Dance with the Devil

by Angela Dennis

  The man was a saint, always had been. And now he was a saint with alcohol. How in the hell could he ask him to risk everything? To say it was a selfish request wasn’t even coming close. Yet that wasn’t going to stop him. Despite Quinn’s interference, Jillian was his. He wasn’t giving her to Lucas. Consequences be damned.

  He stepped into the main room of the cabin. Lucas was crouched beside the fireplace, stirring the flames in the hearth. “How is Jillian holding up?”

  Carrick lunged forward, his possessive instincts getting the better of him. He stopped, closed his eyes and tried to focus. “She’s fine.”

  Lucas stood, brushing his hands on his soot-stained jeans. “I doubt that. None of us are all right. Quinn’s a bastard, but this time he’s gone too far.”

  Carrick poured a whiskey before sinking into the leather couch. “She’s my mate, Lucas.”

  Lucas stared into the flames, his posture tense. When he finally turned, several minutes had ticked by. “You told me yourself you barely know her. When I smelled her on you, you called her a one-night stand.”

  “That was before I saw the mark—”

  “All that mark did was label her as yours. Your possessive instincts kicked in and reason took a recess.” He closed the distance between them. “Tell me you love her, that you can’t live without her, and I’ll go to war with you. But if you can’t, I have to seriously consider this.”

  Carrick jerked to his feet, a feral growl rumbling in his throat. “No. She’s mine. I’ve wanted her since the day I saw her. There’s a connection between us that’s impossible to explain.”

  “But what is she to you?” Lucas probed. “How would you feel if you lost her?”

  “The law says—”

  “Damn it, Carrick. I don’t care what the law says. If I don’t mate with her, I won’t be able to rule the Pride. I’m not strong enough to rule over the half-bloods without her.”

  “I’ll have your back, and so will Jillian. You can combine the Prides, fight against the Conclave,” Carrick argued. “With the half-bloods, we’re strong enough to hold out. Once the other Prides hear about this, they’ll back us. This proves the Conclave is out of control.”

  “That’s your future, not mine.” Lucas walked back to the fire. “I won’t win the respect of the Pride if you fight my battles. They won’t follow me. The combined Pride can only have one set of leaders. You’re stronger, always have been. If you’re mated and I’m not, our Pride will accept you. Hell, you’re the prodigal son. They love you. And once the half-bloods find out you’re one of them, they’ll welcome you with open arms.”

  “I don’t want to be Alpha. That’s always been your role. I’ll be your first enforcer. It’s not what we planned, but plans change.”

  Lucas walked to the sideboard and pulled out a decanter of scotch and a crystal glass. He poured himself two fingers’ worth, then turned back to Carrick. “Have you convinced Jillian? Has she chosen you?”

  Carrick leaned against the sofa. He had to pick his words carefully. “She values the lives of her Pridemates over her own happiness.”

  “Meaning what?” Lucas asked. His eyes didn’t leave Carrick as he drained his glass. “Is she prepared to go through with Quinn’s proposal?”

  “She’s torn. It’s understandable,” he added, more for himself.

  Lucas turned to refill his glass. “Whatever is decided, the only way we’re getting through this is to have a united front.” He turned to Carrick, holding up his glass. “The Claiming is for three days, but the third day is the bonding ceremony. If you haven’t convinced Jillian by the end of the first day, step back and let me pursue her. Ultimately, it’s her choice anyway. We can’t force her to mate with either of us against her will.”

  Carrick clenched his fists. He wanted to roar, attack his brother and tear him apart for even suggesting it. The rational part of him knew Lucas was right. If they didn’t work together to figure this out, they could all end up dead.

  Jillian woke with Gareth’s ponytail in her mouth. She didn’t question it, just spit it out and held on as the room did a chaotic little dance. Weaving like a frat boy outside fraternity row, she wobbled to the bathroom and splashed water across her face. It barely helped. She glanced at the seven empty liquor bottles in front of the fireplace.

  Never. Ever. Again. Ever.

  “You tied on a good one.”

  She screamed, jumped away from the sink and hit the tile wall with a loud thud. Tears sprung to her eyes and she blinked several times, praying she wouldn’t hurl. Carrick leaned against the doorjamb, a hint of humor in his gaze. Once she was able to focus, she realized he was trying to give her a couple of pills and a glass of water. She tossed them in her mouth and washed them down.

  “Your bodyguards are…” He glanced at where they lay snoring beside the fire. “Effective.”

  “Why are you here?” She walked back to the sink and grabbed it with both hands. It was too difficult to attempt to stand on her own. “I thought you and Quinn were catching up on old times.”

  “We did.” He grinned. “It’s morning. Time to pack your bags and hitch a ride underground. Quinn upped the timetable. The Claiming starts now.”

  “No freakin’ way. Quinn’s good, but he couldn’t have pulled that off.”

  “Quinn’s better than good.” Carrick pulled open the door and, after gently prying her hands from the porcelain, pushed her outside. “He’s already rallied the troops. You three are the only ones missing.”

  She was so not ready for this. Carrick was rousing Gareth and Abbey, who looked about as miserable as she felt. Regardless, Carrick had them jumping to attention like little soldiers. It was a shame. He’d make an incredible Pride leader. He radiated authority and charisma.

  Abbey stumbled across the room to plant a kiss on Jillian’s pounding forehead. “May the Force be with you,” she whispered, a bit too loudly, before weaving out of the room. Gareth shook his head, following behind.

  “I like your friends.” Carrick bent down to pick up the empty liquor bottles.

  She turned to him, surprised. Carrick had always struck her as a touch uptight. Not exactly Abbey’s and Gareth’s type of person. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” She shook her head. “Just when I think I’ve got you pegged.”

  “You shouldn’t place people in boxes.” He shoved the glass into the garbage under their makeshift bar.

  “True.” She sank down on the bed. Thankfully, she hadn’t unpacked. That, at least, had worked in her favor. “Did I miss anything while I was passed out?”

  He grimaced. “No more dead bodies, but the dominants are fighting.” With a swift jerk, he pulled up his sweater and thin white T-shirt, revealing a streak of bloody claw marks across his abs. “I had to intervene.”

  “Damn.” She shook her head. “I hope you kicked their asses.”

  He let the shirt fall. “It’s a good thing we’re doing this now. Quinn called in every dominant on the island. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking.”

  Head pounding, she leaned back against the pillows to watch him. “I do. He wants them to find mates with the half-bloods, so it will be easier to combine the Prides. And they’ll make stronger babies.” She closed her eyes. “He’s our Regulator. The more powerful we are, the more powerful he becomes.”

  “True.” He pulled out the glass-filled garbage bag and tied it in a knot. “Let’s go. No need to keep the power-hungry half-blood Regulator waiting.”

  They traveled the path on foot. The snow had melted, leaving a good thick layer of mud. Her boots sank into the muck as she struggled to keep up with Carrick.

  She couldn’t help but admire the view. Carrick had changed into a pair of faded jeans, a white T-shirt and a black pullover with a single zipper up the front. The jeans fit him like a glove, hugging every muscle. They pulled tighter as he walked, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  Jillian drew a sharp breath as they stepped into the clearing. The compound t
hat housed the Claiming was deep underground. It was disguised as a concrete slab, snuggled in a bed of thick foliage. On the far end of the concrete was a metal elevator that would lower them through the hole in the concrete, straight into the ground. If hell had an entrance, this was what it would look like.

  The dread that had settled in her stomach erupted into fiery panic as she tried not to hyperventilate. She hated enclosed spaces.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” Carrick pressed his hand in the small of her back. He probably meant it to be soothing, but it made her want to hit him. She stepped forward, out of his reach.

  The lines had started. There were at least a hundred shifters in front of the elevator. The majority were pure-bloods; she could smell their elevated egos even from a distance. Quinn had gone all out. These shifters were the cream of the crop—golden, muscular gods. But if their personalities didn’t match, they could march their tight, beautiful asses right out of her Pride.

  Across from the pure-bloods, huddled together on the far side of the platform, stood the half-bloods. Jillian immediately spotted Gareth and Abbey. Gareth was hovering beside a beautiful redhead. She looked terrified. As a pure-blood, Gareth could have taken his rightful place with the others. Instead, he was ignoring them, giving the other dominants his back. It was an open invitation to fight. He’d apparently lost his mind.

  The first group loaded the elevator, and the thick gray metal door creaked shut, trapping them inside and descending into the earth. It returned a few minutes later to pick up another group, then another.

  “It’s not that bad,” Carrick said. “You should be more worried about being underground for three days. What if there’s an earthquake?”

  She glared at him. “You’re right. That makes me feel so much better.”

  “I thought it would.” He held out his hand. “Our turn.”

  There was no hope for it, so she placed her hand in his. Her feet wouldn’t move.

  “Don’t make me pick you up.”

  She closed her eyes, said a quick prayer and forced herself to walk.

  They closed the distance to the ramp that led to the platform in record time. As they stepped onto the concrete, she fought the urge to pull away. She felt like a huge pansy. When the elevator door began to close behind them, sweat beaded on her brow.

  Carrick closed his hands around her hips, pulling her tightly against him.

  Even fear couldn’t keep her from appreciating the tight heat of his body. “It feels like a coffin,” she said, shifting closer. It wasn’t even a real elevator. There were no buttons to push, no emergency telephone to use if they got stuck. As they descended, her headache came back in full force. They hit the ground with a loud thud, the impact so jarring she thought her brains would spill out of her ears. Instinctively, she grabbed at Carrick, wrapping around him like an overzealous octopus.

  “It’s not that bad.” He chuckled.

  Her heart was still pounding as she looked into his eyes. Irrational fears aside, it was impossible not to recognize that he was, and would always be, the biggest threat to her peace of mind.

  Chapter Seven

  Jillian held her breath as the thick steel doors opened to expose the opulent foyer. The underground compound where the Claiming was held reminded her of a brothel. Although she had never seen one, it had to be similar. It was the only other place she could think of that would ooze sex, booze and lust.

  The success rate of the Claimings had been critical to Reginald’s plan, so he’d gone all out, creating an atmosphere that supplied any type of debauchery imaginable. A place where you could fulfill your most erotic fantasy alongside your most innocent, with everything you needed readily available.

  Of course, their Claimings had been far from what the Conclave had envisioned. Reginald had sent the unmated pure-blood members of the Pride into the outside world to find powerful magical beings and invite them in. The ceremony was masked as an elaborate, somewhat odd, sex-filled party, and the shifters had distracted their visitors as they waited for the marks to appear. The mating mark was indiscriminate. It only required one shifter. Once the mark appeared, leaving was no longer an option. Reginald had made sure of it.

  She stepped onto the thick cream-colored carpet, finding great joy in the fact that her muddy boots were leaving a stain as she moved with Carrick down the narrow hall into the heart of the compound. Emotion played in the air, racing across her skin like tiny surges of electricity. The sensation intensified as they moved forward, and she had to stop and press a hand against the wall to steady herself.

  “What kind of magic is this?” She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see Carrick, overwhelmed with the urge to touch him. Her need was so intense it was painful to resist.

  “The shamans always give a little nudge,” he answered. His voice was steady, but his hand was fisted, the knuckles white. “They encourage, but don’t create.”

  “How is that fair?” She grimaced, pushing off the wall. “Isn’t trapping us down here enough?” Squeezing her eyes closed, she began to construct a magical wall against the spell, but no matter how hard she tried, it wouldn’t work.

  When she eventually gave up and opened her eyes, Carrick was grinning. “I forgot to tell you about the other spell. The one that blocks us from using magic,” he said. “Have to even the playing field.”

  “Sure.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly why they do it. Couldn’t possibly be so those of us more magically inclined can’t kill the pure-bloods. Is that normal, or is this Claiming special?”

  “Nope. They do this for everyone, especially if there are unmated shamans participating.” He shrugged. “Apparently less lions get killed this way. All you’ve got down here is your beast and your intuition. No wards can block those.”

  Thankfully, her beast was abnormally strong, but it would have been nice to use magic. Most of the half-bloods weren’t as fortunate. Their main powers lay in their magic, not their beast, so they’d be at an acute disadvantage.

  It was a good thing she didn’t mind crowds, because the main hall was filled with wall-to-wall bodies. She was immediately doused in a heavy dose of anticipation and raging pheromones. There were way too many lions down here. It’d be a miracle if they all made it out. There was never a good outcome when you combined hormones, alcohol and jealousy.

  The room itself was an atrocity. Someone with absolutely no decorating ability had decided to paint the walls burgundy, which made it feel even more oppressive. Some of the lions had taken advantage of the chairs and tables scattered across the room. The rest stood about, waiting. They were all facing a ridiculously large stage that had been draped with a thick black cloth. Four ornate silver thrones had been placed on top of it. They were gaudy and out of place, and made the whole thing feel like something out of a B movie.

  Quinn was sprawled across the largest throne, his legs draped across the arm rest and a satisfied smirk on his face. She wanted to jump on the stage and scream at him. The Regulator would get his, eventually. She’d make sure of it.

  “Quinn’s making himself at home,” she said.

  “What did you expect? He’s a Regulator.” Carrick pushed an overzealous male from her path without breaking his stride.

  There were more to come. It took a few minutes to reach the stage because they had to shove their way through the mass of bodies. She was stopped when another lion slammed into her side, shoving her against Carrick. She wrapped her arms around him to keep from falling. “This is ridiculous. There’s not enough room.”

  “Forced contact is part of the Claiming. This is normal.”

  Before she could respond, Quinn jumped to his feet. A hush fell over the crowd as he moved to the front of the stage. “Good to see you all here,” he began, but his greeting elicited only a rumble of discontent. “There are no acting Alphas, so I’m running the Claiming.” He gave an exaggerated pause, waiting for applause, but there was only silence.

  Jillian grinned. The bastard
could stand being taken down a few pegs.

  Nonplussed, Quinn continued. “But if things go well, both of your Prides will have a new set of Alphas when the Claiming is over. If you don’t, you’re stuck with me. So you’d better start praying.”

  The tension in the room amped to a fever pitch. Quinn had just hit their hot button. He’d purposely filled the room with dominant males and dangled the title of Alpha over their head. “Nice of him to put a bull’s-eye on my forehead.” Jillian groaned. “They’re going to come right for me. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have to kill a few of them.”

  “Quinn doesn’t believe in options. He’s trying to force you and Lucas to declare yourselves faster. The longer you wait, the more people you may have to hurt.”

  “Great. Everyone here knows I won’t take a weaker mate. They’ll pick a fight with me just to prove they can win. As if that’s going to make me jump into their bed.”

  His arm slipped around her waist, tightening until she could barely breathe. “The only person’s bed you’re going to be in is mine.”

  “Not so sure that’s possible. Especially if I mate with Lucas.”

  “You know that you can’t. You’re one of the most authentic people I know. You’d never be able to live the lie. Especially since you can save the Pride without it.”

  “You don’t stop, do you?” She shook her head. “I meant what I said, Carrick. Lucas isn’t strong enough to rule my half-bloods. I’m pretty sure I can kick his ass, and I’m not so sure they can’t. If we’re going to have half a chance at winning against the Conclave, we need a stronger leader.”

  “You’re not giving him enough credit. Our father groomed him to be Alpha; that’s all he knows.”

  Jillian gave him a half-smile. “I wish you were right. But just because you’ve been trained to do something, it doesn’t mean it’s what you’re meant to do.”

  “No argument there. But that’s not true with Lucas.” He turned her to face him. “Promise me you’ll give him a chance.”

  “Fine. But all I’m promising is to keep an open mind.”