Beneath the Skin

by Amy Lee Burgess

  Murphy sat at the same table we’d shared the night before, a cold cup of coffee before him as he stared out the windows.

  I didn’t care that the coffee was cold. It was caffeine, so I took the liberty of separating the man from his coffee and downed it in one, heavenly gulp.

  “No hair dryer in the room?” He took a good look at me.

  “Don’t ask.” I set the cup down with regret and looked around to see if by chance there were any waiters carrying even a sip of coffee anywhere. All I saw were a few people lingering at their tables caught up in conversation or the last bit of breakfast. Most of the dishes had already been cleared, so the wait staff was probably in the kitchen loading industrial-sized dishwashers, or taking smoke breaks. The great urns of coffee had been removed as well, so I couldn’t even get up and get my own cup.

  “Last day of this damned thing. Where are we off to first? Boston or Belfast? What does your pack think? Our pack.” That sounded weird on my lips. Nice but weird. “Do they do anything special when you join with your pack, or is it just no big thing? When can I meet them?

  Are there many of them?” I asked way too many questions, but my head hurt and I didn’t want to talk about the night before, not that Murphy seemed likely to bring it up.

  “Constance,” he said softly, but it was enough to shut me up. “We don’t have a pack. At least not at the moment. I’m working on it, though, so just give me some time.”

  “What do you mean? But they sent you here to find a bond mate, because they wanted

  you back.” My lips felt numb, as if I’d put a grandmother’s ointment on them, the one for easing pain by deadening sensation.

  Why hadn’t I realized this last night? They should have sat at the table celebrating with us. I ought to have been accepted into the pack last night.

  Instead, we’d been alone at a table for ten.

  Murphy’s fingers tightened around the handle of his coffee spoon.

  “They don’t want me back, okay? Can we drop this now?”

  I stared at him.

  “You mean they don’t want me. You’re not the problem, I am.”

  “I said let’s drop this.”

  “No!” My voice was shrill and he squeezed his eyes shut against the volume. I tried to modulate my volume a little but I shook I was so upset. “No, Murphy. We’re not going to drop this. They didn’t want me. Say it. Tell me to my face. I need to know.”

  “They don’t want you,” he said after a tense moment. Anger flashed across his dark eyes.

  “To hell with them, Constance, all right? I knew what I was getting into when I told you I’d do this, so to hell with them.”

  My head thumped queasily and I could taste burned coffee in the back of my throat as well as last night’s champagne. It was not a good combination.

  My fingers fumbled with the clasp to my pendant, I jerked it off and smashed it down on the table top.

  “What are you doing? Put it back on.” He kept his voice low so only I could hear him, but he was upset.

  “No. You take yours off. Take it off, Murphy,” I was humiliated. “We need to find one of the jewelers and get our own stones back and then you can go to your pack and tell them it’s over with us. We need to sever ties now, because we only have forty-eight hours, otherwise we’ll need to wait until my birthday and that’s not until August, so screw that. I doubt you can find somebody else between now and the end of the Gathering, but there’ll be a Regional soon somewhere and you can go there and--”

  “Shut up and put your damn pendant back on.” Murphy glared at me. He hadn’t shaved

  again and the stubble on his cheeks and chin gave him an edgy, dangerous appearance.

  “I’m not going to ruin your life, Murphy!” I almost shouted and he pounded a fist on the table, making the coffee cup rattle in the saucer.

  “Will you shut the fuck up?” His voice was low, but venomous. “Ruin my life! Jesus

  God, woman, who do you think you are that you can ruin my life? And what are you thinking about saying we should sever the ties? You think Ducharme will shrug her scrawny shoulders and let you go back to Boston alone just because you bonded with me only to sever the ties not even twenty-four hours after? That’s not what you agreed to, not what we all agreed to. And you said you didn’t want to be her dog. Didn’t I hear you say that, or am I going deaf?”

  “It’s not worth all the bullshit, Murphy,” I argued, my chin wobbling. I was going to cry again and I wanted to smack myself. When the hell had I become such a baby about everything?

  “I say it is, Constance Newcastle.”

  “Then why did you leave last night? You can’t even stand to be alone with me in the same room and you want to stay bonded with me? I don’t understand.”

  “Well, don’t try to understand me. Just put your damn pendant back on.” He heaved a sigh and looked as if he wanted to strangle me. “Besides, you don’t want to walk out just before the curtain goes up on Act Three, do you now?”

  “Act Three?” Now my voice wobbled just as much as my chin. I reached out for my

  pendant and he moved it closer within my reach.

  “Act One, we were introduced by the mysterious Councilor Allerton and it was suggested we bond. We both declined, he laughed and rubbed his hands together like a comic opera villain and curtain. Act Two, all that drama with the old hag, Ducharme, the setup, the choice between indentured servitude, or a fate worse than death--bonding with me. Agony, indecision, some very dramatic speeches and we’re bonded. Curtain, intermission. Now it’s Act Three when we find out what he wanted us bonded for. Sure and you’re not thinking he’s some sort of half-assed Cupid, shooting arrows dipped in love potion at random unattached people of the Pack, are you now?” Murphy smiled, his dark eyes dancing as he looked at me.

  “It wasn’t a setup, was it? Rudi?” I was horrified and the smile died from his eyes.

  “No, no, never go that far, but he used it. He used the situation. Turned it to his advantage. He sat there waiting for his opportunity with Ducharme. Hell, the two of them may have been in cahoots with each other. Maybe she never really meant for you to be her indentured servant, only to scare you into thinking she did. Nobody could believe for a minute you killed Rudi. Nobody in that room did believe it but her. And maybe she was playing along with Allerton. The point is we’re just about to be propositioned. I thought he might have done it last night when he came to sit with us for coffee, but he’s a sly one. He’s letting the pot simmer just a little bit more.”

  “Ducharme meant it,” I said with conviction. “I could smell that much. She might not think I killed Rudi, but she wanted me to crawl to her.”

  “So maybe Allerton used her too,” Murphy said. “The bitch.”

  “How do I know you’re not in on it?” I said doubtfully, which made him laugh again.

  “Sure and are you really thinking I’d not be straight with you right off? Am I truly such a manipulative bastard as all that? Or are you thinking I’d never had a chance at bonding with you if it hadn’t been a choice between that and something dreadful bad like Ducharme?”

  “You don’t want to be bonded with me,” I said, unable to keep some of the hurt from my voice, which was stupid, because I didn’t want to be bonded with him, either.

  His eyes went dark and an unbearable sadness filled his face.

  “That’s not you, Constance. I didn’t want to be bonded with anyone. I loved Sorcha so much, you see. I never wanted anybody but her, and if weren’t for my pack hounding me, I never would have come here. Sometimes I wish I was an old grandfather and everyone would leave me the fuck alone.”

  “You never thought they wouldn’t take you back, did you?” I kept going, because I had to, I had to.

  “No.” His mouth got tight. “That part hurt. I admit it. But it’s done and I’m bonded to you and I’m not severing the ties. We both have to agree to it if we do it within the first forty-eight hours. I can’t stop you from doing it on
your birthday, but that’s nine months away, isn’t it?

  A lot of things can happen in nine months, can’t they?”

  I shrugged.

  “Thank you, Murphy.” I made myself look at him. His eyes were dark enough to drown

  in if I let myself. He was already starting to be familiar. I felt the extra weight of his pearl birthstone on the pendant around my throat. I could see the green peridot in his pendant wink in the French sunlight. “You didn’t have to do this for me, and I know I’ve been really awful to you when I should be on my knees in gratitude. I keep thinking about Grey and Elena, and even Rudi, and comparing you to them and that’s not fair.”

  “Why not?” His wistful smile told me he wasn’t mad or insulted. “I’m comparing you to Sorcha.”

  “Oh, I’ll never measure up to her.”

  “There is no measuring, because you’re not her and it’s completely different. I’m just saying, Constance, that we don’t have to shove our pasts behind us and feel guilty about them just because they were wonderful. A little bit of feeling nostalgic, of feeling lost, that’s only natural under these circumstances. I’m sorry I don’t have a pack for you. I know you looked forward to belonging to a pack again. And you deserve one. If I have to start a pack myself, I’ll get you one. You believe me?” He touched the hand I had on the table and his fingers were warm and strong.

  “I’d say I’d find us one, but I somehow think you’ll have better luck than me.” I laughed, trying to make a joke, but he didn’t smile.

  “If you didn’t walk around with a target on your backside, inviting people to kick your ass, they wouldn’t, you know?” He took his hand away from mine and gave me an impatient glance. “I’m Constance Newcastle, I killed my bond mates. I know I’m not good enough for you to even talk to let alone let me into your pack.”

  I flushed.

  “That’s the message you’re sending off. Loud and clear. I picked up on it the first night we met. That bitch, Mary, she was testing you. And you failed. Big time. Why don’t you try defending yourself a little bit instead of rolling over and giving us your throat?”

  “I did kill them.” My voice was a guilty whisper. “I was driving the car. It wasn’t raining.

  It was barely even dark. I wasn’t drunk, but I’d had a couple glasses of champagne. I didn’t know the car, because it was only the first day I had it and I drove it over the embankment and we crashed. Elena died on impact. She was in the backseat.” I was crying now, but I couldn’t stop talking. I wanted him to know. “She broke her neck on the back of my seat. The airbag saved me, but Grey was thrown out of the car. He broke his back in the fall. I got out of the car somehow and ran to him. There was blood coming out of his mouth and his body was all wrong.

  Twisted. I knew I shouldn’t touch him, but I did. I wanted him to tell me he was okay. And he tried to. He always knew what I needed to hear. But he couldn’t talk, because of the blood in his mouth, in his lungs. He clutched at my hand and his...his eyes. He was looking right at me when he died. Just like Rudi was. And I saw his essence leave his body and dissipate into the wind.

  Just like I saw Rudi’s. I didn’t kill Rudi. But I did kill Grey and Elena, and nothing you can do will ever make me say any different.”

  “Were they not wearing seatbelts?” Murphy asked. He handed me his linen napkin and I wiped my face with it.

  “No, they never did,” I said around the fabric.

  “Well, he wouldn’t have been thrown from the car if he’d worn a damn seatbelt. And she might not have hit the back of the seat if she’d worn hers.”

  “Oh, bullshit, Murphy. That’s what Allerton tried to tell me too. Such bullshit. I drove the car over a cliff, goddamnit. Seatbelts or not, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  A shadow fell across us and, with a flustered start, I recalled we sat in the grand ballroom where dozens of people milled around.

  A tall curly-haired man stood looking down at us. His eyes were two different colors. The right one was blue, the left brown. The eyes were set in a handsome, very Irish face. He had on a Fair Isle sweater paired with tweed pants and his name tag said Padraic O’Reilly, Mac Tíre, Dublin, Ireland.

  Mac Tíre was one of the biggest and most influential packs in the world.

  “Paddy,” Murphy said, a certain tension gripped his face. I realized they knew each other quite well.

  Padriac said something in Irish and Murphy looked at me then answered in English.

  “Sure, I’ll introduce you to my bond mate. Padriac O’Reilly, Alpha leader of Mac Tíre, this is my bond mate, Constance Newcastle. Constance, this is Padriac.” Murphy’s voice was sarcastic, his eyes very dark. A mocking smile crossed his face as he added, “Most people call him Paddy.”

  “My friends do, yes,” said O’Reilly. He and I stared at each other. I was certainly not looking my best, but the way he gazed at me let me know in no uncertain terms that he found me very attractive. Heat sizzled between us--something raw and sexually blatant.

  Murphy was pissed. His jaw tightened and his eyes became very narrow.

  “You look like you’ve been crying. Has my man been saying something to upset you

  now? Sure and you aren’t fighting after only one night in bondage.” He laughed at his pun and broke our sizzling eye contact. Murphy scowled.

  “I’m sure you’re both upset at my decision about not letting you into the pack, but you’ll not hold that against us, will you?” O’Reilly put a hand on Murphy’s shoulder and Murphy shrugged it off.

  I tried not to gape.

  “Are you here to tell us you’ve changed your mind, Paddy? Because I can’t think of

  another reason why you’d talk to me after what I said to you last night.”

  “You were angry last night.”

  “You’re damned right I was. I still am. So unless you’ve changed your mind, fuck off.”

  I did gape then. Telling the Alpha leader of a pack as big as Mac Tíre to fuck off was almost like telling a Council member the same thing.

  O’Reilly didn’t get angry, though. He winced. The arrogant smile faded from his face and, for a moment, I saw remorse and frustration.

  “Give us some time, Liam,” he pleaded. “Nobody’s sure of this woman yet. Give it a few months and then come back to talk to me.”

  “What? If I survive a few months you’ll suddenly change your mind? You coward. You

  bloody coward. I’ll never ask to join your pack again, Padriac O’Reilly. Got it?” Murphy was so angry one whole half of the ballroom could probably smell it. Most of them stared at us.

  “Well, maybe I’ll be asking you then,” O’Reilly said wistfully. “But you’ll have to wait.

  You’d do the same in my shoes, man. You know you would. You wouldn’t let someone

  dangerous join our pack.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Murphy agreed, shoulders tense. “Constance is about as dangerous as that Fair Isle sweater you’re wearing.” He looked as if he wanted to spit at O’Reilly’s shoes but he didn’t.

  “Let’s agree to let time tell that tale, shall we? It was nice to meet you, Constance.”

  O’Reilly gave me another one of his sizzling stares, but this time I refused to let it affect me.

  “I wish the feeling was mutual, Mr. O’Reilly, but maybe time will change my mind.

  Anything’s possible. Even homicidal Fair Isle sweaters I imagine.”

  O’Reilly burst out laughing and so did Murphy.

  “Good one,” said O’Reilly and there was something almost like regret on his face as he walked away.

  “Can’t take you anywhere,” said Murphy. He sounded downright pleased about it.

  “Mac Tíre,” I declared. “Mac Tíre, Murphy. Only one of the biggest packs in the entire world. Maybe the biggest. There are over a hundred members of that pack alone!”

  “One hundred and fifty-two. In Ireland. But who’s counting,” muttered Murphy.

  “You. You were Alpha of Ma
c Tíre?” I said it as if it were an accusation.

  “Once upon a time, yeah, I was,” he agreed, a small smile playing about his lips.

  “Counting one old grandfather inherited from Jonathan’s birth pack, there are six

  members of the Riverglow pack. In our halcyon days when my triad was intact, there were nine of us. In my birth pack, which I thought was huge, there were twenty-four members. Twenty-five when I belonged. And you led a pack a hundred and fifty-two strong. Jesus H. Christ.”

  “It’s just numbers, Constance.”

  “In Ireland?” I really heard what he said. “Oh, shit, that’s right. Mac Tíre is throughout Great Britain isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but there’s an auxiliary Alpha pair in each country. The Irish Alphas are only figureheads in those countries, for all intents and purposes. They just use the name, basically.”

  “Bullshit,” I cried a little louder than I’d intended. Murphy grinned at me boyishly.

  “I was Alpha for two years, Constance. Nobody’s Alpha for longer than five, it’s a rule.

  Got to let the women of childbearing age have a chance if possible, right?”

  His grin dimmed a little when he mentioned childbearing. I thought of his bond mate dying in childbirth.

  “Was Mac Tíre your birth pack too?” I asked.

  He nodded, a shadow darkening his face.

  “Why didn’t you join a duo and become a triad?” I was honestly confused. Why wouldn’t anybody with that kind of an option take it? And his pack was huge. He’d have had many different options.

  “I told you. I never wanted anyone but Sorcha.” Murphy’s eyes burned bright with the heat of her memory. “Don’t you get it?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now.” I was ashamed of myself for questioning him. His grief was so near the surface it wasn’t fair to poke at it and stir it to the top.

  “No, you need to know all this. You should know all this.” He sounded more like he

  convinced himself rather than me. Instead of looking at me, he turned his head to stare at something across the room. Grief was stamped across his face. I wanted to reach across the table and touch him, offer him some sort of comfort, but when I did, he was up and out of his chair to go across the room and speak with somebody he knew. He didn’t bother to bring me with him.