He heard her swallow, felt the effort it took her to whisper, “Goodbye, Irish,” before he walked out the door.
* * * *
As she took the last stack of books from her cart, the quiet of the library soothing her, Claire fought another rush of tears as though her life depended on it.
Irish. He was all she’d thought about all day long.
While she’d smiled and read stories to the elementary school’s first grade class, as she’d eaten her lunch with Freya, and while she’d hunted down a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird for Mr. Beechum, explaining that it wouldn’t actually teach him how to kill one, she’d managed to stave off tears.
But now that she was alone, and she had the time to remember everything, she just wanted to collapse. Gannon, her night with Irish, it all came rushing back in painful stabs, replaying the events in her mind over and over.
The town was in a total uproar over Gannon’s disappearance, the gossip of his whereabouts ranging from reasonable supposition to the outright ridiculous. She’d even garnered a few sympathetic glances from female pack members who’d obviously missed how vocal she’d been in her disgust of him.
What went down with Gannon weighed as heavily on her mind as what went down with Irish. Her heart began an irregular beat, the one always reserved for Irish alone.
She’d known last night was it. She just didn’t know how to remind her aching heart. Was it better to have had one night with him and experience the kind of bliss she didn’t know existed? Or was it better to have always wondered?
Surely she’d never be able to forget the imprint he’d left—his indelible mark had branded her, and she wanted him more than ever.
But he was right about his sister Hadley and about the rules of the pack.
Hadley…She couldn’t think about Hadley without more tears stinging her eyes.
Lost in thought while she forced herself to stroll the aisles, replacing books, she smacked right into her cart, tipping it over and knocking the books across the floor.
She’d dropped to her knees to gather them up when someone said, “Miss Claire?”
Startled, she looked up to find Hadley’s friend Sarah looking down at her, her eerily pale skin glowing in the dim lights of the library. Claire hid her own face in an effort to wipe her eyes dry with her thumb. “Sarah, what are you still doing here? I thought everyone was gone. I was just getting ready to close up shop for the night.”
Sarah’s eyes shone a dark gray, a look of sheer determination in them. “I need a book.”
There was nothing she liked better than knowing a child wanted a book, especially a teenage child. It was almost a guaranteed feel-good moment. Except for today. Today, she wanted to go home, strip her clothes off, put on her ugliest faded nightgown, climb under her covers, and sleep off this nightmare. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m pretty tired tonight, honey.”
“No!” she yelped, then looked around, quieting her voice, her eyes everywhere but on Claire’s face. “Sorry. No, it can’t wait. I need it tonight. It’s for a friend.”
Alarm bells began to go off in her head. Claire rose, putting her hand on Sarah’s arm, her ears alert, tuning into the young vampire’s body language. “What kind of book?”
Sarah looked right past her as she hiked her purple backpack up on her shoulder. “A book for when something bad happens to you. Like, you know, a…a trauma.”
Claire gazed down at this lanky slip of a girl and her chest tightened. “What kind of a trauma, Sarah?”
Sarah didn’t have the time to answer before the roar of motorcycles and the sound of pounding footsteps and angry voices invaded the library. Claire thrust Sarah behind her, feeling the young girl tremble.
“Claire Montgomery!” someone shouted. “Where the fuck are you?”
Courtland? Fear slithered along her spine, rooting itself deep in her belly, but she couldn’t let them see that. She wouldn’t let them see that.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the towering bookshelves, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is that you, Courtland Dodd? How dare you barge into my library with your brainless posse like a herd of cattle!”
Courtland and the Dogs came around the corner, stalking toward her, their faces bright with rage. Courtland moved in close, almost forcing her to cower from the stench of him until she remembered he’d eat that up with a spoon.
So she jammed her face in his, snarling, revealing her canines in a threat before retracting them. “Are you here to check out a book? Maybe one on the benefits of bathing?”
“Shut up, you bitch!” he roared in her face, his incisors pushing against his lips, turning jagged as he fought the shift. “Shut up or I’ll shut you up myself!”
“There’s a child here, Courtland! Mind your filthy mouth!” Sarah shook violently behind her, clinging to Claire’s arm. “Go home, Sarah. Go home now,” she ordered.
But Sarah clutched her sweater, shivering harder. “I’m not leaving…you here…alone.”
Glaring up at Courtland, she squeezed Sarah’s hand to reassure her. “It’s okay, Sarah. I promise. Go home. Please.”
Sarah sobbed, but Claire heard her back away, heard the scuffle of her feet as she ran for the door behind them.
Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes at Courtland. “So what’s this about? Hasn’t big brother come home from the Zone yet? Are you lonesome?”
Courtland snatched her by the arm, lifting her off her feet with a feral growl. “I know what you did, you bitch, and I’m gonna make sure you die for it!”
White-hot pangs of pain shot up her arm, making her grit her teeth to keep from screaming. She grabbed Courtland by the collar and gave him a good hard shake, rattling the earring in his left lobe. “If you don’t put me down, I don’t care how much mouthwash I have to invest in afterward, I’ll eat your face off!” she seethed.
But Courtland shook back, only fiercer, and then dropped her, kicking her so sharply in the ribs she went flying across the floor.
Her head smacked against the radiator with a crack left echoing in her ears. Claire reached behind her, using the heating element for support to sit up, fighting a groan at the shooting spears of pain.
Her head pounded as the Dogs surrounded her, condemnation in their eyes. They knew something. Jesus Christ, they knew. “Get out, Courtland,” she managed to say, fighting a wave of dizziness so violent, she thought she’d pass out. “I don’t know what kind of crazy you’re spewing, but you get the hell out of my library now!”
Courtland bent down to glare at her, putting his hands on his knees, his thick lips forming a sneer. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, you lying bitch. You killed Gannon—and I have a fucking witness!”
Everything stopped in that moment. The world stopped spinning. She stopped breathing.
The time to pay the piper has come, Claire Montgomery.
But then Irish was there, right behind Courtland, putting his gloved hand on Courtland’s shoulder and shoving him roughly out of the way. He gathered Claire up, wrapping his thick arm around her waist to support her. “Back off, Courtland, or I’ll drain you so dry you’ll turn to dust. Right here in front of all your little girlfriends.”
There was a stir in the crowd when Irish’s brother Liam, second in charge of the Fangs, pushed his way past the Dogs to stand beside him.
He affected a defensive stance as the Fangs flanked Courtland’s crew. “Now what’s the problem here, Courtland, and why are you knocking a woman around? Is fighting with the big boys too scary?” Liam taunted, to the tune of laughter from the Fangs.
Courtland’s lips flattened, his face full of rage. “Let her go, Irish. Give her to me. This is pack business.”
Irish rolled his eyes. “Tsk-tsk, Courtland. Didn’t we go through this last night? Harassing a woman is mutual business. Now, what’s going on?” he demanded, tucking her closer as her heart sped up and she fought the urge to collapse in his arms.
“She killed Gannon
, and I have a witness. That makes this pack business, Blood Lover. Now hand her the fuck over!”
Irish set her behind him with a protective arm before approaching Courtland, his eyes narrowed, his expression made of granite. “Then your witness is a dumber fuck than you are.”
There was another ripple in the crowd of Dogs, the air in the room draining in tense increments.
Claire’s legs began to fail. She clung to consciousness, afraid of what Irish meant. Oh God. He couldn’t know. Could he? She pushed her way between the two men, searching Irish’s face, sending him subtle signals with her eyes to keep his mouth shut.
As she began to teeter, Courtland’s beady eyes went suspicious. “What the hell does that mean?”
Irish tilted his jaw, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek before he said, “Your witness is wrong. Claire didn’t kill Gannon. I did.”
Part 2: Girl Most Lycan
Chapter 6
The silence in the library was deafening. No one moved. Not a single Road Dog breathed, but their eyes zeroed in on Irish and Claire, narrowed with ugly suspicion.
The stench of alcohol was rife amongst the Dogs, invading her nose with the putrid mix of booze and sweat.
Irish’s gaze locked with Courtland’s while the werewolf processed Irish’s admission.
Do not pass out, Claire. Do. Not. She fought the urge to allow the black void of unconsciousness to swallow her up, the aching throb in her temple an incessant pounding. She gripped Irish’s arm as he faced off with Courtland. “Stop, Irish!” she managed, swaying on buttery knees, her head light.
Claire took a long, ragged breath, focusing on inner healing, forcing herself to hurry the process along so she remained coherent enough to keep Irish from confessing to something he didn’t do.
As her head began to clear, Claire remained between the two men, moving her hand to Irish’s chest and appealing to Courtland, hoping her voice didn’t tremble. “He’s lying. All vampires are liars. You know that, Courtland. You say it all the time. I killed your vile, piece-of-shit brother.” She held out her hands, wrists turned up, without even a second thought. “So lock me up and throw away the key.”
Courtland looked at them both, his eyes darting between Irish and Claire’s faces. “What the hell kind of bullshit is this? Is this some kind of trick?”
Irish shoved her around him, wrapping an arm behind his body to hold her firmly against his back. “She’s lying. I killed your brother.”
Claire dug into his back, using her knuckle to drive between his shoulder blades. Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear. “Um, vampire?”
“Yes, werewolf?” Irish said out of the side of his mouth, his eyes still pinned on Courtland.
“This was not part of the plan. Ixnay on taking the ame-blay.”
“The what-ay?”
“Don’t you know pig Latin?”
“No. But I do speak Russian and French. A little Italian. Very little Spanish and some Vietnamese. Though, the last time I spoke Vietnamese, I ended up in a rice paddy with someone named Miss Precious-Lou. Don’t want to freak you out with details, but let’s just leave it at it’s been twenty years and I’m still afraid of rice paddies.” He mock shuddered, amusement in his coal eyes.
Claire yanked on his ponytail, jerking his head back. “In the immortal words of you—not a time to joke. I won’t let you do this, Irish,” she whispered in his ear with a hiss. “What about Hadley? Didn’t you just give me that whole speech about her safety?”
“Yep. And then I remembered you’d be much better at child rearing. There’s no rule that says a were can’t raise a vampire. Just that we can’t mate with one another. She needs a woman in her life, and I need some rest. Do you have any idea the kind of garbage she listens to on Pandora? And let’s not forget the makeup she wants to wear or the clothes she seems to always need even though she hasn’t changed a size in five years. The teenager-in-perpetuity thing is exhausting since we age so slowly. Jail would probably be a lot less tiring. Anyway, I’ve been thinking, she needs a solid female influence. Tag, you’re it.”
“A murderer is hardly a solid influence, Irish.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Wouldn’t you be a murderess, Librarian? You know, you being a female and all? And okay, so there’s a blight on your squeaky-clean record. It’s just one. We all make mistakes. Some bigger than others.”
A quick glimpse at Courtland and the Dogs and the utter confusion on their faces as she and Irish argued made Claire roll her eyes and yank harder on his hair, giving it a good jerk until his neck arched and he winced from the angle. “You won’t just end up in the clink, Dracula. They’ll kill you, Irish. Knock if off.”
“Or?”
Dragging him backward by his hair, she gave him a good shove and turned back to face a stunned Courtland. “I killed Gannon. You said you had a witness, right? Case closed. So let’s get this over with. Do whatever it is you do with alpha-murdering werewolves, and let’s be done.”
Irish stepped back in front of her, pushing her aside once more. “Your witness is wrong, not to mention blind. It was me. Now giddy-up, pardner.” Irish turned, putting his hands behind his back to indicate his submission to Courtland, but only after he winked at her and smiled.
Claire narrowed her eyes just before shoving him out of the way with an elbow to his ribs, smiling in satisfaction when she heard Irish grunt. “If your witness says he saw me, don’t you at least have to question me, Courtland? What kind of show are you running here, amateur? Gannon’s dead. That leaves you as alpha in charge, and it’s your responsibility to check out any and all leads. I’d say a witness is a pretty big one, wouldn’t you? So, pony up, alpha,” she taunted, knowing full well it would get his goat.
His sibling rivalry with Gannon was legendary amongst the pack. Courtland had always looked up to Gannon as some sort of bizarre mentor, only to hate him for the mentoring.
As if on cue, Courtland leaned in, his upper lip covered in a film of perspiration, his face red with rage. “Is my brother’s death a joke to you two?”
Claire let her eyes go wide with mock horror. “Hah! Don’t be such a goose. I didn’t laugh at the time, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean, there was a lot of blood. He ruined a perfectly nice dress and a pair of shoes, he bled so much. Believe you me, I was not laughing.”
“Claire…” Irish warned, his voice gravelly and sinister.
She flapped a hand over her shoulder in Irish’s general direction. “And don’t listen to Doom and Gloom. He’s delusional. I killed Gannon, and I can prove it.”
Courtland’s meaty paws grabbed the front of her dress, yanking her up until her feet dangled. “I’ll kill you, you stupid fucking cunt!”
Irish became a blur of leather and fists when he snatched Claire right out of Courtland’s hands as though he were plucking daisies from a garden, and handed her over to his brother Liam.
He flashed his fangs, hissing his anger at Courtland before moving in on him, cold menace in his eyes, his jaw clenched tight.
Irish was only taller than Courtland by an inch or so, but that inch, coupled with his ability to loom with fierce intimidation, made him appear ten feet taller. “You touch her again, and I’ll eat my way through your intestines. And if I ever hear you address a woman like that in my presence, no matter what you’re accusing her of, I’ll kill you, Courtland.”
He gave the werewolf a hard shove, knocking him into the Road Dogs while the Fangs laughed.
“Now—I killed Gannon, and I have the proof. Your witness is full of shit. So, you want proof she’s lying or do you just want to manhandle her ’til I have to show your crew here a little lesson in respect?”
Proof? No. He hadn’t actually buried Gannon, had he? He’d left behind proof? Somewhere, in the dark recesses of Claire’s muddled mind, she’d expected that Irish would leave no evidence behind—not even a hint of Gannon’s scent, let alone his body.
Of all the damn foolhardy things
to do.
No more foolhardy than you forgetting to look for your intended’s ride, Genius.
Okay, so she and Irish were both a couple of complete morons when it came to lies and deception, but at least she would have taken measures to ensure Gannon was never found.
Claire struggled to break the hold Liam had on her, but he kept a tight grip around her wrists, his hands like bands of steel, his hissed words at her ear. “Stop fighting me, Claire! Just let this play out, and trust.”
Trust? No-no. Irish knew where Gannon was because he’d done the body dumping. He had all the proof he needed. Oh God, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t asked him what he’d done with Gannon’s corpse.
She couldn’t let him do this. Why was he doing this? “Let me go, Liam, or I’ll shift and tear your throat out!”
Liam’s lips were suddenly at her neck, his hands tightening as he held them behind her back. “But probably not before I drain you. Don’t make me do that, Claire. Please. I like you. The crew likes you. Hadley likes you. Irish would probably make me swallow a gallon of holy water for it, and he said to protect you at all costs. I’m just doing my job as his right hand—don’t screw that up, okay?”
Claire didn’t have time to process Liam’s words, or comprehend that they were laced with Irish’s desire to protect her. Raw fear—so real, so bone-deep—cut through her like a knife at what Irish was about to do.
Irish was going to take the blame for her and they would make Claire watch as they killed him.
Her stomach heaved just as everyone began to file out of the library, Irish moving in front of Courtland willingly, while the Dogs sandwiched them. Her mind raced. Panic began to shut her brain down, but she fought the haze and tried to think while Liam held her in his grasp.
The roar of motorcycle engines gunning drifted to her ears, spiking her anxiety.
And then an idea hit her out of the blue.
Once Upon A Midnight Page 5
