by Amy Pennza
His scent washed over her, the heady mix of pine, soap, and the dark spice that was his alone. Underneath it all was a sharp kick, like the first breath of air upon stepping outside in the winter. She’d never smelled it before arriving in New York. It was the same crisp, bracing note she sometimes caught around Remy. There was a wildness to it—some nameless quality that pulled to something wild in her.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked gently.
She glanced at the small gym bag. “I don’t think so… But I packed just in case.”
“In case what?”
“I thought you might send me away.”
He rose and circled his desk. She clasped the bag in front of her to keep her hands from shaking. Would he hit her? Her foster mother had sometimes swatted her on the rear. He couldn’t punish her that way—she was sixteen years old! The thought of being turned over the Alpha’s knee filled her with dread…and something else. Her heart pounded as he knelt in front of her. Up close, the mysterious scent was strong. She inhaled, savoring it in her lungs the way someone might hold wine on their tongue.
He took one of her hands in his. “This is your home, Lizette. I will never send you away. D’accord?”
“Thank you.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what the last word means.”
“It means okay. You should learn French. It could come in handy someday.” He smiled, and this time his mouth smiled, too.
The water ran cold, jerking her out of the past. She nudged the shower’s temperature control a few more notches into the red. How ironic that she’d once worried about Max sending her away from the Lodge. If he had his way now, she’d never leave it—or him.
She inspected the bottles lining the marble shelves tucked in the corner. After a few sniffs, she found body wash that smelled of mint and eucalyptus. Sharing Max’s loofah was out of the question, so she dropped a dollop in her hands and soaped her arms and legs. The wound on her wrist was still tender, but the line was thin and pink.
She’d always been grateful for her Gift. The connection to her parents, however meager, had given her a sense of belonging for the first time in her life. In her foster family’s home, she’d been a werewolf struggling to blend in with humans—even though she hadn’t known it. At the Lodge, she was too human fit in. Which meant she had spent most of her life burying her instincts.
The wolves at the Lodge expected her to flip a switch and assimilate. Then she was supposed to find a mate and make a lifelong commitment.
An irreversible commitment that would leave her children orphaned if she died.
Better to spend her life alone than risk repeating her parents’ mistakes.
Max had kept the true nature of their Gifts from her, and now she knew why. If Bloodsingers were as rare as he claimed, he had a lot to gain by taking one as his mate. Werewolves talked always of their low birth rates and population woes. An Alpha who could Turn latents into full-blooded werewolves wouldn’t have to worry about losing wolves to old age or dominance fights. Latents would seek him out, willing to pledge their loyalty in exchange for a normal life. He’d be the most powerful Alpha in the country, maybe the world. What kind of Alpha would turn down that opportunity?
When she first arrived at the Lodge, she resented her heritage. After years trying to fit in among strangers, she’d been thrust into a world that was only supposed to exist in stories. Even worse, she was one of the monsters in those stories. For a brief time she refused to Turn, but when Max got wind of it, he took her straight to the Pit.
Shaking with nerves, she followed him to the Lodge’s first floor, then down a set of narrow stone steps that seemed to go on forever. Finally they emerged into a vast stone cavern ringed with torches. Massive stone pillars as thick as tree trunks stretched to the ceiling twenty feet above. The room’s only decoration—if it could be called that—was a metal cell with black bars that looked like they had been driven into the floor. Wire mesh wrapped around the exterior and over the top. She squinted in the dim light. There was nothing inside. Her heart rate spiked. Did he intend to put her in it?
Max touched her shoulder and said, “There.”
Trembling, she followed the path of his finger. A man—no, a boy—huddled against the far wall of the cage. He looked no older than twelve or thirteen.
Panic raced down her spine. Max had the power to put someone in this awful place. The boy was so young… Had he refused to Turn, too? She swallowed, her throat like sandpaper. “What did he do?” she dared to ask.
Max sighed, and the heavy exhalation drew her to look at his face. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded…sad. “Nothing.”
“Then why—”
“He can’t Turn.” Max’s eyes searched hers. “Do you know what that means? He’s a latent. His body doesn’t know whether it’s human or wolf. His mind is broken. He’s insane.”
Without warning, the boy’s head shot up, his eyes riveting on them. He launched his body across the cage. Max grabbed her shoulders and jerked her back as the boy’s body slammed into the mesh. He’d been clawing at his face. His hands were bloody—his cheeks and forehead covered with scabs where he’d dug out whole chunks of flesh. His wild stare landed on her. His eyes were vacant, his mouth slack.
A tear slipped down her cheek. “What will happen to him?”
Max brushed the tear away with his fingertips, his silence telling her the answer.
Lizette watched soapy water spiral down the drain. Faced with a chance to spare latents that boy’s fate, Max did what any Alpha in his position would have. He seized it.
So why did it hurt so much?
In the bedroom, he said he wanted her. She felt his erection, but that didn’t mean anything. Most men weren’t exactly discriminating when it came to sex. She knew she wasn’t ugly, and judging by her own body’s response, sex with Max wouldn’t be a chore.
But could she spend the rest of her life knowing he wanted her, not for her, but for what she could do for his pack? That wasn’t love—it was duty. Maybe the lux catena didn’t fuel the kind of obsession she’d seen in her parents, but there was no denying its power to bind lives together. Once she and Max were stuck with each other, how long would it take for duty to twist into resentment?
Or she could leave him—reject their bond and keep the lux catena unfinished—but it meant walking into the same life her parents had led.
And turning her back on latents who needed her help.
Spotting a safety razor among the colored bottles, she grabbed it, bent, soaped her leg, and dragged the blade along the length of her calf. Her options sucked, but she wasn’t going to face them with hairy legs. She gave her underarms the same treatment, and then shampooed and conditioned her hair.
A bamboo bench outside the shower held a stack of fluffy white towels. She wrapped one around her body and twisted another turban-style around her head. The double vanity spanned an entire wall, and the cabinets underneath revealed shelves lined with extra towels, spare toiletries, and glass canisters filled with cotton balls and Q-tips. A flash of red caught her eye.
Cherry red.
Her train case sat on a shelf next to the hairdryer she’d brought from her apartment. She stood and opened a drawer. Son of a bitch. Sure enough, there were her brushes and ponytail holders. Another drawer held her makeup. There was even an unopened box of tampons. She flipped it over and found the expiration date. It was new. Her period was an infrequent visitor. Female werewolves had sporadic menstrual cycles. Clearly, Max expected her to stick around long enough to need these supplies.
She stalked to the green keypad and punched in the code. There was a high-pitched beep and a click. Holy shit, it worked.
Her pulse spiked. Why did Max need a keypad entrance for his closet? Her mind raced through possibilities for what she might find on the other side of the door. Weapons? Jewels? Torture devices for runaway brides? Whatever he kept in there, Remy said her clothes were there too.
“You
’re a werewolf,” she muttered. “Stop being such a wuss.” Ignoring her thundering heart, she pushed the door open.
An automatic light clicked on overhead, filling the space with a soft, buttery glow. There no weapons. No jewels. Just…clothes. Huh. She stepped inside and spun in a slow circle. “Some spy closet.” Rows and rows of wooden hangers held Max’s clothes. Built-in cubicles stored his shoes and accessories. His scent hovered over everything.
Someone had cleared out a section and added her scant wardrobe. Her jeans and tops hung on their own wooden hangers. Her pink duffel sat on a shelf beside sweaters and a few hoodies. She walked to her side and opened the first drawer beneath it. Her bras and underwear were arranged in neat rows. Her cheeks heated at the thought of Max handling the scraps of lace and silk. She grabbed a black bra-and-panty set and slammed the drawer shut. After some rummaging, she found her favorite buttery soft yoga pants and a chunky black turtleneck sweater. She pulled on her clothes and moved back to the vanity.
The other drawers turned up her mint and baking soda toothpaste, along with her deodorant and lotion. She brushed her teeth, then dried her hair until it fell down her back in shiny waves. When she was finished she surveyed her reflection with a critical eye.
“Well, at least you’re a well-groomed prisoner.” Her voice echoed around the steamy bathroom. She sighed and headed back into the bedroom. The scent of pine and spice followed her.
As soon as she saw the bed, she glanced away. Max’s touch had ignited a fire under her skin—one she couldn’t afford to enjoy. As much as she hated how he’d dictated her every move over the past five years, it had felt good to believe he wanted her.
Now she knew it wasn’t the case. He wanted her Gift, but he didn’t want her.
Except for the crackling fire, the suite was quiet. A beautiful prison. Max’s scent filled her lungs, inescapable here in his den.
Suddenly it was too much to bear. She hurried to the bed and gathered the largest pillows, then arranged them in a vertical line down the mattress, fluffing them here and there. She pulled the comforter over them, stood back, and admired her work. It wouldn’t fool anyone up close, but it looked real enough from the end of the bed.
She walked to the foyer and paused, straining for the sound of voices on the other side of the door. When she heard nothing, she crossed to the windows, pulled back the curtains, and opened the sliding door that led to the balcony. Night had fallen, and tiny pinpricks of white stars dotted the sky. A crisp breeze nipped at her cheeks and nose.
She hadn’t brought a jacket—she’d forgotten how chilly it got up north in early fall. She looked over her shoulder at the suite with its merry, crackling fire. Screw that. She needed to think. She closed the slider and surveyed the balcony. Like the rest of the suite, it was gorgeous, with gray slate flooring and a mix of furniture in metal and wicker. She trailed her fingers along a glass top table, then peered over the metal railing. The water at the bottom of the gorge looked like a skinny black pencil mark.
A four-story jump wouldn’t kill her, but she might hurt herself—possibly even break a leg. Fortunately, there was an identical balcony just below. The scent of plastic and old sweat reached her nose. The weight room. She smiled. Now that she’d seen Max’s suite from the outside, she had a good idea where it was positioned within the Lodge. The weight room took up a big chunk of the third floor, and it had a stairwell leading straight to the garage. Better yet, the weight room’s balcony was designed to accommodate more people, which meant it jutted out farther, offering her a perfect landing spot.
She swung her leg over the metal railing and found the outside edge with her toes. For a second, she balanced astride the cold metal.
Then the gorge seemed to rush up at her, and she flattened her body along the railing and squeezed her eyes shut. Breathe…it’s an easy drop to the next balcony.
She opened her eyes and lifted her other leg over the railing. Don’t think, just do it. She slid her hands down the railing’s spindles until she was crouching, took a deep breath, and let her toes slip off the edge of the balcony. Her chest bumped the concrete, forcing out a grunt. Her hands started to sweat, and her biceps burned with the effort of supporting all her body weight. She didn’t have enough strength to haul herself back up.
It was now or never.
She took a deep breath and let go. Her stomach pitched as she fell, then she slammed into the concrete below with a thud. The impact jolted her from her heels to the top of her spine. Off-balance, she careened backwards and fell on her ass, jarring her tailbone.
“Ow, dammit!”
A shuffling noise brought her head up. Shit!
The glass door slid back and Haley stuck her head outside. “Lizette?”
“Haley?”
“What are you doing out here?” Haley looked around. “How did you get out here?”
Lizette pointed up.
“You jumped? Oh, my God, are you hurt?”
“Just my pride.”
Haley rushed over and helped her up. Her curly brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a tank top that said “Abs are great but have you tried donuts?”
Lizette nodded toward the weight room. “Who else is in there?”
“No one. I like to run when the guys are gone.” Haley wrinkled her nose. “Ever since I Turned I can’t stand the smell of dude sweat.”
“Dude sweat?” Lizette laughed.
“The worst.”
“Maybe you’re a Tracker.”
Haley’s face fell. “I dunno. Dom says it’s just normal heightened wolf senses. I still don’t have a Gift.”
Lizette touched her arm. “It’ll come, Haley. I promise. It takes a couple of years for Gifts to manifest.”
“Really?”
“Well, I’m not exactly an authority on werewolf stuff, but I remember that much.”
Haley sighed. “I hate waiting. No one will want to date me without a Gift. I mean, they all want sex.” She rolled her eyes and dropped her voice to a more masculine tone. “Hey baby, I just want to know if we could bond someday.”
“Gross,” Lizette said.
“Tell me about it.” Haley gestured toward the gym. “These guys are out here like it’s werewolf rumspringa.”
Lizette sputtered and then hooted with laughter.
Haley chuckled. “It’s true!”
Lizette wiped her eyes. “I don’t doubt it. In that respect, werewolf boys sound exactly like human ones.”
Haley smiled, but then her expression grew serious. “Lizette, you know how fast rumors fly in the Lodge. You can’t run away.”
“I’m not running away. I just need a little space—physical space—to clear my head. I can’t stay cooped up in that bedroom.”
“Max won’t let you out?” Haley’s eyes widened.
“He didn’t say that specifically, but he parked Remy and Dominic in front of the door.”
Haley raised an eyebrow. “That was an interesting choice. They’ve been at each other’s throats for weeks.”
“What’s with them, anyway? Remy won’t tell me anything.”
“He won’t talk to anyone, but it’s obvious.” Haley folded her arms. “They like the same girl.”
That was it? “She must be some girl.”
“An Alpha’s daughter.”
Lizette whistled. “That’s not very smart.”
“Especially since they escorted her to her wedding two weeks ago.”
“Well, at least I’m not the only one with relationship issues.”
Haley’s forehead wrinkled. “Are you sure you should leave right now? If Max finds out…”
“He won’t find out if you don’t tell him.”
Haley looked like she wanted to argue, but then she nodded. “Okay.”
Lizette released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thanks. Do me a favor and watch the hallway until I’m gone.”
“Come on.” Haley tugged her through the sliders and p
ast rows of treadmills and weight machines. Her ponytail bobbed as she jogged to the gym’s metal doors and stuck her head out. After a minute she leaned back in and gave Lizette a thumbs-up.
“Thanks,” Lizette whispered. She opened the stairwell door and stepped through. Narrow and steep, the staircase was a servants’ stair as old as the Lodge. Someone had added security lights on each landing, but everything else was unchanged from the original. There wasn’t even a railing. She braced a palm against the wall as she picked her way down, wincing at every creak and groan of the aging wood.
At last the scent of motor oil hit her nose. She bit her lip and pulled open the door at the bottom of the stairwell. More security lights illuminated the garage, casting an electric glow over the gleaming vehicles parked beneath the Lodge. She stepped inside and let the door click shut behind her. Two black Mercedes sedans and a graphite BMW were parked in a neat row by a bank of garage doors.
Max’s cars. She could smell his scent from here.
She looked over the rest of the vehicles. There was a forest green Range Rover with mud on its tires that screamed Remy. There were also several shiny motorcycles. What did Haley call them? Crotch rockets. Lizette grinned.
Ah, there in the corner—Dom’s Infiniti SUV. She crossed the garage and peeked inside. The keys winked under the overhead lights.
Jackpot.
13
After reading the same paragraph for the third time, Max gave up and tossed the report to one side of his desk. His study was quiet—unnaturally so, even considering the walls were insulated with soundproofing foam. It was the only way to make a room in a house filled with werewolves private.
Normally he loved the solitude. Now it just gave his mind an opportunity to replay his conversation with Lizette. When he entered the suite tonight, he’d known he had to finish their bond. The bite was easy, the sex less so. And the vow? Well, he had intended to tackle that problem when he came to it.
And if he was honest with himself, he’d thought Lizette would be so smitten with him she’d say the words without hesitation.
