It had been an uneventful patrol which was the way she liked it. A few years back, she’d have found such a night boring, even a disappointment. In those early days, she’d been over vigilant, picking fights with young thugs, covering extensive miles each night while criss-crossing the city. Now she knew better. Her patrols were methodical, aimed at maintaining a sense of her presence rather than shoving it down everyone’s throat. She no longer viewed all other shifters as a threat if they happened to pass through the area; she simply made sure they knew she was there and expected them to behave. There was no point in looking for trouble, it found you all too easily. Expending energy on pointless confrontations was…well…pointless. And human problems like car theft and graffiti weren’t her concern, either. She had enough to do; as long as her family members were safe and there were no threats to her territory, she could let the small things go.
Damien, however, she wasn’t sure about. She slid a glance his way, noting how his nostrils were flaring, his gaze darting about as if he expected an attack at any moment. Alert? Or looking for trouble? No doubt his life as a rogue was filled with more adventure than a simple evening patrol provided. Too bad. No matter how hot he looked, she couldn’t afford to have him causing an unwarranted disturbance, not when Lycan Link might have her under observation.
“Something wrong?”
He gave a start, then scowled. “Nope.”
Huh. A stellar conversationalist. Well, if he wasn’t going to talk, then she would. The bio he’d sent her said he’d worked as a mercenary and specialized in information acquisition, whatever the hell that might mean. “So what did you do as a mercenary?”
“You don’t want to know.” A shuttered look came over him again, but she didn’t let that stop her.
“Really?” She feigned a look of surprise. “You can read my mind and know that my mouth is moving without permission from my brain? That I asked a question just to fill the dead air space?”
The corner of his mouth curled briefly at her sarcasm before returning to a flat, uncompromising line. “I’ll rephrase my answer. You might want to know, but I have no plans of telling you.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately, instead giving her an icy look. When she didn’t back down, a muscle began to work in his jaw giving her the distinct impression he was waging some internal battle. Maybe debating what was greater; his desire to tell her to piss off or his need for the job. The job must have won for he sighed loudly and finally answered her question.
“When I finish an…assignment…that part of my life is gone and I don’t bring it up again.” He paused and then added, “It helps keep the guilt at bay.” There was bitterness in his voice that caused Sam to bite back the cutting comment she’d been about to make.
“Okay, let’s try this. You seem edgy. Have you done much patrolling before or was last night the first time?”
“Some.”
Sam rolled her eyes. She stopped, grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. “Listen, Damien. I don’t want to play damned twenty questions. I want to learn something about the newest member of my pack, my fucking Beta, for heaven’s sake! How the hell am I supposed to know what skills you possess, if I can depend on you in a crisis, if I don’t know anything about you?”
Damien’s face clouded, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. She expected him to lash out, even readied herself for a verbal attack at the very least. Instead, he visibly reined in his temper. Curious. Did he need this job that badly? Sam tucked that tidbit of information away.
“I’ve done patrols both in urban centres and the wilderness. I’m good at picking up anomalies in the atmosphere; scents or sounds that shouldn’t be there. I don’t react rashly and I don’t use more force than necessary. If there’s a crisis, you can count on me.”
“Thanks, that’s all I wanted to know.” Sam gave a nod and, without another word, continued on her way. She could sense Damien watching her, and managed to take a good dozen steps before he began to follow her.
With his longer legs, it took him no time to catch up. “What about you? Can I count on you?”
She smiled, appreciating how he came back swinging rather than being cowed by a simple tongue lashing. It wasn’t often anyone stood up to her. “Yeah, you can count on me. I’ve got your back if need be.”
He nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a partner I could count on.”
“By choice or because of circumstances?”
“A bit of both.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, enough to let her know she was probing a sensitive subject. Fine. She’d let it go…for now.
Sam turned the corner and Damien followed. They were in a quieter area now. No night life happened on this stretch of street. Not far now; they’d be home in twenty minutes tops. She began to envision her bed. God, she was tired. Bypassing the full moon run the other night had been necessary, but she missed the opportunity to relax and let her inner wolf take control for a while. Being in charge day in and day out wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. How humans did it, not having the tension releasing rush of shifting, she couldn’t begin to imagine. Of course, they didn’t have another creature living symbiotically inside—
Damien nudged her with his elbow and she instantly went on alert. She glanced at him, then followed the direction of his gaze.
The street was devoid of traffic, the storefronts in darkness, their windows staring blankly out at the empty sidewalks. There was no sign of life…except for the flicker of light coming from the back of the store they stood near. It was Mr. Marcello’s and everyone knew he didn’t work late. For as far back as she could recall, the man had closed his shop at six and retreated to his upstairs apartment for the evening.
“Is it our concern?” Damien spoke in hushed tones.
She flicked a surprised look his way—apparently he knew when to fight and when to put differences aside for the sake of a job—and then looked back at Mr. Marcello’s. Normally, she’d not get involved; human crimes were for human cops. But…
“Mr. Marcello is a long standing friend of my grandfather’s.”
“He knows?” It wasn’t an idle question. Mr. Marcello’s knowledge—or lack thereof—as to their true identity would influence how they’d proceed.
She shrugged. “He suspects, but has never asked; it’s like the elephant in the room. Work under the assumption that he doesn’t. I don’t want a damned DC showing up on my doorstep.” A Damage Control agent having to clean up after her would give Sinclair another weapon to use against the pack.
Damien didn’t reply, only jerking his head to indicate she should take the alley to the back of the building. At first she bristled that he would assume control of the situation, but since it was exactly what she’d have done, decided to let it go. He could watch from the front, she’d handle the action at the rear.
As soon as Sam disappeared from sight, Damien double-checked that no one was watching and then began studying the shop’s door and windows. The wire for the alarm system was easy to locate and…he visually followed it up and around the window…it was a dummy. Not connected at all, just there to give the impression of security to anyone who casually glanced at the entrance. Shaking his head, he used his pocketknife to lift the latch then tested the door. The handle turned soundlessly, but a wind chime was hanging near the top, designed to warn of anyone entering. Cautiously easing his arm in and around, he placed his hand over the chimes so they wouldn’t jingle and slipped inside.
For a moment, he didn’t move, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could hear low voices coming from the back; no sounds of violence, though at least one voice was agitated. Moving carefully, he began to make his way to the rear of the store, searching the shadows for signs of movement, carefully manoeuvring through the maze of antiques and collectables.
Testing the air, he picked up the scent of furniture polish, wood, humans… And lilacs? Dante or was an actual potp
ourri being used in the store?
Adrenaline rushed through his system and he forced himself to stay controlled. Low, even breathing, silent measured steps. If Dante was back there, this was his chance to grab the bastard and rid the world of the man’s sorry hide.
Damien inched even closer to the back room. It was separated from the main area by a half-drawn curtain. Through the gap, he caught glimpses of two men in profile. One—an older gentleman—was in a chair by a table, while the other was balancing his weight with his hand on the table, leaning forward in a menacing fashion. Yeah, it was Dante. He’d recognize the man’s methods anywhere. Snooping, stealing, intimidating; all part of Dante’s arsenal.
“You know more than you’re telling me, old man.” Dante hissed. “I know you were there. You saw it all happen. You wrote about it in this.” An old leather-bound book came into view as Dante waved it about.
“Where did you get that?” The older man half stood to grab the book, but Dante moved it out of reach.
“You need to keep your windows locked, Marcello.” Dante flipped the book open and scanned the pages. “This made for interesting reading.”
“You have no right!” The man—Marcello—protested. “My personal journals are not for public consumption.”
“Maybe yes. Or maybe no.” Dante held the book open wide and shoved it in the man’s face. “I found this. You ripped a page out. I can see the raw edges.”
The old man’s face visibly blanched. “Some cognac was spilled…”
“Right, and there’s gold at the end of a rainbow.” Dante snorted. “Never mind. I’ve pieced the whole story together and soon Harper will know of it, too.”
“No!” The old man began to stand once more, but Dante shoved him back into his seat.
“Shut up and listen. If you want to keep this under wraps, then you’ll have to pay for the privilege.”
“Blackmail?” Marcello’s face started to flush.
“Smart man.” Satisfaction oozed from Dante’s voice. “I’ll take the first instalment now.” There was a rustling sound, then the creak of metal followed by an angry snort. “Your cash on hand is suspiciously low. Do you have another safe hidden somewhere?”
Damien could hear items being shoved aside as Dante started searching, loud thuds as objects hit the ground; all background sounds for Marcello’s protests.
“No. I’ve nothing else. I swear. I...I had to make a large payout yesterday and—” The man’s voice was suddenly cut off and Damien could see Dante grabbing the fellow by the throat.
Time to make his move. Damien stepped forward just as someone—likely Sam—pounded on the backdoor.
“Mr. Marcello? Are you all right? It’s Samantha. Let me in!”
Dante swore, shoved Marcello aside and turned to exit the room only to skid to a stop when he realized Damien was blocking the way.
Damien curled his lip and barely held back a low growl. Both he and his wolf were anticipating making Dante pay for his sins. Dante, however, wasn’t nearly as eager for a confrontation. He spun around and grabbed a wooden chair, then rushed towards the door.
Mr. Marcello moved to stop Dante at the same time Damien leapt forward. The two collided and in the few seconds it took for Damien to right the older man, Dante had made it to the door. As Sam burst into the room, Dante brought the chair crashing down on her head. Sam gave a startled cry, staggered and Dante pushed past her, disappearing into the alley.
“You okay?” Damien barely waited for Sam to nod before heading out in pursuit of Dante. What the bastard was up to, he had no idea, but it couldn’t be anything good.
Once outside, Damien glanced left, then right. There was no sign of his quarry, though the faint scent of lilacs at least gave him an idea as to which way to head. Dante had headed towards the street, damn him. The man was too clever for his own good. If he’d kept to the back alleys, Damien could have tracked him as a wolf, but on city streets, he had to stay human.
The trail was easy enough to follow; the scent of lilacs might dissipate quickly but the sound of Dante’s running steps were obvious enough that even a pup could have tracked him. The man was opting for speed over stealth, heading towards the main street, likely hoping to get lost in the crowds; the main streets of a large city were never empty no matter what the time of day or night. Damien picked up his pace, ignoring the pain in his leg as his feet pounded on the concrete.
There, straight ahead!
He could see Dante only two blocks away, standing at the corner. The man had stopped running for some reason. Had the coward decided to fight like a Lycan? Damien clenched his fists in anticipation only to skid to a shocked stop as he watched a city bus pull up and Dante climb onboard.
Fucking hell and damnation! He watched the man take a seat then turn to salute him through the window before the bus pulled away. Damien kicked a nearby garbage can in frustration. Dante had eluded him again.
“I’m okay, Mr. Marcello. Really.” Sam reassured the elderly man yet again as she finished putting pieces of the broken chair into a garbage can.
“But—”
“He hit the doorframe, not me. I only yelled because I was so surprised.” Sam hoped Mr. Marcello wouldn’t think to look for damage to the woodwork; with any luck she’d be able to add a few marks before the idea popped into his head. “Oh dear, look at all the books he knocked down!” As planned, her comment distracted the man and he began to try to restore order to the other corner of the room.
Sam gave her shoulder a surreptitious rub. Being hit by a chair wasn’t at the top of her list of fun ways to spend the evening. She wondered if Damien had caught the fellow and, if so, what he was doing with him. Hopefully, he was dragging the bastard’s ass back here so they could call the police. It made her blood boil to think that a two-bit thief would pick on a sweet old man like Mr. Marcello.
“Did he manage to get much in cash or jewels?” She began to help Mr. Marcello straighten the room.
“Er…no.” Mr. Marcello paused. “There wasn’t a large sum in the safe.”
“That’s good.” Sam narrowed her eyes, not sure if the older man was lying or just nervous. Likely the latter since there was no point in lying about a simple robbery. “Did you hear him breaking in?”
“I heard movement down here and came to investigate.” He tightened his hands on a book he was holding. “Miss Samantha, did you hear what he was saying to me?”
“No. I started pounding on the door as soon as I got here. Why?”
He seemed about to speak, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just…thank you.”
Damien returned empty handed. The thief had gotten away, much to her disappointment, and Mr. Marcello didn’t want to make a report to the police for some reason. Since there was nothing else she could do about the matter, she let it drop. While she considered Mr. Marcello a long-standing friend, almost a member of the pack, he was still a human and she shouldn’t allow herself to get too involved.
After making sure all the doors and windows were locked, she and Damien left with assurances from Mr. Marcello that he was perfectly fine after the ordeal and didn’t need anyone to stay with him.
“This is the first time that anyone has ever tried to rob Mr. Marcello.” Sam commented as they walked back to the pack house.
“Robbery? Is that what he called it?” Damien gave her a sharp glance, relieved she wasn’t asking about Dante. He’d been expecting her to make some comment about why his ‘friend’ was at Marcello’s, but obviously she hadn’t recognized the man. She’d only had a glimpse of him in the dim light of Club Mystique, and tonight, he’d been charging at her with a chair. Not the best of conditions for making a positive identification.
“Well, yeah. What else would you call it when someone breaks in and tries to steal your money?”
Damien grunted, his brow furrowed. Obviously, Marcello hadn’t told Sam the whole story and, due to the scent mask, Sam hadn’t realized it was a Lycan roughing the man up. Dante was planning on
blackmailing Marcello over something the shopkeeper obviously didn’t want Harper to know. But which Harper? And what exactly was the secret? And how did Dante know about it? Of course, Dante had a knack for discovering every secret out there, though how he did it was a mystery.
Marcello’s problem really wasn’t any of his business, Damien decided. He was here to find evidence against the Chicago pack to prove their leadership was unfit. And unless Marcello was keeping a secret that could prove that, there was no need to get involved. Of course, he’d never know if the secret was significant or not unless he uncovered it and that meant tracking down Dante. His inner wolf thumped its tail. Hunting Dante was an immensely appealing prospect.
Chapter 10
Sam drummed her fingers on her desk as she contemplated her newest pack member. Damien had been here for three days. During that time he’d been a model Beta, going on patrols with her at night, assisting her when she installed better locks on Mr. Marcello’s windows. He helped around the pack house by doing much needed repairs. He’d even taken Chris under his wing which removed one of her main headaches; the boy had grown up surrounded by adults and kept trying to act like one. The Academy would be a good place for him in a few years if she could find the money to sponsor him; with the way his grades were, she doubted the boy would qualify for a scholarship.
Something about Damien made her think he’d been at the Academy. He might be able to provide her with some information…or not. The man wasn’t very forthcoming. That was likely the rogue in him. Social skills usually weren’t their strong point.
He was good at verbal sparring, though. She grinned as she thought back over some of their conversations. It was fun to push his buttons and see him lose his brooding expression. And he gave as good as he got. Battling wits with him was…interesting.
Betrayed: Book Two - The Road to Redemption Page 10
