Chapter Three

 

Later that afternoon…

 

Cliff paced back and forth in his enormous office. It was a beautiful summer day, and outside the massive picture window rolling green hills were interspersed with jutting rocky outcrops under a sky where clouds settled into the blue in white-gray layers, like the ingredients in a cocktail. A hawk wheeled overhead.

But Cliff was blind to the stunning natural tableau outside. Females always played hard to get. It was expected. It was part of the game, and Cliff had looked forward to chasing Taylor down as she flirtatiously evaded him. Rolling her over on a soft carpet of leaves and… He gave a brief growl and shook his head irritably. She wasn’t playing hard to get – she was playing impossible to get.

His beta, James, who was used to Cliff’s moodiness, leaned back in a comfortable leather chair and watched for a while.

Finally he said, “Would you like my opinion?”

“Hell no,” Cliff growled. “Why would you think that? When have I ever?”

James ignored him. And it wasn’t true, anyway. When Cliff wasn’t stressed out and furious, he always sought James’ counsel. “In my opinion, that was the worst proposal in the history of our species. And you followed it up by getting her fired. Nice job.” He did a sarcastic slow clap

“Well, obviously she won’t need to work anymore, because she’ll be my mate. And I’ve done all right for myself, so I think I’ll be able to provide her with a meal or two.” Cliff irritably gestured at his luxurious surroundings.

God knew it wasn’t what he’d have chosen for himself – he did most of his work at home, in a room where he wasn’t afraid he’d scuff the pristine white carpet or get fingerprints on the glossy surface of the desk. But it did what it was intended to do, which was to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind – clients, prospective business partners, press – of the Bronson family’s obscene wealth.

“You think she’ll be your mate? I think it will be a miracle if she’s not speeding through the border right now, headed to Winnipeg.”

Cliff paused to glare at his friend. “Any other pack member would be dead five minutes ago for talking to me like that. You’re lucky you’re the pack’s only Truth-Maker. And my best friend.”

James smiled and arched an eyebrow. “I know. Why do you think I do it?”

“This is funny to you?”

“Somewhat, yes.”

Cliff deliberately turned his back on James and resumed pacing. “Just order Richard to prepare the honeymoon suite for Monday after the mating ceremony.” Richard was his Omega, and the man who oversaw all activities at Bronson Manor. He scowled. “We won’t have time for the traditional after-party. Damn Alpha Trials. Figures I’d meet ‘the one’ right before the trials start.”

“So, to be clear, you’re going to force her to mate with you? Shall I have some handcuffs or a ball and chain delivered to the honeymoon suite?” James’ tone was laced with enough sarcasm that it was clear he wasn’t actually planning on delivering either of those things.

Cliff stopped pacing and whirled around to stare at James. His heart lurched. “I’m sorry? You’re trying to say that you really don’t think she wants to be my mate?” That wasn’t possible. Taylor was his – from the moment he’d seen her she’d been like a hunger, like a drug in his veins, an itch beneath his skin.

James sighed, obviously thinking his Alpha was being exceptionally thick-headed today. “She told you she wouldn’t even go on a date with you. How exactly should I interpret that?”

“I assume she was playing the typical Alpha mate games, in which she makes the Alpha chase her.” Cliff bit the words out.

“The typical Alpha mate games, where you shift and chase her through the forest… and she pauses so that you can catch up? Where you chase her through the house, and she hides…and makes a noise so you can find her?” James shook his head. “Normally you’re excellent at reading people.” He sat up straight and folded his arms across his chest. “What was your read on her? Did she seem overjoyed when you barked at her that she should deliver herself to you immediately?”

“I did not bark!” Cliff barked at him.

James stared at him unblinkingly for several seconds before averting his gaze. Even James knew better than to directly challenge Cliff that way.

“I’m the Alpha! Every woman wants to be with me!” His face flushed with anger. Normally he had women crowding around him begging to be with him, even if just for the night. But a creeping unease began to ice his spine.

James wasn’t the least bit rattled. “Every woman but her, apparently. You were extremely rude and abrupt. That might have worked with a woman from this pack, but every pack is different. They must have different traditions than we do. It can’t possibly hurt to woo her and charm her.”

Cliff painted over his uncertainty with arrogance and testosterone – it had always worked before. “Woo and charm? Who has time for that? I have a company to run, a pack to protect, and Alpha Trials to prepare for! To say nothing of keeping my brothers from killing each other! Or me. And how dare you try to give me advice on romance? Who do you think you are?”

James abruptly stood up and walked towards the door. His tone turned cold. “Mated for twenty years. Father of eleven cubs. You do the math. And now, if you want my help, I will be in my house with my lovely mate. Possibly fathering a twelfth, so knock first.”

He stalked off, back stiff. Cliff flopped back down in the seat behind his enormous desk and rubbed his face with his hands, stifling a groan.

“Nice.” A sarcastic voice jabbed at him from the doorway.

He looked up with a growl of annoyance.

Grant stood there with an amused look on his face. “Thanks for making my job so easy.”

“Sorry, I don’t speak moron.” Cliff clicked on his computer keyboard, and the monitor turned on. He made a pointed show of ignoring Grant, but as usual Grant failed to get the hint.

The two had scrapped with each other since cubhood, and now that they were both competing for the official title of Alpha, tensions were at an all-time high. Cliff had technically been Alpha for years, while their father slowly drank himself to death, but now their father had died, they had to make it official. That meant they had to go through a specific set of trials, according to the pack charter, which had been written three hundred years ago.

Grant walked into the room and stopped in front of Cliff’s desk.

“You speak moron every time you open your mouth.” Grant had a lazy, insolent grin on his face. “An Alpha proposing to his mate and being turned down is blatantly advertising that he isn’t fit to lead his pack. Dominus genes or no.”

“Says the man who can’t even remember the name of the latest bimbo he woke up with this morning,” Cliff scoffed.

“Her name is Candy.” Grant frowned. “Pretty sure. Something that ends in an “i”‘‘ sound.”

A slim, athletic blonde strode into the room. She was wearing a body-hugging pink lycra dress with a scoop neck, and pink spike heels that easily added six inches to her height.

“No, it’s Mandy,” the beautiful blonde corrected him as she walked up to Grant. She didn’t look the least bit put out that he’d gotten it wrong. Why should she? She was dripping in gold chains that had undoubtedly been purchased for her by Grant.

“Of course it is,” Cliff said, shaking his head. “Wasn’t your last girlfriend named Bambi?”

“No, that was Sandy,” Mandy corrected him. “She’s my cousin.”

“She is?” Grant looked surprised.

“For the love of…” Cliff let out a groan of exasperation. Grant was really outdoing himself these days. For him, it was definitely quantity, not quality.

“There’s a difference between being single and being rejected by one’s intended mate. No one has ever said no to me.” Grant shook his head in mock pity.

“And why would they?” Mandy giggled and stroked his arm. “You’re rich and you’re huuuuge.” She glanced at Cliff. “And I don’t just mean his biceps. Although they’re huge too. I mean—”

“Stop,” Cliff ordered her.

She transferred her attention to Grant. “Baby, it’s been hours,” she said. “Are we going to? I mean, it’s been hours since we—”

“I know what you mean,” Grant said. He threw an arm around her waist, winked at Cliff, and sauntered out of the room.

Cliff watched them with contempt as they left.

Grant was a party boy. All flash and no substance. The only reason he wanted to claim the position of Alpha of the Bronson Pack was because Cliff wanted it, and anything that Cliff wanted, Grant went after. Just like they were boys again, scrapping for attention from their mother. Look up from your drink, Mommy. Can’t you see I just beat Grant at catch?

It was stupid, because their uncle Jerrold had showed up and was also gunning to be Alpha of the Bronson pack.

Everybody knew that Jerrold would be a nightmare as Alpha. The Bronson brothers should have been standing together to save their pack, but instead they were at each other’s throats. Cliff had tried to extend an olive branch, and had been soundly rejected. Well, screw it, no more Mister Nice Wolf.

He shook his head. He had so many fires to put out, he didn’t know where to start.

First off, he needed to figure out what was going on with Taylor.

Technically, she couldn’t reject him. He was the Alpha. When an Alpha told a woman that she was his mate, then she was his mate, damn it.

And yet she had rejected him. Or rather, she wasn’t acknowledging that she now belonged to him. And unlike Jerrold, he wasn’t the type to force his attentions on a woman. He wanted her to come into his arms of her own accord. Press herself against him, soft and pliant and yielding. He was desperate to make Taylor feel about him the same way he felt about her – half-drugged with want.

Cliff picked up his phone and called Truman, his head of security. He told him to find out everything he could about Taylor. He wanted to know what pack she was from, and what their mating and courting traditions were.

He hung up, still feeling frustrated. He hated to admit it, but it was possible that James was right. He probably shouldn’t have spoken to his intended so abruptly.

He was still in shock that Taylor was a werewolf, and that she was his mate. He’d heard before that when you smelled “‘the one”‘, you knew it immediately. He’d always dismissed that old wives’ tale with scorn. But the second he’d smelled her, he’d known. All his senses had instantly been on alert, blood had rushed to his groin, and he’d barely been able to think straight from wanting her so badly.

That was part of the reason he’d been so irritable with her. He had far too much on his mind to allow himself to be distracted by anything. And he didn’t like feeling vulnerable. Wanting someone, craving someone, made him weak. He had the safety of his entire pack resting on his shoulders. He walked a delicate balance, responsible for the success of his company and the safety of his pack, being a very public figure in a world that could never know about the existence of werewolves.

It was funny – for the past year when he’d talked to Taylor over Skype, he’d always been attracted. He’d found himself making dumb excuses to call her office just so he could look at her face and hear her voice. He especially loved it when she smiled. But he’d never thought it could go anywhere. Unlike his brother Grant, he wouldn’t have meaningless relationships with humans, because he knew it could never end in a mating situation, so why bother? And in Taylor’s case, a fling would only have been asking for heartache when it inevitably ended, so he’d pushed his feelings down hard, brutally suppressing the way his body reacted to her voice, pretending his pulse didn’t pick up speed when he saw the flush of pink on her cheeks.

The fact that she was a werewolf, and unmarked, was an unbelievable stroke of luck. He’d scented it. If she’d been marked, he would have smelled her man on her.

It was very odd that she’d violated pack law and not reported her presence in his territory. She had been working at the marketing firm for the past year, and in conversations with him, she’d mentioned growing up in the area. So she had to be aware of the existence of the Bronson Pack.

She must belong to a smaller pack, one he hadn’t heard of. Still, that was no excuse. All the packs in the region were required to send a list of their eligible females to the dominant pack, so the Alphas could choose a mate from among them. When he found out what pack she belonged to, they were in serious trouble.

Or maybe she was a lone wolf? That didn’t make any sense either. She certainly wouldn’t be working for a firm owned by werewolves if she was trying to stay off the radar. Lone wolves were hunted down and killed because they posed too much risk of exposing the existence of werewolves, and a lot of lone wolves were mentally unstable. If a wolf wasn’t a member of a pack, there was generally a reason.

The heck with waiting for Truman to come up with something. It wasn’t like he could concentrate on anything else now he knew she was a werewolf – knew she could be his. He opened up a web browser and searched for her name. She had a Facebook account – unusual for most werewolves. He and his brothers were prominent public figures because of the company they owned, but if it ‘hadn’t been for that, they’d have stayed out of the spotlight entirely. Most werewolves tried to keep a low profile.

Further searching showed that she’d grown up in the suburbs of Bismarck.. She’d gone to a regular human high school – he found a few mentions of academic awards in the local press. He found mentions of her parents. Her father had died in a shootout with police after robbing a convenience store. Her mother had died a few years ago from cirrhosis of the liver. An alcoholic, maybe? She’d only been in her fifties. Huh. So she had something in common with him.

The fact that their obits were online was also odd. Nobody recorded the births and deaths of most werewolves.

He tried to think which of the smaller packs she might have belonged to. Not the Fillmoore Pack, not the Red Clay Pack…he stopped by and visited them on a regular basis and he’d met every eligible female in those packs. They would never have defied the law by hiding a woman from him. Hell, the females from those packs practically swarmed him every time he showed up.

So if they didn’t have access to a protected pack property, what had they done every month when it was time for the Change? What had they done in the week leading up to the Change, when they were getting hairy and aggressive, and craving red meat? Taylor, her family and her circumstances were a maddeningly frustrating mystery.

His train of thought was interrupted by the sounds of shouting and swearing outside on the front lawn.

Richard poked his head in the door. “Cliff, you’d better get out here before someone starts bleeding,” he said.