Deceit can be Deadly (Law of the Lycans Book 8)

by Nicky Charles

And so he stood there, waiting, watching. It was tedious but he’d spent evenings doing worse. No one was trying to kill him, there were no venomous creatures trying to make him into a snack, no flying bullets to dodge and his stomach was full. Yeah, he could handle a bit of boredom.

  A glance at his watch showed it was closing time. The club slowly emptied of customers. The lights inside the building flicked off one by one and the staff trickled out in groups of twos and threes. He made note of each one, mentally recording which direction they went, whether towards a car or a bus stop or walking. Interestingly enough, the bouncer left with the rest of them. That was a change from last night.

  When he’d surveyed the building in the morning, a male scent had lingered near the door, indicating the person had left recently, presumably after having spent the night. Tonight, he’d connected the scent to one of the bouncers and concluded Gwyneth and the werebear had a relationship beyond employer-employee. Apparently, they didn’t live together as he first assumed. Good. A permanent boyfriend was harder to dispose of than a casual lover.

  The lower levels of the building were in darkness now, only the third floor remaining lit. It was Gwyneth’s apartment according to his research. A cat was outlined in one window and it seemed to be staring directly at him. He made a mental note to pick up something to bribe the animal with. An animal fawning over you often made the owner more likely to do the same. The cat remained in the window for a moment longer then stood, arched its back and jumped down from the sill, disappearing from view. He chuckled thinking it had telepathically realized his intention to bring food and now felt its mission was complete.

  Or perhaps it had been distracted. A woman walked past the window, something in her hand shaped like a pet’s food dish. Then she returned, her hands empty. She stretched and released her hair from a clip. It fell about her shoulders reaching almost to her waist. He speculated what it would look like; a curtain of red waves, soft and silky to the touch. If the chance presented itself, he’d love to touch it.

  Eventually the light in the window disappeared, leaving the apartment in darkness.

  He waited for another hour to ensure no one came or left before giving up his vigil. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed his bleary eyes and checked his watch. Three in the morning. Time to get some sleep. In a shimmer, he shifted to wolf form and took the back alleys to his hotel, visions of a king-sized bed and down-filled pillows teasing his tired body.

  Rest did not come as planned though. Yes, he slept, but it was wracked with dreams that had him tossing and turning…

  He leaned against an outcropping of rock, hugging the shadows, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath. His legs felt wobbly from the prolonged time he’d spent in the water and the rough stone surface at his back was reassuringly solid. He’d exited the river moments previously. Wet clothing clung to him, water dripping from his hair and streaming down his face but he didn’t care. He was alive and he took a minute to savour the fact.

  It had been a long trek, hiding during the day, travelling under the cloak of darkness at night. Hunger, exhaustion; they were as much the enemy as the evil he was running from.

  These last few miles had been the hardest. The rain. Slogging through the mud, struggling to keep his footing. Long grass with razor sharp edges slicing his flesh. And finally traversing the river. He swallowed hard reliving the moment when he’d lost his footing and thought the current had bested him. Drowning wasn’t how he planned on dying. Hell, he was still a kid in the eyes of many. Just graduated, his life ahead of him. He had plans…

  His thoughts skidded to a halt.

  Had plans.

  But not anymore.

  It had all come down to survival now. Visions of blood and dead bodies swam before his eyes and he struggled not to retch yet again. Would he ever forget the horror of what had happened?

  Locking his knees, he forced himself to stay upright, to push his mental pain and horror to the back of his mind. He had to be strong. People were depending on him.

  A soft sound, the cracking of a twig, had him tensing. Had he been followed? He’d taken every precaution but had it been enough? He had no experience with such an adversary.

  For long moments he listened, testing the air, using that indefinable ability that caused the skin to prickle when someone was near. Minutes ticked by. His senses revealed no danger but that meant nothing when dealing with dark forces. If he was found, he’d be dead, he was sure of it. He pushed back his fear and brushed the wet hair from his eyes. It was time to move on.

  Adjusting the bundle in his arms, he prepared to leave his temporary refuge. If it wasn’t for the parcel he needed to deliver, he’d shift into his wolf form. Travel would be swifter and safer that way but, as usual in his life, nothing was ever easy. He supposed that’s how things were when your whole family was cursed.

  A cloud passed over the moon and he took it as a signal to move. If his calculations were correct, it wasn’t far to his destination. Once relieved of this duty, he’d go back, try to help the others…if any were left alive. They might have cursed him, spat at his feet, but she’d loved them and for her sake, he’d go back.

  As he darted from one bit of cover to another, he mused how he’d fallen into such dire circumstances. Noble gestures weren’t his forte and yet here he was. Love had made him reckless and now it was forcing him to be more than he’d ever thought he could be.

  A fluttering near his chest drew his attention and he glanced down. Dark hair, grey eyes; the child he held looked just like its mother. The fact was like a fresh cut to his soul. Damn.

  He joggled the child awkwardly knowing nothing about how to deal with one. “Stay quiet. We’re almost there.” His tone wasn’t soft or comforting but the child subsided, nestling closer. Its warmth seeped into him, invisible bonds trying to wrap around his heart. He compressed his lips and averted his eyes. No, that wasn’t happening. It couldn’t happen. It wasn’t safe.

  A building emerged in the darkness, adobe walls, wooden shuttered windows. A baby hatch was built into one wall. He’d deposit the child there. It should be safe enough.

  The door to the hatch opened, silently revealing a simple basket. He set the boy inside but when he went to leave, the baby clung to his finger, the tiny grip surprisingly strong.

  He stared into the grey eyes, noting the intelligence, the wariness. No open trust like you’d expect from a child. In a way, it was a shame, but life wasn’t easy and it was best to learn that lesson young. That’s what he’d done.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine here. I’m going to go back to try to save the others.” He freed his hand, then unexpectedly reached out and brushed his fingers over the dark curls. Soft, silky. Just like the mother’s. There was a tug in the region of his heart again, but he ignored it.

  “Someone from the pack will come and get you when they can. If something happens, if they don’t find you, or if they’re already dead, stay here where it’s safe. Never go back.” He shook his head. A child wouldn’t understand what he was saying. Despite that fact, he added another warning. “And don’t try to follow me. You don’t want the likes of me in your life.”

  A last-minute thought crossed his mind. He reached in his pocket and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and the stub of a pencil. It was hard to see in the dark, the paper still damp from the dunk in the river, but he managed to scrawl the child’s name. No last name; it would only cause him grief. But every kid needed some connection to family, right? The middle name was a version of the mother’s. Carlos for Carlotta.

  The name caused memories to wash over him. Dark hair, sparkling eyes. Free-spirited, she’d defied her family and dared to love him. And now she was dead, murdered by black magic. If he hadn’t loved her, the curse might not have touched her. If he’d returned sooner… A heavy sigh escaped him as ‘what-ifs’ tried to bombard his mind. There was no time for regrets right now. He folded the paper and tucked it in the basket, then rang the bell that would warn the occup
ants that a baby was in the basket.

  As he pushed the door of the hatch shut, he could see the child was still looking at him. Damn.

  He awoke with a start, disoriented and drenched in sweat. His muscles were tensed, ready for an attack; his heart pounding. Darting his gaze about the room, he took in the duvet folded at the end of the bed, the abstract painting mounted on the wall. Leather chairs surrounded a glass and steel table situated near the window and a gap in the curtains showed hints of the Chicago skyline. Slowly he exhaled, forcing himself to calm down, to remember that the events he’d relived in his dream were years in the past.

  He’d been little more than a kid at the time. Inexperienced, scared; he hadn’t known what he was facing. The existence of evil of that magnitude had never crossed his mind. Now he knew better. It slid and slithered undetected, raising its ugly head to destroy and feed before going underground again. And it was striking with increasing frequency. The knowledge settled in his gut like a leaden knot.

  There’d be no more rest for him tonight. Experience had taught him going back to sleep would only result in a repeat of the dream. He climbed out of bed, walked to the window and pushed the curtain aside. A faint glow in the distance indicated dawn was approaching. He might as well start his day.

  A local source—a demi-witch or witch of mixed parentage—had a possible lead for him as to where the Coven would be holding their quarterly meeting. If he could find the location without involving Gwyneth, all the better. And if it turned out to be a dead end, he’d have time to squeeze in another attempt at befriending Gwyneth.

  After dressing, he checked his bundle of cash. It was a well-known fact in certain circles that he paid more than the going rate for solid information. On the other hand, he also delivered swift retribution for false leads. He’d learned early on that was the only way to ensure snitches didn’t try to bilk him; a form of quality control if you would.

  He left his room and took the elevator to the lobby forgoing breakfast; there’d be time enough to grab a coffee later. Hands in his pockets as he awaited a cab, he mused it was fortunate that every segment of society had a certain percentage of marginalized members. They usually had a score to settle and were more than willing to screw the establishment by sharing classified information. Others were just money grubbers who’d do anything for a fast buck. Either way, it worked to his advantage.

  An hour later he was at a recreation centre jogging around a track with Roxi, the young demi-witch who had contacted him. He’d used her as an informant before; she worked as a cleaner and blended into the background, overhearing bits of conversation or finding information tossed in the bins.

  “We were told a private convention was being held and we’d be needed to clean the venue.”

  “Why do you think this would interest me?”

  “Well duh! The new company I’m with is called Magic Cleaners for a reason. My boss is a full witch and she’s boasted she’s done work for the Magissa before.”

  Dante nodded, ignoring the ‘duh’. It made sense. “And where is this place?”

  “No idea yet. She won’t tell us, which is another reason I think it has to be that the quarterly Coven meeting is being held here.”

  “When you have an exact location, call me and I’ll pay for the information.”

  “What?” She stopped running. “I thought I’d get something for this.”

  Dante stopped as well. “You know how this works. Speculation is worth nothing. I want facts.”

  “But I told you the Coven meeting was going to be in Chicago!”

  “That’s old news. I already knew that. I want to know where.”

  “Well, this sucks.” She blew a puff of air upward, ruffling her bangs. “I got up early and everything to meet you.”

  “Sorry.” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up to wipe his brow.

  “Nice abs.” She flicked her gaze over him.

  “Thanks.”

  “You know I was really counting on that money.” She took a step closer and looked up at him, eyes wide, a slight pout on her lips.

  He gave her a blank stare and stepped back. “That won’t get you anything. Information is my currency, not sex.”

  “Just testing.” She laughed, her face morphing back into its usual sassy expression.

  “If you want money, tell me something I don’t know. Hard facts. Have you heard any rumours of that malefic witch I asked about last time? Anyone dabbling in black magic?”

  “Nope. I think someone’s made that one up, hoping to get money out of you. Using black magic was outlawed years ago.”

  He made no comment, knowing all too well black magic was being used and that a malefic witch did exist. Apparently the witch was managing to stay below the radar or the Universal Coven was keeping it under wraps just as Lycan Link was.

  “Okay, well…” Roxi frowned, seeming to search her mind for something to tell him and then finally brightened. “You’ve been hanging around Gwyneth O’Donohue.”

  “Yes?” He kept his face impassive even though interest flared inside him.

  “She’s too old for you.” The girl smirked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she’s old. Really old. She performed a blood-spell way back and it slowed the aging process. She might look young but she’s freaking old.”

  And that, he said to himself, would explain Gwyneth’s too perfect background. “I’d heard rumours such things were possible but wasn’t sure.”

  “They are, but very few witches ever enact spells like that. Blood spells are very hard to complete successfully and usually involve a blood moon and a major sacrifice. Oh, and you have to spill some of your own blood.” She wrinkled her nose. “No way would I stab myself, plus there’s a scar.”

  “A scar?”

  She nodded. “That’s how you know a witch has performed a blood spell on themselves. It’s crescent shaped like a quarter moon, usually right over the heart.”

  “Interesting.” He made a mental note that he needed to check out Gwyneth’s chest and had to hold back a grin at the possibilities that entailed. “Okay, I’ll pay for that.”

  “Really? That’s great!”

  He took out his wallet and extracted a few bills.

  “Thanks.” She examined the money carefully before tucking the bills away. “You know, I’d do you for free, if you’re ever interested.” She reached out and trailed her hand down his arm.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He put his wallet away. “Call me if you find out anything concrete about the Coven meeting.”

  “It’s always business with you, isn’t it?”

  “What else is there?” He nodded and walked away.

  Chapter 7

  “Good morning, Sherman.”

  The oversized cat blinked lazily from his spot on top of the nearby dresser and rose to his feet to begin stretching in readiness for the day

  Gwyn mimicked him, stretching in her solitary bed. She’d not invited Matt to stay; making a break from the pattern she’d unknowingly slipped into of late. And, despite his absence, she’d slept well, thus proving her recent dependence on the werebear was some strange hormonal blip. Either that or she was becoming a ‘cougar’ as the current vernacular would have it. Matt might not realize it but technically, he was much younger. Then again so were most people in the world. Only a small number of witches had ever used the time slowed spell and most were now on the Coven council with her.

  She threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. Time to start another day. Meeting with the accountant was on her list so she donned dress slacks and heels. Looking professional seemed to help when dealing with the tedious man as he fussed over numbers and receipts or muttered about income tax forms. While she considered herself a competent business woman, dealing with the IRS gave her a headache.

  When she was finished with the accountant perhaps she’d stop by the shop she’d been in yesterday and look at the opal that had caug
ht her eye. Her birthday was coming up, after all.

  “Do I deserve to indulge myself, Sherman?” She stood in front of the mirror to fix her hair, winding the red tresses into a knot at the nape of her neck.

  Sherman studied her carefully and then jumped off the dresser and headed to the kitchen. His indifference was typical. Men.

  By eleven-thirty she was leaving the accountant’s office, the visit having been less unpleasant than she’d expected. Apparently, the bout of fine weather had penetrated the man’s obsession with numbers and he’d shortened their meeting, making reference to closing the office at noon so he could work in his garden. That was fine with her. If Mystique’s books didn’t meet IRS’ approval, he’d be the one on the phone with them, not her.

  She made her way to a small bistro, planning on having an early lunch before making her way to the shop she’d visited yesterday. Choosing a seat near a large potted plant, she picked up the menu and began to peruse it.

  “Are you stalking me?”

  The sound of a voice behind her—an annoyingly familiar voice—caused her to stiffen.

  With deliberation, she set down the menu and slowly turned. Through the fronds of the plant, she could see the Lycan.

  “You!”

  “Me.” He inclined his head.

  “Why are you following me?”

  “I think the reverse is true.”

  “Ridiculous. I’m not following you.” She leaned to the side so the plant didn’t obstruct her view of him.

  “I was here first.”

  “You were not. I would have noticed you.”

  He smiled. “I’m flattered.”

  When she would have spoken, he continued.

  “The evidence, however, doesn’t support your claim. I was here first.” He raised his cup of coffee.

  Gwyneth compressed her lips. He had coffee while she hadn’t even ordered yet. The damned dog had been there ahead of her. Setting down her menu, she prepared to stand up.