She nearly choked in her surprise. “You made them?” She hadn’t expected that and the astonishment showed as she paused to look back at him. A second rush of embarrassment coursed through her, no doubt staining her face with a blush.
“I did.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course. Did you not expect a man like me to have culinary skill?” Now she knew she was blushing. She felt ridiculous. “After all, I am the eccentric billionaire with nothing but time on his hands.” Lily ducked down behind the table again and went back to examining the books—anything to get away from his gaze.
“No, it isn’t that.”
“Then what?” He leaned over the table, resting his arms on the edge and smiled at her. His face was much more predatory than…no, she was not going to think about it. She promised herself she was not going to do it anymore.
“It’s just…”
“You are still hung up on someone else.” Lily nearly choked on the pastry clamped between her teeth. “Yes, you are that easy to read, Lily.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to steady her thoughts and her skittering heart. “Not anymore,” she said finally. “Not really.”
“Well,” Loren said, his smile turning sly, “let me be the first to extend a formal invitation to dinner.” Lily pushed the last bit of Danish into her mouth and chewed slowly, using the time to consider her options. She blew it with Rowan and this job was only a temporary one, so why not have some fun? She started to accept then remembered that the offer of a permanent position still hung in the balance. Lily began to question her morals…not that they mattered much anymore after her romp with Rowan. She could easily have fun with Loren…if only the whole situation didn’t feel so damned wrong…
“I’d love to,” she answered, surprising herself. Loren’s eyes sparkled with new intensity, and no small amount of surprise.
“Tonight, then,” he said, and motioned to the pile of Danishes. “Those are yours. I will let you work in peace.” Loren turned and walked away without another word, closing the door behind him.
“That was weird,” Lily muttered as she folded back the flaps on the box and slipped on a fresh glove. But she wasn’t going to think about it. She had work to do.
The tomes were old and dusty, but most were in excellent condition despite the substandard storage. She wrinkled her nose against the cloud of dust that billowed up from beneath the top layer and slowly spread them across the part of the table not consumed by pastry. Most of the books were cloth-bound, some hand-written, and included a spectacular array of subjects.
She found two medical manuals, a hand-lettered bible she was willing to bet money was an authentic Wycliffe manuscript—the one book alone that could make her career if it was real—a series of journals written in what looked like German, and various propaganda pamphlets. She lost hours poring over the volumes, carefully noting dates and authors and subjects, making certain she missed nothing when it came to the details.
But as she neared the bottom of the box, one book in particular caught and held her attention. It was bound in white leather—yellowed with age—with intricate knotwork burned into its surface. She opened the cover, the spine crackling in a way that made her stomach lurch, and found only a single word on the title page.
LUPUS
The blood in her veins ran cold. A book about wolves—particularly one this old and well-decorated—usually meant some forgotten history or mythology. But this book…Lily knew its contents would take her down a road she had been afraid to walk for weeks now.
“Lily?” Loren’s voice echoed through the nearly empty room, startling her into dropping the book. It landed on its spine with a crushing thump, and she winced as she squatted to retrieve it. Lily shoved the book down into her bag and picked up one of the others as his footsteps neared. Forcing calm into her breath and body, she focused on the book in her hands—some boring history about the creation of Earth. “There you are!” He leaned on the counter above her and she tried to smile at him. The action felt forced, and she knew it looked just as fake.
“Right where you left me,” she replied.
“You ready for dinner?”
Ugh…dinner…she’d completely forgotten. But she had also agreed to go. With a sigh, she stood up and brushed her hands together, expelling another cloud of dust. “Just let me clean myself up a bit.”
“Take your time,” he said, eyes fixed on her rear as she strode across the room. Lily cringed, and had to physically bite her tongue to keep from throwing some trite insult at him.
* * * * *
If she’d known he planned to take her clubbing after dinner, Lily never would have agreed to the date—because a simple dinner had turned into just that. Despite her protests that she hated large groups and didn’t dance, Loren insisted on slipping the doorman a ridiculous roll of bills in exchange for entrance to the club. She felt compelled to apologize to the people already in line for the intrusion, but the sharp look she received from Loren made her close her mouth without a word.
He dragged her onto the dance floor where he proceeded to feel her up while she stomped all over his toes. It started out unintentional and he didn’t seem to notice, or even mind that the closer he pulled her the more damage she did. Even though she’d managed to find a decent rhythm in the song she still continued to crunch his toes beneath her heels, all the while apologizing and reminding him that she tried to warn him. But as the song ended and he kissed her, his mouth soft and warm and insistent, she forgot that she needed to apologize.
Loren’s tongue swirled around hers and their bodies picked up the rhythm of the new song. With each heavy bass-beat, his hips surged against hers and his tongue swept across the line of her teeth, turning her body to a puddle of warm, tingling goo in his arms. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she could hear her rationality screaming to stop, that this was wrong, that he was beginning a pattern of taking advantage of her, but his hands felt so good, his kiss so smooth, that she didn’t want to stop.
Lily didn’t realize she was being steered away from the dance floor until her back hit the wall and Loren’s roaming hands squeezed the globes of her ass. Despite his wiry frame, he was much stronger than she thought. His mouth covered hers, sucking the breath from her as he suckled at her tongue. His whole body pressed against hers, and when she felt the hard ridge of his arousal press into her belly, warning bells went off. She pushed him back enough to break contact between their mouths.
“Loren, wait…” she gasped, but the catlike smile on his face told her he wasn’t finished.
“Too soon?” he asked.
“Too fast,” she replied, still breathless, even as he leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers again.
“I can make you forget all about him,” Loren whispered, and devoured her again.
As quickly as this new assault began, it came to an end when Loren abruptly flew backwards, sliding away from her across the floor. His retreat happened in slow motion. When he skidded to a stop, the sounds of the club crashed down on her in full focus, threatening to deafen her with the heavy bass-beats. Lily thought her mind had overloaded and played a nasty trick on her when Rowan’s face materialized in front of her, his massive frame blocking her view of both Loren and the still dance floor.
“Rowan?” she said, struck dumb by his presence. “What are you doing here?”
“Protecting you,” he snarled, his teeth bared in a frightening half-grimace.
“From what?”
“A mistake.”
Loren’s laughter cut through the noise of the club like a knife, piercing her skin with its icy tone as he stalked into view. “The great white knight has come to rescue the damsel in distress, I see,” he said. His eyes were dark and cold, and while Lily could only see Rowan in quarter-profile when he turned his head, she was certain his expression was much the same.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Rowan growled.
“I was sharing an evening with my
date, not that it’s any of your business.” Loren causally brushed off the sleeves of his shirt and tucked the hem back into his pants, repairing the damage Rowan had done. Tension popped between them like arcs of electricity. Lily could feel it crawling over her skin, threatening to drown her in frustration and fear.
“Why come here?”
“Public place.”
“Bastard.”
“Rowan!” Lily snapped, stepping between them. The sight of him—the strong, possessive, alpha-male—sent a shock of awareness bolting through her. His handsome face, even contorted with anger, tangled her heart up in knots. “What the hell is going on?”
“Your friend,” Loren said, stepping up to sling an arm around her shoulders, “doesn’t seem to like me very much.”
Lily twisted out of his grip to glare up at him. “What did you do to him to make him not like you?” she shouted over the music.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Loren shouted back, but the hard set of his jaw told her he was lying. She didn’t have to hear his voice to know that.
“Get out of here,” Rowan said over the top of her head. His breath ruffled the small hairs across the back of her neck. She suppressed a shiver, and rounded on him. His vision was still trained hard on Loren.
“And who are you to decide that?” she asked. Again, the sight of him was like a punch in the chest, and she had to focus just to keep breathing.
“The owner,” Rowan and Loren said at the same time. She fell short on a response, gawking back and forth between them. Even in the relative dimness of the club she saw Rowan’s face pale. “And he should have known not to come in here,” Rowan added.
Lily’s mind reeled. They knew each other. And they hated each other. And Rowan owned the damned club. This must be the trouble Rowan talked about.
“All right, outside…both of you,” she shouted, and started for the front door. Rowan caught her wrist and pulled her around behind a curtain, into a dark hallway. The touch of his fingers on her skin burned; threatened to derail her completely, despite the fact that she’d only moments before been kissing another man. And enjoying it. Then the cold night air rushed over her and his touch left her. Lily turned to face the pair of them, taking a deep, hard breath to steady her jangled nerves. “Now, will one of you please explain to me what the hell is going on?”
Loren and Rowan caught each other’s stare, holding in that pattern for a long moment. Neither spoke.
“Rowan…how do you know him?”
“We go way back,” he said through clenched teeth. She was afraid of what that meant. “Your boyfriend,” he spat the word at her, “has a bad habit of stealing things from me.”
“First of all, Loren isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Didn’t look that way inside.”
“I work for him, you idiot. As for that kiss…I hardly had time to process it before you threw him halfway across the room!”
“My prerogative as owner,” Rowan replied, unrepentant.
“Go to hell, Keir,” Loren snapped, obviously having had enough of this game.
“Fuck you,” Rowan said. “Fucking poacher.”
“If you wanted her, you should have marked her.”
“I am not a barbarian.”
“What?” Lily interjected, but went unnoticed.
“So the chest-beating He-Man bullshit is considered civilized in your world?” Loren asked with a smirk.
“You will destroy her.”
“And it is no concern of yours.”
“It is.”
Loren rolled his eyes and laughed, a deep, sardonic chuckle that rattled Lily’s nerves. She had no idea what this argument was really about, but at the center of it was not where she wanted to be. “Don’t give me some lame line about her being your mate.”
“Hurt her and I will tear you limb from limb,” Rowan threatened.
“I’d like to see you try.”
“There won’t be any trying, kitten.” The air shimmered around Rowan’s form. His eyes, normally that soft sea-and-sky color Lily loved, had dilated, shifting to black. His teeth looked sharper, his fingernails more like claws.
“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!” Lily screamed, and both men froze. She swallowed around the frustrated lump in her throat. She knew how close Rowan was to losing it, knew that Loren had provoked him. No matter how she spun it in her head, Rowan was the monster she wished he wasn’t, and while the offered protection flattered her, it also frightened her.
There was something deeper happening here, she knew. She had no idea what they were really arguing about, but she knew without a doubt that she was at the crux of the fight, and was ultimately the catalyst for whatever would happen from here on out.
“Now will one of you idiots please put aside the testosterone and calmly explain to me what is going on? Loren?”
“Keir here is jealous because he let you get away.”
“No,” Rowan countered, his voice taking on an edge of desperation that set her nerves on high-alert. Even with what little she knew of him, she knew he was reasonable. And he did not sound reasonable right now. “He is dangerous, Lily.”
“I knew this was a mistake,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. This had to end or someone was going to get hurt. “Look,” she started, forcing calm into her voice, “I don’t know where this misguided sense of duty has come from, but as flattering as it is on both sides, it’s a little creepy.”
“He’s jealous,” Loren said at the same moment Rowan muttered, “He is dangerous.” Throwing her hands up in disgust, Lily turned and stalked away, hailing a cab despite both their protests, and gave the driver Loren’s address so she could pick up her car.
* * * * *
Furious, Rowan turned as soon as Lily was out of sight and backed Loren against the wall of the building. His chest ached, his head throbbed, and he wanted nothing more than to drag her back, push her up against the wall, and take her in a way that left no doubt who she belonged to. But Loren had seen to it that such things wouldn’t happen.
Rowan growled, and the smaller man shrank against the brick. He never broke eye contact.
“Destroy me if you must, but if you do anything to hurt her…” he growled.
“I’m just cleaning up your mess, wolf.”
“If you hurt her, I will tear your throat out, cat.”
Loren’s lip curled into a sneer. “After six hundred years of your whining, I have a very hard time believing you will do more than fight. Besides, I might enjoy the challenge.” He brushed past Rowan and stalked toward his car. Rowan remained rooted to the spot, staring at the blank wall with a head full of violence.
Chapter Ten
Lily flung herself onto the couch and pulled a throw-pillow down over her head. Why are men so damn impossible? she thought. All the way home she’d alternated between fury and tears, all the while humiliated by both reactions. The humiliation only seemed to fuel the tears, which in turn led to the anger.
She growled and punched at the couch, bruising her knuckles on the wood frame beneath the fabric. Pain licked through her fingers, and she fought the urge to scream in melodramatic agony, frustration, or any other emotion that surfaced from her battered hand.
“Damn,” she whimpered, turning the word into a whine as she sat up. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she stubbornly sniffed them back. This night had turned into a monumental disaster, and both men in her life were in some way responsible. Lily glanced around the room, determined to not let her gaze land on the expensive shopping bags stacked next to her fireplace. She hadn’t touched them save to move them from the couch, and she didn’t intend to do so now. Instead, she focused on her oversized purse and its contents, spilled all over the armchair. The book she’d pilfered from Loren’s collection lay amongst the clutter, all but forgotten until her eyes found its worn leather cover.
Warning bells went off in her head as she stretched over the arm of the couch and pulled the book free from the personal wreckage. It
smacked of knowledge and danger, but also of irreversible truth.
Lupus.
Wolf.
Lily turned it over in her hands, testing its weight, savoring the rasp of old leather against her fingertips. A lump rose in her throat when her thumb slipped over the uneven pages. With great effort, she swallowed it back and cracked the cover.
Pages and pages of hand-written text glared up at her. Many of the words were written so hastily and in such an old manner that for several moments she scarcely understood what it all meant, but then one word came into sharp focus and she realized exactly what it was she held.
Wolfe.
That one word was clear and unmistakable, and her heart bumped hard against her ribcage in response. The image of Rowan’s body trapped in the shimmering agony of the shift sprang to mind. She cringed.
When the dragon Fafnir’s descendents agreed to protect the ringe, their spirits embodied the visage of the wolfe. Sigurd did flee the cave, taking with him a scale from the Great Dragon’s bodye, jewels with which to free him from the indenture of Regin by way of proof of the dragon’s demise. For himself he did take onlye the ring as a gift to his love. The wolfe, the strong and courage-us warrior, did seek out Sigurd and remove from his possession the ringe.
It’s all nonsense, she told herself, and tried to ignore the meaning in the words, to write them off as the ramblings of a lunatic. It was only a coincidence. It had to be. Perhaps the reason Loren owned the book was because he bought into the myth so readily.
But the more she read, the harder it became to ignore the ring of truth in them. To further the disconcerting fear, she read words she’d already committed to memory. From that stupid website.
Fulle Moone
A forced change at the fulle-moone is a common error. The pulle of the moone is to a wolfe like the tide. A wolfe will always experiense the lunatic frensey, how-ever it does not always occur in the forme of a forced shifte. The drive to shifte, and to mate, becomes much too strong for anye but a true Alpha to resiste. Even an Alpha will experiense the draw to finde his Omega.
Loki's Game Page 10
