Grave Secret

My stupid body had confirmed his words.



“Monica might not tell me, but you will, won’t you?”



“No,” I croaked.



I regretted it when he squeezed so hard the thin skin of my neck yielded under his short fingernails. A warm wetness trickled down my neck and slipped down the front of my shirt. The darkness in his eyes swelled, turning them entirely black. There was something new there, overriding the venomous hatred.



Hunger.



“One taste, and I’d know,” he whispered. “I’d know everything.”



Maybe not one taste. He’d need more than what was under his fingernails, but if he bit me, he’d be able to glean what he wanted.



He wouldn’t know what Monica knew. Juan Carlos didn’t have the power to see my history with one taste. If he could, I’d never have been put in this position in the first place. But if he tasted enough of my blood, he would know the most important thing I’d be hiding. I might be able to fool people on the surface, and I’d been lying so long I buried my wolf self seamlessly when I was around them. My blood couldn’t lie, though. Just as my pulse had a terrible poker face when it came to fear, my blood was laced with the secret I most desperately wanted to hide from him.



One long swallow and he’d taste the wolf.



He rose to his feet, and I wheezed as he dragged me with him. Slamming me hard against the wall, Juan Carlos angled his face towards my throat and smelled me. When he pulled back, his eyes looked wild and more frightening. Juan Carlos had often made me uneasy in the past, but I’d reserved my fear for Sig.



Sig.



I croaked out a plea, trying to say the Finnish vampire’s name.



“Don’t you dare,” Juan Carlos snapped. “Not until I’ve had my chance.”



He lowered his head again, and I saw my opportunity to escape this situation unscathed vanish before my eyes. Monica had saved me from Juan Carlos the first time, but who would save me now?



“Let her go.” The words were smooth and free from panic, but the tone carried an unmistakable threat.



Juan Carlos was so close to biting me, the fine hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end from the anticipation. For a long moment the vampire holding me did not move and made no answer to the order he’d been given.



“Te dije que le bajes al suelo. No me hagas repetirme, amigo mío,” Sig said.



I wasn’t too up on my Spanish unless you counted cuss words, but I got the gist of it, and Sig was resorting to Juan Carlos’s native language to ask him to put me down.



A growl against my cheek was the conquistador’s response.



The fingers digging into my throat were met with another set of hands, prying Juan Carlos off me, and then Sig’s tall, lean form was between us. I sagged against the stone, my own fingers going to the wounds on my throat while I sucked in deep, glorious lungfuls of air.



“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” I exploded when I was able to speak. Even as the fingernail holes in my skin were starting to close, my voice was rough and gravelly.



Juan Carlos snarled. His eyes were still solid black, and his fangs were exposed and slick with saliva. He was so intent on having my blood, spit had coated his chin. In spite of the Armani suit he wore, he looked like a madman. A wild animal.



Sig didn’t have to suggest I keep my mouth shut. I figured it out all by myself.



Instead of scolding me, Sig continued to direct his attention to Juan Carlos. “Why do you do this to yourself?”



“She isn’t right,” Juan Carlos replied, some of the madness tainting his words, but he’d come into himself enough to wipe his chin off. “I want to know what Monica said.”



“This isn’t the time.”



“This is the only time. I want to know what she said.”



“Monica insists Secret didn’t betray us. Our third is a fit and honest leader.” When Sig said honest, Juan Carlos barked a laugh so cold it gave me a chill.



“She may not have sold us out to the wolves, but she’s hiding something.”



“We’re all hiding something,” Sig said and gave Juan Carlos’s arm a telling squeeze. “You need to put her secrets out of your head.”



Juan Carlos jerked his arm free and pointed at me. “We aren’t through.”



“I can’t wa—”



Sig looked over his shoulder at me, and I shut my mouth immediately.



“This is over,” he told me, but I knew he was speaking to us both. “Monica has had her last word, and she says you are fit. Tell Juan Carlos you haven’t done anything.”



“I haven’t done anything,” I repeated.



Sig turned back to Juan Carlos. “You are never to touch her again, am I understood?”



“You can’t—”



“It’s a yes-or-no question, Juan Carlos. And there’s only one answer I’m looking for. Do you understand?”



After a pause so long I thought he might actually say no, the black-eyed vampire said, “Yes. I understand.”



“Secret, do you think you can stay out of his way?”



“Yes.” As if I wanted to be anywhere near him after his outburst? Last time we’d been alone together Juan Carlos had simply been threatening. Now I understood the danger was more real than I’d thought. I’d underestimated his hatred of me.



“Then I think we’re done here.”



Sig let me slip away first, leaving them behind, but I wasn’t quite out of earshot when I heard Juan Carlos say, “For now.”



Chapter Eighteen



The next night I woke with the knowledge that an axe was suspended over my head, waiting to fall.



I might have been able to deal with it better had the blade been literal, but instead it was the threat Lucas had made. Combined with the fear over Calliope potentially being a murderer, my mother having a pack of maniac wolves at her service, and my fate with Juan Carlos and the Tribunal being tenuous at best…well, it was no small wonder I had a migraine from the get-go.



I also woke up alone. No pesky vampires, no red-hot werewolves. Just my cold sheets and my dark bedroom. Part of me was relieved, but a bigger part of me was dwelling on what my encounter with Desmond had meant the night before.



Could he forgive me and start over, or was it just relapse sex?



I groaned and rolled my face into my pillow, getting a mouthful of hair in the process. Pulling the damp strands from between my lips, I wondered what fresh hell the world would throw at me tonight. Maybe if I was real lucky, another demon bent on the total destruction of Manhattan would show up. Surely a few of my problems would have to take a backseat to that.



Apocalypse—the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card.



A knock at my front door dragged my sorry ass out of bed and away from my musings over the end of days.



“Who knocks anymore?” I grumbled. “Everyone else lets their damned selves in.”



When I opened the door, I was sure I must still be asleep.



Holden and Desmond stood side by side, making my minuscule entranceway look impossibly small with their collective bulk filling all the space. The vampire looked smug and the werewolf looked like he had a terminal case of the grouchies. It was quite a change of pace considering Holden was usually the grumpiest bugger in the room.



“You let your dog out without a leash. You know the city has bylaws against that.”



Well, that explained what he was so merry about. Holden loved any opportunity to use a bad joke, especially one at the expense of my werewolves. The dog lines were getting a little old. He never seemed to consider how I shared the same canine infection he so gleefully mocked in Desmond and Lucas.



“If you hadn’t opened your mouth, I’d be fairly certain I’d died and gone to heaven.”



Desmond gave a grim attempt at a smile, but it came out skewed and tight-looking. Holden rocked on his heels, and I could practically see the gears in his head working while he waited for another opportunity to lambaste Desmond.



I stepped from the doorway and held out a hand, my welcome gesture almost comically overstated. “Why don’t you guys come in? Try not to kill each other while I get changed.” Wearing cotton short-shorts and Desmond’s Yankees T-shirt probably wasn’t the best idea when having a tête-à-tête with the two men I’d most recently shared a bed with. What was appropriate, given the company? I didn’t own a burka, and sadly, invisibility cloaks didn’t exist outside of Hogwarts.



In my bedroom, I had a silent panic attack.



Desmond would be able to smell Holden all over the apartment. And Holden would be able to smell me all over Desmond. Neither of them was stupid, and a third grader would be able to do the simple math equation. Man plus Secret plus other man equals slut.



I sat on the bed with a sweater in my hands.



They’re both still sitting there, I thought hopefully. Furthermore, Holden had known for a good long time about my relationship with Desmond. Really, the only reaction here I was terrified to deal with was that of my werewolf ex. He’d left because of my connection to another man. What was stopping him from bolting now?



For one, I hadn’t had sex with Holden.



Not for lack of trying, I reminded myself.



Slutty, slut, slut, slut, I added.



“Ugh.”



Tugging the sweater over my head and trading my sleep shorts for jeans, I went back into the living room. Holden had both arms propped on the back of the loveseat, and Desmond was nowhere to be found.



“Where’s—?”



Holden didn’t wait for me to finish, just pointed a lean, pale finger towards the kitchen instead. “He didn’t feel like bonding.”



Desmond came out of the small kitchen and stopped where the tile met carpet, leaning against the doorframe instead of coming farther into the room. “I can’t begin to imagine why.”



“Oh my God,” I groaned. “Why are you two together in the first place if all you want to do is, like…have a sword fight with your dicks or something?” Note to self, when you’re worried about a love triangle, try not to mention penises. I bit my bottom lip to refrain from saying anything else. This wasn’t my fault. They should know better than to confront me when I’d just woken up.

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