Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Knight
I twirl in my chair and put my feet down so I stop, facing the demon himself, Dante.
I look at his grim, brooding face. Does he kill with his bare hands? He’s given orders, sure. Gotten himself in the thick of it and shot a few pricks who deserved it. But bare hands? As in straight up murder? A murderer of male beauty?
Yeah. Not sure about that one.
Me, being the male beauty in question, is bothered and then some.
“Are you still mad?” I ask.
Dante raises a brow. “Fuck, Knight, I don’t know. Hey, Reap, you think I’m still fucking furious at this asshat?”
Freaking hell, but Reaper moves like death itself. Cold and silent. One minute I’m in my suite, and I’m aware that Dante walks in. Just, but I was aware.
Reaper? Not there and then boom, present. No awareness. Nothing. That psychopath is on a different plane of existence.
He’d also kill me in a blink, then not lose a second’s thought about me. Or anyone .
Except, perhaps, Dante.
The man with the scarred face, who’s a bonafide pussy magnet in all the ways a magnet works, eyes me. Reaper then moves about the office. “Yes.”
I breathe out, tap out a tattoo on the arm of my chair. “She’s been in there for three days. I can’t really smell her anymore.”
“That’s a lie.” Dante glances at the three computer screens, and then at the laptop that has something else on it. “She’s got a potent scent and for some reason, we can all still smell her.”
“It’s not my fault.” I shrug. “That’s not how bites work.”
“You had to fucking do it, didn’t you?” Dante asks.
“Hey, I didn’t fuck her or knot her.” I smirk. “That’s worth something.”
“A stay of execution.”
I shoot the filthiest look I can at Reaper for the comment. He’s joking. Is he joking? Does the man joke? Fuck.
“It’ll wear off. Right?” I look from one of them to the other, and they exchange a look of their own. “What?”
Like, yeah, I’m younger than them, and way prettier than them, but I’m not a child. I’m thirty-two. Not five.
I’m not telling them I got Darcy to bring Liz a super-soft blanket for her heat. Just like I’m not mentioning how I feel both bad and not bad I bit her. I waver on that.
What I do know is I can almost feel her, and every now and then a twinge hits me, like a sliver of her heat somehow infiltrates me.
“Did you get something on her and the Council?” Dante asks.
“Not really.” I turn, pick up the laptop and hand it to him as Reaper slides deeper into the office in my suite, gaze on one of the bigger screens. “It looks like they don’t have much. Only that her father was shunned—and they have him listed as Connor Roth. She’s unregistered and has an interview scheduled this coming week. She’s twenty-one and they want to mate her with some dick named Craig Edmonton who’s about a thousand. He’s an alpha of a small pack of no consequence.”
“So nothing we didn’t know already.” Dante frowns. “Why give her to them, to him?”
“Wrong question,” says Reaper quietly. There’s a cigarette behind one ear.
I almost tell him not to smoke, but if he’s going to, he will, so I leave it. Reaper’s a definite “choose your battles” kind of guy.
“Maybe,” Dante says. “But I know how the Council operates. She’ll be considered a prime cut of meat. A gift for a bigger outfit, one that’s either got an alpha ready to move on and start his own pack, or where he’s poised to take over. Fuck, I’m shocked they don’t have a mating war for her.”
“Mating war?” I look at him with a frown, uneasiness spreading through me.
“Where they do their version of speed dating, only to see who matches with her in soulmate terms.” Dante taps on the keyboard of the laptop.
Reaper’s got a book in his hand. I didn’t even notice him picking it up. He doesn’t glance up from the page. “Or they match her to the highest bidder.”
I cough. “Bidder?”
“Where people put in money to gain a better standing with the Council,” Dante says. “Keep up. You should know this.”
“I wasn’t interested in any of this bullshit. I wanted to go to college and make a shit ton of money in some skyscraper that glitters and rains cash in a big, expensive city. Pack living wasn’t exactly front and center conversation in my home. I’m an anomaly.”
Thing is, I’m putting my best, cocky, asshole foot forward here. I have to. Dante’s the kind of alpha that makes most alphas wish they were betas. And Reaper is… well, he’s something else.
I’m up there when I need to be, but I prefer my place behind the scenes.
I just want them to know. As the new kid on the block. These two…they go way back. We’re past the new alpha in the pack bullshit, but my head still plays that game.
Because I know if I were with any other alphas, they wouldn’t be alphas. I’d be at the top.
The three of us are meant to be equal. And we are. It’s just good old Dante’s right there. At the peak of our triangle.
“I know. I know.” I hook an ankle up to the opposite knee and resist the urge to play with the dark denim edge of my jeans. “I fucked up. And I know the basics, but I didn’t study Advanced Council Studies. The bite’s going to reverse. I didn’t?—”
“Bites,” Reaper says, “are used to track, to control, and to bind.”
There’s a grimness about him right now that’s got zilch to do with the reaper part of his name. Or maybe it does. He’s hard to read, even for me.
The man isn’t a talker and when he does, he’s often just blunt. At first, I took it as him not being as smart as me because I’m fucking smart. I’m up there. So’s Dante, in a different sense.
But that aura of people misreading him is something I suspect he cultivates. Or allows others to cultivate for him.
They underestimate him.
Once.
The time I did, he could have killed me, snapped my neck. He didn’t. Instead, he taught me to kill, fight, defend, hurt. And he told me I never had to use the skills as killing isn’t in my blood, not like him or like Dante. But now I know how, and that’s important .
Even, he said, if I never utilize it.
Biggest fucking speech he ever gave me.
That moment changed our dynamic, and I went from the new kid to full on accepted. By him. And me accepting him.
Dante? Never an issue. He saved my ass, saw my potential, made me a partner when he could have just claimed the top job in our outfit and lives.
Which, I guess, is why I feel his displeasure like a fucking brand being held against my skin. I owe him, in a way.
“Yeah,” I say to them both, “but…” I turn my chair and clear one of the screens to type on my keyboard. “See? I didn’t mate with her and she didn’t mark me. She’ll be fine. She’s out of heat, she’s not bonded, not truly. And we can use it to track her when we let her go. At least until the bite fades.”
“If it fades.” Dante slides the laptop on the desk next to me. “We might have to look into getting it reversed. Somehow.”
“What—”
“He means, Knight, her scent’s potent. To us. You bit her and marked her, and since we’re a pack, we can feel the pull.”
Fuck, another long speech from Reaper. Maybe I’m unconscious and this is a dream.
“If we can track her through it, others can track us through her,” he continues. “He’s saying if it’s a soulmate kind of bullshit situation, or to put it another fucking way, if your pheromones are a particular and rare match, and you’ve gone and taken us along for the ride in pheromone matched hell, she can be used.”
“I’ve told you and Reaper’s told you, she’s clean.” I frown. She’s clean, a good girl, a good person. It’s as bright as day, that fact.
Liz just oozes sweetness and innocence. And goodness.
“And she sings,” I say. “I heard her.”
Dante stares like I’ve lost my mind .
“She does.” Reaper shrugs, turns a page of the book. “I heard her walking by her room.”
“What the fuck?” Dante rubs a hand over his closely trimmed beard. And eyes both of us with evil intent.
“It shows she’s innoc?—”
“If we have to have her around, we could use her. We have a stage,” Reaper says, cutting me off.
“And if we need to bring people to us, then she might be the drawing card,” I add. I don’t particularly want to do that, but earning keep or sent away are the only current options.
If I was Liz, I’d choose the stage.
“I vote for Reap’s idea,” I say.
“Why not utilize her talents while she’s here?” Reaper turns another page.
“Yeah, and it’s better than her being a prisoner.” I shrug. “If we want to know who might be interested in her, what’s wrong with offering a little honey from the pot?”
“Honey from the pot?” Dante looks disgusted. “And I’m not keeping her as a prisoner. The moment we know what’s up and that mark’s gone, I want her gone. In the meantime, I’ll think about having her sing.”
In Dante-language, that means no.
I turn to Reaper, looking for some kind of back up. “She’d bring in a crowd. Her looks can pack the house alone. Add in her singing and the money… It’ll rush in.”
“Fuck, Knight.” Dante huffs.
“Because she’s clean, you mean. And pretty.” Reaper doesn’t look up from the book.
Well yeah. “Also, her father was shunned by the Council, but she wasn’t. His death brought about her coming to their attention. To the point where they rushed to find her a match. It’s a bit weird, if you ask me. So it stands that they have something…”
As I say this, I start to falter .
It isn’t about sweetness and innocence or a new omega falling into the Council’s clutches at the right time. It’s something else. Something I’m not seeing.
“What is it, Knight?” Dante asks.
“The timing’s all really convenient, isn’t it? Dead father, discovered omega, a mate in the wings… an ancient mate at that. Also, if the Council knew about her father, then why not just take her?” I frown. “Unless there’s a bylaw that states a shunned societal member’s offspring out of reach until the parent dies or they go into heat.”
“I don’t think so,” says Dante. “If there is, it’s so arcane and buried that someone might fight them on it.”
“Just like I doubt there’s a clause about pairing her off immediately to an old dude,” I snort.
“Even if there was something like that, which there isn’t, people would fight. Relatives for one.” Dante crosses his arms.
“No one fights the Council,” I say. “You’re talking court? No one takes them to court.”
“He’s not talking court.” Reaper’s face is shadowed. “He means a different fight.”
“That’s what I mean,” I say. “There’s something off.”
“No shit.” Dante shakes his head. “But maybe you’re right. They wouldn’t be seen dead in court, and I don’t think the council wants to actively fight us over a girl who doesn’t want to be handed over to someone she didn’t pick.”
“So, she stays?” I ask.
“There’s a difference between stay and hold.” Dante’s mind is clearly ticking. “We can’t hold her here forever. Not against her will.”
“She could work for us.” I repeat, looking at them both. “Sing.”
“Even if she doesn’t want to?” Reaper says.
Though the thought crossed my mind. “She will. I think it’ll be worth it for us. I can charm her.” I smile .
“You’ve done enough damage, Knight.” Dante narrows his eyes at me. “Next you’ll say you should fucking bond with her.”
I don’t want to bond, but fuck, she tasted sweet, and I do want to go there again. When she’s safe.
Which is now.
It’s been three days. Her heat’s done. Apparently, she’s sleeping, according to Darcy, who’s the only one that’s been in there. The only one with a key.
Fuck.
And fuck again. Y’know, just for good measure.
And I think I just like her. She’s refreshing, and I…oh, hell. I want to get to know her. Just in a simple no agenda way.
I’m pathetic.
“We need to do something,” I say. “She’s got her meeting to register?—”
“Darcy’s going to call, pretend to be Lizette and tell them she’s in heat.” Dante rubs a hand over his chin. “In all honesty, I don’t think we should let her go. Or sing. Or be seen, really.”
“A prisoner isn’t a good idea either, man.” I glare at him. “C’mon.”
Reaper meets my gaze. Then he looks over to Dante. “Plan A’s good. And we can shift it into a plan B.”
“What the fuck’s plan A?” I ask. “And plan B? How many plans do you have?”
I fucking know Dante’s playing with me when he says, “Plan A is…we let her go.”
“No.” I point at him. “You’re going to somehow make her come back.”
“This part of the conversation is over, Knight,” Dante says. “We have a plan. We let her go. If she comes back on her own because she realizes here is safer than out there, then we’ll see about your plans.”
“You want to find out if she heads off to the Council.” I pull up the old dude she’s meant to mate with on my screen. “I don’t think so. Look at this guy.”
Fuck, that old man is one ugly guy. And callous. The cruelty’s dark and glints in his eyes. To me, he looks like a weak man who’s alpha by proxy.
What did Reaper say?
“What’s plan B?” I turn to him. “And what did you mean, wrong question?”
“She’s beautiful, very young, and she smells untouched. That’s worth a lot. There are all kinds of black market deals when it comes to untouched and pretty omegas. Maybe the Council’s not above that. So, why is she being shipped to an insignificant and unheard of pack in Hover Valley instead? What’s their worth to the Council?” Reaper closes the book, but doesn’t put it down. “What do they have? What is the strategic place they hold, or what is it they’re sitting on in terms of wealth for the Council?”
Wow, we’re breaking Reaper milestones by the second here. Another speech.
It’s smashed all the records I know about. Which, to be fair, is the one I keep in my head.
“Hover Valley’s nice, but it’s a getaway for the rich. A couple of insignificant packs, and Edmonton’s the most mundane of all. He’s not rich.”
“Not talking money.”
“Then what?” I ask Reaper.
“Not sure.” With that, he leaves. With my book.
“What do you think, Dante?” I ask him.
“I’m fucking thinking you got us in this, you get us out.”
I nod. “And apart from magic?”
His expression’s dark. “I think maybe we look into who’s in his pack, and any connections with the Council. When Reaper talks, it’s worth it to fucking listen.” He taps a hand on the wall as he starts to turn to go. “And keep an eye on that Jake person if you can. And Ghost.”
Hours later, I crack my neck, mind wandering back to the meeting.
And Ghost.
The name fucking haunts me, and I don’t even know him. He was before my time. All I know is, he and Dante used to be close. He betrayed Dante and now he’s the enemy. I won’t say he’s the only one, but he’s up there near that prime spot.
I work for a few more hours and when I’m done, with lots of nothing’s, maybe’s, and could be’s in all the areas Dante asked me to look at. I don’t know if we’re near any kind of answer.
Except both Dante and Reaper are right. Something’s up.
I just don’t know what.
Upstairs, on the club floor, I get a glass of red wine. There’s a girl catering to the patrons, scantily clad, a beta who’s fucking more than hot, one I’ve had call me Sir before. I don’t have them play at calling me Daddy if they work here, but she’s so fucking pretty. The perfect good girl. Blonde and blue eyed, full of trust and a natural sub who’s a freak in bed.
I prefer that dynamic to straight up Sub and Master. I like the softness, the ability to indulge in praise kink. I like to shower a girl in gifts, or turn stern in a loving way.
Not that I love any of them.
It’s a game.
Role play.
I like it because I’m not the idea of a Daddy Dom. It turns shit on its head. And it gets me all sorts of women who want to play. My favorites are the older women. Having them crumble down into trusting me with everything is a power trip that’s orgasmic on its own.
Lizette was…unexpected .
She fits it, but it’s her, not a game, and I don’t tend to play with actual innocents.
I stop eyeing Cora as she gives a lap dance in the corner to her customer. It’s not forbidden, it’s not required. We just draw the line at the guys touching. Or fucking our girls.
When the burlesque dancer comes on, I go back down to our private floor.
Something’s moving low through my blood.
Like a hunger, a need, a disturbance in my own personal equilibrium.
It’s not until I find myself, glass in hand, outside the door where a sweet and seductive spell flavored with rich and complex gardenias seep through.
Fuck.
Darcy left the key in the lock.
Double fuck.
“Move away, dude,” I tell myself.
Instead, like it’s totally autonomous from me, my hand turns that key, then the handle, and I push the door open.
I close it just as a boot sails close to my head, hitting the wood with a thump.
“You.”
Well, she’s definitely not in heat now. Her hair’s damp and she’s got on…I don’t know what the fuck she has on. It’s too tight, too short and it looks fucking spectacular. Shit. My body pulses in response to her.
More than it should.
Is it because I fucking marked her? I have no idea. I haven’t marked anyone before. I edge around, sipping the wine.
“You ruined my life,” she says, all snarl and claw.
“On the bright side, we helped you and kept you safe through your heat.”
Her gaze slams into me. “I’m stuck here!”
To my horror, she gives a gulp and then she covers her face with her hands, dropping to the bed. Her shoulders shake .
Is she fucking crying?
Shit, she’s fucking crying.
“Hey…hey…” I down my wine and set the glass on the dresser as I pass. Then I go to her and I kneel. I stroke a hand over her damp hair. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” She looks at me, cheeks a little damp, but the tears are gone. “I just want the world to be normal again. I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to marry that horrible old man.”
“I get it.” I almost say I’m not sure a wedding’s involved, that it’s about claiming and mating which is far more binding than a wedding, but I decide not to. “But right now you’re here.”
“Where I don’t want to be. No one wants to be a prisoner or a guest who isn’t allowed to leave.” The bitterness bites the air. Then her lip trembles. “I miss my dad.”
“It’s going to be alright.” I shift closer and so does she and suddenly all I can think or breathe is her.
She’s clutching my shoulders, pulling me in, and I do the same until she tumbles down on to me and our mouths fuse in a slow, deep kiss.
It’s carnal and sweet. Sex and romance. And connection.
It’s a fucking drug, and it starts to morph into more, into wild licking heat. And I start to tug at her top as she pulls at my T-shirt. I want that spot again, just to suck, it’s so heady that spot on her throat, the perfect taste and?—
“Jesus F., Knight,” Darcy snaps from the door.
I push Lizette away from me as she scrambles free. We’re both breathing heavily, and she won’t look at me. I get it. I’m one of Darcy’s pack alphas, and I sure as fuck don’t want to look at her.
Woman’s got a stare of disapproval that could fall a fucking army.
I scramble up. “I was?—”
“Dante sent me to get you. And tell you to get out. Now. ”
I do and slide past her and her tray of food. The door slams.
I’m halfway to my room when I’m grabbed by Dante, who slams me into the wall. “Do you have a death wish?”
“No.”
“Then we have work to do. And if you step out again, I’ll hand you to Reaper.”
Fuck.