Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1

by Gayle Parness

  Her whole room smelled pleasantly of Gene, but as she drifted off, her thoughts turned once more to Mack and the amazing link they'd shared for an instant. There'd been nothing like it with anyone before Mack, and she knew it was somehow important, if only her brain could put the pieces together.

  In that small flash of connection, she’d seen his loneliness and his strong desire to protect the people he cared for—not anything she’d ever expect a Mack to feel.

  Ingrid yawned and curled her body more tightly, slipping a hand under the large pillow. Later she'd figure it out. Later.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After ending the call with Mack Harbor, The Director downed two quick shots of single malt, smirking in the direction of his guest. "She's arrived safely."

  Joseph Herron, the top alpha of the four largest New York area packlands, sipped his scotch at a slower rate, savoring the exquisite flavor and heat as it traveled across his tongue and down his throat. "That boy's in for it. Mack Harbor will never be able to control that bitch."

  "You're wrong. The Harbor Troupe is under Mack's thumb and Mack's ass is under mine. His actors are breaking records at the box office. You'd be mistaken if you believe it's only because of the troupe actors’ gifts."

  "We'll see soon enough. I'll be at the show on Wednesday." Visitors were not allowed to sit in the Director’s presence unless invited, so Joseph had made his way to the open door leading to a terrace large enough to fit a group of ten comfortably. The Director kept his penthouse office hot, so hot Joseph practically slid out the door when he left after every meeting.

  "Ingrid will toe the line or I'll—," he took a deep breath, considering how to continue, "—release her from her contract and sell her. My brother’s had his eye on her for ten years. It'll cost me in ticket sales, but I've been too lenient."

  “Where’s your brother’s territory?”

  “Great Britain. Scandinavia.”

  Joseph nodded. “Mostly surrounded by salt water. More defensible.”

  “Yes. Well, he doesn’t have the same gifts or the same competitive nature.” The Director had made sure to cordon off his territory the moment he’d chosen it. Walls of smokeless flame and mile-wide moats of lava worked fairly well to keep out usurpers. The eastern half of what was once the United States of America, from Minnesota to Louisiana, moving east to the coastline was his, and had been for over one hundred and fifty years.

  The other half of the former greatest nation on earth had been left to fend for itself. With supernatural species warring with each other like street gangs, he was fairly certain the human population that had occupied the western territories had died out.

  Joseph leaned against a wall, acting a little too comfortable. The Director preferred to have his thugs at attention in his presence.

  "I'll pay you to take Ingrid off your hands. I know how to tame a female and shut up that smart mouth fast. Or I could kill her for you, after I have a little fun.”

  "I'm not interested in her demise, at least, not yet. We can talk when my brother’s finished with her, if you're still interested."

  "She's dangerous. Can't you see that?"

  The archdemon stood slowly, towering over the six-foot-four inch alpha by more than a foot. "She's nothing. A theta. Even less than an alpha dog like you."

  Joseph was smart enough to bow his head. "I apologize if I've offended you, however I feel it's my job as an ally to warn you.” He faced the archdemon once more. “Thetas have psychic powers strong enough to link to the mind of any supernatural in the country. How long will it be before they realize they can do more?"

  "They've been controlled since their earliest days. None have mishandled their powers nor attempted to rebel against me." The wolf was beginning to annoy him. Perhaps some obedience training was in order. He used his body to raise the heat in the room.

  Joseph’s forehead glistened with sweat almost immediately. "Abuse by PM’s and APM’s against their own troupe members has grown rampant. Rebellions are born in that soil."

  "There is no reason to worry."

  "I disagree." Joseph was pulling at the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning the cuffs and rolling them up. Soon he’d be asking for a glass of water.

  "Are your shields so weak, Joseph?"

  He rubbed his forehead with his sleeve. "We masters and alphas lower our shields like gentle lambs at every performance, all for the sake of our pleasure. They've learned the essence of our minds as they manipulate what we imagine. None of us truly understands how their powers work. They should be disbanded, studied and …"

  "You're dismissed, Joseph."

  "Sir." The alpha wolf turned to leave without argument. He was intelligent in that way. Plus he was thirsty, poor dog.

  "Wait. You will not discuss this theory with anyone else, do you understand?" The Director watched the wolf’s face, checking for signs of deception. "Yes, sir." Joseph bowed and exited through the main door.

  The archdemon settled himself more comfortably in his large chair, enjoying another scotch. His visitors thought the chair was made of leather, but the material he’d crafted into a seat had once belonged to a creature fifty times the size of a bull and twenty times more vicious. The species no longer roamed the earth, but this particular beast had given him a battle to remember, entertaining him with its fury. He’d honored it with the use of its hide, despite it being mostly his ass that benefited.

  Without need for device, The Director called to his brother, Susa, their souls linked when first created. An image appeared before him, as tall as he was, yet less broad. His brother was bald, his scalp tattooed with designs that held great power when called into use.

  Susa's voice was merely a whisper, unlike The Director's deep rumble. "You continue on, Jorint?"

  "As Aether requires," he replied in the traditional manner. “I received your message yesterday. Why do you bother me?”

  "I have news regarding our sisters." Susa lowered himself into the smaller, more traditional leather chair reserved for guests.

  "I have no interest in those bitches." The Director opened the beautifully carved box placed on the far corner of his large desk, pulling out a cigar. He clipped the end with his claws, lighting it quickly, then extinguishing and retracting the talons. His brother knew what he was capable of, no need to play with the flames. Most species had no idea of his true form. He intended to keep it that way.

  "Why, because they bested you in your last interaction?" Susa's aura had turned purple with humor.

  "Their methods are vulgar." He puffed on the Cuban cheroot, smoke billowing around his head.

  "You think yours are not?" Susa asked, sliding the ashtray closer to his brother and calling up a small breeze to blow the smoke out the open window.

  Jorint paid no attention. "I rule a large portion of the modern world without resorting to ritual sacrifice."

  "I seem to recall that only recently, you turned an entire theatre full of sorcerers and witches to ash."

  The Director's skin vibrated with lust as he recalled the way his most powerful Ingrid had stood defiant in the midst of the carnage. "A mistake was made by a most valuable asset. I did what was necessary. I always weigh the outcome, before I act."

  "Unlike Lumexe and Wiklyn?"

  "Our sisters have already wiped out the human populations of several African nations. If they continue in this way, the eastern hemisphere will soon be a wasteland. Vampires will die out from lack of blood, wolves from attrition. Our soldiers will suffer without their distractions. An unhappy army breeds trouble."

  "Give me the female and I will deal with our sisters. You owe me from the last encounter, Jorint."

  "You can handle the two alone?" He didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.

  "You think not?"

  "You are gifted, it’s true, but the point is moot. My female continues to entertain. I will keep her for now."

  "Unless you agree to help me, the sisters will continue to ravage the earth."

 
"You just told me you would take care of them.”

  “In exchange for the female theta.” Susa banged his fist on the arm of the chair, adding a breeze that knocked the papers on his brother’s desk onto the floor.

  Jorint shook his head. Although he was centuries older, it appeared Susa still had a childish streak. “You should have beaten some sense into the twins long ago, you being the elder sibling. I cannot take the time nor expend the energy. My work is more important."

  "You think yourself superior to our sisters, yet your spectacles involving live executions and weeklong battles between the species you call allies are every bit as destructive as their rituals."

  "I disagree. My scheduled competitions keep the violence between species in a controlled environment and off my streets. Theta performances sweeten their audience's baser natures and keep endorphins buzzing for weeks. Where riots are the normality in your part of the world, my methods keep me in control and my supernatural population healthy and happy."

  "The executions are gruesome spectacles."

  "None of the beings I rule, human or supernatural, must forget that I am their master. The gruesome spectacles, as you call them, serve their purpose."

  "I am appalled you find this to be an acceptable method of governing."

  "Then blow off, brother." Together they smirked at the pun. Susa controlled air and wind, as Jorint had mastery over fire. "I leave the job of governing to others, allowing them to imagine they have real power. It amuses me. Most of Earth’s society is manipulated by its media, and I control it.”

  "As I also control mine in my territory. It is necessary. Yet you must show some degree of mercy. You are breeding rebellion with your cruelty.”

  The Director, walked to the balcony that overlooked Central Park, an area he’d gifted to the Midtown Pack, one of those controlled by Joseph Herron. He required instant obedience in return, no matter what was demanded of the wolves that made the city their home. "I cannot see why you object to the executions. Most of my supernatural citizens demand these spectacles. The events sell out in minutes and are watched by millions."

  "You rise in power on the backs of the innocent," his brother wheezed.

  The sound wasn't an indication of any illness, only of great emotion. "You're no fucking archangel, Susa. The destruction you've caused is equal to mine." The room was heating up again.

  "I destroy the bringers of evil," his brother insisted. It was an ancient argument between them.

  This time Jorint laughed. "What a load of crap. You destroy the evil creatures that happen to disagree with your methods.”

  Susa ignored his younger brother’s comment, instead lifting his head to sniff the air. “Can you sense the moisture in the air? Our sisters have been busy. Floods and famine will follow soon. Lumex will bring a torrent to bear if you anger her again. Wiklyn will cause tremors and landslides.” His sisters were masters at manipulating water and earth. “We will lose the game.”

  "Those bitches are too busy trying to control their own subjects, to bother us."

  "Yes. Perhaps, but..."

  "I never lose the game, as you well know, Susa. Not in thousands of millennia.”

  “You’ve been blessed with fortune,” his brother grumbled.

  “Ha. I’ve been smarter than you three, and continue to be. Perhaps I might offer you a gift. Watch the next execution from my private box. I've hired Sun Yow as torturer. He had a cancellation."

  Susa scowled. "No, thank you."

  The air had grown chilly, even though The Director's fiery energy usually kept it near 100 degrees Fahrenheit. “Then leave me, brother.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ingrid's first full day with her new troupe was ridiculous on so many levels.

  When Ingrid made it downstairs for breakfast, Diane, the female diva of the troupe, was already at the table eating and scanning the news on her H-tab. She looked up from her emagazine and smiled, but the expression didn't seem genuine. Divas started out as ingénues, like Ingrid and Gene, then, after reaching a certain age, moved into the troupe's diva slot. A new Ingrid joining the troupe was another reminder they were aging. Some took it better than others did.

  Ingrid smiled back, hoping to get off on better footing this first full day. "Good morning, I'm Ingrid." Totally unnecessary, but first days were always awkward. She should know.

  "Mmm." Diane sent her a weak wave, but didn't look up from her meal of cereal and yogurt.

  A young male poked his head out from what seemed to be a pantry. "Hey, good morning, Ingrid. I'm Alan, the assistant production manager. You want eggs or pancakes or something else? I usually cook breakfast," he explained. He was a redheaded kid with freckles and a nice smile.

  "I don't want to bother you..."

  "Ask him for anything. He likes to cook." Diane was watching the exchange, looking friendlier now that Alan was talking.

  "Well, yeah, that's part of it. I mean, Mack doesn't live here on the property, although he usually wanders in around ten or so. Somebody has to make sure the troupe eats breakfast—most important meal of the day and all. You actors use up a ton of energy and today you'll be working together for the first time. It’s important to keep hydrated, too, ‘cause…”

  "He also likes to talk."

  Diane’s snarky interruption raised Ingrid’s hackles. The kid was being friendly and helpful. In her experience, most APM’s were pretty nice, trained in the institutes as techs instead of actors. After their stint as an assistant they’d move up the ladder to become a Mack, the head honcho in a troupe.

  Alan's cheeks pinked up, turning away to get back to cooking some eggs. "Sorry. There's cereal on the first shelf and fruit salad in the refrigerator."

  Ingrid didn't like the way Diane had embarrassed him. She touched his shoulder. "I'd love two scrambled eggs and some wheat toast. Do you have any jam?"

  His grin was massive. "Strawberry and apricot. Do you want some cheese in your eggs?"

  "That would be lovely. Thank you."

  "Coffee's in the corner."

  Ingrid nodded and fixed herself a cup of coffee, taking a chair a little farther down the table from Diane than she might have before the incident. She pulled out Sass as Gene slid into the chair across from hers.

  "Sleep okay?" he asked, grinning like a mischievous angel.

  "Yes, fine, you?" She smiled back, happy to be with someone familiar.

  "Like a rock. Unpacking is hard work."

  Diane giggled, the sound forced. "Gene's like a rock in several ways. Well, I suppose you'll find out soon enough, unless you already have." She winked at Ingrid in an exaggerated way.

  Gene ignored Diane. "What did you order? I can never decide. Alan's such a good cook, he could run his own restaurant. I'd be a regular customer."

  Alan laughed, placing the dish in front of her with a certain amount of flare. "Your scrambled eggs and toast, Mademoiselle."

  Ingrid smiled back. "Thank you, Monsieur. It smells delicious. Meal times with my other troupes were never much fun."

  "Troupes?" Diane picked up on the comment.

  Ingrid sighed, preparing herself for the usual questions and snide remarks. "This is my fourth."

  "Your fourth?" Sam asked, leading Staci to a chair. When his partner was seated, he poured two mugs of coffee, humming to himself. He was taller than Gene, but also slightly leaner, his fifty-plus years only beginning to show in the salt and pepper color of his still-thick hair. On the other hand, Staci looked closer in age to Diane, her mahogany skin shining in the sunlight steaming in from the open window—not a wrinkle in sight. "The Director allowed you to quit the other troupes?" he asked.

  "Not exactly."

  "They tossed you out?" Diane asked, eager to hear more.

  "That's closer. It was more of a mutual decision, except for the last troupe." Everyone had heard the publicized version of the unfortunate incident in Atlanta. Thankfully, none of them questioned her about it.

  "But why the others?" Diane a
sked, insistent,—a dog with a bone.

  "I don't tolerate assholes well." The room grew still and Ingrid continued quietly. "According to my file, I’m difficult."

  Staci’s brow creased. "If that was the case, The Director would have retired you, not put you in the top troupe." In the world thetas inhabited, retirement didn’t include a pension and a lovely cottage on the seashore.

  "He won't retire her." Alan said, his eyes wide. "She's perfect."

  Diane's eyes narrowed. "Oh my, look who has a crush on our new Ingrid. Poor boy can't get it up, but he can still dream, can't he?"

  "Diane!" Staci jumped out of her seat and moved around the end of the table toward Alan, squeezing his arm in a gesture of support. "Would you make your delicious blueberry pancakes? Sam and I love them."

  "Sure, Staci," Alan whispered, humiliated by Diane’s cruel comment.

  "Add one more to that order, please," Gene faced Diane and spoke firmly. "We would all appreciate it, if you'd keep your ugly thoughts inside your head and not force the rest of us to listen to them. Ingrid is not a threat to your status in the troupe, Diane, so get over your insecurities and wake up Dave before he misses breakfast.”

  "You’re not in charge, and I don't give a shit if he misses breakfast," Diane snapped back.

  "You should." Ingrid was shocked to hear Mack's voice, his entrance missed because of all the drama. "You're smarter than that. One weak link affects our entire performance. Please wake him up." Diane nodded and stood, surprisingly obedient. As she walked up the stairs Mack added, "You know better than to stay out when we have a rehearsal the next afternoon."

  She stopped and turned. "It never affects my performance."

  "Diane."

  She gave him a look that could have frozen the Atlantic, but the dark fire in Mack's hazel eyes was even more intense. "I'll knock on his door." She shrugged and continued up the stairs.

  "She's probably hung over." Staci whispered after Diane had disappeared.