Dance with the Devil

by Angela Dennis

  Lucas turned to Jillian. “Are you okay?”

  “Stunned and furious. It’s taking a few minutes to sink in.”

  “It’s insane. Pride law dictates—”

  “Doesn’t matter. The Conclave has absolute power.” She walked to the window, wishing she was outside where her beast could run free.

  “Damn it.” He rubbed his hand across his closely shorn head. “I can’t believe this is happening. I begged Carrick to come back. Then he does, and…”

  Jillian turned to face him. “This isn’t your fault, Lucas. There’s no way you could have predicted this. Carrick won’t blame you.” She sighed and leaned her forehead against the cold glass.

  “Why didn’t you tell him who you were?”

  She shrugged. “By the time I found out who he was, it was too late. We’d already turned that corner. I never considered he’d be my mate.”

  Lucas walked to her side. “We’ll find a way out of this. The Conclave will change its mind if we give them another option.”

  She nodded, but she knew it was hopeless. Lucas was naïve. He hadn’t grown up surrounded by the fallout of the Conclave’s bad decisions. She had. “We should try to rest,” she said with a pronounced yawn as she moved out of his grip and toward the door. She was almost in the hall when she turned back. “Lucas?”

  He turned, the strain of the past few minutes evident on his face.

  “Take care of Carrick. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

  Jillian didn’t remember the trip to her room; her thoughts were too tangled. She fought the urge to seek out Gareth or Abbey, not wanting to involve them in this mess. When she stepped into the darkness, another presence lay in wait. She froze, gripping the doorframe in indecision. If she was smart, she’d leave, find Abbey and get crazy drunk. But she’d never claimed to be smart.

  She stepped inside, walking to her nightstand to turn on the dim lamp. Carrick was sprawled across her bed, a bottle of whiskey tightly clenched in one hand.

  “When’s the big day?” He slammed the bottle on the dresser and sat up. “How the hell did they let you leave the Pride unprotected? Do you know how many pure-bloods would love to have you as a mark on their belt?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Sure you can.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Just like you did the night I found you half-dead in an alley. Hell of a job.”

  “Is this where I fall to the ground, thank you and beg you to forgive me?” She turned her back on him, pulling her dress over her head as she walked to the closet. Clad only in a pair of purple lace panties and knee-high leather boots, she searched the closet for a T-shirt and some sweats. Her beast was scratching at her skin. She was going for a run, Carrick be damned.

  She felt rather than heard him come up behind her. “I’d say you’re a tease, but I know better.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back until she was pressed against him.

  “I’m surprised you still want me, dirty half-blood and all.” She jerked from his grasp, grabbed a white T-shirt and pulled it over her head. Moving across the room, she sat on the bed and began to unzip her boots.

  “I’m not my father, and I don’t share his prejudices. Is that why you ran away? Because you saw the pictures of me and Lucas?” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed and body radiating tension. “You could have told me, but you just left.”

  She glanced up. “And what would I have said? Oh, guess what? You just screwed Reginald’s daughter. That’s got to be worth at least three marks on your belt.”

  “It wasn’t like that.” He moved across the room, kneeling before her. “What we did wasn’t just sex. You know that; you admitted you cared for me.”

  “I hardly know you, Carrick.” She closed her eyes. “And I’m not going to get in the middle of a pissing contest between you and Quinn.”

  “Do you think that’s all this is? You’re my mate. We’re meant to be together.” His hands curved around her face, pulling it to his so he could kiss her mouth. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. Call it pheromones, or hormones, I’m not going to sit back and let Quinn destroy that.”

  “Really?” She pulled back. “Because if Quinn kills us, none of this matters. We’ll be dead.”

  “Quinn’s bluffing. There are things you don’t know. You have to trust me.”

  She kicked off her boots and stood, pushing him aside. “Right. I’m totally going to do that when you don’t even trust me enough to tell me whatever secret you’re keeping. You’re being ridiculous. Yes, we have a connection. We always have. But we agreed. It was just sex, no strings attached, no future. You made that perfectly clear. So, the Fates think we’ll make pretty babies. That’s not something I’m willing to throw my life and the lives of my Pridemates away for.”

  “You’re my mate. We belong together.”

  She shoved her feet into a pair of gray sweatpants. “You keep saying that. But all I see is a tattoo on my ass that says I should be with you. I’ve never believed in this Fate crap. And if the Fates are real, I can’t imagine them blaming me for not throwing up my hands and offering up my life, and the lives of my Pridemates, just because I’m horny. You’ve got to do better than that.”

  “That’s all you think this is? Lust?” He grabbed the liquor bottle from the nightstand and took a long swig. “Well, the hell with it, then. Mate with Lucas. You know the consequences.”

  “And what would those be? Sorry, but I missed the lesson the elders teach to all the kittens. I was too busy trying to stay alive.”

  He retook his original position, leaning on the bed, propped against the headboard. “It’s a death sentence to turn your back on your mate. Pride law says it makes you a traitor to the Pride.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” There was no way she was going to let him know how much his words bothered her. Carrick was a hothead. If she didn’t play this right, he’d get them both killed.

  Stalking across the room, she crawled onto the bed and straddled his hips. “So, what do you want, Carrick?” She leaned down until her mouth was inches from his. “Should I go find Quinn, tell him to screw himself? Then, if he doesn’t kill me on the spot, should I run away with you and let the Conclave kill all the half-bloods in my Pride? I mean, it’s not like I have any kind of relationship with them. Hell, half of them hate me. By all means, let’s run away so we can be together. Lucas will be dead, so you won’t have any ties here either. We’ll run from place to place, making sure we stay under the radar so the Conclave doesn’t send their thugs to kill us. Count me in. Let’s go right now.” She shifted off him, landing on the floor.

  “Jillian, you’re not thinking straight.”

  “No.” She glared at him. “I’m perfectly coherent. You’re the one who’s lost his mind. I’m going for a run.”

  “Fine. I’m coming with you. Did you forget there’s still someone trying to kill you?” Carrick swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed her hand and yanked her into the empty hallway. “Did you even bother to tell Quinn?”

  “Like I had time, what with all the threatening and ultimatums. And it didn’t really seem appropriate. Besides, you’re in more danger here than I am. You’re a trophy kill for my father’s enforcers.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “So you keep saying, but I’ve yet to see anything to convince me.” She cursed as he yanked her down the hall. She was hurting, and when she was vulnerable her mouth tended to get the best of her. Tonight was no exception. Torn between frustration, rage and sorrow, she let him lead her through the narrow halls. They didn’t stop until they stood in the snow-covered field behind the house.

  His gaze was fixed on the woods. “My beast is tearing me apart.”

  She shook her head. “Not here. It’s too open. Our enforcers will kill you on sight. I don’t care whose protection you’re under.” She led him over the stepping-stones and into the woods, stopping in front of a large door. Made of concrete, with
an iron padlock around the handle, it sank several feet into the ground. “This leads to the tunnels beneath our land. Some of the half-bloods have…unique forms. They don’t like to run in the open. Most of the tunnels are closed to prepare for the Claiming, but we should still be able to run.”

  As they stepped inside, Jillian pulled the doors closed behind them and murmured an incantation to bolt them shut. The trail stopped in a large rectangular room. Carrick moved into the center beside the empty fire pit. His protective masks stripped away, his unbound power filled the room.

  “Looks like I wasn’t the only one with secrets,” Jillian said. His aura was so bright it seemed tangible. She’d never seen anything like it. She reached out to touch him, but he walked out of reach.

  He had left his suit coat in her bedroom, and now he slipped out of his shirt. The fabric fell onto the ground like a white flag of surrender, even though it was anything but. Jillian searched the powerful lines of his chest. Then she saw it. Nestled beneath his arm, on the side of his ribcage, was her mark. Instinct flared and she wanted nothing more than to trace it with the tips of her fingers, to taste it with her teeth. Her lion bellowed in triumph.

  “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have left,” she whispered. It was a lie. If she had known, she would have run faster.

  He didn’t spare her a glance as he shoved off his pants and kicked them onto the dirt. “It’s done. Isn’t that what you want? To get over it and move on.”

  Jillian nodded. “It’s the best thing,” she said, even as her heart fractured another inch. “We don’t have a choice.” She waved her hand across the fire pit and flames leapt from the stones.

  “You’re my mate.” He crouched in front of her, golden eyes glowing. “No Regulator or Conclave can change that. If I bend to their will, it’s because I choose to, not because I was forced.”

  “They’d hunt us down,” she reminded him.

  “Let them.” Magic thickened the air around him. “If anything is antiquated, it’s the Conclave. They’ve refused to change with the times. Despite your father embracing the half-bloods, he screwed everything up.”

  “So, violence, bigotry and hatred aren’t your thing?” she asked sarcastically.

  He shook his head. “Reginald’s done more damage than good. Half-bloods should be equal, not elevated beyond the pure-bloods. That’s just heaping bigotry on top of bigotry.” He hesitated, not meeting her gaze. “There’s another reason Quinn doesn’t want us together.”

  She waited, but he didn’t finish. “Tell me.”

  “I’m done talking.” He bounced on his toes, loosening his body. “All I’ve done so far is piss you off. Just know that if you do what Quinn asks, I’ll do my duty. But it’s still the wrong choice.”

  Her beast raging with uncertainty and the need to claim her mate, Jillian stripped off her clothes. Magic poured from her skin. It danced around her, sparkling like fireworks in the night sky. The transition wasn’t very painful. It felt the same as pushing too far in a yoga stretch. Muscles twisted and lengthened as her skin melted away to reveal glistening black fur. She embraced her beast, melding their minds until they were one. She stood before Carrick on four legs and shook the dirt from her fur.

  He reached out to touch her, and she snapped at him. He growled back in challenge, his eyes shifting to their cat form. Anger surged through her blood. Furious, she crouched. Her tail twitched, spraying dirt as it moved across the ground a moment before she lunged. Magic swirled around them. When she landed, it was on the beast, not the man.

  She slammed into him, his fur in her mouth as they toppled into the dirt. Jillian landed on her back, Carrick wrapped around her front. She bucked him from her body and jumped to her feet, back arched, teeth out.

  Carrick paced a circle around where she stood, a feline smile stretched across his lips. She didn’t get a good look at him until he moved out of the shadows and into the firelight. Once she did, she couldn’t believe what she saw. She shook her head, thinking her vision had been impaired by the fall. It hadn’t.

  He was huge. Larger than any shifter she had met. His fur was a glossy gold. Nose to nose, she breathed in his scent. Musty and sweet, it danced around her, sinking into her fur. He was everything a lion should be: powerful, magical and beautiful. The Conclave would never waste him on a half-blood, even if she was his mate.

  Jillian ran for almost an hour, giving her beast free rein. Winded, she made her way into an offshoot of one of the tunnels. She wasn’t ready to face Carrick, and the small cramped space was the last place he would look. She paced the entrance of the circular room, stopping to arch her back and stretch her already aching muscles. As she moved into the room, she recognized the foul scent of death. It grew stronger toward the back wall. Intent on discovering its cause, she raised her magic. Something slammed against her back legs and she spun around, hissing.

  Carrick. She hadn’t heard him enter. She hissed at him again for good measure, then went back to what she was doing. Carrick shoved her aside, protecting her with his body. He gestured to the far corner of the room with his head, and for the first time she saw what looked to be a pile of old rags. When they reached it, he swatted at the pile. The paw he pulled back was covered with blood. Carrick’s magic wrapped around him, and he shifted form with a flash of light and a shake of fur. Jillian followed suit.

  “There’s a trail.” Carrick murmured a short incantation to clothe himself as Jillian did the same. “We should follow it.”

  “Agreed.”

  They followed the trail for what seemed like an hour, until it dead-ended in a large chamber. The smell left them with little doubt as to what was inside. Carrick turned to Jillian, concern in his green eyes. “I can do this. This is your Pride. It could be a friend.”

  She shook her head. “This was done on my land, to my people.”

  “Understood.” Carrick stepped aside to let her pass. “This death wasn’t a result of the infighting. The victim’s female. She would have been protected.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Close your eyes and focus. Use your magic to call to the blood.”

  Jillian released a tendril of magic and it danced through the room until it found the woman’s cold body. Focusing, Jillian reached into herself, calling on her magical blood to allow her to touch the woman’s final thoughts. A man had done this. One the victim had welcomed with open arms. It had been an unprovoked attack, a brutal, senseless murder. Jillian tried to focus on his face, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see it.

  Releasing her hold on the victim’s residual subconscious, Jillian drew back her magic. The force of it sent her to her knees. “I’ll find the monster who did this.” She turned to Carrick with barely contained rage.

  “Who was she?”

  “I don’t know.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “I grew up isolated from the Pride. The two friends I made growing up, I met because someone dared them to sneak into my suite. They were the only ones brave enough to befriend me. I love them both, but when I was strong enough to run, I got the hell out of here.”

  Carrick gripped her forearm, pulling her closer. “Your father is a bastard. You deserved better.” He gestured to the body. “Quinn needs to know. It could be the same person who attacked you. They might have followed you here.”

  She felt sick. If that was true, this was at least partially her fault. Then something worse occurred to her. “What if he’s participating in the Claiming?”

  Carrick shrugged. “It’s possible. It starts in two days. That’s not enough time to rule anyone out.”

  Jillian walked to the entrance of the room, her thoughts whirling. “Quinn stays in my father’s hunting lodge.” She paused. “We need to call him.” She gave the body one last look. Whoever the woman had been, her murder would be avenged. Jillian would make sure of it.

  Chapter Five

  The entire situation was a farce. Carrick sighed as he watched Jillian walk to the far corner of th
e room and step into the tunnel. Fate had ripped him out of his semi-normal, completely unsatisfying life and plopped him into a soap opera. All the aspects were there: uncontrollable lust, betrayal, conspiracy and now a dead body. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was someone’s twisted idea of a joke. Unfortunately, the longer the events played out, the more he was beginning to realize this was his new reality.

  Once Jillian was out of sight, he took a closer look at the body. His trained gaze ran across the ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. Old bruising danced across her jaw and neck, betraying a wealth of abuse prior to death. Whoever she was, the bastard had beaten her to a bloody pulp. Rage lit his blood. No woman should be treated like this, under any circumstances.

  He pulled his battered phone from his back pocket. Scrolling down until he reached Quinn’s name, he made the call.

  The other man answered with a sigh. “Carrick, I want you to know—”

  “Save it. There’s no time to rehash how you screwed me over. I found a dead body.”

  “Where?”

  “In the underground tunnels. It’s female. She’s been dead less than twenty-four hours.”

  Quinn drew in a long breath. “You’ve been gone. I forgot what you could do.”

  Carrick started to laugh, but it came out more as a grumble. “Yeah. I’m useful. That’s why the Conclave keeps me around.” He paced the narrow passageway in front of the cavern’s entrance. Jillian was within earshot, so he couldn’t say much. Once he got Quinn alone, the bastard was going to get an earful.

  A distinct feminine giggle carried through the receiver. Carrick grimaced. Quinn always mixed business and pleasure, but they didn’t have time for him to get himself off. “Put your pants on and get your ass over here. We need to find the killer before the Claiming. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be trapped underground with a sociopath. This Claiming is going to be hard enough.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Quinn replied. “Remember who’s in charge here.”