by Bianca D'Arc
And that was the thought that made him get up.
He had no claim to this woman. In any case, she’d been sent to him as a spy and her family was one that had done him personal harm and caused great injustice. He’d have to tread carefully until he was absolutely certain of her.
He left the room quietly, letting her sleep. He had a few more things to get done before dawn. First on the list was a talk with Duncan.
Chapter Eight
“She shifted in front of you? Why?” Duncan looked concerned.
“I asked her to.” Dante shrugged, knowing Duncan would probably read something into his actions, but not really caring. “It was as if something was blocking her from merging fully with her wolf side. Something weakened her shift.”
Duncan contemplated his words. “That’s not good. I think her keeper’s hold over her is stronger than we thought.”
“As I feared.” Dante hated that she was under the influence of someone so evil. “Is there any way to break his hold? I’ll be happy to kill him when we find him. I know the magic will end with him, but it’s going to take some time to get the bastard. What can we do before then?”
“You’re not going to like it.” Duncan made a pained face as he sighed.
“But I suspect you will.” Dante managed to make a joke though he thought he knew what his friend was talking about. “I, of all people, know the power there is in sex. The energy of the act is sustenance to my kind, and I’ve heard you fey practice a different sort of sex magic. You’ve already been treating her with it.”
“Not in concentrated form. I didn’t know the problem extended to her wolf. For any shifter, that is a very serious symptom. More serious than I thought the problem was, I’m sorry to say.”
“I didn’t suspect either until I saw her shift.” Dante thought about what she meant to him and the hot way she responded to both him and Duncan when they’d taken her together.
“She’ll have to accept me in every way. Can you deal with that?”
Dante tried to be casual but the truth was, the idea of Duncan fucking his woman mattered more than it should. He wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking of her as his woman. The thought wasn’t as startling as it should have been either. Dante was in deep, but he didn’t see any way out. He’d have to play the hand he was dealt and do the best he could with it.
“I don’t think she’ll mind.”
“But will you?” Apparently Duncan saw through his casual words.
“I want what’s best for her. Right now she is a danger to all of us—herself included. The longer her keeper’s control lasts, the stronger it is. We’ve already begun the process of weakening it with good results. Until we can find the bastard and free her completely, logically, we should continue to try to weaken the magic he used on her.”
“Logically yes, but what about emotionally? I know you’re more attached to her than you expected. I suspect there are reasons for that. However, until the threat of her keeper is removed and the taint in her blood gone, you will never be free to pursue the attraction between you fully.”
“Then lessening and ultimately removing the threat will have to suffice for now. It’s a sound strategy.”
Duncan didn’t look happy with his answer, but Dante was too raw emotionally to start discussing his feelings. He, who had steered clear of emotional entanglements for centuries, had a hard time with emotions of any sort and wasn’t ready to start talking about them to anyone. Not even Duncan.
“We’ll start in earnest tomorrow night then. When necessary, you will continue to snack on my blood. The stronger we both are, the more chance we have of nullifying her keeper’s hold.”
“Aren’t you worried about the power I’ll gain by drinking from you?”
“I meant what I said before, Dante. Trouble is brewing and about to bubble over. I fear you’ll need every advantage you can get, and if my blood saves you—and others, myself included—from the Venifucus threat, then it’s worth the risk. Besides, I trust you. I’ve always trusted you to do the right thing, my old friend, but I had to reassess your character after all those years Underhill. I was glad to find that you’re the same man of honor I knew before. If anything, you’ve only improved with the trials placed in your path.”
Dante moved uncomfortably under Duncan’s praise. Dante knew he was nothing special. In fact, he’d made more than his share of mistakes—the most recent almost cost the werelords their lives and that of their new mate. That wasn’t just a mistake. That had been a huge blunder, and Dante still felt remorse over what he’d done and the things he’d allowed to happen on his watch. He’d been a fool to trust Patrick Vabian as far as he had.
“I hope I can prove worthy of your trust, old friend.”
“You already have, Dante. Never fear.” Duncan’s fey smile held more knowledge than it should have. Then again, the magical bastard had always seen things Dante had no way of knowing. It was annoying but could also be very helpful, so he let it slide.
It was settled. He’d continue to allow Duncan to make love to Megan. They’d continue in their triad relationship until she was free of her keeper, and Duncan would continue to feed him his half-fey blood. While the power of Duncan’s blood was delicious, Dante was shocked to realize all he really wanted was a taste of Megan. She was fast becoming an obsession.
Any bloodletter would be thrilled to have a half-fey willing to supply them with more power than any immortal should rightly have. Yet it paled in comparison to the thought of feeding from Megan. That’s what he truly wanted—and it was forbidden until she was free of the poison.
Maybe it was just a case of the forbidden apple seeming the sweetest. Dante wasn’t so sure. He also wasn’t so sure about continuing the ménage relationship between himself, Megan and Duncan, but there really was no alternative that would be as safe for all concerned, magically speaking. He had to allow it. It rankled more than a bit. Still, it had to be done. For Megan’s sake.
The part that annoyed him most was that he didn’t think she’d mind one bit. He knew she’d enjoyed the three-way they’d already shared, and even the four-way with Heath. Of course, that would never happen again. It was bad enough he had to share her with Duncan. Heath had tasted her forbidden fruit for the last time, Dante vowed.
And as soon as she was free of her keeper, Dante would claim her, body and soul.
The thought should have surprised him. Instead it just made him feel warm inside his heart, in places that hadn’t been warm in centuries. He didn’t examine it too closely. It was enough to have made the decision.
Once she was free, she would be his and his alone. For as long as it lasted.
Just after noon on the following day, Megan was taking it easy, reading a magazine while she sat on the couch in the front parlor of Dante’s gorgeously appointed brownstone. It was one of the public rooms of the house, with long old-fashioned windows that let in the golden sunlight. The entire house was beautiful, but this room held special appeal. At night, the windows afforded a lovely view of the small park across the street and by day it was a warm, sunny spot in which to curl up and read.
With no warning, a window shattered and a flaming bottle landed in Megan’s lap. She fumbled the Molotov cocktail, thanking the Goddess that it hadn’t shattered all over her. Using her native were agility, she raced for the kitchen sink, dumping the flaming torch into it as quickly as she could.
“Duncan!” She screamed his name through the house, knowing he’d be awake at this hour and able to help her. She reached for the fire extinguisher kept next to the stove and wasted a few precious moments trying to figure out how to operate it.
By the time she had it going, Duncan raced into the room, wet from a shower with a damp towel wrapped hastily around his hips. He took in the scene with a quick glance.
“This extinguisher isn’t doing any good,” she cried as the café curtains on the window above the sink caught fire and began to glow with an eerie green flame.
“Get behind me.” Duncan’s commanding voice carried over the increasing roar of the fire.
This wasn’t a normal fire. It spread quickly and more voraciously than any regular flame, snaking over stainless steel and granite in search of something flammable.
Water began to spit from previously hidden fixtures in the ceiling. Dante had zoned fire protection equipment throughout the house that had finally kicked in, but it did no good against the green flame. Megan peered over Duncan’s shoulder as the flames spread.
“Cover your ears,” he instructed looking back at her only once. “This could get loud.”
It already was. Something about the green flame wasn’t right. It was louder than regular fire, creepier and seemingly alive. It was magical, and it wasn’t a good kind of magic. Its smoke smelled foul, like rotting flesh and it scorched everything it touched in the once beautiful kitchen.
She felt a shift in the energy of the room as Duncan did something. He was summoning his magic, she realized a split second later, when she saw him clad not in a skimpy bath towel, but in full plate armor that gleamed from head to toe. He faced the flame, his magical self—his true self—girded for battle against the foul sorcery of the green fire.
Megan staggered back as the room erupted in a whirlwind. She grabbed on to the doorframe, her hair whipping around her head as Duncan called the element of air to him to snuff out the fire. That, combined with the water still raining down, whirling in the tempest Duncan created, made it feel like a hurricane inside the kitchen as the rumble of magic reached a crescendo that was near deafening.
She held on to the doorframe with one hand, covering one ear with the other. She smashed the other side of her head into her shoulder to try to shield that ear as best she could while struggling to stand against the tempest Duncan had created in the kitchen.
The fire roared in one last attempt at life, reaching for Duncan. His armor repulsed it as the wind howled and the rain beat down upon it, stamping it out for good. Little by little, the tempest receded. Duncan’s glowing silver armor disappeared as if it had never been and he turned to her, still wet, wearing the bath towel, his hair twisted in every which direction and a fierce grin on his face.
“That’s one way to wake up.”
Megan was forestalled from answering as the door to the wine cellar opened, and Dante stumbled into view. He looked terrible, weakened by the sun that streamed in the kitchen window. She noted he was careful to stay out of its path as he hung back in the dark space behind the doorway, peering out.
“What happened?”
Megan went to him, practically running into his arms. “Somebody threw a magic spiked Molotov cocktail through your window. The damned thing landed in my lap, and I brought it in here and tossed it in the sink. Then all hell broke loose, and Duncan came and fought the green flames.” She turned, trembling now in the aftermath, to face her savior. “Thank you, Duncan. I’ve never seen fire behave that way.”
“And so you shouldn’t have. This was no earthly fire. It was hellfire.”
“Son of a bitch,” Dante cursed.
“I’m going to get dressed so I can face our friendly neighborhood fire department with some dignity.” Duncan left the kitchen, clutching his towel.
“The fire department is coming?” She turned to ask Dante.
“The house is rigged up to the local station. I had top of the line fire detection equipment installed when I bought the place. Fire has spelled the end of many an incautious immortal.” He kissed her once, as if reassuring himself. “I’ll meet you in the living room. Go on and let the firemen in before they take a hatchet to my front door.”
He grinned at her even though he’d looked so tired she wanted to tell him to go back to sleep and let her handle everything. Of course, she was only a guest in this house. He was the owner, and he would have to answer the firemen’s questions and assure them everything was all right.
How he would do it without entering the kitchen, she had no idea. The sun didn’t stream in as strongly through the kitchen window as it did in the front, but there were patches of sunlight in the room and no way to cover the window. Both the café curtains and shade had been burned to cinders.
Dante gave her a little push toward the hallway while he retreated into the labyrinth he inhabited beneath the stately home. He closed and locked the door to the “wine cellar” behind him while Megan went to answer the front door.
The firemen were prompt.
Six burly men towered over her as she led them down the hall toward the scorched kitchen. They were huge and imposing and each one sniffed her as he passed.
Dammit! They were were. Wolves in fact. The local pack and, if she wasn’t much mistaken, their Alpha was bringing up the rear. He paused to stand next to her as the rest of his team inspected the kitchen to be certain all traces of fire had been extinguished.
“You’re new,” he commented, looking her up and down.
“Just visiting,” she said noncommittally.
“Fire’s good and out, boss,” one of the men reported after a thorough inspection. Some of the others were taking down the burnt curtains and shade and placing them in the empty trashcan. “We’ll take the burnt stuff outside, just to be sure. Looks like the thing that started it is in the sink. You’ll want to get a look, Alpha. It’s not good.”
“You don’t say?” The big wolf’s eyes lit with interest and suspicion as he looked from his subordinate to the scorched sink and back to her. “So this isn’t just your ordinary kitchen fire, is it?”
“I’d say definitely not,” Duncan answered, finally making an appearance.
He was fully dressed, his hair sexily askew. It was dryer than it had been the last time she had seen him. She realized then that she had to be an absolute mess. Her hair was wet and wild from the sprinkler and the rainstorm Duncan had conjured indoors.
The kitchen floor was wet and slippery and the expensive sprinklers were still deployed from their hidey-holes in the ceiling. Thankfully, they were no longer spitting water in every direction. She looked around at the destruction of what had been a designer-quality kitchen in despair. While she was taking it all in, Duncan and the fire chief walked to the kitchen sink to get a look at the magical Molotov cocktail that had started this whole fiasco.
“Don’t touch it,” Duncan said sharply when the fire chief reached out to pick up the bottle. “It’s more than it seems.”
The big fireman turned to look at Duncan as his men positioned themselves around the room in a clearly protective, somewhat combative posture. Duncan didn’t back down but seemed, instead, to become bigger as his magic asserted itself. The wolf cocked his head as he took Duncan’s measure and finally signaled to his men to stand down.
In fact, he sent them out to the truck, telling them to return to the station while he settled matters here. Megan was surprised, but one look at the Alpha told her he knew what he was about. If he couldn’t handle this situation, he didn’t deserve to be Alpha of such a big, fierce group of werewolves and they all knew it. With nods of respect, his men left.
The Alpha looked from her to Duncan and back again. “We need to talk.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Why don’t we go into the living room?” Megan tried to act the gracious hostess. The sad truth was, she was shaking in her boots. She’d never had any contact with an Alpha male of her kind and this one scared the bejeezus out of her.
Thankfully, Dante was already there when she opened the sliding door that led to the interior, windowless living room. She went in, followed by Duncan. The werewolf, however, stopped on the threshold in surprise.
Dante turned to him, holding a glass of burgundy as they took each other’s measure.
“Be welcome in my home, Alpha,” Dante finally said, breaking the standoff and moving to sit beside Megan. He put his arm over the back of the couch behind her head in a proprietary way that wasn’t lost on the fireman. “I am Dante d’Angleterre, owner of this house.”
&nb
sp; “Kevin McElroy, Alpha of the East Side wolf pack. You must be a really old one to be up and around at this hour of the day.” The fireman came into the room and stood a moment more before claiming one of the armchairs for himself.
Dante shrugged offhandedly. “I do what needs to be done when guests are attacked in my domain.”
“Then the lone one is your guest?” Kevin nodded his chin in Megan’s direction.
“She is, and she is under my protection as well as that of Sir Heathclif Dean.”
The werewolf sat back in his chair and gave her a speculative glance. “So you’re the one who caused such a ruckus at the vampire ball the other night.”
Megan was shocked by the knowledge in his eyes.
“And how did a wolf hear about the doings of bloodletters?” Duncan asked. He’d sunk into one of the overstuffed chairs. The werewolf’s attention turned to scrutinize him again.
“I know one who likes to walk on the wild side. She told me about the scene Dean made biting a strange were and asked me what I knew about the wolf. I don’t think she believed me when I said I knew nothing.”
“Walk on the wild side?” Megan repeated, confused.
“An immortal who likes to have sex with weres,” Dante clarified. “There aren’t many, and they do it in secret for the most part. There’s a stigma attached on both sides, though I remember when such relationships were more accepted.”
“So your immortal girlfriend wanted to know about Megan?” Duncan brought the conversation back on track.
“In the normal course of business any wolf who comes into my territory for any length of time would at least have the courtesy of letting me know she was here. You should have checked in with the pack running this territory when you decided to stay for more than a day. It’s only polite.” Kevin’s tone was chastising, and it irked Megan.
