by Lauren Dawes
“She thinks she’s in love with him,” Neve said quietly, glancing over at him.
“And you don’t?”
She held his eyes for a long minute before turning her attention back to the road. “She’s in love with the idea of him, of what his status would mean for her.”
“You make her sound like a gold digger.”
A growl filled the cab. “Katie is not like that.” Neve practically spat the words at him, and the gleam in her eye was murderous. “You know the hierarchy that exists in the prides. You know that females are expected to act in a certain way, to follow a certain path.”
He didn’t actually. He hadn’t been born into one of the ‘elite’ families in his pride. “Your parents expect you to do the same? Get mated? Become the obedient female?” He didn’t know why, but the thought of Neve bowing to any male made his thoughts violent. He’d literally only known her less than an hour, but her spirit was so strong. He didn’t want to see it snuffed out by some male on a power trip because of daddy’s money.
“Something like that.”
Drake chewed the inside of his cheek and looked out the windshield. The road ahead of them started to curve and wind between the sheer faces of the mountains. Letterboxes appeared like specters from the darkness along the side of the serpentine road. They ascended for a few minutes before Neve slowed the car.
“It’s just up here,” she murmured to herself, pulling the car off the road and turning down a long driveway not unlike her uncle’s. Darkness swallowed the car briefly before the light pollution from the large house in front of them cut through his vision.
The house was huge—a literal McMansion built into the sharp ridges of the Wyomings. He peered out at the thing.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Neve replied dryly. “His is one of the original elite families, and they’re richer than Trump, hence the house.”
Fuck. “What kind of business are they in?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Something in the human world, though.”
Well, whatever the hell they did to earn bread, it only meant one thing to him—these fuckers were going to close ranks and threaten legal involvement as soon as he showed his face. Rich shifters, a lot like rich humans, did exactly that. Whether it was to save face or just to prove they have enough money to waste on hiring a legal team, he didn’t know. All he did know was that his job was getting exponentially harder by the second.
The driveway in front of them broke off into two paths. Neve took the right, swinging around to the front of the house until she was under the porte cochère. An honest to God butler opened his car door like he was expected. He got out, and one inhale confirmed the guy in the penguin suit was human.
The Homo sapiens’s eyes drifted higher and higher, and when they reached his yellow eyes, he didn’t seem confused or startled by the unnatural color—well, unnatural to their species at least. For jaguar shifters, it was one of maybe a handful that were native to their DNA.
“Good evening, sir,” the suit said. “Is the master of the house expecting you?”
“He is not,” Drake replied, sizing up what little of the house’s interior he could see through the narrow windows at either side of the front door. Neve joined him a second later, and he tried to ignore that lovely scent of hers. It was like night-blooming jasmine—delicate yet with an unreserved strength to it too.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come back—”
Drake pushed past his mental shields and fed him some memories of his boss telling him they were expected. A moment later, the butler bowed to them and said, “Follow me, if you will.”
“Thank you,” he replied, ignoring the look of surprise on Neve’s face. He took the lead, doubting there’d be any danger inside the house, but old habits died hard. He reached inside his jacket, keeping his hand on one of his forties under his arm just in case someone sneezed in their direction.
His boots hit the polished marble floors just as the interior styling hit his retinas. It was a sea of white and gold. The marble was veined with gold striations, but instead of seeing neat squares of pattern, he saw huge slabs of it, like they’d forgone the tile option and gone straight to the kitchen counter size route.
Columns in that same marble rose above their heads, drawing his eye to the gold ceiling. Jesus, how much money did this family have?
“Please?” a stiff voice prompted, and he saw the butler had paused at a doorway. Drake entered the room with Neve hot on his heels. The space was filled with books at one end and had a quartet of plush armchairs clustered around a round table at the other. On the adjacent wall to the seating area was a marble fireplace, a fire burning brightly in its hearth.
“Please wait here. My master will be with you shortly.”
Drake nodded and moved toward the fireplace, inspecting the details carved into the marble face. He glanced over his shoulder to find Neve lowering herself into one of the pale blue striped armchairs.
“We need to speak to Charles,” she told him. “Alone.”
“We will.” But they needed to address the motherfucker who wrote the checks first. He knew exactly how it was going to go down too. They’d talk to senior, whose name was no doubt also Charles. He would then stonewall them before the junior got all hopped up about not being able to defend himself and give his side of the story. They’d be ushered out before they could witness the seams of a very wealthy machine popping and they’d be right where they were now—waiting for information.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
He frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Why are you taking this job yourself? I mean, you’re the captain of the Revenant. Surely this is something the Shadows could do, or you could send another one of your team in your stead. You could’ve waited until tomorrow to do this.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I guess I just want to know why you’re taking this so personally.”
He kept his face neutral, but on the inside, he was reeling. He couldn’t tell her the real reason—that was his cross to bear—but the reality was, he felt as if this was his chance to make amends, to atone for his sins.
“I’m just doing my job,” he told her.
The doors to the room opened with a flourish, and an older shifter strolled through. He was dressed in a tailored suit, his shoes polished to a high shine. Although he carried a cane, Drake knew it was more for show. Black jaguars aged incredibly well, their bodies keeping up until they were well into their mid-four-hundreds.
“Watts said you were here to see me,” the male said, taking a seat.
“Yes, sir,” Drake replied, leading with good manners. You caught more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “We’re here to speak with Charles.”
“Well, I am Charles.”
Bingo.
“We need to speak to Charles Jr.,” Neve said, shocking Charlie Sr. that a woman was in the room, let alone addressing him directly.
Charles Sr. brushed her off easily, his eyes narrowing on Drake instead. His easy dismissal of Neve made Drake’s hackles rise. It looked like Drake didn’t have to bother with pleasantries now.
“And who are you?” he demanded imperiously.
“I’m the captain of the Revenant.”
Well, that got his attention.
The male suddenly looked as if he’d been goosed with ten thousand watts, his body becoming rigid as the scent of his fear wafted out from underneath that expensive suit. “There must be a grave situation if you’re involved.”
“There is. Females are going missing.”
Charles went the color of pea soup, but Drake didn’t give a damn about his sensibilities.
“So, where’s your son?”
A frown appeared on the other male’s brow. “I can assure you my son has nothing to do with this.”
“That’s not the answer to the question I just asked you.”
“Now you listen here,” Charles beg
an, surging to his feet. Drake stared at him impassively, uncowed by the display of bravado from the wealthy male in front of him. “You can leave with those accusations right now.”
“What accusations?” Drake countered, his voice calm—in complete contrast to the rising pitch of Charles Sr., who had shed the green tinge and was rocking into red territory. “All I said was that I needed to speak to Charles Jr.”
“He didn’t do it,” the guy blustered. “And if you continue with this line of inquiry, I’m going to have my lawyers sue you for slander.”
Drake gave him a cold smile. “Didn’t do what, exactly?” he asked. “Hmm? Is this not the first time Charlie-Boy has gotten his nose dirty?” He wondered how many times he had to clean up after his son, wondered how much money he had to flash to get things taken care of discreetly.
The other shifter’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth in a snarl. “Get out of my house.”
Drake shook his head slowly. “Not going to happen, Charles, so why don’t you be a good little subject and run along and get your son.”
“Drake?” Neve asked anxiously although her voice was still soft. He glanced her way, but made a motion with his hand for her to stay there.
Drake opened his mouth again, but Charles just steamrolled right over him. He wasn’t used to that. He was used to fear and capitulation, but the rich-ass, tailored-suit wearing male wasn’t pulling his weight here now, was he? Drake had had enough, though.
Moving quickly, he grabbed the guy by his lapels and lifted him off the ground. His cane clattered dully to the area rug, and Drake kicked it out of the way. The quick levitation act got Charles’s mouth to stop working, and Drake took the opening.
In a low hiss and speaking very close to his face, he said, “Get your son’s ass in here right now, before I do something I might regret.”
The color drained right out of the other male’s face, his mouth opening and closing like a drowning fish. Drake dropped him to the floor, then made a little waving motion with his fingers. “Go on. Time’s wasting.”
Charles hot-footed it out of there, slamming the doors behind him.
“Do you think that was necessary?”
He turned at Neve’s question, finding her standing up, her hands hitched onto her waist. He inhaled the smell of her irritation, but there was no fear. Odd.
“We’re getting to speak to Charlie-Boy, aren’t we?”
She huffed. “We’d be lucky if he doesn’t return with a shotgun aimed at your chest.”
“Concerned for my safety?” he simpered. “I’m touched.”
She mumbled something that sounded a lot like jackass under her breath and sat again. Drake smiled. Just then, the double doors were thrown open, and Charles Sr. returned with a male who was nearly identical to him. Dressed in cream-colored khakis and a black turtleneck sweater, the guy stank of preppiness and privilege.
Charles Jr., he presumed.
“Sit,” Drake said, pointing at the chair the elder Charles had vacated. The younger male parked it like he was battery-operated and Drake had the controller. Raising his gaze to the door, Drake pinned his father with a hard stare. “You can wait outside.”
The guy looked like he wanted to argue, but wisely shut his mouth as well as the double doors. When he turned back, he found Neve’s peridot stare fixed on Charles like she was trying to scoop information out of his brain herself with sheer will alone.
“Charlie-Boy,” Drake started, his booming voice startling the poor guy. He looked at him, his gray eyes hardening as he remembered they were in his house and his lovely world of wealth.
What a dick.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice surprisingly strong. Well, what do you know? It looked like the bastard had balls.
“We’re here to talk about Katie Bolton.”
His face got all vacant, but Drake wasn’t biting on the who-are-you-talking-about game. The thing was, he didn’t have the damn patience to play with this asshole.
Leaning in, making sure to get his face in real tight, he snarled, “Don’t play dumb, Charles. I have it on good authority that Katie Bolton and you were involved with each other.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but he needed the right bait. If he refused to talk, Drake could always burrow into his head and find the truths he may have been hiding.
“Okay, okay. I know of her, yes. We were introduced a couple of years ago.”
Drake turned to stare at the fire. “Where were you last night?”
“Last—? Here, at home.”
Drake placed his hands on the mantle and leaned in, letting the heat of the fire become almost unbearable before stepping back and turning back around. “All night?”
Charles frowned like he was trying to figure out a math problem. “Yes.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“Why would I need anyone to corroborate that?”
“Just answer the question,” Drake snarled softly.
Charles’s attention drifted over to Neve briefly before snapping back to his face. “No. My father was out.”
“Your mother?”
“She died years ago.” Drake raised a brow. “Old age.”
Damn. His mother must have been well into her four hundreds when she’d had him—not unheard of, but definitely not common.
“What about the butler?” Drake asked, wandering over to the book-lined cases at the back of the room. Angling his body so he could see the other male, he pulled out one of the tomes then slid it back into place when Charles’s shoulders hitched up to his ears. His father probably didn’t like anyone touching his collection. “Where was he?”
“He had the night off.”
“And there was nobody else here? You didn’t speak to anyone? Share part of your affluent life to your followers on Instagram Live? What’s your handle? @richdouche? Nah, it’s probably @HighballerBiebtard.”
Charles glared at him, his contempt burning as hot as the fire in the hearth.
That’s right. Get angry. Slip up, you bastard.
“I just had a quiet night. Here. Alone. No phone calls. No social media.”
“So what were you doing?” Drake grabbed another book, pulling it all the way out and flipping through its pages noisily. “Here. Alone. On a Saturday night,” he added in an antagonizing tone.
“Drake,” Neve said in warning.
“Neve,” he replied. That was when he noticed Charles’s head jerk in her direction, staring at her. He put down the book and stepped closer to the male.
“You’re her cousin?”
She nodded stiffly.
Charles licked his lips, suddenly nervous. “My father doesn’t know.”
Drake bit back the smile that wanted to flash onto his face. “Doesn’t know what exactly?”
Charles let out a long breath. “She’s told you about me?”
Neve didn’t say anything—didn’t move, hardly breathed.
“Doesn’t know what?” Drake demanded again, snapping his fingers impatiently in front of the guy’s face.
Charles exhaled noisily. “H-he doesn’t know we’re having a relationship.”
“What?” Neve’s voice crackled with something Drake had plenty of experience with—barely contained rage. She hadn’t known. “She was your dirty little secret?”
“No! Never. I love her.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true,” he replied weakly.
“If it were, you’d tell your father about her,” Neve replied. Drake made a point of stepping back and leaning against the mantle, the fire warming his back.
“I can’t. Please, believe me when I say that.”
Neve cocked her head to the side, studying him with an intensity that was straight up cold killer. And what do you know, Drake respected her a little more.
“It can’t be a matter of bloodline,” she said. “So what is it?”
He blew out a breath. “My parents have another female they intend for me to mate.” When Neve re
mained quiet, Charlie-Boy started to fidget. “We’re getting mated in the spring.”
She rose from her seat in a surge of power. At her sides, her hands were balled into fists so tight that even from his position across the room, he could see the bones of her knuckles standing out. Taking advantage of the strength of her feelings, he nudged aside her mental shields and probed her thoughts, getting flashes of images like lightning strikes. He saw the scenarios playing out in her frontal lobe, mostly involving Charles choking on his cock after Neve shoved it down his throat. Drake smirked a little at that last one.
She paced in a tight line just like the jaguar she was before turning for the door. Drake righted himself, wondering if she was going to ask the six-million-dollar question. But as she reached for the handles, she casually said, “Well, don’t worry yourself about cutting her loose in the spring.” She peered at him over her shoulder, her eyes glowing. “She disappeared last night.”
“What?”
“That’s right, Charlie-Boy,” Drake interjected. “Katie’s gone, and guess who doesn’t have an alibi?”
The kid blanched, his puss matching the color of his pants. “Wait! Wait, what did you say? What happened to Katie?”
“She never came home,” he replied flatly. “So, I’m going to ask you one more time, what were you doing last night?”
Charles’s voice is barely a whisper, but he said, “I was here, alone. I have no one to corroborate my story.”
He stalked toward Neve. He could feel her shock and anger simmering just below the surface, and in an uncharacteristic move, he placed his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers curling around the graceful curve of her nape.
“Let’s go,” he said softly into her ear, opening up the door and guiding her out. Charles Sr. was there, throwing questions at them like a yappy little dog. Drake blew him off, his focus on getting Neve out of there. The little truth bomb Charles had dropped had rocked her to her core, and even he had to admit he hadn’t seen it coming.
He put her into the passenger side of her own truck, jogging around to the other side of the cab to get them out of there. They didn’t speak, but somehow, he knew there was nothing he could say that would make her feel better. She was stuck in her own head, he could see it from the hard slash of her brows. She’d told him Katie only had a crush on the guy, that there was no relationship there, but that rug hadn’t just been ripped out from under her tonight, it had been shredded and burned to ashes.
