Wolf at the Door

by Christine Warren

  Behind her, Quinn howled his need and dropped the shower massage to grab her by the hips and drag her harder into his thrusts. The metal and plastic showerhead slammed against the tile with a loud thud and sprayed water aimlessly at the back wall of the tub, but neither of them paid any attention. Cassidy concentrated on the shift inside her as Quinn repositioned his feet on the rubber mat to gain more solid ground. Better footing allowed him to siphon even greater power into his thrusts. She met them eagerly, hating the loss she felt with each withdrawal, but glorying in every return.

  Her arousal built with a kind of sneaky pressure. Each time she thought she couldn’t possibly be any hotter, he would move somehow to enhance the friction of his body inside hers, and the fire would rage even higher. She burned with it until she wasn’t sure if it would consume her.

  Quinn’s fingers bit into her hips with bruising force, yanking her back in time with his thrusts. She felt his urgency and understood the frustration in his growl as he tried to get closer. It felt like he wanted to climb inside her skin, and she couldn’t argue. She felt the same need to join so completely neither would be able to tell self from partner.

  She let out a shuddering moan as he leaned forward, his hands leaving her hips to slide forward and cup her breasts. The position draped him across her back like a wolf covering his mate, and something primitive inside her rejoiced. His chest pressed against her back as his hips slapped rhythmically against her. His hands kneaded the softness of her breasts and plucked the tight nipples. The added stimulation was either a blessing or a burden, but there was no way she could think clearly enough to decide which.

  Behind her, Quinn uttered a low, rough sound, halfway between a grunt and a growl, and shoved forward with ferocious strength. Cassidy gloried in the consuming pleasure of being claimed by her mate. She answered the stroke with a feral cry and clamped down around him as the first wave of spasms took over, shaking her like prey in the jaws of a hungry beast.

  Dimly, through the torrent of her climax, she heard him shatter around her. She felt the wind driven out of her by the force of his final thrust. He tensed and shook like a too tightly coiled spring. His hands trembled, as if struggling not to crush her tender breasts in their grip even as he lost another battle. She felt his head turn and his teeth sink into the pale skin of her shoulder, deep enough to leave his mark on her. He rumbled as he did it, a sound of intense satisfaction and possession. Cassidy could almost sense the earth shifting beneath her feet as he marked her as his. His woman. His mate.

  The knowledge sent another wave of orgasm rushing toward her, but this time the force of it swept her away. She let the undertow pull her down and drowned in the glory of their joining.

  Twenty-four

  Quinn woke the next morning, tickled into consciousness by the rich, earthy smell of brewing coffee and the utter lack of a soft, naked Foxwoman by his side. It would have been enough to make him cranky if he hadn’t been able to hear her moving about in the other room. That was a good sign. For a while last night, he’d thought he’d killed them both.

  Their mating had been raw and furious, and afterward he’d lain curled around her like a blanket. He’d slept better than he had in ages, and he remembered thinking just before he nodded off that he couldn’t wait until Valentine’s Day. He’d promised his mother he would bring her to Ireland by then.

  God bless his mother. During one of the least pleasant phone conversations of his life, she’d been the one to raise her hackles and lower her foot and tell Declan Brendan Quinn what he could do with his prejudice. A mate was a mate, she’d yelled—because, as she’d said, there was no other way to penetrate his thick skull—and she didn’t care if the one her son had chosen was a Foxwoman, a human, a mermaid, or a Martian. That was the mother of her grandbabies her mate was talking about, so he could shut his mouth until something civil came out of it.

  Quinn didn’t really blame his father for what he knew to be an instinctive reaction. Especially since his own reaction to the knowledge of his mating hadn’t been unadulterated joy. It had taken him a few minutes to get used to it, too. But by the end of the call, his father had grudgingly offered them his congratulations, though he’d be reserving final approval until he met the lass. Quinn knew then that everything would be fine. His mate would have his father wrapped around her little finger five minutes after she got in the door. Yet another instance of “like father, like son.”

  With unpleasant conversations in mind now, he heaved himself off her bed, paid a quick visit to the bathroom, and tugged on his jeans. No point in putting this off any longer.

  Cassidy looked up when she heard him approaching and grabbed something off the counter beside her. “Here. I got you a present.”

  Quinn caught the object easily and felt his yawn melt into an entirely idiotic grin. She’d bought him tea. Real tea. Loose leaf Bewley’s in the lovely yellow canister.

  Bending down, he kissed her cheek. “Thank you, love. That was incredibly sweet of you. I don’t suppose you’ve a kettle I might borrow?”

  “Boil is t minus two minutes and counting.”

  “Bless your sainted heart.”

  He didn’t bother to take offense when she rolled her eyes. He just grabbed a mug from her cabinet, followed her pointed finger to a much neglected tea ball, and set about to rescue himself from the painful injustice of American hot beverages. It gave him a moment to hone his strategy.

  Cassidy leaned back against the counter, cradling her own mug of heavily creamed coffee, and watched him. “I fell asleep last night before I got a chance to thank you.”

  Startled, he looked up from drowning the tea ball in water and scowled. “Thank me? What for?”

  “For taking such good care of me. I’m not convinced I could have dragged myself up here if you hadn’t been downstairs waiting for me.”

  He snorted and dunked the tea ball in the water.

  “Daft girl,” he muttered, talking more to himself than to her. “As if I’d have done anything else. And she thanks me.”

  “Well, I still appreciate it. It was a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you last night.”

  “I wasn’t sure I’d make it.” He dumped the tea ball, took his mug in one hand and her elbow in the other, and led them into the living room, tugging her down onto the sofa beside him. “I had a bit of an interesting day myself.”

  Cassidy laughed. “Let’s have it. I want to hear how it compares to mine.”

  “Unfavorably, if there’s any justice in the world. I spent most of it with Richard Maccus and Rafael De Santos, who are not nearly such good company as you.”

  He knew he’d have to ease himself into this. He just couldn’t rush into anything he knew would upset his mate.

  “You’re only saying that because you didn’t have sex with them.”

  Quinn nearly spewed his mouthful of tea all over her cocktail table. “Jaysus, wench! Don’t say things like that. Not even in fun.” He shuddered. “Most of the time we were piled arse-deep in bank statements, transactions records, and photocopied deposit slips.”

  She nodded. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “A bit.” He set down his mug and leaned forward, his gaze serious and intent. “Cassie love, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

  She looked at him uneasily. “What is it?”

  He took her hand between his and chose his words carefully. “Cassie love, did you ever hear your grandmother mention someone by the name of Daniel Young?”

  “No. But what does my grandmother have to do with this?”

  “How about Daniil Yukov?”

  “No! What are you leading up to with this?” Cassidy tried to tug her hand free, but Quinn held on tight.

  He braced himself. “The name appeared in several of the documents we reviewed. As did your grandmother’s.”

  Cassidy jerked as if she’d been struck. “What the hell does that mean? Are you trying to say that my grandmothe
r is involved in the American cell of the Light of Truth? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”

  “Cassie love—”

  “Don’t you ‘Cassie love’ me!” She snarled and jumped away from him to pace to the other side of the room. “My grandmother is not in league with the type of people who would kidnap and kill and torture innocent people. The very idea is preposterous. Not to mention the fact that you said the goal of the Light of Truth is to expose the Others to the world so they can exterminate us. My grandmother is one of the most vocal members of the community against Unveiling. It doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Cassidy!” Quinn stopped trying to soothe her and now just needed her to shut up for two minutes so he could finish a thought. “I didn’t say your grandmother was in league with the Lightheads. You ought to be careful jumping to conclusions like that before you land wrong and break something. Like your stubborn little head.”

  She glared at him.

  “What I was trying to get out before you ran off on a whim entirely your own,” he growled, “was that the information we went through yesterday gave us more than names. It pointed us toward the cell’s headquarters, where we found a lot more. And some of that gave us a small glimpse of their strategy.”

  “How small?”

  “Small enough that we didn’t wake up to find our problems a thing of the past. But we did find out who masterminded Ysabel’s kidnapping.”

  Her eyes widened. “Who?”

  “A Ukrainian national named Daniil Yukov. He relocated here from Europe several months ago to set up the cell and begin recruiting new members. That lecture we were planning to attend is one of the ways he and the few followers he’s already collected have gone about getting them interested.”

  Cassidy frowned. “I’m not quite following where you got that from.”

  “Daniil Yukov didn’t mean much to me, but Daniel Young sounded familiar. I followed an instinct and asked De Santos for a favor. He had a Silverback who also happens to be an FBI agent run the names through their databases. It turns out Daniil Yukov and Daniel Young are one and the same.”

  He reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed her a crinkled piece of paper. She unfolded it and scanned the familiar text.

  “Oh, my God. ‘Renowned lecturer D. Y. Young.’ Daniel Young.” She looked up at him. “Are you certain?”

  Quinn nodded. “The FBI agent confirmed it, but I wouldn’t worry about the lecture. It’s been canceled.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Yukov flew to Moscow on Wednesday for the kidnapping.”

  “Does Gregor know?”

  “We told him as soon as we realized. His men are out looking for Yukov now.”

  She hesitated. “What about Ysabel?”

  Quinn’s jaw clenched. “We were too late. Her body was delivered to Gregor last night with her tongue cut out. A nasty little message from the Lightheads, but one that means she didn’t give them the information they wanted.” He had no doubts about what would happen when Gregor tracked down the kidnappers, and once she saw his face, he doubted Cassidy did, either.

  She swallowed hard. “So what happens now?”

  “De Santos and I talked about it yesterday. We think the important thing right now is to stop the actions the Lightheads here have already taken. We need to find Alexandra Thurgood.”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Cassidy shook her head and held up a hand, clearly confused. “What do the Lightheads have to do with the governor’s daughter’s car accident?”

  “It wasn’t an accident. De Santos heard from a member of the White Paw Clan, the pack that controls the territory around the accident. According to the White Paw, there were two vehicles involved in the accident, but Alexandra was the only person found at the scene. The other car was severely damaged, but the driver was missing.”

  Cassidy crossed back to the sofa and sank down beside Quinn, shaking her head. “This is too much. The Lightheads were responsible for the accident? But why didn’t they take Alexandra the way they took Ysabel? Why didn’t they want to torture her for information?”

  He shrugged. “We can only speculate, but if they believed the truth about her would come out because of her hospital treatment, they might have thought that would be a simpler way of revealing us. And it wouldn’t leave them looking like they had orchestrated anything, which boosts their credibility with the billions of humans who need to find ways to deal with learning their next-door neighbors might be monsters.”

  “Shit.” Cassidy glanced back down at the flyer in her hand and frowned. “Okay, I get how the lecture ties in with the Lightheads, ties in with Alexandra Thurgood, ties in with Ysabel Mirenow. But I’m not seeing how any of it ties in with my grandmother. Or the Terrible Trio.”

  Quinn frowned and tried not to admit he was stalling about answering the grandmother question. “Terrible Trio? What are you talking about?”

  She gave a weak laugh and slumped back onto the sofa, drawing her legs up beneath her. “Sorry, I forgot I never got around to telling you last night. That’s what I was coming back from when you caught me outside. And the reason why I needed to wake up in the middle of the night for a shower. I got a summons from three of the members of the Council to join them for a private meeting last night.”

  “Who?”

  “My three least favorite Council members, as a matter of fact.” She paused. “Actually, I think they qualify as my three least favorite beings ever. Francis Leonard, Madame Touleine, and Thabo Ngala.”

  Quinn searched his recollection and came up short. “I recall Leonard from the Council meeting the other night, but the others don’t sound familiar.”

  “You haven’t met them. They’re on the Council, but not in the Inner Circle, which was the only group present for the emergency meeting,” Cassidy explained. “Madame Touleine is voudun. Very powerful and very scary. And Thabo Ngala is an animus. I’m just going to assume he’s very powerful, because he scares me even more than Madame.”

  Quinn stiffened. “What did they want?”

  “That’s what was so weird. They said they wanted the Light of Truth. Leonard had told them we were digging up information on the sect, and they asked me to give them any names I found before I gave them to the Council. They didn’t tell me why, and the only thing I can think of is that they’re planning to launch a preemptive strike. But since I don’t plan to tell them anything, I don’t know what they’ll do now.”

  “I’ve no idea,” he said, “and I’m afraid you aren’t going to like my explanation of how the Light of Truth ties in to your grandmother.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He took a deep breath and decided to do this fast, like pulling off a bandage. Or shooting himself in the foot.

  “The reason your grandmother’s name came up during our investigation is because it appeared on several invoices we collected from the Lightheads’ headquarters. They were from a private investigation firm, for surveillance performed on an address on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.” He paused, gentled his voice. “On your grandmother’s house, Cassie love.”

  He watched as her blank look slowly gave way to confusion, then disbelief, and then fear.

  “Nana? They were watching Nana?” She shook her head, her eyes unfocused as she tried to make sense of the revelation. “Why would they do that? What could she tell them that they didn’t already know?”

  Quinn took her hand again and squeezed gently. “We’re not sure, but I don’t want you to worry about it. You had a right to know, but I don’t want this making you crazy, love.”

  “Not make me crazy? To know a bunch of pathological lunatics with a taste for torture have been stalking my grandmother? Why on earth would that make me crazy?”

  She jumped to her feet and headed for the door, oblivious to the facts that she was dressed in nothing more than a faded green robe and that Quinn still had a firm grip on her hand.

  “I have to tell her to be careful. I should be with her. S
omeone needs to keep an eye on her!”

  “Cassie. Cassie love.” He tugged on her hand, trying to get her to look at him. When she just pulled harder, he swore and yanked her right down onto his lap. “Cassidy, listen to me!”

  He waited until she really looked at him, then smiled in reassurance. “We won’t let anything happen to Adele. De Santos has had a car watching her home since we made the connection yesterday. She’s being looked out for. I promise.”

  “I need to call her,” she insisted. “I need to talk to her.”

  “I understand that, sweetheart. Of course you want to talk to her. But Cassidy”—he took her chin in his hand and brought her gaze to his—“you can’t tell her. She isn’t to know about this.”

  “Why not? She deserves to know if someone might be planning to kidnap her!”

  “Cassidy, I’ve known your grandmother for a total of five days, and even I know that if you told her, she would not sit by and let us take care of it. She’d want to handle it herself.”

  “Well, can you blame her?”

  Quinn struggled against impatience and kept his tone firm and reasonable. “No, I don’t blame her, but this is too important to take chances with, Cassie love. The Light of Truth is responsible for Ysabel Mirenow’s kidnapping and murder, and for Alexandra Thurgood’s car accident. We are this close to finding out who they are and where they’re based. If your grandmother goes off after them half-cocked, they could scatter to the four winds before we have a chance to connect the last dots. We can’t jeopardize that because your grandmother feels the need to demonstrate her power.”

  Cassidy threw up her hands. “Fine. I won’t tell her. But I still need to call and make sure she’s okay. And then I’m going over there to keep an eye on her myself. If you and Rafael and Richard made so much progress yesterday, I’m sure you can take care of the rest of this without my help.”

  She leaned across his body and grabbed the cordless phone from its cradle, quickly punching in her grandmother’s number.