Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption

by Nicky Charles

  He sank back in his chair, fatigue and frustration showing in his face and his voice. “Keep the rogue in line. Don’t put up with any nonsense from him. Knock him down the minute he starts to give you any trouble. Got that?”

  “Yes. I know how—”

  “And watch out for that bastard, Sinclair. He’s sharp. He’ll use every trick in the book to try to take our land, but don’t let him.”

  “I have it covered, don’t—”

  “And remember to watch what you spend. Finances are tight right now and we can’t afford—”

  “I know, Grandfather. I’m well aware of the situation.” Fed up, Sam cut him off and got to her feet. She didn’t need him to tell her what to do. She’d been running the pack for years now. Taking a deep breath, she reined in her temper. He was old and ill and sometimes forgot she was an adult, not some young pup in training. Gentling her voice, she continued. “Don’t worry, everything is under control.”

  He scowled. “It’d better be. I might get up tomorrow to check things out, so make sure you’re ready.”

  “I will be.” It was a threat he used often, but he never followed through. “See you in the morning.”

  He closed his eyes, effectively dismissing her. No ‘goodbye’ or ‘sleep well’ passed his lips. It wasn’t his way.

  Sam stared at him for a moment, once again struck by the conflicting emotions he evoked in her. He’d raised her and she respected him, loved him even, but there was always a distance between them, as if he was keeping his feelings firmly in check. What would it have been like to have had a grandfather that doted on you? To have gone on trips to the amusement park or to have been pushed on a swing? From her earliest memory he’d ‘trained’ her to take over the pack. Kickboxing and bookkeeping; no dance lessons or parties with frilly dresses for her. Not that she’d have wanted to be decked out in pink lace but sometimes…sometimes it would be nice to get a word of praise for a job well done, to have some acknowledgement of all she’d accomplished. Unfortunately, it wasn’t about to happen. Samuel Harper, Sr. wasn’t about to let go of the reins nor was he going to change his ways.

  Giving a sigh, she left his room, shutting the door quietly behind her. There was no point in bemoaning what she couldn’t have.

  The house was quiet, only the sound of her own footsteps and the ticking of the hall clock met her ears as she walked downstairs towards her office. It wasn’t often that she had the house to herself; well as ‘to herself’ as possible with a rogue sleeping overhead and her grandfather in his quarters. Still, it was nice not to be constantly on call.

  She’d sent most of the pack out for a run to celebrate the full moon, figuring it would keep them busy and out of the way while she sized up the rogue. A quick glance at the clock showed it would be several hours before they returned from the nature preserve they typically used. That gave her lots of undisturbed time to get some work done. She had bills to pay, correspondence to deal with and—she couldn’t hold back the large yawn that overtook her—she desperately needed to get some sleep. Dealing with Dante in the morning would require her to be alert and on her toes. Pushing open the window, she let the warm night air spill in before settling down at her desk.

  How long he rested, Damien had no idea, but at some point he realized he was hot. Too hot. He tried to push the covers off, to escape the warmth, but he couldn’t. Heat surrounded him. The air was thick, acrid. It stung his nostrils and dried his throat. Smoke began to drift by, blurring his vision and stinging his eyes. What was going on? A fire?

  Oh God.

  No.

  But even as he protested, a wall of flame appeared in the distance. He tried to run towards it, but his legs refused to obey his command. Lead weights seemed to be holding him in place. Panic filled him. He had to move. He had to save Beth! She was calling to him…

  He struggled, fighting the unseen hands that pulled at him.

  “Beth!”

  Damien jerked into an upright position, his whole body shaking. He took in great gulps of air, staring about the room in a frantic search for something, anything, that would orient him. Surely, he was in his own bed, his mate at his side, her body swollen with his unborn child.

  Yes, that had to be true. His sweet Beth was beside him. Couldn’t he hear her gentle breathing? Detect her delicate scent?

  He swallowed hard and inched his hand along the mattress, reaching out for the familiar warmth, knowing with certainty that it would be there. Any second now he’d feel the heat, encounter her soft flesh. A smile began to form on his lips in anticipation of that first moment of contact, but as he stretched his arm farther and farther, the smile faded. His hand found nothing. Panic began to rise in him and he splayed his fingers wider, searching, hoping… There was nothing to find.

  The sheets were cold. The bed empty.

  He was alone.

  Damien closed his eyes and clenched the cotton material in his hand. His throat grew tight as he shook his head in denial, fighting against the emotion that welled inside and threatened to spill out.

  It hadn’t been a dream. His little mate was gone. His baby. Everything.

  It was always the same. Waking up terrified, smelling the smoke, feeling the heat, hearing the sirens. He always hoped it was a nightmare, prayed that it was. Surely if he wished hard enough, what he wanted—needed—would become the truth. Wasn’t that how it worked? Wasn’t that the lie that all the movies and books and songs would have you believe?

  A cynical laugh escaped him.

  Cold, hard reality always arrived to kick him in the ass.

  Letting his body fall back onto the mattress, Damien stared at the ceiling. They said it would get better with time, but what did they know? It had been three years since his mate had died and still the dreams persisted. True, he hadn’t had one in months, but when would the torture finally end?

  He tried to move and realized the sheets were tangled around his limbs, the sweat on his body making them cling all the more. The room felt hot and stuffy; apparently there was no air conditioning. With a sigh, he pulled himself free of the confining material then walked naked across the room, a patch of moonlight showing the way. Not that he needed guidance. The path to his backpack where he kept his whiskey was easy to traverse. He took the bottle from the bag, uncapped it then took a long swig enjoying the burn of alcohol as it slid down his throat and hit his empty stomach.

  Another pull from the bottle burnt only slightly less than the first and he exhaled loudly before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He moved to put the cap back on, then shrugged and tossed the lid aside. Gripping the neck of the bottle he wandered to the window and opened it.

  A whisper of a breeze stirred the curtains as the night air drifted into the room. It skimmed over him, drying the sweat that clung to his skin. Damien snagged a chair and sat down, contemplating the night sky with its dots of twinkling lights.

  Experience told him there’d be no more rest for him that night so why bother trying to moderate his drinking? Instead, he’d spend the sleepless hours staring out the window, drowning his sorrows.

  Lifting the bottle, he saluted the full moon. Somewhere out there werewolves were celebrating the celestial event. He wondered if Samantha was joining in the festivities. Was that why she’d been so abrupt with him? Had she been late for a pack run? And where did wolves go for a run in the heart of a city?

  Damien tried to imagine her with her pack, running through the back alleys or perhaps a large park, playing with the other wolves, finding a mate... He frowned and his fingers tightened around the bottle, an uneasy feeling stirring within him at the image he was creating, though why he didn’t know. What Samantha Harper did was none of his business.

  He shifted his gaze from the window and noted his wallet sitting on the bedside table. Reaching over, he opened it up and stared at the lone photograph inside. Beth. He’d met her on a moonlit night such as this. She’d been beautiful and shy and had looked so lost. He’d fallen in love at
first sight.

  Slowly, reverently, he traced her features with his fingertip. It had been three years since he’d touched her, held her, pressed a kiss to her soft sweet lips. Some people had hinted to him that he should move on, find another mate. He shook his head. How do you love again when your heart is dead?

  Melancholy threatened to overwhelm him again so he firmed his jaw and pushed the memory away. He couldn’t afford to feel, at least not emotions. The smoothness of the floor under his bare feet, the heat of the whiskey in his gut... That was all he allowed himself. Only when he slept did it manage to escape. Sleep was not his friend. Unconsciousness however...

  He laughed darkly and tilted the bottle, his lips forming around the cool glass. Drinking deeply, he wiped his mouth once again and slouched down in the chair. His right leg rested in a patch of light and he noted the scarred flesh. It was the only physical reminder of the fire that had almost claimed him. Everything else had miraculously healed or so the doctor had proclaimed.

  Not everything, he whispered to himself as his fingers clutched the wallet in his hand. My body is alive, but my soul is dead. As dead as the child I never held, as dead as my love, my Beth.

  Closing his eyes, he brought the whiskey bottle to his mouth and tipped his head back once more.

  By morning he was numb. His werewolf metabolism prevented him from getting drunk on human whiskey, but numb was good. As dawn broke, he pushed himself from his chair and headed to the bathroom to shower. It wouldn’t do to start his new job smelling like a brewery, and working for another Lycan meant it was hard to hide his drinking habit.

  Kane had threatened to beat the crap out of him if he didn’t stop, so he had...while he stayed with them. It had been Elise’s reproachful looks that had really kept him on the straight and narrow. For a female Alpha, she was quiet, almost demure, but still managed to keep the pack members in line with her soft suggestions.

  He chuckled. Samantha was a hell of a lot different from Elise, and from his Beth. Last night, he’d thought he’d have to rescue her from that creep at the bar. Instead, she’d wiped the floor with the man while not even breaking a sweat.

  And then, when he’d followed her, she’d tried to ambush him. The resulting fight had been a draw, perhaps because he hadn’t really wanted to hurt her, though he had a sneaking suspicion she, too, had been holding back merely wanting to test him. He grinned at the memory and shook his head. Yeah, Samantha was something different.

  A banging on the door brought him out of his reverie and he realized he’d showered on autopilot. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he made his way to the door and opened it only to be greeted by his new employer’s glowering face.

  “Are you drunk?” She spoke bluntly, eschewing all the normal social niceties and barely gracing him with a glance before staring around the room.

  Damien raised his eyebrows in surprise at her tone, then followed the direction of her gaze. The empty whiskey bottles lay on the floor by the chair in which he’d spent most of the night. “And good morning to you, too. No, I’m not drunk, only pleasantly numb.”

  “Good. We don’t have time to waste waiting for you to sober up. If you’re going to drink, do it on your own time.”

  “And when is my own time?” He leaned his hip against the nearby dresser and folded his arms over his chest.

  “Whenever I say.” She flicked her eyes over his mostly naked body, showing no signs of embarrassment. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs in the kitchen. We’ll talk while you eat.” Without further ado, she turned on her heel and left.

  Damien straightened and pushed the door shut fighting to keep an unfamiliar grin from his face. God, she was a spitfire. And cool, too. He had no false modesty over his appearance. It was a well-documented fact that women still swooned over him, but she hadn’t even batted an eye.

  Drying himself off, he dressed and made his way to the kitchen at a leisurely pace despite the fact that he knew she meant for him to haul ass. Samantha Harper could bark orders all she wanted. He’d obey only when it suited him. And right now, it suited him to piss her off.

  Sam tried to stop herself from drumming her fingers on the table top, but dammit how long did it take the man to get dressed in the morning? He was supposed to be a rogue, not some ‘pretty boy’ who styled his hair before he left his room.

  She took another sip of coffee and reined in her temper. It could be he was testing her, trying to get under her skin. A rogue would do that. Well, she’d been in charge here too long for tactics like that to work.

  Purposely, she assumed a leisurely posture; leaning back and propping her booted feet up on the chair beside her. She didn’t usually wear her boots around the house, but felt she needed the extra height to make a point with Dante. From what she’d heard, he was an arrogant pain in the ass, but that’s what she needed. Someone who exuded confidence, someone who would keep Sinclair off-kilter. With any luck she’d be able to bluff her way out of this whole stupid take-over scenario and avoid an outright fight.

  Finally, she heard the sound of Dante coming down the stairs.

  “Kitchen’s back here,” she called out to ensure he didn’t start wandering around before she laid down the law. Start as you mean to continue.

  The man sauntered into the room as if he had nothing to do for the entire day. He nodded at her, searched the cupboards looking for a mug and then poured some coffee. Still not speaking, he found milk in the fridge and added a splash to his cup, then grabbed a muffin from a plate on the counter.

  Sam watched his progress. God, his body was gorgeous. She’d had a lovely view of it in his room. He’d still been wet from the shower. It had taken all her willpower not to allow her gaze to follow the tracks of the water droplets as they trailed down his muscular chest and abs before disappearing beneath the towel slung low around his waist. Now he was suitably clothed, but he was just as impressive to look at. The plain white t-shirt he wore clung to his torso, while his well-worn denims showcased his long legs and lean hips. She flicked her gaze to his face taking in his straight nose, and high cheek bones. His dark hair was still damp and slicked back from his face save for one recalcitrant lock that fell onto his forehead. For some reason she wanted to reach out and brush it back into place for him. Tightening her fingers around her cup, she ignored the impulse and studied the hint of scruff covering his lower face. It added to his dark and dangerous good looks. If she was looking for a lover, he was exactly what she’d have ordered.

  However, it was a Beta she needed, not a fuck buddy. Unsmiling, she followed him with her eyes as he moved about the kitchen at a leisurely pace. Taking long, slow sips of coffee was the only thing that kept her from cursing him. That, and the need to prove that two could play this game.

  Finally, after finding a plate and neatly cutting the muffin in half, he sat down across the table from her.

  “Find everything you need?” She arched one brow.

  “I think so, thanks.” He took a bite of the muffin, chewed slowly, drank some coffee and then leaned back in his chair. “These are good. Did you make them?”

  She snorted, her mouth full of coffee, and proceeded to choke. Damn the man! When she managed to catch her breath, she glared at him. “Do I look like Suzy Homemaker to you?”

  Dante studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “No. My mistake. The muffins are still delicious though.” He took another bite.

  Sam barely managed to keep from gnashing her teeth. “Listen, Dante. I—”

  “Damien.”

  She blinked. “Pardon?”

  “You called me Dante. I’d prefer Damien.”

  “Why?” She narrowed her eyes.

  He shrugged. “Does a rogue need a reason?”

  “This one sure as hell does.” She folded her arms and set her chin.

  “Fine.” A subtle change came over him, the cold deadly look she’d seen the previous night emerging, letting her know she was treading on dangerous ground. “I change names every fe
w jobs. Sometimes my forms of employment aren’t strictly...legal...shall we say? And leaving a continuous trail across the countryside can become dangerous.”

  Sam thought about it for a moment. It made sense. “All right, Damien, I’ll fill you in on the particulars while you finish eating and then I’ll give you a tour.”

  The hardness faded from him, his expression became almost affable. “Thanks, Samantha.”

  She cringed at the use of her full name. “Sam. Not Samantha.”

  He paused with the muffin half way to his mouth. “It seems to be a morning for changing names, doesn’t it?” The corner of his mouth twitched as if he’d been going to smile and then changed his mind. Okay, he was trying to irritate her!

  She forced her anger down, wondering if having him around was going to be worth the effort. The answer, of course, was yes. She’d do anything for her pack, even if it meant putting up with a pain in the ass rogue. Taking a calming breath, she spoke giving no indication she’d found anything perturbing about his behaviour. There was no way she was going to reward him with a reaction!

  “Our pack has traditionally been known as the Chicago pack. No family name has ever been associated with it simply because one family—my family—has ruled it since its infancy. Our rights to this territory go back over a hundred and fifty years.”

  Damien’s eyebrows rose at that statement and she smiled, pleased to see some show of interest on his part.

  “Unusual. No challenges from outsiders?”

  “No. It’s been a straight line of succession from father to son. Unfortunately, we’ve had some setbacks in recent years.” Sam hesitated, unsure of how much she should reveal this early in their association. “Suffice to say we’re short of manpower and funds right now. But,” she hastened to add, “don’t worry. There’s sufficient to pay you your full fee, provided you do as you’re told and hold up your end of the bargain.” She gave him a stern look.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” His face was serious, the teasing light that had faintly flickered in his eyes earlier was gone now, replaced with cool intelligence.