soon as it ended, Tiffany snapped the netbook shut and tucked it back in her bag, ignoring the bared fangs, the glowing eyes, the twitching claws, and the deep rumbles emanating from their chests. Crossing her legs and folding her hands primly in her lap, she raised her chin and regarded Cassandra expectantly.
Heather was the one who spoke first, her voice deep and guttural as she fought to get a handle on her rage.
“How could you? That isn’t fair, Tiffany! Why would you do such a terrible thing?”
Tiffany was startled into a laugh, though there was nothing funny about the situation. “Fair? You call this fair? Heather, you’re the only one of the Diamondfangs who has listened to me from the start. I’ve got nothing against you. The rest of you need to listen to me, this time, and believe me when I say that I don’t intend to cause you any harm unless you decide against honoring my request. All I wanted when I came here was to find a home in this pack. Nothing has changed. File the papers, do what you need to do to initiate me, and that video will disappear.”
Alexis, trembling and white in the face, raised a clawed finger that still sparkled with the crumbled remains of her Gold Pearl nail polish. “You have no right to demand anything from us. Videos and pictures can be doctored. You have no way of proving that it’s really us.”
“That’s right.” Cassandra, who had been
too stunned to react immediately, showed her fangs in a fierce and humorless grin. “You can’t possibly believe we’d give you what you want or let you walk away from this. Bravo for the attempt—but there’s no way you could ever prove to anyone that your film is real.”
Tiffany smiled slyly, reaching for her messenger bag again. “That’s why I saved some other evidence.”
Alarmed, the four girls watched with slack jaws as she withdrew a glittering diamond tennis bracelet, dangling with a “VK” charm—Vera’s missing jewelry, taken the same night Tiffany recorded them in the woods after the party.
One that had been clearly visible mixed in with the clothing at the end of the video.
The other girls shot Vera a look. She was pale, her fists clenched so tightly that spots of blood were pooling under her fingernails.
“You little thief! How dare you!”
Tiffany smirked. “Don’t get any ideas. This isn’t the only thing I took—just the most obvious. Travis told me how often you forgot and left jewelry behind when you went hunting with the pack—or stayed the night at his place. Tsk, Vera. I doubt your husband would approve.”
Vera’s reaction was immediate and intense. With an enraged howl, she leapt toward Tiffany, closing the distance between them with supernatural speed, hands arched into claws.
Though Cassandra and Heather moved to stop her, Tiffany was on her feet in no time, ducking behind furniture and flicking her wrists to dislodge daggers from sheathes hidden under the cuffs of her Marc Jacobs peasant blouse.
Everyone froze at the unmistakable gleam of silver.
“Vera, sit down!”
Cassandra’s voice, usually smooth and sure, cracked on a high note. Aside from the unbelievable fuck up of leaving evidence of her shift behind, she was terrified that Vera or Tiffany might actually attack one another. Free of a contract, Tiffany’s injury could mean a death sentence for all four of the women if Vera didn’t back off. Plus, the silver weapons Tiffany was holding were deadly weapons—even a small nick could do enough damage to incapacitate or kill them.
Vera stayed where she was, straining against the solid hold Cassandra and Heather had on her arms. Her glittering gaze, maddened with rage, never left Tiffany’s.
Alexis moved to take Cassandra’s place restraining Vera, whose skin was starting to darken with fur and muscles were now bulging unnaturally under her clothing. Moving slowly, carefully, palms up to show she meant no harm, Cassandra edged closer to Tiffany. With any luck, she could draw close enough to incapacitate her without risking injury.
“What does a hunter want with our pack? Did someone send you?”
Tiffany’s gaze didn’t waver from Vera, though one of her hands shifted so the weapon was now pointed at Cassandra, making her flinch and stop in her tracks.
“Like I told you before, I’m not a hunter anymore. If I show myself in Manhattan after dark, the vampires will kill me. If I show up in Central Park, the Moonwalkers will kill me. If I show up anywhere the White Hats are planning a raid, they will kill me.”
Tiffany was met by incredulous stares. All the while, she maintained her fighting pose, poised and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. After giving her statements time to settle in, she continued, very slowly lowering her weapons in a bid to show she wasn’t about to attack—but would be ready to defend herself if need be.
“I want what you have. I want your strength, your speed, your stamina. Your ability to heal. I’ve had too many trips to the hospital, and too many brushes with death to kid myself. The only way I’ll ever be able to survive in this world, particularly with my past, is with a supernatural edge.”
Heather, Alexis, and Cassandra were stunned speechless for the second time in as many minutes, hardly able to believe Tiffany’s motivations.
“You don’t deserve what we have!”
Vera gave voice to a thunderous growl, the glasses rattling on the table nearby as she bumped into it when she struggled against Alexis and Heather’s hold. They managed to keep her from breaking free, but just barely.
With a contemptuous sneer, Tiffany finally shifted her gaze to Cassandra, whose mouth was working soundlessly as she tried to find the words to speak. Vera used the distraction, forcing a quick shift and using her superior strength to slide out of Alexis and Heather’s grasp, yanking her arms free with an audible rip of clothing. They stumbled forward, and then fell to their knees when she slammed her fists down on their shoulders.
It took a talented shifter to rearrange the bones and tendons in their body so rapidly without being crippled by the mind-numbing pain of the change. Rather than assume the form of a wolf, she’d chosen the half-man, half-wolf shape that all werewolves were forced to take during the height of the full moon, her body reformed into the dog-headed beast of legend. Her clothing fell in tatters at her clawed feet, the leather bands of her sandals groaning and snapping, and she shook her muzzle hard enough for her earrings to give a discordant jangle. The jewels at her ears and throat glittered obscenely against her pelt, a mockery of the fashionable image she’d projected only moments ago.
Now towering over the other women, Vera’s sleek fur bristled, dagger fangs dripping saliva as her lip lifted. She stalked forward with murderous intent, clawed, furry arms outstretched to wrap Tiffany in a crushing embrace.
Cassandra stepped in her way, shouting at her to stop, but Vera batted her across the room hard enough to send her careening into an end table, shattering the furniture.
Tiffany stood her ground as Vera came on, staring up and up into the massive Were’s murderously glowing eyes. Defiant to the last, Tiffany curled her own lip, tossing her hair back as she raised a dagger in invitation.
“Bring it, bitch.”
With an ear-shattering howl, Vera sprang forward.
CHAPTER 13
Life contains but two tragedies. One is not to get your heart’s desire; the other is to get it.
—Socrates
Gaping jaws and talons snapped and clacked as the twisted, furred creature that was Vera pressed the attack. Despite her size and bulk, she moved with supernatural speed, though her paws slid on the smooth marble tile and prevented her from launching into a full charge.
Tiffany moved with the grace of a dancer, arching, twisting, skipping back from swiping claws. She wanted to be turned—but not crippled in the process.
For her part, Vera didn’t take any care as to how sloppy and uncoordinated her attacks were until after the first burning swipe she received on the inside of one massive, hairy arm. She yelped, dropping onto all fours and backing up, tail between her legs.
Tiffany circled around, balanced on her toes, ready to spring away if she needed to. The other girls were only just struggling to their feet when Vera sprang with catlike agility, diving in low so talon-tipped fingers could close on the hunter’s ankle, yanking her off her feet. Tiffany was unable to compensate and lost her balance, crashing onto her back and sending one of the daggers clattering across the floor to slide under a couch, far out of reach.
Before any of the other werewives could stop her, Vera was on top of Tiffany’s sprawled form, one paw on her shoulder to keep her down and massive jaws diving for her throat.
Tiffany didn’t hesitate to bury the remaining dagger in Vera’s side, the sharp metal sinking between her ribs with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Vera’s head snapped back and she howled in pain, her talons ripping through Tiffany’s silk blouse, and then her skin as she convulsed and jerked away. The knife came free as she pulled back, and Tiffany dropped it in favor of scooting back across the slick floor as far from Vera as possible and grabbing at her bleeding shoulder, crying out in pain.
By then Cassandra and Alexis had regained their feet. Heather, the weakest of the three, was still clutching at the back of her neck and moaning on the floor. Cassandra was a little unsteady, but she put herself between Vera and Tiffany, her jaw tight and a muscle ticking in her cheek as she placed her fists on her hips. She glared down
at Vera, who was whimpering and rolling on the floor, writhing against the silver burn now racing through her bloodstream. It wasn’t enough to kill her—the blade hadn’t struck anything vital or damaged any internal organs—but she’d be in a great deal of pain for the next few days, and left with a permanent scar.
Assuming Cassandra let her live, that is.
“I hope you’re happy,” Cassandra said, a scowl twisting her features as she kicked Vera’s bleeding side, drawing another choked yowl of pain out of her. “You’ve just signed our death warrants, you moon-crazed, silver-tainted, imbecilic whore!”
Heather’s head jerked up, her eyes widening. She gasped when she spotted all of the blood now pasting Tiffany’s shirt to her chest, then dragged herself to her feet using a nearby chaise as leverage. “Cassie—”
“If I told you once—”
“Cassie!”
Cassandra turned a withering glare on Heather, and she shrank back from the heat in her gaze, voice a low whisper.
“I filed the contract.”
Everyone—Alexis, Tiffany, Cassandra, and Vera—turned their attention on Heather, who wrapped her arms around her stomach and looked away so she wouldn’t have to meet the incredulity and anger in their gazes.
“I filed it this morning. Before the meeting. I knew none of you would ever do it, and I didn’t agree with Gabriel saying no.”
Tiffany gave voice to a raspy, triumphant laugh, sitting up and tossing her hair back over her shoulder, though some of the longer strands were now red with blood and clung to her chest and shirt. Cassandra sucked in a breath through her teeth, her gaze torn between Tiffany and Heather, who was busy hugging herself and trying to look as small as possible. Alexis simply ran her palm over her face, though she was admittedly relieved that it now meant there was no liability connected to herself as far as this unbelievable fuck up on Vera’s part was concerned.
Tiffany used her free hand to grab a nearby lamp pole to lever herself to her feet. The wounds weren’t too deep, but they stung when she moved around, dragging a wince out of her. Cassandra tensed, but made no move to help, not wanting to risk being struck by another silver weapon she might have hidden in her clothes.
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