Chapter 30
Les Loups
TYSON
Tyson shut the door and bolted it, then promptly turned around and stared at his two companions.
How had he ended up in this situation?
A woman who refused to give him her name stood in front of him. It hadn’t escaped his notice that she was still holding a dagger. His other guest was Alec, who looked like a man who had just realized he’d allowed himself to be locked in a room with a vampire.
Tyson studied them both in silence.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
The longer he was in their company, the more he longed to know them.
He didn’t just want to know how they liked to be fucked or whether they preferred white or red.
He wanted to know how they had ended up here.
The whole story. But getting to know someone required both parties to share.
And no one truly knew who he was. Hell, he didn’t even know who he was.
A discomfort he always tried to avoid threatened to crack his mask again, and he almost asked if either of them wanted a drink, but caught himself before the words slipped out. He was not hosting a party.
He was in the Lawless Lands, concealing two near-strangers, while his Uncle lay unconscious, and negotiations with Chastity fell apart. And most inconvenient of all was that his bloodstone had decided that one of these two people belonged with him.
Just when Uncle Bastien had started to trust him.
The woman grunted. “Don’t get any ideas, vampire. You are outnumbered.”
“Are you going to stab me?” Tyson asked the woman. “Or can we put that away for the duration of this conversation? I promise not to bite unless asked nicely.”
He laughed at his own joke. They just stared at him, probably wondering why he was such an idiot. “Or keep it. Whatever makes you happy.”
“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t trust you,” the woman said.
“Well,” Tyson replied, “you’ve made that perfectly clear.”
He dropped into the lone chair, feeling like this couldn’t get any worse. “Start talking. Names. Why witches were chasing you. Why you’re wearing moonstones. And, ideally, why the gods decided to make you my problem.”
They exchanged a look, and it seemed to Tyson that a whole silent conversation passed between them.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Alec began. “We don’t want any trouble. She won’t give you her name. Not until she’s ready.” He pushed back thick black hair from his brow, but it fell right back in his eyes. Those red-brown eyes. “As for me, perhaps you remember me from Chateau Rose?”
The question dissolved through Tyson’s frustrations with the situation.
“Of course, I remember you,” Tyson said.
“You’re one of Claire’s consorts. Alec. Right?
” The man nodded. Tyson bit his lip, eyeing him.
“You drank her under the table, right before my uncle nearly murdered you.” He chuckled. “And me.”
Alec smiled, revealing a single dimple, and Tyson forgot how to breathe. He’d seen beautiful mouths before. He had tasted them. Laughed against them. And then conveniently forgot them by morning. But he’d never been so captivated by the curve of a mouth before.
At least, not one that wasn’t already around his cock.
“I thought you wanted me to answer the questions, m’lord,” Alec said.
Tyson could barely tolerate the cheek in his voice. He had to bite his lip again to keep from saying anything else. This was going horribly. Pinching his temples between his fingers, he gestured for Alec to continue. “Of course. Sorry. Keep talking. I’ll be quiet.”
Why was he being so awkward? He was never awkward. He could flirt in three languages. He’d charmed members of the human aristocracy. And yet here he was, tripping over himself in front of a man who worked as one of Claire’s consorts. A man who he’d openly laughed at when he told his werewolf story.
The irony was not lost on Tyson.
“We need to speak with Miss Claire. Right away,” Alec insisted. “It’s very important.”
It was hard to hear him say 'please' and then deny him anything. Perhaps he was his mate. A truly unorthodox pairing in vampire society, but not unheard of. It would absolve him of needing to create an heir right away. But the problem remained. He didn’t want to be mated right now. He couldn’t.
Tyson leaned back in the chair and crossed one ankle over his knee, trying to act aloof and unaffected.
“What could be so important that you need to speak with Claire right now?”
The two shared another look, which might’ve been an entire conversation. Tyson, uncomfortable with how little control he had over his emotions, returned to humor. “If you don’t tell me, I could hand you back to Chastity,” he teased. “She seems very enthusiastic about jailing you.”
Her nostrils flared before she kicked over the small wooden table between them. Tyson didn’t move to pick it up, and neither did she. They simply watched each other.
He’d grown up around the women of his Uncle Marius’s court who performed for him.
Who fluttered their lashes in the hopes of earning his favor.
Okeri had never been that girl. She’d been one to fight and laugh and drink with him.
It was how they became such good friends.
But this girl was different. She had an air about her that made his spine straighten.
“I am not afraid of Chastity,” she said evenly, though the jumping pulse in her throat betrayed the lie. “And I’m not afraid of you.”
When a woman put him in his place, he normally felt inadequate. Like the way he felt when his cousin did it. But when she did it, it made him want to be the man he thought he could be. If Alec’s mouth had entranced him, then her anger unmade him.
Was it her? Could she be his mate?
Alec set his hand on her shoulder and gave her an earnest look. The familiarity between them twisted something unpleasant inside Tyson. “We should tell him.”
“Absolutely not,” she shot back.
More firmly, Alec said, “Yes.”
Tell him what? Tyson couldn’t take it. What did they know that he didn’t? Which one of them was his mate? Beat. Beat. Beat. One of their hearts was alive in his stone.
The woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Fine. Tell him.”
Alec gave her an affectionate look before turning his attention back to Tyson. “This is going to sound crazy, I know, m’lord. But we are Claire’s wolves.”
Tyson’s brows lifted. Well. That was… surprising. “You mean the brown and white ones that fought with us in the tunnels?”
Alec nodded. “She thought we were familiars. But we aren’t,” he admitted. “We’re both werewolves who didn’t have the power to shift back into human form until we put on these moonstones.”
Tyson opened his mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “What?”
The woman with the dagger growled. “We don’t have time to explain every detail. The bottom line is that werewolves can sense things. And when we put on these moonstones, it was like we were plugged into Shayla’s network.”
Tyson stood from his seat. “Are you saying you know what she’s planning?”
The woman shook her head. “No, it’s not like that. It’s not like I can read her mind. But I can feel them coming.”
“We both can,” Alec said.
“Coming where?” Tyson asked.
The woman made an impatient sound. “Coming here!”
Tyson studied their faces carefully, searching for exaggeration. He’d always been skeptical of tall tales, but for whatever reason, he believed theirs. “You’re sure that Shayla is coming here?”
They both nodded. Tyson dragged a hand down the front of his jacket as if smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. “One question before we go find my uncle.” He pointed at them both. “Do either one of you feel anything toward me? Anything you want to get off your chest?”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk to you or your uncle. I only want to speak with Claire. What I have to say is for her alone.”
“Okay,” he said quickly. “So you clearly hate me. That’s very helpful. And you?”
Alec dipped his head. “I really just want to get back to Claire, m’lord. That’s all.”
Tyson stared at them both for a long moment. They didn’t seem the least bit interested in him. Maybe his bloodstone was defective. Or maybe it was just him.
“Well, let’s find my uncle. Hopefully, he isn’t in too foul a mood after being force-fed. Although something tells me he will be.”
Tyson opened the door and found he wasn’t alone. Witches. Dozens of them. The corridor was packed so tightly he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Every wand was raised. At him.
“Hello, handsome,” one said.
The spell left her wand without warning.
Tyson did not have time to draw steel, or step back, or do anything to protect the two people behind him. The force of the spell struck him square in the chest and drove him backward. His spine hit stone hard enough to steal the air from his lungs. The taste of blood filled his mouth.