
Moonlight and Shadows
By
Cora Zane
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Moonlight and Shadows
Copyright© 2009 Cora Zane
ISBN: 978-1-60088-420-7
Cover Artist: Heidi Hutchinson
Editor: Stephanie Parent
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Cobblestone Press, LLC
For Alice and Charlotte, my summer sisters.
You're both right. I really should come home more often.
Under the cover of nightfall, the Dartega estate looked like a stone fortress guarded by iron gates. The manor sat atop a hillock overlooking the eighteenth green of the Stonebridge Terrace golf course, cold and impenetrable, with spotlights beaming up at the lower façade of the house.
Sylvie had been watching the house for half an hour, and although an amber glow burned beyond the gothic-style windows of the main floor, she saw no indication that anyone was actually home. She lifted her nose to the wind, hoping to dispel some of the house's secrets, but she smelled only the chlorophyll green of the grass and trees, and the dusky odor of rich soil. Underlying that, the common city smells: smog, asphalt, and exhaust fumes―nothing remarkable.
Perhaps that was the reason the Dartega agreed to meet them here, upwind of the house, no access to the private cul-de-sac that lead into and off of their property. Nothing important seemed detectable from this distance, no entrances and no vulnerabilities.
Sylvie had known of the location of the Dartega pack den all her life, but this was the first time she'd ever set eyes on it for herself. Her brother had never seen it, and as far as she knew, neither had their father.
I'm the first, she thought, and her skin prickled at the dubious honor. How odd that she should be the one standing here now, on rival pack territory, sizing up the enemy's domain.
"I'm telling you, they're not coming," Baird complained, and Sylvie glanced over her shoulder to see the young blond werewolf fidgeting, staring off in the direction of the maintenance parking lot where they'd left their cars.
Tynan dusted off his hands as he rose up from where he crouched at the base of a tree.
"They'll come," he said with dread in his voice. "They have to. We're less than a two hundred feet from their den."
"They're watching us right now," Bastien stated in a flat tone, and although Sylvie didn't say so, she believed he was right.
The five of them waited together in a sheltered spot along the outer fringes of the rough. Here, deliberate rows of towering fir trees grew, an obstacle separating the eighteenth green from the rest of the course. The open yet out-of-the-way area might have been peaceful if not for the obvious dangers, but all things considered, the meeting spot felt like a deathtrap.
She'd vehemently disagreed with Bastien's plan to meet their enemies here. Too much hinged on the honor of the Dartega alpha to take such risks. The arrangements were too one-sided. The Dartega's men might very well emerge and kill them all where they stood, and after so many years of conflict between their packs, who would be surprised?
She looked up at the gauzy clouds stretched out across the sky like pulled cotton and found the bright disk of the moon glowing behind the haze. Restless energy buzzed through her. Anxiety. If only she could get through this mess tonight, in three days time the moon would be totally full, and she could insure that nothing like this ever happened again. In as many days she would choose a mate and take her rightful place among the pack, leaving Bastien no longer capable of holding her under his thumb.
Nerves stretched thin from weeks of stressing over the inevitable, she closed her eyes and resisted a primal urge to howl, to strip down to her bare skin and let the transformation take place. Her inner beast longed to emerge and reign free, but Sylvie restrained herself, tamped down the need. Shifting now would put them in even greater danger, especially since Bastien had given his word they would come to the Dartega in human form.
She'd just turned her attention back on the house when Garrett clamped a hard hand on her arm. Looking up at his scarred face, she saw he stared straight ahead, his pale eyes narrowed on something down the fairway. Sylvie followed his line of vision, and shrill unease scraped through her as several large black wolves emerged soundlessly from a stand of boundary trees less than twenty feet away. Bastien had been right all along. The alpha's men must've been there for some time, watching them, lying in wait.
Red eyes flashed in the darkness as the seven lupines loped out of their hiding places. They fanned out in an offensive pattern that blocked off the path to their cars, a formation that made Sylvie's entire body bristle with alarm.
She'd expected them to arrive in human form, fully clothed for a civilized meeting, but apparently they had other ideas. Forget the pleasantries; it seemed the Dartega pack intended to use their home field advantage in every possible way.
Teeth bared and grumbling lowly, the wolves stopped maybe twelve feet away from them, and a cool sweat popped out across Sylvie's skin. If anything went wrong, there wouldn't be time to shift before the males launched at them, brought them down and rent them to shreds in a coordinated effort. At best she might be able to transform partly, use her claws to defend herself for a little while, but that was a long shot, and she was sure they knew that even now.
The muscles in her left thigh twitched, urging her to embrace the change, but she ignored the instinct and waited for a clearer sign from the enemies. Beside her, a low growl rumbled in Garrett's chest.
"Hold your form unless they attack," Bastien snapped, and behind them, a man's brusque laughter rang out.
"You would be dead right now if they planned to attack."
Sylvie turned to face the source of that curt male voice and saw three dark-haired men dressed entirely in black striding toward them―the alpha flanked by two tall, powerfully built subordinates.
Bastien snarled in displeasure. "We came here in good faith, Niccolo."
"Then I pray you'll accept my apologies," the pack leader, Niccolo Dartega, replied. "Good faith isn't exactly a reliable quality these days."
The trio came to a stop under the tree, and the scent of distrust and hatred clung to them like pungent cologne.
Sylvie's attention went directly to the alpha, their biggest threat. Black-haired and dusky-skinned, Niccolo stood directly in front of Bastien, his posture imposing, his height matching Bastien's six foot stature eye-to-eye. "You are―?"
"Bastien Weiss-Istvaan."
"So you're Lange's replacement."
"I do the best I can."
"Then I fear for your pack," he said in return. "Only a novice would call a fool meeting such as this."
The insult hit its mark. Bastien stiffened visibly, and for a moment his eyes flashed an angry, reflective red. "Someone's hunting us. Our true alpha is dead―"
"And you would have me do what? Find the killer for you? Open my territory, perhaps, and let anyone come and go as they please so you can investigate, even interrogate members of my pack?" Niccolo scoffed. "To be kind, Lange's death was untimely, but on the other hand"---he raised his arms out at his sides and shook his head---"it's not my problem."
Bastien's face closed in censure, but those cruel words about Lange stung Sylvie like a slap to the face. It's too soon. I shouldn't have come....
She inhaled sharply, stifling a sob. At the same time, she battled an ominous spike of anger. It would be foolish to react, to show her weakness. Instead, she swallowed hard, internalizing the pain of loss until only a dull ache remained.
When she looked up again, she glanced at Bastien, who watched Niccolo with hooded eyes, the taut lines of his mouth drawn into a frown of stark hatred. Heat flared in her face. She couldn't help but feel embarrassed for him. He looked bullied in the face of the Dartega, threatened, and not at all like the alpha male he pretended to be.
She'd never seen a male look so unmatched, and despite her dislike of him and the way he'd been leading their pack for the past few weeks, she didn't wish this kind of humiliation on anyone.
"Regardless of what you think of me," Bastien bit out, "my concern is for our pack's safety. I can't ignore what's been going on."
"So you came to ask me if I ordered someone to take out your alpha, is that it?" Niccolo raised his brows. When Bastien didn't answer, Niccolo's mouth quirked into a grim smiled. "I see. Well, as much as I'd love to claim that honor, sadly, I cannot."
"And you're sure no one from your pack―"
"Are you questioning my ability as an alpha?" Niccolo snarled, revealing a flash of sharp, white teeth.
"Not at all," Bastien answered quickly. "My intention is to find a killer―"
"One that you seem to think is residing in my pack." Niccolo's eyes sparked with fury. "I can't speak for Istvaan loyalty, but I can assure you no one goes against my orders, Bastien Weiss. I am the law here."
"No one doubts that," Sylvie interjected loudly before the discussion could sink any further south. The Dartega's shrewd gaze zeroed in on her, and she lowered her eyes, her voice, in respect. "No one here doubts your authority, Mr. Dartega. Rather, I think what Bastien is trying to say is that these killings seem to have nothing to do with territory or dominance, or even allegiance to an alpha." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "The fact is we have no idea who's killing the males in our pack."
Tension throbbed on the air and coiled inside her. The Dartega turned toward her.
"And who are you exactly?"
"I'm Sylvie," she said simply. No way in hell was she about to tell him her last name. "Nobody's accusing you or your pack of killing Lange; nevertheless, someone did murder him. Someone who studied him, knew his routine, and in the end, tracked him down and killed him."
He sneered. "And as I have said only moments ago, that's not my―"
"―problem, yes, I realize you feel this way," she said and stood rigid when he walked toward her. "And maybe you're right. Maybe this has nothing to do with you or the Dartegas; maybe these deaths plaguing our pack are nothing more than random acts of violence. Unfortunate coincidences. But even you can't ignore the fact that it's not just Lange we're talking about. Three of our council members are dead as well. What if this killer―or killers, since there might very well be more than one of them―What if they're human?"
Niccolo watched her a moment, black eyes blazing. "Well, go on; I'm listening."
"Human hunters won't distinguish one pack from another. If they can corner one of us and kill us, they'll do it. And if they've somehow figured out who we are, or who our alphas are, if that's why they took out Lange―" She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat. "You and your pack could be in just as much danger as ours."
A shrewd smile crossed Niccolo's face. He glanced at the man on his left. "Hear that, Erik? Leave it to the female in a pack to be the negotiator, the strategist."
He dragged his gaze from her face and walked over to Bastien again. "Be thankful you brought your Dame with you tonight."
Sylvie looked away from them, lowered her eyes and struggled to control her jerky, uneven breaths. Her nerves were shot for sure now. Her heart thundered so hard, the quick rhythm seemed to vibrate through her entire body.
It was a wonder Bastien didn't get them all killed!
Flush-faced and shaky all over, she flinched when something stirred in front of her and looked up to find eyes the of color of a starless night watching her. The man Niccolo had called Erik stared straight at her, his gaze locked on her face with an unnerving intensity that sent an electric shiver skittering through her veins.
She locked gazes with him, and to her horror, she recognized him―who and what he was.
Her breath locked in lungs.
It can't be.
She stared at him, and her lips parted in awe. Her heart knew the truth, that tugging, desperate draw to bridge the gap between them. She didn't want to believe it and shook her head, a minuscule gesture that made his eyes narrow and a muscle tick in his cheek.
Numb inside, she ran her fingers across her throat as sadness welled inside her. Until now, with her dreams withering before her eyes, she'd never realized what high hopes she'd held in finding her true mate.
How fitting he should be so beautiful, this Erik. Her eyes skimmed the slash of dark brows and the straight, sophisticated nose. His lips were full―it was a kissable mouth. Sick to her soul, she swallowed hard and forced herself to look directly into his eyes again. After all this time....
Fury burned through her. Sorrow and disappointment. She felt cheated, and she hoped every ounce of pain that stabbed through her reflected in her face.
Erik's nostrils flared, but nothing else about his expression changed. With a slight shake of her head, she tossed back her pale hair in defiance. To her shock, he took a step toward her.
"Sylveria!"
A hand gripped her arm and gave her a yank backward, and a fierce growl rumbled in Erik's chest. No one missed the stark warning, the dangerous light flickering in his eyes. Everyone grew still, watchful. Tension pulsed in the air.
Bastien withdrew his hand from her slowly and spoke near her ear. "We are leaving." He annunciated every syllable with crisp diction, annoyance in his tone. With a wary eye on the male across from them, he herded her away, forcing her to move.
Without a word, Sylvie turned on her heel and stormed off toward her car, her head down, watching her steps. She pressed a hand to her forehead, overwhelmed and, for the first time in her life, uncertain about her future.
She'd always planned to take her place beside her true mate, to share the rule over her pack with him, but she knew now that would never happen. What am I going to do?
By the time she reached the maintenance parking lot where they'd left their cars, Bastien had almost caught up with her. He followed, hot on her heels. She heard him dogging her across the gravel, and she practically felt his hot breath on her neck when she reached the classic, T-top Stingray she'd parked near the lot entrance.
"Sylveria, I want a word with you."
"Why am I not surprised?"
When Bastien grabbed her arm this time, she turned and snarled with venom, snapping her teeth in his face. He didn't flinch, but he let go of her.
"What the hell just happened with that male back there?""Nothing," she lied. "He overstepped his grounds."
"Overstepped?" Bastien raked his hands through his hair. "Do you have any idea who you were staring down back there?"
My mate....
Misery clouded her heart, but she said nothing, only shrugged because she didn't know who he was for sure beyond that one painful truth. It hardly mattered now, anyway.
"That was Niccolo Dartega's brother. His right hand―his assassin. I can't believe you didn't know who he was, who you challenged in broad view of his Pack Leader. Probably half the Dartega pack council, too."
Challenged? She blinked at him. Was that how it had looked to the others?
"We're trying to prevent bloodshed," Bastien bit out. "I can't imagine what you were thinking, especially given the circumstances."
"I'm sure whatever I did, it won't be relevant come tomorrow."
"How naïve can you be? Not relevant? Without my mark on you, one of these days you'll make just as stupid a mistake, only I won't be able to bail you out of it."
"Bail me out?" she asked, her tone incredulous. "You mean, like I just did for you?"
Bastien's face tightened in anger. He stepped in close, and for a moment Sylvie thought he actually meant to strike her. A growl rumbled inside her, and Bastien froze in mid-step, his eyes glittering. She'd have his throat in an instant if he laid a finger on her.
"You are way out of line," she snarled.
"Sylveria...." He clenched his fist, and she could tell it took great effort to continue calmly. "Lange was my best friend. I loved him like my own brother. I swore to him only days before he died that I'd watch after you if anything happened to him. But you're making it exceedingly difficult."
"I don't need you to watch over me," she snapped in his face. "That's Tynan and Garrett's job."
"Tynan and Garrett aren't babysitters; they have pack business to attend to. And until I know for sure what's going on with these recent deaths, I will not have you messing up what I'm trying to do."
"And just what are you trying to do, Bastien? Get us killed by the Dartega?" She turned and walked the rest of the way to her car, jangling the keys as she tugged them from her pocket. "Do your worst. Your days are numbered, anyway. Don't think for an instant I plan to allow your position as a retainer to last any longer than necessary."
He smirked at that. "Your brother made no secret about his wishes for the continuation of this pack."
"Lange is dead," she said as she climbed into her Corvette and shut the door. After she strapped on her seatbelt and started the car, she rolled down the window and flicked back her straight blonde hair. "Three days, Bastien, count them." She flashed three fingers at him and revved the engine. "I will choose."
Sylvie pulled out of the gravel parking lot and followed the maintenance road back to paved, neighborhood streets. She'd held it together in front of Bastien and the others, but now that she was alone, she didn't have to force a mask in place to hide her worries.
She checked the rearview mirror and saw the single headlight of Garrett's motorcycle, and a couple of cars behind that―Baird and Tynan, she assumed, and then there was Bastien's limousine. It looked like the Dartega would allow them to leave without incident, after all. No bloodshed this night.
Finding her mate standing across from her had been such a shock she'd missed what agreement Niccolo and Bastien had come to, if they'd come to one at all. Hopefully she'd be able to pull Garrett aside later on and ask him to bring her up to speed. But for now, she had other things to think about.
At the corner of Stonebridge Avenue, the central street running through the subdivision, Sylvie turned right and followed Pebble Drive toward the gated exit. The night watchman in the lighted glass booth cast the barest glimpse at her before he raised the crossing bar to let her out.
Once she was past that point, she let out a pent-up breath and drove the remaining distance to the intersection. Once there, she waited at the stop sign for a break in traffic.
Bastien would likely have kittens when she didn't show up at the estate, but she had no plans to return to the pack den tonight. If she went home, the minute she and Bastien were both back under the same roof, he'd probably call her into Lange's old office and chew her out all over again―this time for stepping on his toes in front of Niccolo. She bet he hadn't had time to digest that little nugget yet, but the ride home would give him just enough time to stew over it.
Bastien hadn't wanted her to come to this meeting in the first place, and after tonight's humiliation, she knew he'd be keen to save face. She wasn't in the mood to mend egos. It took more than sitting in Lange's old office to fill his shoes, and the meeting stood as proof that Bastien couldn't handle the pressure or the position to hold the pack.
He'd buckled under the authority of The Dartega at first glance, proving once and for all that he was no true alpha. Bastien would likely argue her down about it, but the matter was settled in her mind.
She shifted gears and merged into the crushing, Friday night traffic, already thinking ahead to where she'd stay the night. The pack had safe houses scattered all over Shreveport, and a cabin with acreage for running out at Cross Lake, but it was so secluded, she didn't like to go out there much now that Lange was gone.
The closest place that gave her any comfort was her grandmother's old homestead in the South Highland area, but first things first; she needed to take care of a little business.
She frowned as she thought about the task ahead of her. For the past three weeks, she'd been secretly trying to piece together the final day of her brother's life.
On numerous occasions she'd tried to question Bastien and find out what he knew, but he always brushed off her questions, merely promised her he was looking into it.
So far, she'd kept quiet and hadn't pushed him too much. But behind closed doors, she paced and raged and wondered why he kept her in the dark, why it was taking so long to find Lange's killer. Either Bastien knew nothing at all, or he knew too much---she couldn't decide which.
The one thing she knew for certain was that out of all the males, Bastien had the most to benefit from Lange's death, and because of that, she didn't trust him one bit.
Everything she'd initially learned about her brother's murder came from what she'd pieced together from clips off of local TV, and from a handful of articles that ran in The Shreveport Times. But one afternoon, about a month after the funeral, she'd gone into the alpha's den looking for Bastien and found Lange's final cell phone bill on the desk.
That had been her first real break. The bill gave her a list of phone numbers from people who'd been in contact with her brother the day he'd disappeared.
After a solid week of phone calls, she'd ruled out a string of Lange's lovers and a handful of people who'd called him from out of state. She'd narrowed down the list to a small scope of people, but in doing so, she'd revealed an expected, but no less disturbing piece of information. From what she could determine, the only other people who'd called or otherwise talked to Lange on the last day of his life were pack members.
Traffic slowed near Pierre Bossier Mall, and Sylvie cursed herself for not taking a different route. A glance in the rearview mirror showed her a string of headlights going back as far as she could see.
A hand on the gear shift, she trudged along in the halting traffic until she passed the mall, heading in the direction of the Louisiana Boardwalk and the neon-lit Texas Street bridge.
A sense of relief poured through her when she crossed the river, leaving Bossier City. Lights glittered like jewels against the night sky, an orange glare from the street lamps and neon reflecting off the clouds above Downtown Shreveport―Istvaan territory, her home.
At the same time, her mind raced with theories, possibilities. Bastien kept pressing the issue of Lange's will with her, but she'd read the documents herself. Lange had only suggested Bastien as her mate. Her place as Grand Dame of the Istvaan pack wasn't contingent upon her mating with him.
Bless him, but Lange had left an open door for her to claim her true mate. If only he knew.... Sadness niggled at her, thoughts of the Dartega assassin, but she shoved them away. The pack had to come first. She had no choice now but to choose a second, a mate other than her true mate. But with Lange's killer still on the loose, who could she trust?
Garret or Tynan, possibly. Lange had trusted both males implicitly. Both served as Istvaan pack assassins, and both had desirable street connections with the werekind packs in New Orleans, Houston, and Dallas. Baird might've been another male to consider, but he was too young, too unsure of himself to hold the pack in check. If she chose him, an older, stronger, more dominant male would challenge him and strip him of his rank within days of her selection. It would be cruel to place him in that kind of situation.
Deep in thought, Sylvie exited the bridge and turned onto Market Street, scanning the busy area for a parking spot within walking distance to The Cardinal House. So many vehicles had packed into one area, she had to circle the block until she came across a space. At last she parallel parked between two SUVs on the Texas Street side and killed the engine.
For a long moment she sat in her car, building her courage. The thump-and-grind dance music reached her even here, a muffled rhythm that pulsed through the walls of the building and seemed to echo along the streets.
Inside, her stomach twisted. She dreaded coming here tonight almost as much as she dreaded facing the Dartega. The Cardinal House faced the river. It was also the last place Lange had been seen alive.
Riding with the T tops off had stirred her hair, and Sylvie took a minute to finger-comb her shoulder-length bob into some semblance of order. She swept the long, side-parted bangs away from her face, then checked her makeup in the visor mirror, rubbing at a smudge of black eye makeup with the tip of her finger.
Once she'd applied a dab of pale lipstick and looked herself in the eyes, she had no more excuses to delay. She pulled her keys from the steering column and climbed out of the car.
Night clubs in Shreveport never lasted very long, a few weeks, a few months at the most. The Cardinal House had defied the odds. How many years had it lasted, five? Six?
Sylvie had long lost track, but she thought the key to its success must have something to do with it being run by vampires, and the fact it appealed to a certain clientele. Lange had been a regular. He'd liked the VIP status, the exclusive access to premiere booths overlooking the tiered dance floors.
When she rounded the corner, a line of people stood outside the club waiting---the cue stretched half a block long. Sylvie passed them on her way to the entrance.
"Renfro," she greeted the bouncer, a bald, beefy vampire who nodded at her and unhooked the velvet ropes to let her pass.
She smiled her thanks at him on her way through and walked down the short corridor to the double red doors, her boot heels clicking over the tiles. The music grew louder and louder still, until she pushed her way inside and the sound hit her full blast, overwhelming her senses.
It took her a moment to adjust to the noise level and the low lighting, but she could appreciate the atmosphere. Everywhere she looked there were people dancing, twirling beneath flickering, shifting lights that seemed to pulse in time with the frantic techno beat.
She shoved her way through the crowd, scanning the faces, looking for what, for whom, she didn't really know. She eyed the upper dance floor―a series of Plexiglas balconies lined with neon―then shifted her attention to the glitter dancers in cages next to the DJ platform at the far end of the club.
The VIP booths had privacy mirrors overlooking the central dance floor, and she glanced up at what had been her brother's favorite booth, wondering who resided there tonight.
Determined to find out, she'd started toward the lanky, clean-cut vampire guarding the roped-off staircase when some sixth sense stopped her cold, compelled her to look back toward the front of the club.
Sylvie turned and did a double take as the doors opened and a tall, dark-haired man dressed in all black crossed the threshold. He stood just beyond the entrance and scanned the crowds, and when she saw his face, her heart seized in shock.
Erik.
As if she'd somehow summoned him by thinking his name, he looked directly at her, intense black eyes locking on her from across the club, boring a hot path straight to her soul.
He started toward her, and her heart kicked into overdrive, sending a shriek of electric sensation radiating through her body. Warning bells went off in her brain, and gut instinct warred with her better judgment. She should avoid him at all cost. Instead, Sylvie prepared herself to face him.
I can do this. I can handle it.
Better to set up boundaries now and get it over with.
Wary and not quite knowing what to expect, Sylvie stepped back into the shadows beneath one of the dance platforms and waited for him, while inside, some feral instinct struggled to surface.
Her beautiful angel of death.... His shirt was open at the throat, his broad shoulders encased in a black suit jacket. His full, sensual mouth contrasted with his aristocratic nose and hard eyes. Red neon from a wall display cast an eerie glow over his chiseled features and made him appear all the more dangerous.
Tingling awareness prickled along her arms, the back of her neck. He might be a subordinate, but this man was no beta. When he came under the shelter of the tier and stopped in front of her, there was no mistaking the authority in those glittering eyes.
He took her by the elbow. "Come with me. We'll go somewhere private and talk."
"I don't think so."
She tried to tug away from him, but he captured her by the arms and slid his hands downward, firmly shackling her wrists. He pushed her back against the wall and moved in close, crowding her in.
"Don't make this difficult when it doesn't have to be," he said into her ear, his lips skimming the sensitive outer shell. Heat unfurled inside her at his dominance, and she shivered, forbidden lust blossoming inside her like a ripe flower.
She growled at him, frustrated and more than a little annoyed at the way her body responded to him.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes. His lips parted as though he were about to tell her something, when a sudden wild burst of gunfire had him yanking her away from the wall. Erik rolled with her, and the next thing Sylvie knew, they were diving toward the floor.
Plaster dust showered over their heads as bullets sprayed into the walls. Sylvie yelped and covered her head with her arms.
Erik used his body to shield her, and before she realized what he was doing, he'd whipped out a gun and fired several shots. People stampeded toward the exits, screaming and shoving, overturning tables in a mad rush to escape.
"Let's go!" Erik shouted, and in a brief moment of ceasefire, he hauled her up and dragged her through a side door marked 'employee's only.'
Sylvie stumbled out onto the street, hitting the ground as a stream of bullets followed them out of the club. Erik covered her and returned fire, the muzzle flash bright when she glimpsed it from the corner of her eye.
"Who's shooting at us?" she cried, but he said nothing, just yanked her to her feet and steered her in the direction of her car.
She climbed in, hands fumbling in the pocket of her leather pants as she tried to extract her keys.
"Scoot over!" he bellowed, and she did so without thinking twice about it. He took over the driver's seat while she reached over and jammed the key into the ignition. Up the block, the door they'd just escaped through kicked open violently, banging against the sandstone wall.
Erik cranked the engine, slammed the driver's side door, and threw the car into gear.
They peeled out of the parking space with the smell of burnt rubber thick on the air and gunshots ringing over their heads.
Erik cornered so fast the car fishtailed, and Sylvie braced a hand against the dashboard to keep her seat.
"Slow down!" she shouted over the rumble of the engine and the rush of wind through the T tops. For all the good it did her. Erik ignored her, turning a hard right the next street over.
She cursed under her breath, but he probably didn't hear it; either that or he didn't care. She watched him flick a glance up to the rearview mirror.
"Are we being followed? Where're we going?"
He glanced at her but said nothing. Something about the intense look in his black eyes shot panic through her, but before she had time to think about it, he made another hard turn, steering the car into a parking garage without slowing.
The undercarriage scraped bottom on entrance, and Sylvie glimpsed a shower of sparks in the side view mirror. She held onto the door-pull for balance as he drove them up and around two levels, taking them to the third tier where he whipped into a space marked "reserved" and parked.
The sudden stillness jarred her. She sat there in a cloud of shock with her heart hammering, unable to believe where she was and what had just happened.
She looked over at Erik and found him watching her with hot, hungry eyes. Without warning he grabbed her and pulled her to him, his hand sinking into her hair as he took her mouth in a furious kiss.
For a moment, she stiffened, but desire overrode her better judgment. Lust crackled in the air around them, and an exhilarating electric sensation trilled through her, curled tight within her body and made her womb clench with need. Sylvie felt his kiss all the way to her toes. The erotic stroke of his tongue beckoned her, promised her exquisite completion, a dangerous paradise.
Forbidden....
Awareness teased her thoughts, and she struggled to regain her focus. Her breathing quickened; it was loud, smothered against his face. Her mate or not, she couldn't allow this to happen. She put her hand on his strong chest and felt his heart thumping hard against her palm.
Whimpering against his mouth, she pushed away, breaking their kiss. A growl of displeasure rumbled low in his chest, and he tightened his hold on her, sipped at her lips, drawing her back to him until instinct surfaced and she snapped her teeth at him.
Erik pulled back sharply, and they sat breathing heavily, eyes locked on one another with tension pulsing between them. He glowered at her, and before her eyes, a bright red drop of blood formed on his lower lip. She stared at it in shock. He looked quite feral in that moment, unreadable. Sylvie half expected him to strike her. Instead, he licked the blood away with a smooth stroke of his tongue, then opened the car door and got out.
"Let's go," he said, startling her when he reached in and pulled her across the seat and out the door on his side.
Once she was on her feet, he slammed the car door, the sound a loud crack that echoed across the parking tier. Taking her by the arm, he led her across the quiet garage to an access door that read "residents only." Sylvie's mind raced. A Dartega safe house on Istvaan territory?
A trickle of fear rolled down her spine when he gripped the handle and jerked the door open, exposing a red carpeted corridor. The moment he pulled her inside and the door fell closed behind them, he tugged her closer and growled by her ear. "Don't make the mistake of screaming."
"You can't seriously be taking me hostage," she growled in quiet outrage. Erik made no response, simply guided her to the elevator at the end of the hall and pressed the 'up' button.
He kept a firm grasp on her elbow until the silver doors opened, and then he maneuvered her into the elevator ahead of him.
Panic raced through her when he hit button for the fourth floor and the elevator doors slid closed. She glared at him and in a furious, quivering voice said, "Bastien will kill you if you hurt me."
She didn't know if it was true. It didn't matter.
A fire flickered to life in Erik's eyes, burning recognition. The words hit their mark, but not in the way she'd expected. Erik charged across the elevator and captured the sides of her face in his hands. Sylvie winced and grabbed his wrists, but he wasn't hurting her---he merely held her against the wall of the elevator so she had no choice but to look up into his eyes.
"You attempt to threaten me with another male's name?"
Sylvie didn't know quite what he meant, but his arrogance pissed her off all the same. She struggled against him, angry little murmuring noises clicking in her throat.
Believing he intended kiss her again, she pressed her lips tight and made up her mind to bite the hell out of him if he tried it. Instead, he held her, his eyes blazing down into hers as he nudged her legs apart with his knee.
Erik edged in close and dropped a hand to her thigh, catching it up to his hip before he thrust up against her, a slow grinding motion that grazed her in just the right way to drive all sane thought from her mind.
He was hard, viciously aroused. Sylvie let out a surprised hiss, and he growled low and nuzzled her cheek, the sensation streaking across her nerve endings like a raw flicker of lightning. He grazed first one side of her face then the other, his sleek black hair falling forward to tickle her ear, her throat.
The beginnings of evening beard stubble abraded her sensitive skin, the action spreading his spicy scent across her face. To make it worse, he leaned forward and sucked gently at her full lower lip.
Sylvie gasped and tried to turn her head away from him, but he stood taller than her by quite a bit. The action only gave him access to her throat.
He lowered his head and nipped at her there before pressing a row of heated kisses along her pulse. Her breath came out in an unsteady huff of pleasure.
"You want me," he murmured, grazing his teeth against her heated skin. She jerked in response, her nipples hardening, pebbling to taut buds beneath her clothes. One of his hands slid down to cup her breast, to toy with a tender peak. "Your body beckons me."
Sylvie was all set to agree with him when he let go of her abruptly and stepped back, watching her squirm with those secretive, hooded eyes. Heat flooded her face, and she swiped at a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "Jerk. I suppose you think you're really clever."
The elevator bobbed to a stop, and the doors slid open. He gripped her by the elbow once more and guided her toward a set of double doors at the end of a private hallway.
Halfway down the hall, he pulled a key ring from his pocket and aimed it at the doors. He pressed a button with his thumb and a buzzer sounded, followed by the heavy click of multiple deadlocks turning over.
When they made it to the entrance, Erik grabbed the lever-style handle and flung the right-side door open wide. He ushered her into the dimly lit suite and kicked the door closed behind them with his foot. Sylvie darted away from him the second he let go of her. She turned around just in time to see a small light above the door switch from green to red as the locks activated.
"We haven't been properly introduced," he said on his way to a long end table braced against the back of a leather sofa. He tossed down his keys. "My name is Erik Dartega."
"I know who you are," she said, hating the way her voice quivered. "You're the Dartega's assassin. You hunt your own kind for position and money."
"I hunt for neither of those things. I do what I do out of loyalty to my brother―loyalty to my pack." He stripped off his jacket, tossed it across the back of a chair. "If nothing else, you can rest assured my skill as a hunter makes me a good choice for your mate. You'll be very well protected. I'm also more than capable of providing for you."
She scoffed. "Who are you kidding? This will never work."
"We'll make it work," he said as he unbuttoned his shirt. "The moon called us together as mates. Pack affiliation is a minor thing that can be dealt with."
She shook her head and paced. Of course he'd say something like that. Erik didn't know her status; he didn't have all the facts. It must seem very simple to him, especially when tradition called for a female to leave her pack to be with her mate. But her situation, her rank, made that a negligible option.
Torn, Sylvie paced. Dartega or not, Erik represented a temptation unlike anything she'd ever faced. A part of her believed Lange never would've approved of the match, but since his death, she'd been trapped in her own pack with no one she truly trusted.... She wanted her mate, needed him now more than ever, but it seemed like such a distant hope, an impossibility when she held the future of the Istvaan Pack in her hands.
"I saw the look on your face earlier tonight, Sylvie. I know the precise moment you recognized me as your mate. Deny it all you like, but I know what I mean to you."
"There are things you don't understand."
"I meant what I said," he growled the words. "Nothing will stand between us."
Erik tossed his shirt onto the back of the sofa, and her gaze fell on the perfection of his tight abs and her thoughts skipped. Swallowing hard, she moved her gaze up to his naked chest, which was marked by many wicked-looking scars.
He moved across the dark to her and stopped in a patch of moonlight falling splintered through a slender gap in the curtains. Sylvie faced him, bracing herself for his touch, but when he reached out, he pushed a switch that made the curtains open completely to let in moonlight and offer a panoramic view of the city lights.
She turned to look out at it, and his warm, calloused hands caressed her shoulders.
Sylvie breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. Erik's body heat seeped into her, lush and radiant. His heavy erection grazed against her backside as he pressed his body against hers. He wove his arms around her and kissed her hair, her temple, her cheek. At last she leaned her head back and welcomed his kisses against her neck.
"I want you so much," he said against her skin, his voice thick with passion. And before Sylvie put too much thought into what she was doing, she turned around to face him and slid her hands upwards over his rippled abdomen to his scarred chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging firmly.
He gazed into her eyes before kissing her, once, twice, sipping at her lips. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs tenderly stroking her cheekbones. "You belong to me," he murmured, then lowered his head again. This time, Erik traced the seam of her full lips with his tongue until she moaned, opening her mouth for his kiss.
Sylvie knew she should walk away, that getting involved with him only invited heartbreak, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Erik's kisses taunted her, dared her to take it one step further, and she matched his every sensual caress with a touch, a kiss of her own.
On fire for him, her heart racing against her ribs, she couldn't have ignored the primal drive to join with her mate even if she'd wanted to.
Erik planted frenzied kisses against her lips, her chin, her throat, and when his fingers parted the ties of her silk shirt, something hot and dangerous roared to life inside her.
The flimsy lace cups of her bra did nothing to disguise her hard nipples, and once her shirt was open, Erik leaned down and sucked a taut peak through the lace. Her breath hissed out, and she gripped his hair in her hands. When he flicked the other erect nipple with his thumb, she shivered, and the sound that escaped her lips came out part growl, part aroused moan.
Erik responded with a low, sensual sound that might have been a laugh, some affirmation of victory, but it hardly mattered to her anymore. She needed to join with him―now. She ran her hands across his chest, nipped his shoulder. "Erik...."
Growling under his breath, he turned with her, guiding her into the middle of the living room. There he crowded her in, forced her to back up until her legs connected with the sofa. She sat down hard, and he knelt before her, between her knees, his eyes glowing reflective red as he unzipped her boots one by one. He made it into a torturous game as he pulled them off and tossed them aside, his hot eyes devouring her, his hands stroking her clothed inner thighs.
When her feet were bare, he made a gruff sound of approval and reached up and helped her unfasten her pants.
Sylvie lifted her hips and slid them down, but they were slim-fitting leather and hard to remove. As she eased them over her knees, Erik caught them halfway and stripped them off over her feet.
He tossed them aside, then rose up in front of her, smoothed his calloused hands up her thighs to the sensitive curve of her hips. Sylvie's breath hitched when he hooked his fingers beneath the thin band of her bikini panties and pulled them slowly down her legs.
Erik devoured her with his eyes, his hot gaze like a physical caress. Her stomach clenched in anticipation; the way he looked at her made her breath quicken, made her want to touch him again. "Tell me you want me," he demanded, and that low, harsh voice sent goose bumps chasing over her skin.
"I do." Sylvie licked her lips. "I want you."
That razor-sharp gaze locked on her face as he caught her under her knees and dragged her body forward. He caressed her calves with those strong, sure hands and nipped lightly at the inner edge of her right knee before he kissed his way up her thighs.
Moaning in pure pleasure, she closed her eyes, drowning in heady sensation as he kissed his way up her body. Every feather-light brush of his lips made her muscles jerk. Lust coiled in her womb. He traced a thumb over her diamond belly ring as if it fascinated him, then leaned over her and nearly made her buck up off the couch when he scraped his teeth over her sensitive lower belly.
"Erik!"
He pulled her knee over his shoulder, and she opened to him, his breath warm against her inner thigh. He traced his fingers over her glistening nether lips and parted her folds, then followed the same path with his tongue to the swollen bud of her clitoris.
He rolled his tongue against her, sucked and sipped, sending lightning quick jolts of desire pulsing straight to her core that had her moaning and slowly undulating her hips in deliberately sensual rhythm.
"Oh...." She held a hand against his ear as he dipped and delved and flicked. When his mouth closed over her again, she tilted her hips down, seeking a deeper pleasure that seemed just out reach.
First one finger then a second, he entered her and built a slow, steady rhythm that had her squirming on the couch. The fire that kindled inside her proved too much to hold back. Heat surged up inside her fast and caught her up in a storm of blinding sensation that blazed through her like a bolt of lightning.
Sylvie cried out and shuddered against him. She needed him, needed this.... She shot high then spiraled down, her thoughts clouded with satisfaction. Erik rose over her then, tugging her closer to the edge of the couch. His erection prodded her, and she clutched at his back, tilted her hips to ease his entrance. He slid into her with a groan muffled against her shoulder, his scent wild and enticing.
The thrust and jerk of his hips reached her within her sea of bliss. The sound of his harsh breathing swept her up with feelings of tenderness, closeness to this man, waking her to the pleasure his body sought to give her.
Cool sweat slicked his skin as she matched his trusts and traced her fingers over his hard body―taking pleasure in all that corded muscle and his scars, the marks of his profession. She grazed her teeth against his neck, and when her orgasm broke over her, she welcomed it, welcomed waves of ecstasy that hit her so hard they pulsed in her temples.
Her breath rushed out in a hiss, and she gripped his hips and slid herself against him while she shuddered to completion, her quivering inner flesh contracting around him, moisture gathering between her thighs.
His motions became frenzied; Sylvie could feel the sharpness of his claws biting into her hips and buttocks. He groaned, and those sinful eyes looked down at her, his body tighter, holding back.
"I want your mark," he growled down at her.
"You― What?"
"Your mark---give it to me."
"I...." She couldn't quite wrap her mind around the request. "I can't."
"Yes, you can," he insisted, grinding deeper, the roughness of his voice matching the tension in his body. He panted above her, and she could feel him holding back. He bit at her chin. "Do it, Sylvie."
She couldn't.... She wouldn't. Not with so much at risk.
Erik growled in frustration and thrust hard, unable to hold back any longer. Focused solely on giving him pleasure, Sylvie gripped his hips, grinding against his jerking body, riding out the storm.
He gave a final hoarse shout as he found his release, then without warning, he sank his teeth into her shoulder.
Sylvie yelped, startled not only by the bite, but by the responding wave of tingling, mind-numbing sensation that shrieked through her and drained the last of her energy.
For a long minute afterward, they stayed there, unmoving and breathing heavily. At last Erik eased onto the couch beside her and lay down. He kissed her and ran his tongue sensually over the newly made mark.
"You bit me," she whispered, and Erik nuzzled her neck.
"I mark what's mine."
The way he said it her made her antsy and uncomfortable. Guilt gnawed at her for denying his request, and the more she thought about it, the more it disturbed her. Things had gotten out of hand just like she'd feared.
She got up off the couch and went searching for her clothes.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Home," she murmured, "while there's still time to walk away from this without any repercussions."
"What repercussions?"
"My pack will never accept you, Erik―"
"Then you'll come home with me. I'll take you to my brother." He rolled up onto his elbow and looked at her. "He won't turn my mate away."
Oh, he might.... She forced down a grim smile. She picked up her panties and slid them on. "It's not as simple as that. I wish it were."
Erik snarled and sat up. "It's Bastien, isn't it? He's your lover."
It came out as an accusation, and Sylvie forced down a laugh.
"Bastien's a retainer," she assured him, "nothing else."
"He keeps you at his side―"
"Bastien keeps me with him because it's necessary. There's no love lost between us, trust me on that."
"Very well. You say he isn't your lover---then there's no reason for you to stay with your pack."
"There's plenty of reason," she snapped, then sighed. "Erik, I don't expect you to understand. But this―us.... It can't happen again.""It will definitely happen again," he scoffed. "The full moon is almost upon us."
"Yes," she agreed and picked up her shirt, "which means my breeding cycle will start in a matter of days."
"I already guessed as much. Your scent gives it away."
"Well, you're not the only one who's noticed it. My next change will likely trigger the full effect. And if that's not bad enough, since this is my first cycle, I'll be expected to choose a mate from within my pack." She leveled her eyes on him. "Once that happens, Bastien will either have to step down, or challenge whoever is brought forward as my chosen."
Erik stared at her, and she waited for his reaction. It didn't take him long to figure out what she was getting at. She read it in his face, knew the exact moment he put two and two together.
"You're the grand dame of the Istvaan pack."
Any other time, the surprise in his voice might've been amusing.
"Not now," she said, "but I will be―very soon." She pulled on her shirt and sat on the edge of the chair across from him. "Lange was my brother. When he died, his will went into effect, and Bastien became the Retainer Alpha until I choose a mate."
Erik raked a hand through his hair. "Lange thought you would choose Bastien."
"He hoped I would; he noted it in his will, but that's as far as it went. The thing is, Bastien assumed early on I would take the easy route; that I would just accept him as my mate, no questions asked, and the world keeps turning with him in place as my alpha." She looked at him from under her lashes. "When hell freezes over."
"Bastien won't like being stripped of his status."
"He already doesn't like it. The only thing that keeps him from forcing a mating pact with me is a clause in Lange's will that grants me the right to choose my own mate."
"Couldn't Bastien have that overturned with a vote from your pack council?"
"He could. Or he could save himself the bureaucratic drama and have me killed. It would be the easiest way to claim the role as alpha. Take your pick."
Erik flashed his teeth and stood. "It's settled. I won't allow you to return to your pack. You'll be in danger there."
She laughed. "And being with you isn't dangerous?"
"I know what you're thinking, Sylvie, but my pack would never allow harm to come to anyone I chose as my mate." He lowered his voice. "Introducing you to my brother might actually solve more issues between our packs that we realize."
"It could also have a completely opposite effect. It could rip my pack apart."
Erik didn't say as much, but his expression told her he didn't think that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Sylvie didn't expect him to understand. If it only had to do with her, she would go with him. But there was more at stake than her personal wants and wishes. The pack had to come first, and right now she had to focus on who was murdering her pack members, who had tried to kill her tonight.
She reached for her jeans. "I have to go back to my den. The others will be looking for me, if they aren't already."
"I won't let you go. I won't risk losing my mate."
"I have to work this out, and I can't do it while hiding in an enemy safe house. I won't give up my family's legacy without a fight."
"I'm not asking you to, so no more arguing. Let's go to bed." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "Your pack can do without you for one night." He dragged her close. "In the morning we'll decide what to do. Right now, I want to make love to you again."
"Erik―"
He kissed her, cutting her off before she could protest. When he broke the kiss, she lowered her head and sighed.
"Sylvie, look at me." He traced his thumb across her cheek. "Put yourself in my hands. I promise I'll handle this---just not tonight."
Sylvie stood in the bedroom doorway and admired Erik, the way his bronze skin contrasted against the white satin sheets. Completely relaxed, he slept sprawled out among the rumpled covers with an arm tucked behind his head.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth while she fastened the crisscross ties of her shirt. She wondered what he'd say if she woke him with kisses, told him she wanted to make love to him all day.
Enticing as that thought was, there were matters to take care of first. Someone was targeting her; she knew that now. And she could think of only one person who'd benefit directly from her death.
She stifled a growl and picked up her keys, and with one last tempting glance at Erik, she left the quiet suite and headed toward the elevator.
On her way through the parking garage, she turned on her cell phone, and almost at once her ring tone went off. She flopped down into the driver's seat, and after a quick check to see who was calling, she flipped open her phone. "Bastien―"
"Gang shootout at riverfront club.... Sound familiar? Where the hell are you?"
"I'm downtown," she answered cautiously, fitting her key into the ignition.
"Well, that's fine news," he snarled. "Get your ass back to the den. And from now on you'll report to me before you go somewhere, do you understand?"
"Yeah, sure," she scoffed. "Hold your breath 'til that happens."
She shut her phone with a snap, and when Bastien tried to ring her right back, she tossed the phone into the passenger seat and ignored it.
\*
"Where is she now?" Niccolo asked.
"I don't know. She was gone when I woke up." Erik slid into the shirt he'd worn the day before and glanced at his cell phone. He'd switched it to speaker and set it on the end table to talk to his brother. "I need you to send Andre or Parker to pick up the Saab before it gets towed. I left it a block from The Cardinal House."
"You can't go to her pack den, Erik."
"Just send someone to pick up the car, will you?"
He walked to the table and shut his phone. He still couldn't believe he'd slept through her leaving. He thought he'd heard the front door at one point, but he'd been half-asleep and thought he'd dreamt it.
Now he knew, and he cursed himself under his breath. If anything happened to her.... If anyone touched her....
He gnashed his teeth in silent rage. He'd kill anyone who tried to take his mate. Her seductive scent lingered on his skin, bolstering his bloodlust.
He took the keys to Niccolo's Porsche from the entry table drawer and tucked his twin 9's into his shoulder holsters. On his way out the front door, he tugged on a sport jacket and centered himself.
Erik knew what he had to do. Before Lange had disappeared, he'd noticed the pack leader straying from his usual routine, varying his daily pattern. On more than one occasion, he'd seen him coming and going from one of the Istvaan safe houses in North Bossier, which was a little too close to home for his liking.
He'd suspected something was up then and went to Niccolo, who'd given him permission to keep a close eye on the Istvaan, mainly to track his unusual behavior: to see if he went out of town, or if anyone unusual came in.
But nothing ever panned out, and when Lange turned up dead, Erik didn't know what to make of it. He knew no one within his own pack had killed him. Male pride would've had someone talking.
At the time, he'd assumed someone in Dallas or New Orleans must've contracted a hit man to take Lange out, but once he'd discovered what a vulnerable state the Istvaan pack was in, he no longer thought that was the case.
In his own family, three alphas stood in line for pack leader: himself, Niccolo, and their little brother, Andre. But Sylvie said she and Lange had no brothers, there was only her and Bastien―a friend rather than a blood relative.
Surely Lange had known neither choice would ensure the continuation of the Istvaan legacy. It also explained his hope that Sylvie would accept Bastien for her mate. With her breeding season upon her and no male heir to continue the bloodline, whoever claimed her would become the next Istvaan pack leader.
Erik gritted his teeth. It made perfect sense: Lange's routine variation; the safe house in North Bossier. The alpha hadn't trusted someone within his own ranks.
He had to find Sylvie fast. Whoever had fired on them at the club hadn't been shooting at her, they'd been targeting him. Lange's killer was still around, and whoever he was, he intended to use Sylvie to gain control of the Istvaan pack.
Sylvie pulled into the shaded driveway of her grandmother's federal-style home and killed the engine. At one time the redbrick homestead had been the Istvaan pack den, but now it was just another safe house among all the others.
A month or so after Lange's funeral, she'd moved in, claiming the house as her own private retreat despite Bastien's objections. He didn't like her taking up residence outside the main estate; it gave her too much privacy, too much independence. It wouldn't do for the Grand Dame to live on the outside, away from immediate pack protection―or so he said.
Had she trusted him more, she might've believed his concerns. Given the circumstances, however, until she came fully into her role as alpha female, she planned to do as she pleased.
She set her car alarm and crossed the side yard, flipping through her keys on her way to the little alcove guarding the kitchen door. Sooner or later Bastien would send someone here to fetch her, but in the meantime, she needed to figure out what she was going to do about the rogue shooter...and about Erik.
Perhaps she could work out an alliance of sorts with the Dartegas. She was under no illusions; there would never be such thing as a singular, area-wide pack, but maybe a marriage between the two families would settle things enough to end the blood-feud.
She was still thinking about that when she entered the sitting room and checked the answering machine.
No messages. That was fine with her. She braced her hand on the back of the couch and unzipped her boots. Before facing Bastien, she needed a shower. She couldn't go to him with Erik's scent clinging to her. He'd demand to know who she'd been with, and that was one conversation she wasn't yet ready to face.
She went upstairs to the bathroom and turned on the shower taps, then crossed the hall to the bedroom she used for her own. While waiting for the water to heat up, Sylvie fished through the closet for a change of clothes and settled for a pair of sand-colored jeans and a flutter blouse with faint gold stripes. Good enough. She took out extra underwear from the dresser and laid it all out on the bed before she stripped naked and tossed everything but her leather pants down the laundry chute.
Back in the bathroom, she turned the handle to switch on the shower. Hot water sheeted toward the back of the stall, and within seconds, steam billowed up, creating a fog behind the dimpled shower glass. Sylvie turned toward the bathroom mirror before she climbed in and tied back her blonde hair away from her face.
Minutes later, while lathering down, she thought about Erik. He must've realized by now she'd left the suite. Despite the fact she'd known him for less than twenty-four hours, it bothered her not knowing his reaction. Was he looking for her right now?
Already she couldn't imagine taking anyone other than Erik for her mate, but she'd left him without any way to contact her. How brilliant was that? It was impossible to say when she might see him again, and if he showed up on Istvaan turf searching for her, it might well get him killed.
That fact pulled her out of her daze. She turned off the taps and reached outside the shower door for the peach-colored towel hanging from the holder.
She patted her face with it and had just stepped out of the shower when she caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the frosted mirror above the sink. She let out a yip of terror and spun around.
"Baird!" She gaped at the familiar face. "Jesus.... Don't you know how to knock?"
"Get dressed. You're supposed to come with me."
His cool tone flicked her on the raw. "Yeah, well, you'll have to wait for me downstairs."
When he lingered in the doorway with that strange, bored look on his face, her hackles rose.
"Do I need to spell it for you? Get out!"
He narrowed his eyes at her but leaned up from the doorway and stalked off down the hall. Rattled, Sylvie wrapped up in the towel and walked to the doorway. She watched him descend the stairs.
Something was going on―but what? Had Bastien finally succeeded in turning the pack against her?
\*
The wind stirred her hair, and she squinted over at Baird, watched him fidget with his little scrap of a goatee while he drove. He twisted it nervously between his fingers, and she wondered what secret he kept from her.
"Where are we going?"
"Out to the lake."
His clipped response marked the first thing he'd said to her since they'd left the safe house. Sylvie bristled. His attitude left a lot to be desired, and knowing they were heading out to the pack running grounds didn't help her mood either. During her last argument with Bastien, he'd given her until the full moon to choose a mate, but secretly she'd been expecting him to push her hand. Was that what was happening now? He planned to drag her out to the cabin and stage a mating coup?
"The full moon isn't for another two days," she muttered to herself, and Baird flicked an annoyed glance at her.
"What do you want me to do about it? I'm just following orders."
"I'm sure you are." She bared her teeth at him in warning.
He rumbled moodily before looking away, and she vowed once she reached the cabin and dealt with Bastien, things were going to change―starting with any males who had a problem answering to a female pack leader.
Sylvie didn't speak to Baird again until they turned onto Full Moon Trail. The winding, holly-lined drive sheltered the main house from prying eyes. When they came around the final bend, the property opened up into green, landscaped yard with a view of shimmering water.
The three-story cabin loomed ahead, a massive redwood A-frame with tinted cathedral windows. Off behind it, cypress trees studded the gold-tinged water, Spanish moss dripping from their forked branches like tufts of phantom hair.
Baird steered them toward the twelve-stall metal outbuilding―a detached garage for pack members to park their cars.
Right away she noticed Bastien's Escalade wasn't in the shed, and she glanced over at Baird. "You drag me out here so he can give me the third degree, and he's going to make me wait?"
She didn't wait for an answer. The minute he stopped the Fiat, she got out of the car and slammed the door. Furious, she checked her cell phone as she walked up the path to the house, but she wasn't logging any missed calls.
On her way across the front porch she tried dialing his number, but all she caught was his voice mail. She shut her phone with a snap.
"Hello?" she shouted when she entered the house, but no one answered back. Sighing in frustration, she tossed her bag up on the counter and strode into the living area.
The back of the room was mostly glass, and she pressed the button that opened the vertical blinds, revealing the stunning lake view. When she turned, she jolted when she found Baird and Tynan watching her from the open space between the den and the small eat-in kitchen.
"When did you get here?" she asked Tynan. "Where's Bastien?"
"Bastien will have no say in this."
Before she could blink, he pulled out a gun and shot her.
She gaped at him in shock. Her hand leapt to the dagger-sharp point of pain in her side but felt no wetness, no blood. Had she imagined it, the silence of the gun?
She looked down and saw the red tag of a tranquilizer dart sticking up through her satin shirt. She couldn't believe it. She looked into Baird's cold eyes. It was the last thing she saw before her vision dimmed and the floor tilted beneath her feet.
"Have a nice nap, princess?"
Tynan's gruff voice cut through the haze, and Sylvie woke to find Baird's pale, lifeless eyes watching her. Black-red blood had spread out across the floor, all the way to where she lay. The magnitude of it struck her all at once, the open gash where his throat had been and the gummy coldness under her fingertips.
Sylvie sat up in a blaze of panic, but the tranquilizer hadn't yet left her system. Helpless, she toppled over, little lights flickering behind her eyes.
Tynan chuckled at her. "I really don't think you have to worry about Baird."
"You're crazy," she sobbed and tried not to retch. The stench of blood and death had thickened the air in the room. She struggled to sit up. "Lange took you in, took care of you―"
"Your brother failed to understand the price of my loyalty."
"Loyalty.... You killed him." Her voice hitched. "He trusted you, and you killed him and dumped him in the river―"
"Shit happens." Tynan's voice was like stone. "I'm a mercenary, Sylvie. And when I don't get paid, I look for compensation. Lange only had to accept my mating petition and none of this would've happened."
"A mating petition...? You don't love me."
"And you think Bastien does?" He smoothed his hands over his bald head and crouched down at her feet. "Love is a joke, Sylvie. Even Lange understood that. It's your bloodline that matters. That, and who's gonna be top dog when the full moon rises."
She gritted her teeth. "I won't choose you as my mate."
"Oh, you'll take me as your mate," he said and rose to his full height, "or the others will have to pull you out of the river just like they did with Lange."
\*
The Istvaan estate sat whisper silent. As Erik drove closer to the house, he saw that the front door hung open and no lights burned in any of the windows.
Warning coiled low in his stomach. All day he'd tracked Sylvie, but he hadn't seen her car parked outside any of the known Istvaan safe houses. After he'd exhausted all his other options, he came here against his brother's wishes, determined to bring the matter of his mating rights and Sylvie's continued safety to the fore.
He'd expected hostility, resistance, outrage. Anything but this....
Dusk gave the house a haunted, abandoned appearance. Nothing seemed to move inside or out on the grounds. Alert to danger, Erik killed the headlights and drifted Niccolo's Porsche in the shadow of a tall hedge. There he parked and reached for a gun from his shoulder holster, checking the clip.
He left the car and cautiously crossed the yard to the gaping front door, the sour tang of blood and beast greeting him, the scents mixed with the odor of burnt gunpowder. Tense with dread, he crossed the threshold into the foyer.
Gunfire had chipped marble from the central pillars, and there were overturned pedestals and broken vases. Heavy smears of blood trailed across the floor to a half-transformed body on the stairs. His hackles rose as he surveyed the damage, fear for Sylvie crawling under his skin, tempting him to shift, to allow his beast to surface.
"Dartega," a voice grumbled from the darkness, and he froze when he heard the loud click of someone pulling back the slide of a gun. "If you're looking for a bullet, you've found it."
"I'm looking for Sylvie," he ground out as he raised his hands in surrender and turned slowly toward the voice. "I've come for her, and nothing else. Whatever happened here has nothing to do with me."
"You don't say...." The male sneered, the barrel of his gun leveled at Erik's chest and those red, reflective eyes boring into him.
Without warning the male lifted his chin and sniffed the air, and an odd expression crossed his face, whether sadness or disappointment, Erik couldn't quite tell. He did know, however, that Sylvie's scent still clung to him, the scent of their joining, and it seemed the other wolf recognized it for what it was.
Eyes blazing, the male made a flicking motion with his gun. "Start walking."
The male pressed the gun barrel against Erik's back and guided him down a pitch dark corridor that led deep into the house. They turned corner after corner, until Erik lost count.
A garbled roar of pain boomed through the walls, a tortured howl that stood his hair on end. He hesitated, but the male bumped him with the gun and ushered him around yet another corner, this one leading to a dimly lit hallway that ended in carved, double oak doors.
"This morning our prime assassin called a meeting," the male rumbled in a moody voice. "Said he had information about last night's club shooting. I wasn't here, but Bastien called him in to listen to what he had to say―" He stopped in front of the doors and nodded at Erik's piece. "Put your gun away."
He did, and the male thumbed the latches and threw the doors wide. Erik took a step back as the overpowering stench of blood and beast hit him full in the face.
It took him a moment to realize he was staring into an elaborate office―the Alpha's inner lair. The room had been shot to pieces, and bullet holes and debris littered the room. Rabid snapping and growling drew his gaze to the battered desk where five werekind males held down a writhing, partly transformed werewolf with blood-soaked towels pressed to the shaggy blond fur.
"Hold him still and keep applying pressure!" someone shouted.
The beast howled in rage and pain, and Erik looked into the feverish blue eyes that glared at them from between the restraining bodies. Shock rolled through him when he realized the ruined face he stared into belonged to Bastien. If his men managed to keep him alive until moon rise, he might make it, but Erik knew with those extensive injuries, he would never be quite the same.
"Silver bullets," the male beside him said, and across the room, one of the pack surgeons looked up from the desk and did a double take.
"Garrett! What the hell are you thinking?" He flicked a glance at Erik. "Get him out of here!"
No one came after them when the male pushed him from the room and followed him out, shutting the double doors so that they muted the howls of agony that seemed to go on and on.
The male, Garrett, turned to him. "Sylvie never came home last night."
"Where would your assassin go for privacy?" Erik asked. "Somewhere isolated, but close by?"
A horrified look crossed the male's face, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "You think he has her?"
When he didn't answer, Garrett shook his head.
"There are dozens of properties: Haughton, Shreveport, Keithville. Over in Bossier...." A startled look crossed his face. "Cross Lake. The cabin is secluded, lots of acreage for running. There's even a private breeding den."
Erik snarled under his breath. "Let's go. Your assassin went to a lot of trouble to set this up. If he has her, he'll kill her if he doesn't get what he wants."
"You will submit!" Tynan yanked her arms above her head, and Sylvie squirmed beneath his weight.
The moment she weaseled a wrist free from his grasp, she slashed him with her claws and watched four red gashes open on his left cheek, streaming blood.
"Bitch!" He gnashed his teeth at her, but she wedged her shins against his stomach and bucked, using the strength of her legs to shove him backward.
He toppled over, and she flipped onto her belly, gasping, scuttling toward the door on all fours.
"Oh, no, you don't!"
Tynan's fingers bit into her calves as he grabbed her, knocking her to her belly. She cried out and scrabbled for purchase, her nails raking grooves across the tile as he dragged her back to him.
Sylvie bucked and kicked, punched and floundered. He flipped her onto her back and loomed over her, grinning.
"Whew!" he chuckled, winded from their struggles. "Keep fighting, princess. I like a little foreplay."
Her fear bled into hatred, and she roared in outrage. She wanted to hurt him, to kill him; it wasn't just about defending herself anymore. Sylvie snapped at his face, missing flesh by a scant inch. She went for his inner arm next, and his razor-sharp claws slashed her side in answer.
White hot pain blazed through her body, and she yowled in agony, the cry mixing with a long, loud rip as Tynan shredded her shirt with his claws.
Cold sweat popped out across her skin, and her muscles twitched involuntarily, her inner beast threatening to surface, to dominate. A noise somewhere between a growl and whimper slipped from her throat, a last ditch effort to hold off the change.
Tynan must've scented her animal side. Perhaps that was what he wanted her to do all along―to shift. His muscles rippled, bulking up, the transformation a living thing racing beneath his skin. His cheekbones crunched and shifted, widening the bridge of his nose, broadening the expanse of his jaw. Eyes blazing, he grabbed her by the throat and roared down at her, his inhuman lips peeling back from sharp white teeth.
She clawed at his fingers in desperation, panic racing through her veins. His brutal hand crushed her, cutting off her air. Her eyes bulged under the strain, and her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears. Suddenly a loud crash ripped through the room, making her jump.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
Tynan stiffened, and a surreal quiet settled around them.
Ears ringing, Sylvie gaped at him in shock. His grip on her throat slackened, and she gasped in a wheezing breath. Tynan's other hand dropped her wrist, and he hovered over her, dazed. Muzzle distended in an awkward pose, he tore his gaze from her and with odd, jerking movements, clutched at his bare chest.
He looked down at his body that remained trapped in mid-transformation and, horrified, Sylvie watched the flesh above his heart darken. Revulsion shrieked through her as deep, blue-black color webbed out across his torso and up his neck. A strangled sound rattled in Tynan's throat, and his eyes rolled up his head. Abruptly, he collapsed backward and was still.
Gasping, she scrabbled away from him.
Death...everywhere is death....
"Sylvie!"
Startled, she looked up at the sound of her name to find Erik rushing toward her, holstering his gun. She struggled to a sitting position and reached for him, a sob escaping her lips. "You found me!" she rasped out.
He dropped down beside her and went straight for her wounds, peeling back the tatters of her shirt to look at the blood-slicked gashes scoring her side.
"They're deep." He glanced into her eyes. "You're losing a lot of blood. We need to get you outside so you can shift." He scooted closer, wrapped an arm around her. "Get up, I'll help you."
"It's true then," Garrett said from the doorway in a hard yet expressionless voice. "You've taken a Dartega as your mate."
Sylvie snarled at him. "Do you challenge?"
The authority in her voice startled even her. Surprise flickered on Garrett's face, and lowering his eyes, he went to check Baird's body.
"Tynan killed them," she told Erik as he helped her cross to the door of the den. "He killed both Baird and my brother."
"Bastien may be dying as well," Garret said behind them. "Tynan shot him and half the council full of silver."
She paused and turned to look at her pack mate, who was crouched beside Baird, covering his body with an afghan. "Where is Bastien now?"
"In Lange's office," he answered. "Piers and Killian are trying to heal him. They think if they can keep the silver from his heart and get him in the moonlight...."
His voice trailed away, and a raw, worried feeling rooted itself in her gut. The prognosis didn't sound good at all, but she knew if anyone was stubborn enough to make it, Bastien qualified.
"You did well, Garrett," she said when he didn't continue. She didn't know what else to say. "The surgeons will do their best for Bastien. And if they need anything for him, we'll see that they have it."
He rose and nodded, then took out his cell phone. "Go and heal. Just keep your mate with you in case there are any other traitors among us." He sighed. "I'll call in a cleanup crew to help me dispose of the bodies."
She nodded, and with one last look at Baird's covered body, Sylvie left the den. Leaning on Erik for help, she walked through the house to the living area, where she flipped the latch on the sliding glass doors and slid back the panel.
The warm night air whispered against her skin, and the cricketing sounds of insects and peepers filled the night. The gentle lapping of the lake soothed her, the blustery summer breeze rustling through the trees.
Out on the back patio, she left Erik's side and limped to the water hose coiled beside of the house. She unwound it a few feet, turned on the squeaking spigot and stripped out of her ruined clothes.
While Erik stood guard, she washed the blood from her body and wet her hair, rinsing away pain and immediate thoughts of Tynan's betrayal. The moonlight beamed against her back with an almost physical touch. It buzzed through her, infusing her with the strength she needed to heal. Her side tingled where the wounds began the slow process of knitting back together.
At last she dropped the hose and turned off the water, then stood and squeezed the excess out of her hair. Erik came to her side, his touch warm after bathing beneath the cold tap. She held still while he examined the three long gashes Tynan had scored into her side. Already they were shrinking, but ink-dark blood seeped from the largest cut, the smell of her blood rivaling the scent of rich copper.
"Sylvie, you need to shift. You'll heal faster."
She sighed and glanced up at the night sky. "Can you believe it? It's already the eve of the wolf moon." After a silent minute, she looked at him again. "You're going to run with me, right?"
Sylvie loped ahead of him, her coat a shade of gray so pale it shone like silver in the moonlight. Erik glimpsed her between shadows, her beauty and grace teasing him, fueling the natural possessive streak he felt toward her.
Faded markings of other males lingered in these woods, and he took account of them. As the new alpha male of this territory, it would serve him to get to know the boundaries, to learn the scents and habits of the other wolves who would soon be his pack mates.
His female leaped through a leafy overgrowth, and he followed her, rustling past the shielding leaves. When he crossed to the other side, Sylvie sat on her haunches in wolf form, waiting for him in a grassy clearing. Right away, Erik realized she'd led him to a private hollow with an undisturbed view of the lake.
He stopped just inside the clearing, and she neared the water's edge, where moonlight shimmered over the glassy surface and fireflies zigzagged in the nearby cattails. There she shifted, her body remolding itself from a wolf on all fours to the sleek, slender woman who had stolen his heart at first sight. He followed suit, shifted into his human form and faced her.
"Sylvie, I want to check your wounds."
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and approached him. He saw she was no longer bleeding, but before he could examine her more closely, she touched the side of his face and sought his mouth in a passionate kiss.
"Sylvie...." he murmured, breaking contact.
"The soreness is gone," she whispered, assuring him.
Heat surged through his body when she edged closer still, nibbling at his lower lip as she took his cock into her warm, expert hands.
Desire pulsed through him, but still he hesitated. After everything she'd been through tonight....
As if reading his thoughts, Sylvie pulled back, and her eyes leveled on his. "I don't want you to hold back. I'm okay, Erik. I mean it. What Tynan tried to do to me...." She shook her head, a fire of conviction burning in her eyes. "I won't let him win. I won't let him strip away my power and confidence as a woman."
Love for her surged through him at that moment. Her strength astounded him. It occurred to him then she would make a fine Grand Dame, and given the current state of the Istvaan Pack, they needed her desperately―almost as desperately as he needed her for himself.
Erik could deny her nothing, but he allowed her to take the lead and control the pace of their lovemaking. He could tell this was something that mattered so much more to her than simple pleasure. Tynan had tried to force himself on her. As her mate, Erik vowed to himself that whatever she needed from him, he would give it to her.
She stroked his cock in one expert hand, caressing him from the base of his erection to the sensitive tip while her other hand cupped and massaged his soft sac. When she went down on her knees before him, his stomach twisted in anticipation. Already he imagined the slick heat of her mouth and the sensual twirl of her tongue.
He threaded his fingers through her pale hair, breathing deep, sharp breaths when she swirled her tongue around the crown of his dick. When she drew him into her mouth and sucked, a growl of ecstasy rumbled in his chest.
Sylvie. She owned him heart and soul. He stroked his knuckles along her cheek, a fire burning in his blood as she bobbed her head over him, her mouth sucking and retreating in a perfectly maddening rhythm. When she looked up at him, her seductive blue eyes hooded with pleasure, a tremor ran through him so high and hot he almost shot out over the edge.
With a groan, he pulled back from her and grasped himself with his hand. Breathing hard, he shivered and stood still, his body taut with self-restraint and a pulse beating in his cock.
When he regained control, he opened his eyes slowly and found her watching him. A slow grin spread across her face.
"Trying to fuck me down early in the game, are you?"
"Oh, there's much more where that came from," she said in a husky voice.
Erik went down on his knees beside her in the cool grass and slid his hand along her thighs. She eased down onto her back, offering herself up to his touch. Such a sexy sacrifice.... He nipped along her clavicle and laved his tongue lower, to her breasts. He sucked at one firm peak, then nipped his way down her body, past the tense, responsive muscles of her smooth stomach to the moist folds at the juncture of her thighs.
Sylvie anchored a hand in his hair, moaning when he stroked along her juicy slit with his fingers, delving, stroking and teasing, while he pleasured her clitoris, making slow circles over it with his tongue.
"Oh, yessss.... Erik.... Oh, just like that."
She sighed and hissed, writhing beneath him, her hips arching sensually whenever he discovered a particular rhythm that she liked, whenever he flicked his tongue against her just so.
Those smoldering eyes watched him, her expression filled with lust, her lips parted a fraction, as if in awe. He listened to her harsh breathing, her little moans, and when he thought he finally had her on the edge of bliss, he tugged her up from where she lay and rolled over with her, pulling her on top of him.
Sylvie needed no instruction. She followed him down and straddled his hips, bracing her hands against his chest. Lifting his cock away from his body, she stroked it against her slick pussy and sank herself onto him, taking his cock inside her inch by slow, torturous inch. Snug, gripping velvet milked him, clutched and squeezed him. Erik felt his balls tighten and clenched his teeth to prolong the pleasure while Sylvie filled herself with him over and over again, taking him to the hilt before sliding up his length again.
Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, that he would come inside her, leave her wanting, she shuddered over him with a hoarse gasp. Reaching between them, she massaged her clit until she spasmed hard over him, her sheath clamping around him in orgasm, her pussy and her soft sobbing noises wringing pleasure from him, tighter and higher until he groaned, helpless at the hands of such delicious torture.
"Oh, shit.... Sylvie, that feels so―"
He grunted, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin when he came. He gripped her down hard on his cock and exploded inside her, shards of color dancing behind his closed eyes.
Erik growled low in his throat, his defenses melting, coming down, his control unraveling in the face of her climax. Sylvie kissed the wall of his chest as if to praise him, then without any warning, she sank her teeth deep.
"Sylvie!"
Light, heat, pure sensation.... It shot through him all at once. Lust, pain, the thrilling buzz of the moonlight; the heady sensations mingled with the sudden flood of pheromones surging through his body, creating a potent, erotic current. It pulsed in his veins, in his cock, and he convulsed beneath her, inside of her, the pleasure so intense for an instant he could've swore he left his body.
The feeling ebbed away slowly, and he floated down, relaxing, trembling still, his heart thundering in his chest. Sylvie nuzzled him, licked his chest, and he laid his hand against her back. Exhausted, satisfied, he traced his fingertips along her spine.
"You gave me your mark."
"Of course I did." She sounded quiet smug. "I always mark what's mine."
"Oh, do you now, little minx?" He chuckled and rolled over with her until they lay comfortably side by side, facing one another. "An honorable thing for you to do, I'm told: marking someone you cherish, someone you love."
"Mm. I think maybe I've heard something about that," she agreed and pushed his hair back from his face. When she smiled at him, the love in her eyes clenched his heart.
"You know," she said, "this is going to be a new era for both our packs. Some of the males might have trouble accepting our union."
"True. And some might leave because of it. But those who remain will adjust, and I believe most of them will stay. When I looked for you at your den earlier tonight, none of your men attacked me. That gives me hope." He stroked his hand over her shoulder, down her back. "It seems you Istvaans are more reasonable than I thought."
A sly expression crossed her face. "I take it that means come morning, you'll be ready to take me back to the den and face the entire pack council?"
He scoffed. "With the leader of the Istvaan pack standing beside me?" He kissed her to hide his smile, then whispered against her lips. "Absolutely...."
Author's Bio
Cora Zane has always held a fascination for the unknown, for the dark things felt rather than seen, strange occurrences that fall into the realm of the paranormal, and the creatures that stalk the night.
In 2005, when she announced to her family that she had written a story about werewolves, they were shocked to discover it was a romance---and an erotic one at that. Two years and string of novellas and short stories later, they've finally accepted her naughty imagination, and her belief that lost souls need love too.
Cora lives in rural North Louisiana with her husband, two kids, and a grumpy old watch dog. You can contact her through her website: www.corazane.com.

