Chapter Eleven

 

Keirnan was heading back into London, his dark energy swirling around the closed confines of the vehicle. He grabbed the steering wheel hard. Too hard. Harder than a human could. He forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly, and didn’t look at his hands again until he had himself under control. Shit. He hadn’t had an involuntary shift, even a partial one, since adolescence, although he’d been enraged plenty of times since. He’d never had this perma-pain in his chest either. Wolves didn’t get angina… And the pain wasn’t constant, exactly. When it wasn’t there, it felt as if there was a placeholder for it. A hollow, carved out, waiting to be filled. With what. He didn’t exactly know. But he did understand that being with Sam lessened the sensation to a nothing. And that fear and anguish for Sam…did this.

He should call Barbara. Had any of her children—biological or emotional—mated with monos? Half thinking to do just that, he slid his phone free of his pocket and plugged it into the BlueTooth. And, of course, that reminded him of what he was actually doing.

Euan Weiss. The little shit had challenged him and lost. He’d wanted the Alpha position so badly, not just because he was power crazy, but because he wanted the land. And Keirnan knew that because Chris had filled him in. Chris thought that was why Euan had joined the Loopwood pack in the first place, that this was all a long game. Because Euan was a real estate developer. Not just a builder like Chris, who painstakingly rebuilt and renovated gone-to-seed houses to flip them, yes, but someone who bought raw land and sold it developed, having destroyed its nature with a building project. And someone who wanted rich pickings so much that he’d do whatever it took to be the one who made decisions about the fate of the land under his stewardship.

And Euan was in London at the Olympia centre for the international property professionals’ annual real estate exhibition, conference and networking event. He wouldn’t be there inside the exhibition centre at this hour though. Keirnan swore again and called Chris.

“Chris.” He cut through his friend’s greeting. “The property developers conference, whatever it’s called, that’s on now in Hammersmith, Euan Weiss is there, you said?”

“Yeah. Wh—”

“Do you know which hotel he’s booked into?” He’d ring round every one in the area until he found Euan if he had to. Or visit each and sniff until he scented the traitor.

“I do, as it happens. The Branning, right by the Olympia? And I know because—”

“Thanks, Chris.”

Keirnan cut the connection, leaving Chris talking. He couldn’t deal with that right now.

Within twenty minutes, he was pulling up outside the steel and glass box that was the hotel. Keirnan hated that style of architecture. Was this the sort of thing Euan liked, would like to build out in the country? He’d meet with a truckload of opposition if he even tried. Keirnan tried a quick and dirty version of Sam’s meditative breathing or whatever the fuck it was called, peering around the low-lit lobby, trying to work out which nook or corner contained the reception. Then he stiffened at a scent. Wolf shifter.

“Keirnan?”

He turned. “Daniella?”

She wasn’t alone. The dark-haired, dark-eyed man with her bowed his head, lowering his gaze. “What the hell are you doing here with him?”

“We’re both at the same real estate industry conference, found we were staying at the same hotel. I come every year to see the new trends. You met me here in London this time of year three years back, remember.” Daniella stepped forward, taking Keirnan’s arm. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is it pack? Not Lorcan?”

He couldn’t smell deceit on her, although specific scenting was harder the longer a wolf lived away from pack. He shook her off and grabbed Euan. “Where were you about an hour ago?” he demanded, his voice low and dark.

“Here. We’ve all been having dinner in the restaurant here, a group of us from the seminar who are all booked in here,” Euan babbled, jerking a thumb behind him.

“Hey.” Daniella stepped between them. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but this is not the place. Come on. Sort this out. Now.” She took both their arms, smiling and nodding as she led them past small groups and individuals dotted about here and there. He still wasn’t sure about the duo. Was that what Chris had been going to tell him? He checked his phone. A missed call and a message from his friend.

“Now.” Daniella settled her bag and laptop case next to her on the seat in the discreet booth at the back of the bar. “A bottle of the Merlot, please,” she told the waitress. “What is it? Is it something you can say in front of Euan?”

Keirnan couldn’t stop the bitter laugh this caused. He told them what had happened, watching Euan’s reaction particularly closely.

“Fuck! And you’re okay, obviously.” Daniella narrowed her eyes at him, assessing him, sitting back when the waitress returned with the bottle of red and three glasses. “And whatshisname? Steve?”

“Sam.” Keirnan glared. “Taken to hospital. Standard procedure,”

“For them, yeah.” Daniella nodded and poured the drinks.

“But you don’t think I had anything to do with this?” Euan burst out

“Oh, I’m not saying in person,” Keirnan snarled. “That would be too easy to detect. But paying some goon—”

“No! I swear!” Euan pushed his chair back.

“Sit down.” The way Daniella said it wasn’t a suggestion. She pulled Euan closer, close enough to stared hard at him, unblinkingly. Her nostrils widened as she took in his scent. “Keirnan. He’s on the level.”

Fuck. He had to trust her. Didn’t think they were in it together—she would never harm him.

Euan was babbling now, about having accepted his defeat, Keirnan’s sovereignty, that he’d sworn fealty and allegiance and never went back on his word.

“He wants to remain in the county, in the pack,” Daniella added. “He wouldn’t risk that. He also wants to be beta, don’t you, Ewwie?” The curl of her lip said that was less than likely to happen.

“I made a mistake. My apologies to you,” Keirnan said.

“Accepted without reservation,” Euan replied, sitting back, his hands on the table.

“So, we have to find out who tried to kill you,” Daniella said.

God. Put like that… “Sam suggested it was obsessed fans. What?” He looked from one to the other. “If you have something to say, say it. Say it!” He almost roared the last two words, slapping a hand on the table top.

“Well, he’d know something about obsession, wouldn’t he?” Daniella took a long drink of her wine. “You do know he’s an investigative journalist? He was with his newspaper’s investigative team until fairly recently.”

“What?” Keirnan didn’t understand. “As in, those guys who go undercover with gangs or in private prisons?”

“Or…wolf packs?” Daniella suggested.

“Oh, come on! You’re not suggesting the film reviewer persona is a cover? You’re crazy! You didn’t like him, fine. I get that. But this…” He watched as she got her laptop out of its case and started it.

“I thought I’d better look him up. Just a search for his name.” She pushed the laptop along for Keirnan to click on the story from the Chronicle’s media centre announcing their latest addition to CIRT, or the Chronicle Investigative Reporting Team. Keirnan stared hard at the photos. The team, Sam at one end, looked identikit, young affluent white males, mostly from the same few universities. Elite. Intelligentsia. Metropolitan. Not blue-collar and from the boondocks, didn’t Sam call it?

“These reporters do assume fake identities to infiltrate organisations and expose things in them.” Euan nodded. “Like border immigration officials taking backhanders, and so on. Not that we have criminal practices to expose.”

No, but Keirnan had read enough hatchet jobs on fellow industry professions or their work to know that exposing underhand practices wasn’t all journalists did. He closed his eyes, imagining how the events of last weekend could be depicted—dangerous animals fighting, power struggles, a pack baying for blood… And could he himself be described? He’d worked so hard to be seen as an actor first and foremost, a shifter second.

“Idiot,” Daniella snapped at Euan. “He really is an entertainment reporter now, writing about film. He got demoted for his obsession, as I said. With this case, about a bank worker who took a big bribe to award loans to a company.”

That made no sense to Keirnan. Sam didn’t come across as a tireless crusader for justice, shouting about every incident.

“But I think his interest is a bit more personal.” Daniella lifted her chin. “Euan, you’re done. Thank you. And I’ll see you first thing?” She waited until he’d not just left the bar but gone into the elevator. Shifter hearing. “You should think about him for the Council,” she said. “His energy, new ideas… Oh, I’m not saying give him free rein, obviously. But his up-to-date knowledge and bold plans could work out.”

“Fine. So, why dismiss him?” Keirnan knew he wouldn’t like what was coming.

Daniella poured more wine. “No reason for him to be up in your private business.”

“Go on.”

“So, this bank worker, Simon Oliver, approved loans to some overseas company that bought a huge just-built tower complex on the riverside, full of big apartments? All that new London living? My thought was that so what if the company didn’t meet all the requirements for a loan—Allied Alliance probably gave them one as they’d easily be able to sell the apartments, and so pay the money back in that way. Anyway. And then that company contracted various designers to create the apartments and the landscaping and everything, and these ordered materials and furnishings and fittings from suppliers and started work and so on. But, when all this went down, they just sold the apartments as they were, incomplete, unfinished even, breaking all the contracts. Leaving a lot of firms out of pocket. Or broke.”

Keirnan pushed his glass away, his energy spiralling. “So, Sam’s into financial journalism? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No idea. And I don’t think is a financial thing, not when the company paid the loan back anyway. No, his interest is personal. A vendetta, I guess, seeing as one of the businesses that was ruined by the defaulting was his husband’s.”

“What?”

Daniella winced at the harsh screech of Keirnan’s pushed-back chair. “You did know he was m— Oh. The little bastard!” she exploded. Wide-eyed, she realized from Keirnan’s expression that that wasn’t the best reaction. “Well, did he lie about being single or did it just not come up?”

“There’s a fucking difference?” Keirnan thundered, trying to get his breathing under control.

Daniella stood too and stepped nearer to him, angling her neck for him to scent pack. “Alpha. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…he was your mate.” She bowed her head in the age-old gesture of respect. “If he was a shifter, I would have seen it at once, of course, and we wouldn’t have had any of these problems.”

“This…” Keirnan had no idea how to finish that sentence. “There must be a mistake.”

“I don’t know.” Daniella averted her gaze. “I found photos on social media of the two of them together, dated last month.”

Keirnan was gone, racing from the hotel to his Land Rover, thanking God it was still there, not clamped or towed. The cab still bore traces of Sam’s scent and he inhaled, grasping for calm, for sanity. It didn’t work. No. This is a mistake. Well, fuck, he’d known Sam was no virgin. But married? His mate. Daniella had called Sam his mate. Barbara had hinted as much. So, how would that work?

The short journey to St Mary’s in Paddington, where he remembered the ambulances being from, was almost like one of his running routes, only skirting the royal parks, rather than going through them. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the morning after he’d met Sam. He’d been equally as confused then. The hospital was easy to find—its various old and new sections took up the whole street and around the corner into the next. Must be a whole block. He eventually found Accident and Emergency and made an effort to centre himself before running in.

Within seconds, the bright, white lights had him ramming his dark glasses on his face and the noises, electronic, metallic, heavy and sharp, and the sounds of human distress made him almost whine. The two security personnel looked over.

“Sam Howard? He was in a car accident an hour or so ago?” he asked the clerk behind the desk. The seconds it took the girl to click the keys and find something felt like forever.

“Erm, are you a relative?” she enquired.

“No. Not— No.”

“Then I’m sorry, but policy is—”

“Don’t bother.” Keirnan could find Sam himself. He didn’t need no stinkin’ Visitor’s Badge. He ignored the girl’s shouts at him and for a security guy. Sam wasn’t far. Just through the double doors, where naked, raw human emotions of distress and fear battered him and into the second ward along, where the sounds and the lights and the scents—Christ, the scents—were stronger. Sam was behind a privacy curtain, one Keirnan yanked back.

Sam wasn’t alone. Keirnan had known that, from the scents, even though Sam’s was all wrong with chemicals and plastic and antiseptic, but to find him, lying pale, hooked up to machines and tubes, to hear beeps and hisses…and see another man sitting by his side and holding his hand…It wasn’t just wrong. With what they had, what they shared, it was obscene. A blasphemy.