Chapter Twenty
The sounds of the party receded as the bodyguards led Dominic down a maze of hallways off the north side of the ballroom. It was all he could do to control the bounce in his step. The Alpha wanted to speak with him. Tia Quinn wasn’t dead.
Maybe things were finally going his way.
Why had he been nervous about coming to this party tonight? Yeah, Mila’s family’s mansion was pretty damn intimidating, with its acres of shining floors, the sparkling chandeliers, museum-quality art, the servants… Mila’s family had a damn ballroom in their house. But no one had treated him like he didn’t belong—no one except the intimidating Lyudmila, that is—but Mila had told him not to take it personally; her mother looked down her nose at everybody. Mila’s father had given him a polite, firm handshake when he’d arrived, but he was pretty sure it had been Stanton’s gaze boring into his back most of the night.
He surreptitiously tugged at the hem of his suit jacket. Mila had been right about the suit—all the tux-wearing guests were older—but their age and power hadn’t stopped anyone from shaking his hand when Mila made introductions. President Sebastiani had even asked after his father’s health.
And speaking of health…Tia Quinn looked pretty damn fine for a vampire who’d been left for the sun. Yeah, she had some visible stitches, but if the sun had damaged her in any way, he couldn’t tell. Earlier that morning, he’d discovered the garage door opener he’d stolen from her car opened the big, double garage door at River City Storage.
He was getting pretty damn good at this surveillance stuff.
When the hallway came to a T, one of the linebacker-sized guards jerked his head to the left. “This way.” The rich red carpet gave way to polished hardwood, and their footfalls clicked as they walked to the end of the hall. Each step brought them closer to a portrait of a younger Lyudmila, wearing a pearl-encrusted gown with a stiff, white ruff that hid her neck. Same disapproving gaze, though. It judged them as they approached.
“Stop here.” The guards gave him a thorough pat-down, taking his phone from his pants pocket before gesturing to the door.
The windowless interior room looked like an old-fashioned library, the walls covered with shelves and the shelves filled with books, and it smelled pleasantly of furniture polish. An antique globe stood in the corner, glinting with what looked like real gold. To the right of the fireplace was a towering grandfather clock, and exotic-looking objects from Stanton’s many travels were displayed under lights throughout the room.
And there, sitting at a glossy wooden table with a guard at his back, was the WerePack Alpha, casually paging through an atlas.
Talk about looks being deceiving. He had salt-and-pepper hair and an average-sized frame, but Krispin Woolf could take care of himself in a fight. His nose was crooked, his left earlobe was gone, and his closely cropped beard couldn’t disguise the scar that sliced across his left cheek. The previous WerePack Alpha had inflicted the grievous wound during an unusually bloody leadership challenge—a fight Krispin Woolf had won.
Among the werewolves, leadership challenges were to the death.
“Mr. Reese.” Krispin Woolf rose, then walked around the table with his hand extended. “Your father has spoken of you many times. How nice to finally meet you in person.”
Even at ease, power eddied around him in near-visible waves. “Sir.” Dom shook his hand, then kissed both cheeks. “Please, call me Dominic.” He cringed as the words left his mouth. The Alpha didn’t need his permission for a single fucking thing.
“And how is your father doing today?”
How do you think he’s doing? He slammed the door on his thoughts. “As well as can be expected.” The Alpha had a fine nose, and would pick up any stink of fear or resentment—
“You have something you wish to say to me?”
Shit, too late. His balls shriveled into tiny peas as he eyed the Alpha’s black tuxedo. Rumor had it that despite the bodyguards, he carried at least three weapons on his person at all times—
“Dominic.” The Alpha rounded the table and sat back down. “Please, speak freely.”
He glanced at the Alpha’s right hand. No blade, no garrote, just a big, chunky ring he’d never noticed before. Did he dare take the Alpha at his word? Hell, what choice did he have? This was his opportunity to ask questions, questions only the Alpha could answer. Looking through the genealogy database, he’d found dozens of asterisks, which he was able to correlate to people of their culture who’d been allowed to die with dignity. Katarina Stanton’s record had reflected that same, telling tag.
He swallowed the softball-sized lump in his throat. “Alpha, why won’t you …” He eyed the corners of the room. Was this a safe place to speak? “Why can’t my father’s final wish be granted?”
“I see you’re considering the security of this room. Fine instincts.” An expression of mild annoyance clouded the Alpha’s face, then passed. “All surveillance devices have been…temporarily disabled.”
“Listening devices? Bugs?”
“I can’t blame Stanton.” The Alpha shrugged a shoulder. “Knowledge is power, and there are many powerful people here tonight.”
Dom looked around, aghast. Was the whole house bugged? Who could live like that?
Did Mila live like that?
“Allow me to answer your question about your father in what might seem a roundabout way,” Woolf said. “First, let’s discuss your unauthorized use of the secure computer in your father’s office.”
His diaphragm clenched.
”Using your father’s login credentials, you’ve spent dozens of hours searching my confidential ancestry database.” The Alpha lifted an imperious brow. “Explain.”
The guard standing behind the Alpha unbuttoned his suit coat.
A wave of panic nearly dropped him to his knees. Of course the Alpha knew; he knew everything. What explanation could he possibly give? How could he explain the pride he’d felt when his father had shared such sensitive information with him? Entrusted him with it? Dom had let himself dream of a day when he and his father might work together, with him serving as his father’s arms, legs, feet, and hands. But he couldn’t expect the Alpha to care about his feelings. Actions were what mattered. And he’d repeatedly accessed the database before he’d been given permission to do so.
He made himself meet the Alpha’s hard gaze. “It’s true, Alpha.”
“What’s true?”
“I accessed the database without permission.”
The grandfather clock ticked away the time. Finally, the Alpha spoke. “Excellent.”
“What?” Relief made his voice wobble.
“You didn’t deny your actions, but you didn’t supply extraneous information. You also didn’t try to protect yourself by revealing that your father told you about the database. That he shared his login credentials with you.”
“Sir, I don’t understand.”
“That’s a fine thing to be able to admit, under the right circumstances.” The Alpha shifted in the chair, crossing his legs. “I value both curiosity and initiative. Given the hours you’ve spent logged onto the system, you appear to have plenty of both.”
A hope he didn’t dare acknowledge started to stir.
“We also haven’t found any evidence that you’ve used the information inappropriately.”
It took a couple of seconds for him to read between the lines. “You’re monitoring my…” Emails? Texts? Phone calls? Heat climbed up his neck. Some of the phone conversations he’d had with Mila had been…pretty graphic.
The Alpha gave him a knowing look. “There’s nothing I—we—haven’t seen or heard before. Indeed, I admire your initiative with Mila Stanton.”
Mila. The database. Surveillance. This conversation was bouncing all over the place. “About my father’s request that his suffering be ended…”
The Alpha’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Unfortunately your father has requested a solution I cannot sanction.”
“But you can,” Dom protested, clenching his fists. “You have, on many occasions.”
Woolf didn’t confirm or deny his statement. “I cannot sanction his request,” he repeated.
Dom’s vision started going bloody around the edges. His mouth throbbed and pulsed, and sheathed claws gave a warning itch under his skin. “My father has served you well,” he growled.
The nearest guard quickly closed in, grasping him by the upper arms. “Pup, you’d best control yourself.”
The Alpha and his guards watched as he shoved back his wolf, as he fought to regain control of his body and his emotions. As he fought himself. Finally, his vision cleared, and his nose and jaw stopped their infernal throbbing. Bowing his head, he blinked away tears of anger and shame.
He’d fucking blown it.
“Dominic.” The Alpha waited until Dom met his gaze again. “I owe you no explanations, but I will enlighten you in this instance. Because, yes—your father has served me well.”
Dom tried to pull his arm away from the guard. No go.
“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘May you live in interesting times?’ We live in very interesting times, and it’s both a blessing and a curse. Technological advances have impacted every field of endeavor—medicine, law, forensics—and it’s those very advances that now make it impossible to give your father the merciful ending he deserves.” Woolf’s sigh seemed to carry the weight of the world. “Perry’s situation is…unfortunate. He doesn’t have the physical ability to take matters into his own hands, and I cannot allow you to sacrifice your future so he may end his. As a leader, I cannot allow that to happen.”
He wouldn’t have to go to prison. Relief rained down, followed by a huge guilt chaser.
He was a bad, bad son.
But… “No more Old Ways? Ever?” What did that mean for the GPL? He’d spent so much time being pissed off that no one at GPL meetings seemed to care about the group’s work. Now it seemed the Alpha didn’t care, either.
What the hell was going on?
When the guard released him, Dom rubbed his smarting upper arms. His suit coat was wrinkled to hell and back.
“Dominic, are you interested in continuing your father’s work?
His pulse leapt. “Of course, Sir.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Family is important, Dominic—a fact I think you realize, given how much time you’ve spent at your father’s bedside, and researching prominent families.” A heavy pause. “Including my own.”
His mouth went dry. “Your family tree is very interesting, Sir.” The database had confirmed Mila’s statement about the Beta’s health. Jacoby Woolf’s neurological problems had been diagnosed quite recently, well after he’d taken his Council seat—one more thing Mila had been right about. And speaking of Mila… He ignored the twinge of conscience. You knew you were going to use her. “My relationship with Mila Stanton has been enjoyable, and unexpectedly useful.”
The Alpha’s dark brow lifted a mere millimeter.
“She works at Memorial Hospital, in their IT department, and at least some of her work requires that she access people’s medical data.” Dom looked down at his nails, mimicking the gesture he’d seen the Alpha make a few moments ago. “Such data might be a valuable addition to your database.”
Woolf’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”
He explained that he’d seen Bailey Brown’s hospital records while visiting Mila in her office, that Bailey had been brought into Memorial’s ER last year for a perforated ulcer. “Follow-on genetic tests revealed that she has succubus heritage.”
“How very interesting.” The Alpha sat silently, as if lost in thought. The guard standing behind him approached, then murmured something in his ear. The Alpha nodded. “Dominic, I’d like to discuss your idea in greater detail.” He glanced up at the guard, who pulled out a phone, tapped and swiped, then bent again. The Alpha nodded once. “Come to my office at 10:00 a.m. next Tuesday.”
He worked the day shift next Tuesday. “I’ll find someone to cover my morning hours at the health club.”
“You work at Woolf Den, correct?”
“I’m one of the assistant managers. Your daughter Andi is my boss.”
“And I am hers. Give Andi two weeks’ notice, and we’ll start your transfer paperwork Tuesday.”
Transfer to where? Doing what? The Alpha named a starting salary that made his eyes pop. Hell, for that kind of coin, the details didn’t matter. “I appreciate the opportunity, Alpha.”
“Sir?” The guard who’d taken Dom’s phone earlier now held it in his hand. “A text from Mila Stanton, wondering how much longer Dominic will be.”
And three men hovered outside the door, waiting.
The Alpha stood. “Carry on, Dominic—and welcome to Woolf Enterprises.”
Should he mention his letter writing campaign? The one that had half the members of the Underworld Council shitting their pants? No. That information would keep until they met on Tuesday. “Thank you, Sir.” After kissing the Alpha’s cheeks, he strode to the door, nodding at the men who entered as he exited.
The guard returned his phone. “Do you need help finding your way back to the ballroom?”
Something in the bodyguard’s voice, something in his eyes, made Dom’s stomach churn. “No, thank you.”
“Take care, son.”
He managed to find his way back to the ballroom, but instead of finding Mila, he went to the bathroom instead. Once inside, he glanced around, searching the ceilings and corners, as if a hidden surveillance device might overhear his private thoughts.
What have I gotten myself into?
A sick, clammy sweat suddenly filmed his forehead. Saliva spurted, and his stomach gave a warning clench. It lurched again as he dove into the nearest stall.
Sagging to his knees, he puked all over the pristine white toilet seat.
As they pulled away from Sebastiani Labs with Sigurd’s chest in the trunk, Tia noticed Nick had closed the privacy window separating the front seat of the limo from the rear. Smart man—but on the other hand, he probably hadn’t needed his keen observational skills to realize that she wanted to jump his boss’s bones. But first… “I hear Scarlett and Coco are doing well,” she said to Wyland. She’d gotten the information second-hand, from Sasha and Antonia. Wyland had apparently visited them twice since Coco’s birth, and he hadn’t mentioned it to her.
“Mmm.” He sounded distracted, lost in thought as he looked out the window at the dawn sky. When she slipped off her shoes, her sigh of relief got his attention. “Sore?” Wyland shifted closer, lifting her bare feet onto his lap. The fine fabric of his tuxedo pants felt decadent against her skin, and when his strong thumbs started rubbing her aching arches, she almost moaned.
“I wish you’d told me you were going to see Scarlett,” she said. “I haven’t seen them since the night Coco was born.”
“I wasn’t making a social call. And you were rather indisposed.”
“True.” Sasha and Antonia had shared plenty of information Wyland couldn’t, and what information they hadn’t, Scarlett’s mother had. In most of the pictures Claudette had proudly shown her, little Coco Annika seemed to be screaming her head off, her red face nearly matching her sprout of red hair—but the picture Claudette had snapped of an exhausted-looking Elliott cradling his napping granddaughter made her ovaries twinge. Claudette confided that she’d asked Rafe to create a sculpture of the moment as a gift for Elliott’s next birthday, “If only to memorialize that the child once had a silent moment.” Pride eclipsed the exasperation; it was clear that Coco was already exhibiting signs of her powerful siren lineage.
Wyland’s thumb pressed into a particularly sore muscle. “That feels fantastic,” she groaned. “If you ever feel the need to take up yet another career, you can add masseur to the list.”
His lips twitched at the corners. “Flex and point for me.” She obeyed, brushing her toes against his half-hard penis. “Brat,” he murmured. “Did you learn anything from your conversation with Mila Stanton?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “Unfortunately, we weren’t alone very long before Dominic joined us. But get this. Right after Dominic arrived, two of Krispin Woolf’s bodyguards showed up, saying the Alpha wanted to speak with him.” She leaned back against the seat. “Why would Krispin Woolf want to speak to a young werewolf?”
“I spoke with every vampire at the party tonight. Woolf likely did the same with his people.”
She’d done plenty of circulating herself. High-powered parties were always both work and play—she was always networking on behalf of the foundation—and as a journalist, she’d learned to keep her eyes and ears open. Whether hosted in the human world or in theirs, parties were places where information and influence were sought, exchanged, bartered, and sold. “Be careful,” she teased. “I think you just suggested Krispin Woolf was behaving as a good leader might.”
“He is a member of the Underworld Council.”
A pregnant pause. In the silence, she could almost hear the ‘for now’ he didn’t say. “You’re investigating him, aren’t you?”
Another pause. “No.”
She bit back a hiss of frustration. He hadn’t lied; he’d answered precisely the question she’d asked. He might not personally be investigating Krispin Woolf, but Lukas and Jack probably were. “You’re such a…a…lawyer,” she complained.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” He nibbled her wrist. “That dress could incite a riot.”
“You’re trying to distract me.” And succeeding.
“I wasn’t the only one who noticed.”
His sulky tone was…really hot. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Does Chadden always touch you so much?”
“Yes.” Two could play the one-word answer game. Chadden touched everyone.
“Someone needs to speak with him about that.”
She leveled a gaze at him. “I’m perfectly capable of letting a man know when I don’t want to be touched.”
“You were lovers.”
“Yes, lovers and friends. And my friend is worried about me.” She let some steel enter her voice. “Apparently he showed up at Vamp Central a couple of days ago. Thane told him I wasn’t receiving visitors.”
“You needed sleep.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, exasperated. “You were so rude to him tonight.”
“He understands why,” he grumbled.
And now his fangs were dropping. Men. If the jealous dolt would drink from her, as she had from him, he’d realize the only lover she wanted was him.
She glanced at the window Nick had so intelligently closed. At the butter-soft leather seats, at the dim, rosy light. At Wyland’s fangs, and at the hard-on he couldn’t hide. Knowing she pleased him was a gift—one she yearned to share with him through the blood.
What better time than now?
She sat up, then tugged at the end of his black bow tie. The knot slowly loosened, leaving two strips of fabric trailing down the sharp pleats of his shirt.
He shot a warning glance at the window shielding them from Nick’s view. “What are you doing?”
“He can’t see us,” she whispered, working at his top shirt button.
After a slight hesitation, he leaned back against the leather seat, watching as she unfastened three more buttons.
Fangs tingling, she watched right back—because damn, who wouldn’t? With his tie hanging loose and his open shirt revealing a slice of bare chest, lounging against the seat and sitting with his legs slightly spread, he looked deliciously disheveled. She stroked the warm skin she’d just uncovered, pausing over his pectoral.
His heart thundered against her knuckles. He was anything but relaxed.
“I have a fantasy,” she murmured, reaching behind his head to tug at his hair band. When the blond weight spilled over his tuxedo-clad shoulders, her core gave a greedy clench.
A muscle jumped at his jawline. “Tell me.”
Gathering her skirts, she straddled him. “I’ve never made out in the back seat of a limo before. Have you?”
“No.” His hands, now on her hips, were heavy and warm. “Given how many musicians you’ve dated, I would think limousines would be old hat.”
She laughed. “Limos are few and far between for most working musicians.” She reached for his thin leather belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his pants with deft movements. “No, this is a new experience for me.”
As her hand curled around his cock, he slipped his hand under her skirt. His fingertips ghosted up her thighs, up and up… “Bare,” he whispered, half-groaning. “I’ve been dreaming of getting under this dress again all night long.”
She gasped as his nimble fingers skimmed her slick folds. Squirmed as he circled her opening, then went no further. “Wyland.” Her voice cracked. “Stop teasing me.”
“Like you teased me?” His voice was a soft, gravelly rumble. “I was walking around half hard all night long.”
He was fully hard now, and in the proverbial palm of her hand. She gently twisted her wrist, giving his glans a diabolical caress. “I liked knowing I made you that way,” she whispered. “I liked knowing that, under this custom-made, perfectly tailored tuxedo, you were aching. Burning for me the same way I burn for you.” She opened her thoughts to him, incendiary thoughts about their mouths on each other…licking, sucking…
Biting…
His hips jerked beneath her. “You want me to drink from you.”
“Yes.”
“Here, in the back seat of a limo.”
“Yes.”
“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered.
“Always.” She couldn’t imagine a time when it wouldn’t be true.
Suddenly his fingers were gone. She lost her grip on his penis as he lifted her, slid off the seat to kneel on the thickly carpeted floor, and then set her back down. Pressing gently against her shoulders, he urged her to stretch out, to lie back.
Cool leather kissed her hot, hot skin. Excitement lashed like a whip.
“When I imagined drinking from you for the first time, I pictured doing so slowly, and romantically, in a big, soft bed.”
She almost melted into a puddle, right there on the seat. “Am I ruining your plans?”
His fangs flashed in a wolfish grin. “Plans can be changed, especially when I can fulfill a fantasy.” Leaning over, he captured her lips in a fiery, succulent kiss, opening his mental floodgates: He wanted her. Needed her. Desired her, and wanted to please her.
Repeatedly. Endlessly.
Irrevocably.
When her breath caught, he pulled back slightly. “Are you okay?”
His hair was awry, his fangs were elongated, and his eyes gleamed in the rosy light. His jacket was gone, his shirt half stripped off, and his cock jutted from his open fly. He was looking at her like a starving man bellying up to an all-you-can-eat buffet, his everyday sophistication gone, ripped away.
That she could tear away his outer layers, expose his essence like this…that they could do this to each other… She reached for his hand, lifting it to her mouth. “Drink from me,” she whispered against the veins throbbing in his wrist.
He dragged their joined hands on a tour down her body—cheek to throat, throat to breasts, breasts to abdomen, abdomen to hip. “Where shall I bite?”
A smile threatened. Even with his penis bobbing in the breeze, trust Wyland to ask such a heated question using utterly proper grammar. “Do you have a preference?” As a doctor, he’d know the location of every vein and artery, every obscure location from which pleasure could be wrung. Her blood sizzled just thinking about it.
“Your neck? Your breasts? Hips?” His fingertips tickled her mons through the fabric of her skirt. “Here?”
Her hips lurched against his hand.
“You like that idea.” His voice stroked like dark velvet.
She liked the idea a lot, but Wyland would be mortified if Nick suddenly opened the window and found his head under her skirts. She’d save that particular pleasure for their big, soft bed, where they’d have privacy and all the time in the world. Right now, she wanted him to mark her, to possess her, in the most primal way a vampire could. “Neck, please,” she replied. “But keep your hand right where it is.”
A carnal smile flashed. “As you wish.”
He leaned over, his hot breath puffing against her neck, then…the touch of his lips. His tongue swirled, softening the skin over the vein he’d chosen—her left carotid. The scratch of his fang was a dark, erotic sting, one that made her gasp in silent pleasure. She tipped her head to the side, giving him room. Waited, tense and poised.
Waited.
“Tia.”
She almost punched him. “What?”
“This will change things between us.”
By inviting him to drink, she was giving him the most intimate possible access to her thoughts. How like him to ensure she understood the ramifications of what they were about to do.
“You will be mine.”
The blatant possessiveness rocked her to her core. She stroked his cheek, then tucked his disheveled hair behind his ear. “You silly man,” she whispered. “I already am.”
He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Hang on,” he murmured, adjusting his hold.
“Always.”
When his strong fangs pierced her, she hissed with pain-laced ecstasy. Clutching at his head, she sagged back against the leather seat, eyes rolling back as she gave herself over to the hot suction of his mouth. To her lifeblood, mingling with his.
Surely. Sweetly. Irrevocably.
Her blood was a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart—immediately addictive, a taste he’d forever crave. Hot, piquant, coppery…absolute bloody bliss. Her pulse fluttered like hummingbird wings against his tongue. Her head was tipped back, her neck exposed, but she was in no way submissive. She held his head in place, demanding he press closer, suck harder. When he slipped his hand under her skirt, slipped his fingers inside her, she cried out in ecstasy, nearly levitating from the seat.
Faster…oh my god, faster…
During the time they’d been lovers, he’d learned how to read her body language, but having intimate access to her thoughts while he touched her was…indescribable. She couldn’t hide what she wanted, or how much pleasure she felt. How much pleasure he brought her.
She didn’t even try.
Her hips jerked. “Wyland…” And then she was coming, breaking apart in his arms, her hot, tight channel spasming against his fingers. Her thoughts dissolved, forming a speedball of pure heat, pure feeling. Pure pleasure that he gladly took broadside.
“Wyland.” She grabbed his free hand. Yanking his wrist to her mouth, she bit. And then she was drinking from him, a drugging suckle he felt to his very last corpuscle.
Oh, sweet universe…
She loved him, and she wanted him to know it. Feel it.
I love you…
Was it his thought, or hers? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He sank his fangs into her neck ever more deeply, submerging, suckling for all he was worth.
He took instinctive gulps, knowing he’d retrieve liquid, not air.
Drowning, in her.