by Sierra Dean
“And she raised you alone?” He was a little surprised by it. Werewolves, from what I understood, were fans of the it takes a village approach to raising children. I’d told him yesterday my grandmere raised me, but I guess he’d assumed she had help.
“Because of, uh…” I tried to think of something that wasn’t a lie but wouldn’t tell him more than he needed to know, “…the in-utero trauma that caused my lycanthropy to activate early?” Okay, so I failed to mention that said trauma was my newborn vampire father force-feeding his tainted blood to my mother and turning me into a freakazoid hybrid. Not a lie, really, more of an omission. “My mother was young, only seventeen, and my father was…dead.” Again, not a lie, just a twist on the truth. “She didn’t know how to take care of a baby that wasn’t just a baby. She probably couldn’t have taken care of me if I had been normal. She left me with my grandmother and never looked back.” All of that was one hundred percent truth.
Lucas’s face was stony. Even Dominick and Desmond at their own table looked more solemn than they had before. To me this was history. It was like telling someone about Brutus betraying Caesar. Or about the collapse of the Roman Empire. History wasn’t personal, it was just facts about the past. So, in spite of the fact that this history was mine, it no longer moved me.
Lucas took my hand, and with his other he touched the side of my face with a soft stroke of his fingers. His hand was hot against my skin, which didn’t surprise me given the raised core temperature of all wolves. “You will never lack for a family again,” he promised.
Sadly, I didn’t think it was a promise he could keep.
Chapter Eighteen
The Chameleon Lounge was more than just a restaurant. While the main floor served as an upscale dining experience, the upper level, buffered by soundproof walls and floors, was a dance club.
Lucas guided me up a staircase at the back of the restaurant with our two D-named bodyguards following close behind us. At dinner, Lucas had mentioned Desmond would be keeping an eye on me, but he made it sound like the normal thing for a wolf-lieutenant to do for a displaced princess. I didn’t pry further, but it seemed like Lucas was assigning me a bodyguard I didn’t need or want.
When we reached the club it wasn’t at all what I expected. The walls were decorated with sophisticated red-and-black damask wallpaper, and every flat surface looked like polished black marble, from the dance floor to the bar to the individual tables.
All the lights were dimmed and covered by beaded black shades. Both the bar and the DJ booth were on raised platforms, while all the booths were sunk into the floor so they had to be stepped down into.
I wondered if the marble floors posed any risk to dancing patrons, but the question was answered when a man grabbed his date’s hand and spun her around three times as if she were a top. She stopped on a dime, dipped backwards and then into his arms again. Weres had enough natural grace to not fear a floor like this.
Genevieve knew how to create a unique and dynamic environment for her customers. As soon as I thought of her I remembered a question dinner had forced out of my mind.
Instead of asking Lucas, I dropped back to fall into step with Desmond. I figured since he’d known about Melvin the wereferret, he’d probably know about Genevieve as well.
“Desmond?” The taste of lime filled my mouth, and I had to swallow it before I could think of speaking again.
“Miss McQueen.” His formality jarred me. I wondered if his coldness had something to do with his orders, if by being aloof he felt he was better equipped to protect Lucas and me. But Dominick didn’t seem to have any problem being nice to me. Perhaps when this night was over, Desmond and I would have a little chat about what exactly his issue with me was.
I carried on with the question I’d been about to ask. “What is Genevieve? I know she’s not a wolf, and she’s definitely feline, but I can’t quite pin her down.”
A laugh punctuated the air behind us. “Ah, and here I thought the idea was that curiosity killed the cat. What, I wonder, did it do to the big bad wolf?” Genevieve was a few feet away, leaning against the bar with a glass of champagne in her hand. Of course it would be champagne, and I was willing to bet it was Cristal. Nothing but the best for our hostess. “You are concerned about what kind of cat I am?”
She sashayed over to us on her towering heels. With that added height and the fact I was in flats, she stood much taller than I and stared down at me with a lecherous smile that suited her quite well. Lucas had disappeared into the crowd with Dominick, leaving me alone in Desmond’s company.
“I was just wondering. Not concerned. You don’t smell like any other were feline I’ve encountered.”
“And you don’t smell like the average wolf,” she pointed out, making me swallow hard. “Though I guess that has something to do with the company you keep.” In that one sentence Genevieve proved she was a woman to be respected and feared. She knew much more about what happened in this city than I’d given her credit for. “I must say, standing next to this knight of yours, you two certainly smell alluring together, don’t you?”
I grimaced. Impossible. There was no way for her to know what I could taste from Desmond. He gave me a wary look, as if thinking the same thing. It was the first time I considered what must be happening to Desmond whenever he came near me. If I was really bonded to him the same way I was bonded to Lucas, which still seemed impossible, then how much was he suffering by ignoring it?
I couldn’t help but ask her, “What do we smell like?”
She grinned and tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Key lime pie. It’s on your breath, and it’s not on my menu.”
My whole body went rigid, but I did not reply.
“To answer your original question, Miss McQueen, I am an ocelot. One of only a dozen in the country, and I am their queen.”
I nodded, absorbing her species and rank. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. It has been some time since I’ve been in the presence of a soul that is double bonded. You are quite remarkable.” She tipped her champagne flute at me. Before I could get any clarity on what she meant, she was looking past me. “I see your king has found an acquaintance. I will leave you now, but please drink whatever you’d like tonight. It’s on me.” And then she was gone.
Turning to Desmond, I noticed how hard-set his jaw was, his eyes looking anywhere but into mine. “Double bonded?”
“She shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t her place. Trouble-making cat.” He glared in the direction she had gone.
“Double bonded?” I asked again, more insistent this time.
“Secret,” he said, dropping the formality but none of the stern tone. “We can’t discuss this here. Lucas will explain when—” His eyes located the spot Genevieve had been looking at moments earlier, and he was suddenly quiet. “Oh,” was all he said. Then, “Are you a jealous woman?”
I couldn’t ignore that. Even as I was saying, “No,” I was turning to see what he was so distracted by. The new acquaintance Lucas had made was a willowy brunette wearing a minimalist taupe shift dress. His hands were on her waist, her back against his front, and they were dancing very close together, swaying in perfect harmony to the music.
My denial of jealousy stuck in my throat, blocking the growl that longed to follow. I shoved the urge back down into my stomach where it gurgled unpleasantly.
“So, what? Are soul-bonds the werewolf equivalent to… Hell, whatever.” I waved my hands in front of me, trying to make the whole scene disappear while I failed to find words to express myself. I had the distinct feeling I was being played, and my naivety about werewolf commitment had been used against me. “This is ridiculous. First he’s telling everyone that I’m on my way to being queen…” I looked pointedly at Desmond, who appeared worried, “…which I never wanted, by the way, and now he’s out there grinding with some strange girl? And Genevieve is implying that you and I are soul-bonded too? But that’s crazy, right? Even though you taste like bitin
g into a fresh lime whenever I’m within a few feet of you.” I was breathless from my ranting. All I wanted to do now was leave.
The willowy girl had snaked her hand up to Lucas’s hair, and their hips were pressed so tightly together they might as well have been mating. His face was near her neck, and I was flushed with fury. Seeing them dance awakened a vindictive part of me that had no desire to go anywhere. Instead I wanted Lucas to know exactly how this rage felt.
“Calm down.” Desmond grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to him so the crowd wouldn’t hear us. “It isn’t what you think.”
“Fuck that.” I took his hand in mine and turned to the bar behind us, ordering a tequila shot and another immediately thereafter. I drank both in rapid succession, their bitterness masked thanks to my proximity to Desmond. “You and I,” I told him, looking right into his wide gray eyes, “we’re going to dance.”
This would be the perfect time to stalk off in a girly snit. I should have insisted on walking home and never speaking to Lucas again. A rational part of me knew he wasn’t yet my boyfriend or my mate, and I had no real right to be jealous.
But as a woman who had been left by her date so he could dirty dance with another girl? Well that part of me was a lot less forgiving.
Desmond didn’t fight me as I dragged him onto the crowded dance floor, and I was thankful to him for that.
When I took his hand and placed it low on my back, he hesitated for a moment as I felt an electric tingle jump from him to me. He placed his other hand on my waist as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in close. Sure, this was childish of me, but technically Desmond was still doing his job. There were few better ways to guard my body than by having it under his hands.
The song Lucas and the girl had been dancing to ended and the tempo changed, picking up speed as it became a popular up-tempo dance number. I worried Desmond wouldn’t be able to dance to it, but the hand low on my back held firm, and the other moved from my waist to grab hold of one of my arms. Before I knew what was happening, he bent me so far backwards my hair brushed the floor.
When he pulled me back up, his lips brushed my ear and he whispered, “Just try to keep up.”
I turned to look at his face and he was smiling at me.
“Just try and stop me.” With one hand in his, I swung myself out from his reach, then he spun me on the balls of my feet back into his arms. A small clearing on the floor widened to accommodate our theatrics, and several couples stopped dancing and stood back to watch.
Once he had me close, his hips pushed against mine, moving both of our lower bodies forward and then back in a sensual figure eight. I realized then that he was doing a modified version of a samba. He dipped me, this time backwards across his knee in such a way it would have probably broken my back if I hadn’t let myself go bonelessly into it. Applause burst through the crowd. He grabbed both my hands and swung his leg back, dropped me to within an inch of the floor, then tossed me into the air before pulling me back towards the floor and through his legs. I found my footing on the other side with no difficulty and hurled myself at him. He caught me on his right side, his arm holding my hips up so I was almost sitting on his shoulder before I slid down the line of his body, his hands skimming my waist with emphasized awareness before my feet touched the floor. Our eyes locked as we fell into the more standard samba steps, in perfect time to the music.
I grinned at him, surprising myself by how much I was enjoying his company. He was smiling back. By the time the song came to a close there wasn’t enough room for a light breeze to make its way between our bodies. Over the new silence came a burst of applause and whistles.
Oh, right, the other people in the room. In the rush of endorphins and adrenaline that had accompanied our impromptu routine, I’d completely forgotten the reason we’d come onto the floor to begin with. Still in his arms, I turned to look at the faces of those around us who had taken in the show.
Clapping wildly along with them was Lucas. Next to him, applauding politely but with none of his vigor, was the girl he’d been dancing with. She looked downright bored.
Desmond kept an arm around my waist, and we thanked the crowd with an awkward bow, then he led me to the wolf king. Lucas was beaming, and when we reached him he put his arms around me, lifting me off the ground and out of Desmond’s hands.
“That was marvelous! Where did you learn to dance like that?”
Actually, it was Keaty who had taught me to dance. We’d been investigating a dance studio where the council believed a rogue Russian vampire was offering more than lessons to his most promising ballet students. Keaty and I posed as a couple taking ballroom lessons to spice up our pending wedding ceremony. Long story short, the Russian met a violent end, and Keaty managed to teach me how to use my agility for something other than killing.
“I, uh, picked it up over the years.” I was blushing.
Lucas clapped his hand on Desmond’s shoulder. “Quite the show! I bet you never thought those dance lessons we took in grade school would pay off.” This bit of new information surprised me. Had Lucas and Desmond really known each other since they were children? Lucas had told me they’d recognized each other before they were turned, but I’d sort of thought he was exaggerating. No wonder Desmond didn’t want to discuss the possibility he and I might share a connection. He’d known since childhood his best friend was destined to be king and that certain sacrifices would have to be made.
A bubble of guilt swelled in my gut for forcing him into this scenario with me, even if Lucas seemed to be tickled pink by the whole thing rather than flying into a jealous rage. Nothing about the werewolves was what I had expected.
“Secret, Desmond, please allow me to introduce Sophia Sullivan.” Her name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t pin down why. He was directing our attention to the brunette he’d been dry humping. I no longer considered her willowy but rather lanky instead. Gawky, even, as if her long limbs were not really hers and belonged to a different body. I wondered what it was about her that had interested him when he hadn’t given the stunning Genevieve a second glance.
“Charmed,” Sophia said, giving a noncommittal wave and not offering to pick up either of the handshakes offered by Desmond or myself. Lucas laughed again, but this time it sounded forced. He was pardoning her rudeness, and I couldn’t understand why.
“Sophia is the daughter of the Alpha in Albany, New York. Marcus Sullivan.” He looked directly at me as he said it, his eyes narrowing for emphasis so he could be sure I understood him.
I understood all too well.
This rude wisp of a girl was the one I had killed a man for. This was Marcus Sullivan’s ruined daughter. She didn’t seem permanently scarred by her unfortunate past, unless being bitchy was a symptom of damage. When I’d left Albany, Sophia had been human, and it didn’t take a supernatural detective to know that was no longer true. The smell of wolf radiated from her, and it wasn’t just a byproduct of being near Lucas.
He had danced with her to keep the peace. He was showing the other wolves that, if they were to find out what I’d done to William Reilly, not only did he know, but he accepted what Marcus had to do.
At least that’s what I thought it meant.
Lucas’s heart was in the right place, but it didn’t seem like Sophia was deserving of his kindness. She shifted her cold gaze to me just as I saw several large men moving to block all the doors.
“You’re Secret McQueen,” she said, her voice emotionless and flat.
“Yes.” I wasn’t really looking at her anymore. I was trying to figure out why the exits could no longer be exited. Something bad was coming.
“You killed Billy Reilly.”
A few wolves nearby heard this, and it distracted them from what was happening at the doors.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I would think that you of all people would be happy I’d done it.”
“Happy? Happy?” Sophia’s voice cracked, her lower lip trembled. Lucas stepped back from her
as she jabbed a bony finger into my chest. Both he and Desmond moved to stand between me and the angry girl. She didn’t seem to notice them as she continued her shrill tirade. “Billy was my fiancé, you stupid whore. You killed the love of my life.”
It was like I’d been slapped in the face and dumped into cold water all at the same time. “Your father told me he’d raped you.”
She barked out a harsh laugh. “Liar. My father knew Billy had proposed to me.”
In the silence that followed, dark realization settled in for all of us. First on me, before it spread to Lucas and finally dug itself into Sophia. She grew pale and looked to have aged a decade in seconds.
“My father had my fiancé killed? No. No, that’s not possible.”
“By an outsider, so no one in the pack would suspect,” I mused, ignoring her protests.
“But why?” She still hadn’t accepted it, and who could blame her?
“Because,” a deep, booming voice responded, “William Reilly was a lowlife junkyard dog, and you were meant to be a princess.”
We looked over to see Marcus Sullivan step up onto the marble bar, surrounded by burly wolves who flanked him on the floor.
“And I,” he continued, “was meant to be king.”
Chapter Nineteen
Time had not been kind to Marcus Sullivan in the years since I’d last seen him. He, like all wolves, was muscular and lean, but age was beginning to show in the worn lines of his face and the smattering of gray in his black hair and beard.
“Marcus,” Lucas shouted above the eruption of uneasy noise from the crowd. “What is this?”
“The end of your reign, pup. I won’t be ruled by a baby-faced millionaire. I’m here to dethrone you.”
Dominick emerged from the crowd to stand in front of Lucas, and other loyal wolves formed a circle around us. I was being protected by extension, but I saw uncertainty etch across Desmond’s face. He looked at me, then Lucas, as if trying to decide who needed his protection more. He’d been asked to guard me, but his king was also in danger. He stayed next to me, but his gaze constantly darted back to Lucas.
