Tribal Law

by Shannon Curtis

  Oh, yeah, she was definitely going to enjoy this.

  Chapter Four

  Vassi leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. She infused the contact with her gift, anchoring her ability to the emotional essence of the man she kissed.

  For a moment he didn’t move, and she pulled back. His lips bore the sheen of her lipstick.

  “Tell me what happened,” she whispered.

  His gaze flickered, glazed over. No creature could withstand the compulsion. “I killed him,” he whispered back, and she knew a moment of intense, burning disappointment. Nothing but warmth washed over her. He was telling the truth. “He was in the chair. I painted his tooth, I applied it, and he reacted. I don’t know why,” he admitted huskily. Again, more warmth. His confusion was an honest reaction. Then he did something unexpected. He leaned forward to press his lips against hers.

  She quivered, his lips like a brand on hers as he pressed harder, widening her mouth. His tongue slid inside, toyed with hers. Oh, God. Her breasts swelled, and heat curled inside her. She tore her lips from his. Damn it, this was supposed to be an interrogation, not a seduction. She swallowed.

  “Why did you kill him?” she asked softly, then didn’t try to dodge as he kissed her again, his tongue darting inside her mouth before he retreated, blinking.

  “I didn’t kill him,” he said huskily, then shifted closer to her on the bed. Warmth washed over her in a wave, and she frowned in confusion. Two statements that contradicted each other, yet both registered complete honesty. She braced a hand against his chest—oh, God, his skin felt wonderful beneath her fingertips—and met his gaze.

  “Tell me exactly what happened,” she said, licking her lips. His gaze remained fastened on her mouth, and he nodded as he leaned in to her.

  “Okay,” he murmured. His hand delved into her hair as he kissed her again. This time he kissed her thoroughly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he held her head in position. Long and languorous, his kiss turned into something hotter, darker, as he explored, using her mouth as a carnal playground. He would pull back and start to talk, then lean in to kiss her again. Then repeat the process. For the first time, Vassi found it difficult to keep track of the conversation as he simultaneously relayed the events of Jared’s death and drove her crazy with desire as he bore her back down on to the bed.

  Eventually she pressed her hands against his chest, breathless. “Okay, I think I’ve got it,” she said, gazing at his mouth. He blamed himself for Jared’s death, but hadn’t intentionally caused it.

  “Are you sure?” he said, leaning down to drug her with more hot kisses. Okay, this was going way further than a truthseeking mission. She was all hot and trembling, and if she didn’t stop soon, she’d be incapable of thought, let alone resistance.

  His hand trailed down to her breast, and she shuddered as he palmed her flesh through her clothes. Sweet Jesus. Maybe just a little longer. She arched her back, pressing herself into his hand, then heard her name in the background. She broke off, panting, and turned to the TV. “Wait—what?”

  A reporter stood on the steps of the courthouse, giving details of the death of Alpha Prime Jared Gray, the man accused of his murder, and the lawyer defending him. The man she’d named Max pulled back from her and turned to face the television.

  “Ryder Galen, son of Arthur Armstrong, will return to court on Monday to face trial. Mr. Armstrong had this to say about his son’s case, earlier this evening.”

  The scene cut to a well-dressed man who looked to be an older version of Ryder, handsome in his maturity, who paused briefly for the microphones and cameras on his way into his car.

  “Of course we’re upset by what’s happened with Ryder. The accusation is horrifying, but he’s still my son, and has my support. We’ll help him in any way we can.”

  “Do you think he’s guilty?”

  Arthur Armstrong stared down the eye of the camera. “We’re all capable of committing murder, but my son is a good man.” Armstrong sent a forbidding glare at the reporter, then stepped inside the waiting limousine, shutting the door with finality on the reporters.

  “And so we wait to learn more of the details regarding this alleged murder by the Deviant Dentist.”

  * * *

  Ryder stared at the TV as the news team crossed back to the studio. He blinked. He felt like he was waking up from a deep sleep—and in a rather jolting way. His father’s defence of him seemed almost sincere. Convincing, yes, yet Ryder still remembered why he’d left the family. Sometimes his father went too far in defence of his sons. That sense of bitter disappointment still burned like an ember in his gut.

  “What the hell?” Vassiliki gasped as she slid from the bed, her mouth open as she switched her gaze from the screen to him. “You’re Arthur Armstrong’s son? You lied to me. You told me—you told the court—that your name was Galen,” she accused, her hands on her hips. Her torn bodice gaped open, displaying a satisfying amount of cleavage and a scarlet and black lace bra. He wanted to tear that garment off her. He frowned. He was hard, so damned hard. How was it that he felt so damned aroused? It was embarrassing, particularly as they were just talking. He wondered what his lawyer would think if she knew the lustful thoughts running through his mind, that he wanted to reach out and finish—what? His mind was blank, despite the lust gripping his body. Yeah, embarrassing. His frown deepened at her words.

  “I didn’t lie. My name is Ryder Galen.”

  She gestured to the TV. “Are you going to tell me the reporter was wrong, that you’re not part of the Armstrong family?”

  “Not anymore.”

  She glared at him. “What do you mean, not anymore?”

  “I told, you, I left the family.”

  She held up a finger. “No, you told me you left the family business. You just failed to mention that your family is part of the criminal elite.” Damn it, she wore a look as though he’d betrayed her. He hadn’t.

  He rose up from the bed, frustrated on so many levels. He tried to live a separate life from the rest of his family, yet at every turn he was judged by a relationship he refused to acknowledge. He hadn’t spoken with his father or brother in months—not since that night. He refused to be in the same room, let alone share the same name.

  “You never asked who my family was—I never lied to you about them. The family business is dentistry. Everything else is rumours and innuendo.” No charge was ever laid against them—at least, not one that would stick. His father and brother enjoyed a powerful position in Irondell’s society, and you didn’t reach that level without treading on people’s toes—or graves. He’d walked away from all of that, but he wasn’t going to betray his blood.

  “Oh, is that the official PR spin?” She tilted her chin up, her eyes bright with anger.

  “What does it matter who sired me? I walked away from him, my brother, and the business, months ago.”

  She gaped at him for a moment, as though struggling to understand the concept. She folded her arms. “Well, it looks like he’d welcome you back to the bosom of the family in a heartbeat.”

  A muscle flexed in his cheek. Some things came at a high cost, and returning to the cold embrace of his family was a price he simply wasn’t willing to pay. He’d already lost too damn much to them. He was finally putting his life back together, finally finding some peace, some happiness. Until now, that is. He frowned. She was angry, but he had no idea why. This got more of a reaction from her than his murder charge.

  She turned from him for a moment, then looked at him over her shoulder, her expression calm, remote. “Why don’t you hire a lawyer? You can obviously afford one. Why settle for a public defender?” A line appeared on her forehead.

  He sighed. “No, I can’t. I really did walk away from everything. I haven’t spoken to my father or brother in months. I changed my name, and I borrowed heavily to open my practice. I surrendered any claim to the Armstrong name and fortune when I took my mother’s maiden name.”

  She gazed at
him, searching his face for something, he didn’t know what. Apparently satisfied he was telling the truth, she sighed as she faced him. Again, his gaze dipped to the tempting flash of silk and lace. “At least he defended you.”

  Ryder smiled grimly. “Both my father and brother are strategic players. They’ll try to distance themselves and their practice from me, while still putting on a good public face.”

  She nodded, then grimaced. “Deviant Dentist? Who makes up this crap?”

  He shrugged. All his life, his family had withstood public scrutiny. Fortunately he’d managed to stay out of the limelight, for the most part. The new nickname was the least of his troubles.

  She crossed over to her briefcase and lifted out her laptop. “Well, let’s get to work.”

  He drew his brows together. They’d both been awake all night, and it was now mid-morning. “Don’t you want to sleep?” His body throbbed. Funnily, though, he remembered sensations, but not so much the actions. His brain was filled with a smoky haze when he tried to remember what he’d been doing before the news—a hot, sensual haze, but a haze nonetheless. He was injured, and he’d used a lot of his lightforce in trying to save Jared. Maybe he was simply exhausted. And horny.

  She settled herself on the bed again, her dress hiking up to show a generous amount of curvy thigh, her computer on her lap as she started to read whatever was onscreen. “I’m a little wired, actually. I can do some work and catch a nap later.” She didn’t lift her gaze from the screen, but he saw the warm flush steal over her cheeks. She was aware of him, as much as he was aware of her, of the rumpled skirt of her dress showing off the curve of leg, of the torn bodice that would take little encouragement to fall from her shoulders … he saw her look of intense concentration as she kept her gaze on the screen, but also noticed the jump in the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Yeah, she was aware of him, and fighting it.

  “I need to rest, build up some energy,” he told her quietly. He paused, then added, “There is one way I could recharge …” he let his voice trail off suggestively as he eyed his sexy little lawyer.

  She finally looked up, a single dark eyebrow arching in question. “And that is?”

  He approached the bed and felt satisfaction when the curiosity in her gaze turned to awareness, tinged with a hot flash of desire. He bent and placed a palm on the violently coloured bedspread, close to her hip, and suddenly she wasn’t so intent on her work.

  “We could get to know each other better …?” He leaned closer, angling his head to brush her cheek with his. So close, he could smell the spicy feminine fragrance she used, a hint of cinnamon with jasmine. He could also hear her breath hitch in her throat, see the muscles of her neck move as she swallowed.

  He closed his eyes, opening his senses to hers, feeling the slow throb of arousal echo in her own body. It was enough to feed him a light flare of energy.

  “Uh … wh-what?” she stammered, her voice laced with a sexy little quiver. Damn, she was so responsive. He could imagine the energy burst if she’d just let him …

  “Let me give you pleasure,” he whispered against her ear, biting the lobe gently. More energy, more light travelling through his senses, empowering him as she shuddered so delicately. He brushed his cheek against hers again, enjoying the sensation.

  “Uh …” Her hair brushed against his face, as though she was trying to shake off a trance. The movement, the caress of hair against skin, the scent … an arc of desire shot through him, arousal hardening his body.

  “Wait.” She pulled back so she could meet his gaze. “You want to give me pleasure so you can ‘rest and recharge’?”

  He nodded, his body tightening at the mere suggestion.

  She shook her head. “That has got to be the worst come-on I’ve ever heard.” She turned back to her screen, her expression now aloof. “Try the old-fashioned way. Grab some shut-eye.”

  Just like that, his sexy lawyer switched from siren to professional in the blink of an eye.

  He sighed. He could think of a quicker way to build up his energy stores, one that would be far more pleasurable than her going cross-eyed looking at reports and him getting a crick in the neck and God-only-knew-what from that filthy floor.

  “As you wish,” he sighed. He leaned over to grab a pillow beside her, sensed her muscles clench, the feminine arousal that arced through her, and smiled as he withdrew. She wasn’t half as professionally distant as she’d have him believe.

  “If you change your mind,” he said softly as he settled himself on the floor, facing away from her. A secret smile spread across his face. He was a patient man.

  “I won’t.”

  His smile broadened as he felt her hot gaze on his body, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Vassi gazed out of the windscreen, conscious of the big man next to her, yet trying to appear casual. Max had driven down a back road, and they were still two kilometres from the Alpine territory border.

  “We’ll have to hike in the rest of the way,” he told her, and she nodded. Keep it professional. That episode in the hotel could not be repeated. He’d told her his story—yet still kept things hidden from her, as evidenced by the discovery of his connection to one of the wealthiest families in Irondell. A family he’d abandoned, dismissed, a family that just happened to be Marchetta’s arch nemesis. And now she was defending one of them. Like that would go down well with her dream client. She couldn’t deny the temptation to take Henley’s advice and drop the case. Let this be someone else’s headache. Yet she couldn’t shake the memory of the lycans growling at the back of the courtroom, or the attack at Max’s car. She had a responsibility, not only as an officer of the court, but as a truthseeker. All was not what it seemed with Jared’s murder. Deep down, Max hadn’t wanted the man dead. That much she could sense. That much she believed. Her conscience wouldn’t let her drop the case, and yet by pursuing it she would burn any chance of representing the Marchetta family. That thought, the ramifications of taking on this case had kept her awake most of the day and into the night. Well, maybe that and the hot hunk with a gift for kissing sleeping on the floor beside her bed. That’s what he had, a damn gift that would burn through the reserve of a chaste and devout nun.

  Damn, she was tired. As a half-blood, her need for sleep was less than that of a human, but after spending the day gazing longingly at the sleeping hunk on the floor, her pathetic attempt at a nap had consisted of one hot, arousing fantasy after another—and next to no sleep. She’d woken that morning to find him watching over her, a glint in his eye that was at once protective and … predatory.

  And with a mostly healed shoulder, which just raised more questions he’d easily avoided.

  “I’ll call you if I find anything,” she told him now as she shrugged into her white ski jacket. They’d found a clothing store in Summercliff that sold ex-hire ski clothes, and she’d used the company credit card to purchase suitable outfits for both of them, along with new underwear. By using company funds and not her own, it would be harder for the lycans to track her down—harder, but not impossible. She’d catch hell from the managing partners, but she’d smooth it over—later.

  “What? You’re not going in there alone.” He reached into the backseat for his own jacket, but she placed her hand on his arm, stalling him. He’d pushed the long sleeves of his t-shirt back and her hand lay on his forearm, the muscles tightening beneath her fingertips at the contact. His scent, a musky male essence of sandalwood and something darker, sweeter, more elusive, surrounded her in the tight confines of the car. The sound of his deep voice, the smell of him, the feel of his skin beneath hers—he was one intensely attractive package. She had to remind herself: this was a client, and she never got involved with clients.

  “You can’t go in there, Max. The whole Alpine Pack is out for your blood. As soon as they get a whiff of your scent here, it will be like the hounds of hell descending upon us. I’m an officer of the court. I’m in tribal jurisdiction, but my
office affords me some protection. I’ll be fine.”

  “One: my name is Ryder. R.Y.D.E.R.,” he spelled his name in a growl, and immediately a grey fog eclipsed his words in her mind. “Two: they attacked both of us just outside the police station,” he pointed out, frowning. “What makes you think they won’t hurt you if they catch you on their land? You’re a vampire trespassing in werewolf territory.”

  “Ah, but I’m not trespassing. I’m preparing a legal defence. Until I’m asked to leave, it’s not considered trespassing.”

  “It’s too dangerous.” His tone was clipped, abrupt.

  “Only if you’re with me.” She shoved a couple of blood bank packs in her pocket for a high-energy snack later. He grasped her hand, and she finally met his gaze. His eyes showed his worry, his concern.

  He cared for her safety, and the realisation warmed her. The memory of his confession still preoccupied her, though, along with thoughts on presenting his case in court. He felt some responsibility for the alpha prime’s death, but she honestly didn’t believe he was a murderer. She’d managed to get hold of the medical examiner’s office that morning. A preliminary forensic report should be ready later today. Until then, there could be a number of explanations for Jared’s death, including an unfortunate allergic reaction.

  Max had no reason to kill the werewolf, but perhaps someone else did.

  She turned her hand over to clasp his, enjoying the warmth, the strength inherent in his grip. “Trust me, I wouldn’t do this if there was any other way. A half-blood vampire walking into werewolf territory—normally that would be a suicide march, but I have tribal law’s protection. I can do this, don’t worry.”