“No, my lord.”
“That is good.” He paused and tucked the picture into his pants pocket. “You will forget everything you saw concerning my son. He was never there.”
“But, my lord—”
The Grand Wizard’s voice dropped an octave and his eyes turned black. “You were ambushed by the twins. They killed Malachi and Jared. Max was not there.” He paused until Timothy nodded. “You will tell the others that the girls are dangerous. They killed Malachi and Jared. Max was never there.” A chant filled the air and Timothy’s eyes—already glazing over—closed momentarily before he nodded. “Good, Timothy. You’re dismissed.”
***
Vivienne had the distinct feeling she was being watched as she stepped from the double doors of Conall’s house and followed him to the large black SUV parked on the street. Telling herself that she was being paranoid, this wasn’t The Scarlet Letter and there was no “A” on her chest, she lifted her eyes to scan the area, only to find her instincts were right.
She was being watched and from what she could see, by many pairs of eyes. Lowering her head and wishing for pair of large aviator glasses and a Jackie Kennedy-like head scarf that would loop about half of her face, she quickly walked to the SUV and slipped into the front seat. After meeting Conall it seemed her destiny was to relive college, this time partaking in all the wild and embarrassing things she’d easily foregone years ago.
She stared from the mercifully tinted window at scattering of people on porches, lawns, and even in the middle of the street. This had to be a rich neighborhood. It was Thursday for crying out loud, not Saturday. Normal people had jobs, nine-to-fives, and the sort that they couldn’t just up and miss. She sighed. There were a few children gathered but instead of running around as they were wont to do when released by parents, they, too, stared in her direction. Although she found it odd that the children weren’t in school, kindergarten mostly, Vivienne dismissed it. They all probably had underpaid nannies.
Feeling her face heat, she decided that rich or not, Conall’s neighbors were extremely rude. It was not nice to stare. Thank God she wouldn’t be coming back here. Rolling her eyes, more at the fact she was that clichéd girl leaving her lover’s house and being caught, Vivienne checked her phone for missed calls and messages.
As soon as her eyes caught sight of Max’s name, she felt guilty. He’d called her twice, no doubt worried she hadn’t come home last night. She was about to heap the blame on Conall, when she reluctantly decided it was on her. It wasn’t Conall’s fault that when he was touching her, her mind refused to work. It wasn’t his fault she’d craved—she looked out the tinted window to where he stood conversing with Raoul—and still craved all the delicious things his tall and muscular body could give her.
Hot. That was it. Despite the brisk temperature outside, it was extremely hot in the car. Her fingers fumbled with her jacket as she unbuttoned it, then moved to the clear buttons of her shirt. She paused. Strange. She could have sworn the buttons on this blouse were bigger. She dismissed that almost immediately as she undid two more buttons and fanned herself with her collar.
Looking out of the window, she noticed Conall was now speaking with one of his neighbors. The redhead was dressed sinfully in black heels and what Vivienne decided was a black body suit. It couldn’t be called anything else. As if one couldn’t just look at her and tell that she had that body most women would pay plastic surgeons for. Vivienne glared for long moments before deciding she was acting like a jealous girlfriend and…well, she wasn’t. She was the one-night stand. She was about to call Max to reassure him she wasn’t in a ditch somewhere when the woman stepped close to Conall. Without so much as space for air between the jut of her breasts and his chest, she reached out a creamy hand and caressed the side of his face.
Before Vivienne knew what she was doing, the car door was open and she was making a beeline for the woman. Every sense seemed heightened, and she could hear the angry thud of her heart as if it had crawled into her ear. That, coupled with a large burst of energy, had her moving quickly toward her target. She didn’t think about what she would do when she reached her. Vivienne just knew she wanted the woman’s hands off of Conall. Irrational it was, but the irrationality didn’t stop her. Her pace slowed when he grabbed the redhead’s hand and tugged it from his face. His expression was absolutely murderous as he looked down her.
Vivienne tightened her lips and fought the urge to snarl, and then she blinked, and shook her head. Her heart rate and the adrenaline pumping in her veins slowed.
Conall and the redhead had both turned in her direction, and the numerous eyes that had been on her as she sat in the car, and, apparently, had been following her, now moved curiously between her and Conall. She was mortified. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d just slept with a stranger and now she was about to beat down another one of his…women? This looked like a scene right out of Jerry Springer, and damn it, she wasn’t like that! She was a decent, boring paralegal.
Angry at herself and embarrassed she was acting out of character, and people had witnessed it, Vivienne turned, prepared to head back to the car, hang her head in shame, and wait for Conall to drive her back to her apartment, where she’d hopefully pull herself together, and forgot this entire thing ever happened. Okay, maybe not everything. She doubted she’d ever be able to forget him touching her.
“You!”
“Samia!” Conall’s voice was low, but anyone could hear the warning in his menacing tone.
Vivienne spun, knowing she was being addressed, and took a step back when she found Samia standing only inches from her. Up close, the woman was even more beautiful. Her hair was a mass of burnished auburn perfection, her skin flawless in its natural honey-tan, her eyes, brown in color, were probably the only ‘average’ feature she had, and in her face even those seemed exotic. As Vivienne studied her, Samia’s lip curled upward in an easy smile. If she had scowled, Vivienne couldn’t have tensed more.
Samia advanced again, but this time, Vivienne stood her ground, ignoring the feeling of discomfort at having another person in her space. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew Samia was trying to intimidate her, and she refused to give her the satisfaction.
“He’ll tire of you—”
“That’s none of your business,” she snapped. She definitely disliked this woman. Never had she wanted to call a woman ‘bitch’ more.
Samia smirked and took a step away, swiveling her head to Conall before turning back to Vivienne. “Your race is inferior. You’re weak and can never—”
Was she serious? She’d surely heard incorrectly. That was blatantly racist, so she’d obviously heard her wrong. Well, she’d give her the benefit of the doubt first. Her mother had always told her to give people that.
“What did you say?” Her teeth were clenched, her voice barely audible. The question seemed to come at a time of absolute silence.
“I said your race is inferior. Weak. Pathetic. He will grow tir—”
Before she could stop it, Vivienne’s hand collided with the side of Samia’s face. Her palm stung, but she felt gratification as Samia touched a finger to her lip. It came away red. She didn’t condone violence, obviously, but certain people deserved it. Yes, certain racist, red-haired bitches deserved it. That felt good.
“I demand a blood rite,” Samia hissed. She licked her lip and a satisfied smile curved them upward. Vivienne’s brows lifted in confusion. All she’d heard was “blood” and “rite.” What was she talking about now?
“No.” It was Conall who spoke and Vivienne looked to her side to find him there. When had he moved?
Samia glared at him and then at Vivienne. “She drew first blood.”
Vivienne’s brows crinkled. What was a blood rite? Was this some sort of cult?
“She’s not like us. Blood rites don’t apply.”
Samia shrugged and spun away from Conall, turning to face the crowd of people, which had only grown larger.
&nb
sp; “I demand a blood rite!” Samia’s voice was loud and angry.
Conall stepped in front of her.
Blood rite, Vivienne thought in confusion. What is wrong with this community? People with no jobs demanding things like “blood rites?” She’d always known the rich did things differently, but this was extreme.
“And I said no!”
Vivienne, blocked by the breadth of Conall, could only hear Samia’s derisive laugh. She tried to step around him but it was almost as if the man was in her head, stepping to the left or right when she did, effectively hiding her.
“It’s the law, Conall! Even you’re not above the law!”
“She’s not one of us. Our laws don’t apply to her.”
“But they apply to you and she is yours,” Samia retorted coyly. “Isn’t she yours, Conall?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, Raoul and Sloan suddenly flanked her. She looked up at both of them but they were staring at Samia, their expressions grim.
What the hell was happening?
Conall suddenly took a step to Samia, and she heard a sharp intake of breath from either Sloan or Raoul. She couldn’t pinpoint who.
His voice was low as he said, “Yes, she is mine, and I always protect what is mine. You would do well to remember that.”
Samia sputtered as Conall abruptly dismissed her and turned to face Vivienne. His hand was suddenly around her waist as he half-dragged her back to the SUV. Confused, she looked back to see Sloan and Raoul facing an angry Samia. The crowd was moving closer to the three of them, as if curious to know what would happen.
“Conall—?”
“Not now.” His tone was final.
As they drove down the curved street out of Cedar Creek, Vivienne was almost certain the man who’d awakened such hungers in her last night belonged to some sadistic cult.
***
Conall was so angry that for the first fifteen minutes, he couldn’t speak. Every time he’d open his lips, either a growl or some kind of snarl would come out. So he concentrated on the road, on the asphalt, the little white lines, the broken yellow lines—that bitch!
Samia had goaded Vivienne into striking her, had probably bitten her lip on purpose, and then called for a blood rite. Among their people, a blood rite was a call for vengeance given to a werewolf wronged by another. It was given its name because the wrong-doer usually drew first blood in some devious way, and the collector wanted his blood as payment. It was a bloody battle, hence the name, with both parties nursing injuries, not fatal but painful, and a physician standing by to attend to both. Samia had called for the blood rite knowing she had the advantage and wanting to show she was the alpha bitch despite Vivienne’s recent stay in his bed. Samia was a were; Vivienne a human, or at very least, Conall thought so. He stole a glance at her as he remembered the chanting he’d heard in her head and how she’d responded to his beast.
In ten minutes, Samia would have either killed or badly mauled her. He shuddered at the thought and a snarl left his lips. He would not allow that to happen. Ever. Feeling his nails lengthen and his teeth sharpen, he forcefully tossed Samia from his mind. He would deal with her when he returned to Cedar Creek. Vivienne was his mate, and he’d kill anyone and anything that attempted to hurt her.
He finally calmed enough to focus on her. From the corner of his eye, he noticed she was clutching her bag tightly in her hands and pressed as far away from him as possible. He looked down to the bag, glad that Raoul had fetched it from the hotel that morning. He hadn’t focused on accessories when he’d hurriedly left the hotel. Her safety had been his priority.
Sighing, he reached out for her mind, and found himself barred from it! Confused, he tried again, blinking rapidly when he recognized she’d put up shields to keep him out. He pushed against one of them, testing its strength, and swiveled his head when he realized he couldn’t penetrate them. Not unless he wanted to hurt her. Only a sparse amount of humans were psychically strong enough to block their thoughts from powerful immortals, and he had a feeling Vivienne wasn’t even aware of what she was doing.
“Vivienne,” he began, relaxing his foot on the gas pedal. He was doing sixty-five in a forty mile-per-hour zone. That was probably scaring her as well. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she replied quickly, too quickly. “Oh. Thanks for driving me home.”
Conall nodded. He wasn’t exactly driving her home. He was taking her home to see if he could find any clues as to exactly what his mate was, but he had no intention of leaving her there alone. Either he was staying or she would be returning to Cedar Creek with him. Whatever had been searching for her last night was no doubt still out there. As he’d told Samia, he always protected what was his. And Vivienne was definitely his.
The silence stretched between them until she finally asked, “It’s none of my business, but are you in a cult?”
Brows lifting, he shook his head. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
A smile played around his lips. Many of the members of his pack would take offense to that. “Very sure.”
“What’s a blood rite, then?”
The smile faded. He could wipe that memory from her mind, but he didn’t want to. Plus, with her shields blocking him out, he’d have to break those down, hurt her in the process, and then pull that memory.
“It’s nothing.”
She snorted and murmured under her breath, “Sure you’re not in a cult.”
“I’m not.” And then he paused as he thought of the similarities between a cult and a pack. They lived together, kept to themselves, fought for each other, had weird behavior. She was right. He was in a cult, just not the one she was imagining.
“So tell me what a blood rite is,” she persisted. Conall quickly looked over at her. Her body was turned to him, her honey eyes open, trusting and curious.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes.” She nodded to emphasize her answer.
“A blood rite is an act of vengeance between two wolves,” he said plainly.
“Okay,” she said, nodding as if she understood. Seconds later she shook her head, narrowed her eyes, and said, “Wait. I don’t understand. An act of vengeance?”
“Yes.”
“Between two wolves?”
“Yes.”
“So, why would Samia call for a blood rite against me?”
“Because she’s a wolf.”
That was met with a loud guffaw of laughter. Conall relaxed. At least she wasn’t throwing a hysterical fit and demanding that he stop the car. He could deal with her refusing to believe him. He couldn’t deal with her trying to run from him.
“I know she’s a bitch, but a wolf? That’s a stretch.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He smiled at her humor. Samia was a bitch, in both senses of the known word.
“Are you going to tell me you’re also a wolf?” she asked, relaxing in the seat and reaching into her bag.
“Yes.”
She chuckled. “Oh, I get it. You’re telling me you and Samia are werewolves?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve probably got some vampire pals as well?”
Conall wouldn’t call them “pals” but they had their uses. He nodded, knowing she wasn’t taking him seriously, but glad that he could talk freely.
“I’m forgetting something. Oh, yes. Demons? I’m guessing you have demon drinking buddies as well?”
“No, no demon friends.” Because demons didn’t actually exist. Humans had created that term for any creature unlike them. At different times in history, vampires, werewolves, witches, and other creatures had all been demons to them.
“Hmm, witches? What about witches? And warlocks? They’re your friends too, I’m guessing.”
“No.”
She nodded in an exaggerated way, a little smile lifting her lips. “So you don’t like demons, witches, or warlocks? Isn’t that some form of discrimina—?”
/> She was cut off by the ringing of her phone. He looked over as she pulled the object from her purse and placed it to her ear.
“Hey, Max. I’m sorry that I didn’t call—wait, slow down. What? Are you serious? We’ve been what?” Her voice had gone from calm to hysterical in the span of seconds. Conall’s ears perked up as he listened in to the conversation.
“Robbed, Vivienne. Someone broke in and trashed the apartment. The cops are there right now—”
“You’re serious? Oh my God. Was anyone there? Were you hurt? Where’s Drew?”
“We’re both fine. We’re staying at a friend’s place—”
“Where? Where are you?” He gave her the address and she jotted it down on a piece of paper she took from her bag.
“Where are you, Vivienne?”
She looked around and then said shakily, “I was heading back to the apartment. I’m just going to come to you.”
“Are you alone?” Max asked suddenly and Conall tensed. It was a typical question for a friend to ask, but something about the way Max said it made him want to reach through the phone and strangle the human. It was almost as if he were blatantly asking about Conall and hoping she weren’t with him.
***
Vivienne looked over to Conall with round eyes. “No, I’m with a friend. Do you know what they took?”
She remembered her mother’s jewelry and prayed they hadn’t gone off with those pieces. Evelyn had left France with few things, her mother’s jewelry, which had been in her family for generations, and her Bible. “Do you know if they took my mom’s jewelry?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Where’s Drew? Can I talk to her?”
“She’s sleeping, Viv. She’s traumatized.”
Vivienne placed her hand to her head. “She’s not hurt though, is she? Max?”
“No, she’s not hurt. We’re fine.” Something about the way he said it made her ask, “You’re not just telling me this so I won’t worry?”
“No. I’m serious. We’re both fine.”
Taken by Moonlight Page 12
