Dire Wolves of London

by Carina Wilder

  She went quiet for a minute again before adding, “Something else happened. It was a bit strange, I suppose—a Grizzly shifter actually helped us out in Trafalgar Square.”

  “Ah,” said Brigg, who sounded oddly unsurprised. Strange reaction, that. After a moment of silence he spoke again. “You know I wasn’t asking you about Grizzlies. Or your brace, for that matter. I want to know what went on between you and Cillian, though the more you avoid telling me, the more abundantly clear it becomes.”

  So that was it. He was jealous; he had to be. But of course. He’d told her he found her attractive. Well, not in so many words, but she knew it all the same. It had to bother him to have deduced that she’d kissed Cillian passionately in the alley. She’d told him she wanted him, for shite’s sake. It was no wonder Brigg seemed so out of focus.

  “Does it bother you?” she asked.

  “Does what bother me?”

  “That he and I had a moment.”

  “Not in the least,” he said. Weirdly enough, he sounded like he meant it. Perhaps he really wasn’t interested in her. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; the man could be very cold and distant, despite his kindness. He’d never tried to touch her, never done anything more than try to look out for her like any friend would have done. She’d always chalked it up to gentlemanly behaviour, but now she was beginning to think it was something closer to indifference.

  “Ah,” she replied. “I see.”

  Brigg’s eyes flashed bright in the rear-view mirror, laugh lines crinkling at their corners. “The thing is, I’m not so sure you do see. Not at all.”

  “You’re laughing at me,” Sinead said, clamping her teeth shut. She wasn’t in the mood to be mocked.

  “No, I’m really not. I just find it amusing that you seem to think that because I’m not jealous of Cillian, I must not be sexually attracted to you, either.”

  “What? I never said anything about you being sexually attracted!” she protested, annoyed that he was so bloody adept at reading her.

  “You didn’t need to. You know, you have a highly readable face. You’d make an absolutely terrible secret agent. Or poker player, for that matter.”

  “Yeah? Well, you’re being arrogant,” she said, sulking. He was right, of course, about everything. She did want him to find her as attractive as Cillian did. It wasn’t that she wanted to pit the men against one another in some sort of primitive fight over her; it was more that she was suffering guilt for wanting them both equally. The two were so different from one another, but both so deliciously desirable. It went completely against her nature, but her stupid Lioness had set her sights on both men, knowing perfectly well that she shouldn’t want either of them. “This is so fucked up,” she said. “This whole thing is.”

  “It’s not as fucked up as you might think,” said Brigg. His voice had taken on the gentle timbre that she’d come to know so well. She dared to look towards the mirror only to find that his blue eyes were narrowed, focused on hers again. “You know, don’t you?” he said, pulling his gaze back to the road. “You know about the Dire Wolves?”

  “What do you mean?” She leaned forward, eager to hear what he had to say. Eager to learn that she wasn’t utterly undesirable, or, for that matter, a total devil woman for being so aroused by two men.

  “In the old times, the Dire Wolf shifters bonded in threes,” he said. “Two men, one woman. Sometimes the female was a shifter, sometimes human. They called it the Ritual. It’s the moment when three bodies and souls come together in a sort of mind-blowing physical and emotional melding. They say it’s the most incredible sensation that any being can experience.”

  Sinead sat back, trying not to let him hear the gasp that drew itself up her throat. “No, I wasn’t aware of that,” she said. “It sounds rather saucy, to say the least.”

  “I suppose it is.” Brigg looked at her in the mirror once again as he pulled to a stop at a red light. “But it’s natural, too. Just as it’s natural that we both want you, Lioness. It’s natural that we both want to be inside you at once. It’s natural that Cillian was hurt today, because his desire for you is so strong that it’s driving him quite mad. He’s no more used to the intensity of this attraction than you or I. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  This time the breath caught hard in Sinead’s throat. He was being so brutally honest, so unrelentingly clear in his desire. He seemed to have none of the fear that haunted her, none of the insecurities that ate away at her mind and warned her off of love. He simply had instincts, wants, needs.

  “What would you two do if you had me?” she asked. “If I gave myself to you?”

  “What do you imagine we’d do?” he asked.

  “I can’t begin to think…” Wait—yes I can.

  “No?” Brigg smiled again. “You mean to say that you can’t begin to imagine my tongue on your nipple? Cillian’s lips on your most sensitive places? You can’t fathom our cocks buried deep inside you?”

  “Holy fuck,” she breathed, pressing a palm to her chest to try and calm her heart.

  “That’s one way of putting it, yes,” he said, chuckling. “A holy fuck.”

  “I don’t understand you, Brigg. You don’t seem self-conscious at all when you say those things to me.”

  “Why, should I be?”

  “You’re not afraid that I’ll reject you, laugh at you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m well aware that you might not find me quite as appealing as I find you. But I’m not going to lie about my attraction to you out of fear.” His eyes met hers again for the briefest moment. “I want you to know what you do to me, Lioness. You should know that I want you. It doesn’t mean that I think myself entitled to you. It doesn’t mean I’ll even try anything. It only means that I’ve let you know my desire. The cards are in your hand, the power yours. I have no control now, because I’ve relinquished it to you.”

  “So why haven’t you said anything before now? Done anything? In the bathroom yesterday, you could have…I mean, I was giving you signals, but you didn’t touch me.”

  “That’s because I couldn’t, and you know it perfectly well,” he retorted. “You made it all too clear that you wanted me to leave you alone.”

  He was right; she’d pushed him away, just as she’d done to Cillian in the alley. Even if she didn’t always do it physically, she always pushed men away, always fled from intimacy.

  But she’d never met men like these two.

  She clammed up, clamping her jaw shut to keep herself from replying too impulsively. What could she say, anyhow, other than to admit that she was a cruel tease, or at the very least a difficult, complicated mess?

  “I don’t really want to be left alone,” she said softly, surprising herself with her own honesty. She’d never said those words to anyone in all her years. “I just don’t want to be sealed up in someone else’s idea of life. I don’t want shackles or locks or demands. I don’t want to be ruled by my mate. Or mates.”

  “You think we’re looking to rule you? To dominate you?” Brigg let out a cynical chuckle. “You don’t seem to realize the power you wield over us both, my Lioness. You don’t see that we’re the ones who are ensnared, not you. You have all the choice here; we’re nothing more than your humble servants, whether you grasp that truth or not. So make your life. Choose it. Choose your fate. I’m not going to choose it for you, regardless of how hard you might try to make me. I would never imprison a mate in my world, any more than I would wish to be imprisoned in hers. But then again, I see the Ritual as an act of freedom, not one of bondage.”

  “I don’t understand how,” she said. “How can it be freeing to create a bond that tight?”

  Brigg smiled. “Imagine feeling more free than you’ve ever felt in your life. Imagine your Lioness empowered,” he said. “Imagine her with all her potential strength, all the time. Imagine that your human half could finally learn to trust and to love. That you could open yourself up and forget every fear you ever had, because your mind has final
ly come to a fundamental understanding about fate and the universe. You would finally come to see that the world is yours, and that you are no slave to its demands.”

  “I…can’t imagine that. Not quite,” she said. She supposed she’d lived too long in a prison of her own making. Too long in a world where she felt constrained by the wishes of everyone but herself.

  “Well one day, perhaps you will understand. If I could wish for one thing in this world, it’s that you, Sinead, find your freedom.”

  She pressed her head back and wrapped her arms around her body, imagining the sensation of Brigg’s lips on her skin. Longing for the touch of the man who was so willing to speak his mind, but had seemed so reluctant to come near her.

  A man who sometimes seemed as broken as she was.

  17

  Cillian stormed towards Marylebone Station, his flesh searing from the cocktail of emotions that had been stirring inside him since the moment his lips had met Sinead’s.

  He hadn’t lied about a need to go by his flat; he had every intention of heading back to his condo to blow off some steam, to sit and stew, to try and forget the Lioness for a few minutes. A hot shower, or a cold one for that matter, might do him a world of good. He needed her to stop living rent-free inside his mind, even for a few minutes.

  Last night, he’d listened to her story. With every word from her exquisite lips, he’d felt closer to her, more drawn to her. He’d thought—stupidly, it turned out—that she was beginning to make sense at last. When they’d kissed, the world had felt like an explosion of beautiful light, heating him from the inside, breaking him and strengthening him at once. In that moment she’d become his world, and he’d felt, for the first time, like he could begin to believe that Brigg had been right. Perhaps there was a chance that the two men had found their One.

  But then, thanks to a few poorly chosen words out of his mouth, she’d done a one-eighty. Shifted gears and turned on him. He’d gone from being her would-be lover to her enemy in a matter of seconds. All he wanted now was to push her from his mind, to forget about her until he could regain his absent sanity. Surely he had better things to think about than a woman who was more frustrating to unravel than a giant ball of string tangled into a thousand knots.

  But even as he made his way through the doors of Marylebone Station, a thought entered his mind that yanked him violently away from the woman he’d kissed so passionately. A memory of the earlier incident, the one in Trafalgar Square, involving another shifter.

  A Grizzly had helped them. A fucking Grizzly, of all things. Why would one of them ever offer aid to a Dire Wolf shifter? They were sworn enemies. The Grizzlies had declared war on the Trekilling Pack, and for one of their own to fight for the Wolves’ side was…odd, to say the very least.

  Perhaps he was motivated mostly by the desire to keep his mind off his would-be lover, but a sudden urge overcame Cillian to search out the man who’d thrown himself into the fray and risked his life to give cover to a couple of strangers. Whoever he was, he could be a very useful ally to the Guild. To all of London, for that matter.

  Instead of heading home, he grabbed the Tube back down to Oxford Circus. When the train had pulled into the station, he leapt out and sprang up the stairs to Regent Street and turned left. After walking a few blocks, he stopped next to a shop window, looked both ways, and when he was confident that no one was paying attention to him, he stepped through a thick brick wall. A trick known only to those who could use the Wild Magic, the name given to the ancient spells of Dire Wolves, Dragons, and a few others.

  Moments later, he was standing in the middle of the Underground Club, the secret gathering place of London’s shifters. It was a favourite hangout for the city’s Grizzly shifters, who enjoyed drinking among their own kind without drawing too many looks from curious Londoners. The Grizzlies, for the most part, were relegated to a secret back entrance. They lacked the magical edge of their counterparts, but they didn’t seem to care much, provided they had access to a warm, dark den and plenty of beer.

  The place was all but empty, but music still throbbed through its stone floor and arched ceiling. Cillian glanced around as he strode towards one of the club’s many bar areas towards the white-haired young man who was busying himself arranging scotch bottles on a shelf.

  “Silver,” Cillian called out above the music, “how are you?”

  The young man grimaced as he turned around and saw the other shifter. “I’ve been better.” He glanced around, drawing Cillian’s gaze to the multitude of empty tables and chairs. “They’re afraid to come here anymore,” he said. “Everyone’s afraid.”

  Cillian nodded. “They know they might be followed,” he said. “They know about the task force.”

  “Yeah. Between that and the bears, the place has been a ghost town for the last few days.”

  “So you’re telling me no one’s here today?” asked Cillian. “I was rather hoping to find Bert.”

  “Oh, Bert’s around.” Silver nodded towards a room in the distance, towards the other end of the club. “There are a bunch of my brave—or possibly stupid—clients hanging about in the back. I’m afraid I only have a few regulars at this point.”

  “Okay, thanks. Listen, is money tight?” Cillian asked, “because the pack could help you out financially, if there’s a problem…”

  Silver shook his head. “I don’t care about money,” he replied. “It’s what’s happening to this city that’s killing me. This is the first time that I’ve ever felt truly settled somewhere, you know? I love London, but the place has become hostile and ugly.”

  “I know. Well, it’s the last thing I want, too, which is why I’m trying to work out how the fuck we can find a way to stop the madness. Listen, you said Bert’s around? There’s something I want to ask her about.”

  An amused smile took over Silver’s lips. “Yeah, she’s with the others,” he said. “She’s always here these days. Says it’s because she’s doing research, trying to recruit new members to her organization. Last I checked, she was ‘interviewing’ someone over in the next part of the club.” He nodded towards a table behind a distant half-wall, where Cillian could see that the leader of the Syndicate was busy groping some poor shifter’s chest.

  “Interviewing, is it? I believe you mean she’s conducting a patented Bertie Physical Assessment,” he laughed. “Well, I could use a pectoral squeeze, so I’ll go encroach on her business. Thanks, mate.”

  “No worries.”

  As he slipped towards the back of the establishment, Cillian picked up Bertie’s familiar scent. As always, she was wearing some slightly ghastly musk perfume, no doubt in the hopes of arousing any shifters in her wake. Bertie’s lifelong mission seemed to be to charm as many shifters as she could get her hands on, though she always seemed to go home alone.

  When Cillian had located her visually, he strode towards her table. Her victim, it seemed, was a Wolf shifter who looked baffled by her behaviour and relieved beyond words to see another man.

  “Excuse me; I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Cillian said, shooting the other man a look that said I’m here to rescue you, Brother.

  “Oh, it’s just fine. I have…something to do,” the man said, rising quickly to his feet and darting away like a squirrel avoiding the wheels of a car.

  “Why, it’s Cillian,” Bertie said, swinging around to face him. “What a lovely surprise. I didn’t think Dire Wolves hung about the club these days.”

  “Bertie. It’s so nice to see you,” he replied. “May I ask just what you were doing to that poor bloke? He looked scared out of his wits.”

  “Flirting,” she laughed. “Of course.”

  Cillian clutched at his chest with both hands. “Here I thought you only flirted with me, Bert. I’m sorely injured.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. Sit down, Dire Wolf, and I’ll buy you a drink,” she replied.

  “Actually, though I’d love to sit, I won’t drink,” Cillian replied, pulling a stool up next to hers.
He stared into her eyes—a move that he knew by now was sufficient to extract all manner of information from her—and spoke again. “I’m here because I need some information. I was in Trafalgar Square earlier, and Grizzly shifter helped me. He caused quite a stir, shifting in the midst of a massive group of humans. Man with dark hair, scar on his left eyebrow. Big guy. I want to find out who he is, and why he didn’t try to kill me like most of his mates would have done.”

  “Well now, that description is a little vague,” said Bertie. “I’ll need more to go on.” She leaned forward, pressing her fingers into Cillian’s thigh. “Tell me more about him. Slowly, now.”

  Cillian narrowed his eyes at her. “Something tells me you’re not at all interested in a description. You just want to watch my lips move.”

  Bertie sat bolt upright, her eyes widening in mock surprise, and gasped. “I would never.”

  “Yes, you would.”

  “Okay, I would. In my defence, you have awfully nice lips.”

  “Thank you. “

  “I need more to go on, though, if you want to find this chap. Tell me more about him.”

  “He was wearing a brown coat. Jumped in front of me, protected my identity when a shifter-hater came at me. That’s all I can really tell you.”

  “Do you like my perfume?” Bertie asked, pressing her neck towards Cillian’s nose. He rolled his eyes, annoyed by her inability to focus. This was the price one had to pay for information from the woman, though. She always got down to business at some point, but usually it came after a prolonged period of inappropriate fondling.

  “It’s very nice,” he said, taking a whiff and suppressing the cough that wanted to erupt from his lungs. “Tell me, do you know anything?”

  “No,” she replied, pushing backwards and laughing as her eyes moved to something in the distance. “But I’ll bet he does.” With that, she nodded towards the other end of the room.

  The Dire Wolf shifter spun around, only to see that the same man who’d helped him and Sinead in the Square was making his way over, his eyes locked on Cillian’s.