"Comfortable?" I sputtered. "I can't take Clay back to my apartment. You damn well know I can't."
Clay's head jerked up, as if snapped out of a deep sleep. "Why can't you?"
As I met his eyes, I realized he didn't know I was living with Philip. I opened my mouth to say something, but the look on his face froze the words in my throat.
"You'll have to get rid of him," Jeremy said. "Call him and tell him to leave."
"Get rid of who? Call--" Clay stopped. A sick look passed over his face. He stared at me for one long moment. Then he got to his feet and walked from the room.
Now, Jeremy had more talents than any person I knew and he was better at each of them than any person I knew. He could speak and translate in over a dozen languages, he could splint a broken bone so it healed as good as new, he could paint scenes I couldn't even imagine, and he could stop a two-hundred-pound charging wolf with a look. But he didn't know shit about romantic relationships.
"Thank you," I said after Nicholas and Antonio slipped out. "Thank you very much."
"He knows about this man," Jeremy said. "I assumed he knew about your living arrangement."
"And in case he didn't? You decided to humiliate him in front of Nick and Tonio?"
"I said, I thought he knew."
"Well, he does now, and you'll have to deal with it. He's not coming to Toronto with me, if I go at all."
"You are and he is. As for this man, he moved in with you, didn't he? It was your apartment first."
I didn't ask how Jeremy knew this. Nor did I answer.
"Then you can ask him to leave," Jeremy said.
"Just pick up the phone, call him, and tell him I'll be home later today and I want him gone by then?"
"I don't see why not."
I gave a harsh laugh. "You don't dump someone you've been living with by phone. You don't sever all ties at a moment's notice. You don't give him a few hours to clear out of the apartment, not without damn good reason."
"You have a good reason."
"That's not--" I stopped and shook my head. "Let me put this in a way you'll understand. If I call him and tell him it's over, he won't leave. He'll want an explanation, and he'll stay until he's satisfied with it. In other words, he'll cause trouble. Is that a good enough reason?"
"Then don't break up with him. Move back in."
"With Clay?! Not in this lifetime. If you have to send a baby-sitter, send Nick. He'll behave himself."
"Clay knows Toronto. And nothing will distract him from protecting you." Jeremy walked toward the door. "I have you booked on an early afternoon flight."
"I'm not--"
Jeremy was already gone.
Clay was next in line to argue with Jeremy. I didn't eavesdrop, but I would have had to leave the house not to hear them. And since the conversation concerned my future, I didn't see any point in trying not to listen. Clay didn't like this arrangement any more than I did. His strongest instinct was to protect his Alpha and he couldn't do that from hundreds of miles away. Unfortunately, the instinct to obey Jeremy was almost equally strong. As I listened to them battle it out--Clay protesting loudly enough to drown out Jeremy's quiet insistence--I prayed Clay would win and we'd be allowed to stay. Jeremy stood firm. I was going and, since Clay had been responsible for bringing me into this life, he was responsible for ensuring I survived it.
I stood in the study and fumed. Then I made up my mind. I wasn't going back to Toronto and I wasn't taking Clay anywhere with me. No one could make me do it.
I walked into the empty hall, grabbed my keys and wallet from the hall table, and headed out the garage door. I started walking to my car, then stopped. Where was I going? Where could I go? If I left, I couldn't go back to Toronto and I couldn't come back to Stonehaven. Instead of choosing between two lives, I'd be abandoning both. My fingers clenched around my keys, digging the metal into my palm hard enough to draw blood. I inhaled and closed my eyes. I couldn't leave, but if I stayed, I'd have to obey Jeremy. No one could have that kind of power over me. I wouldn't let them.
As I walked around the car, I heard the squeak of shoe rubber on concrete and looked up to see Jeremy standing at the passenger door, holding the handle.
"Where are we going?" he asked calmly.
"I'm leaving."
"So I see. As I asked, where are we going?"
"We're not--" I stopped and glanced around the garage.
"Clay's car is right there," Jeremy said, his voice still even and unruffled. "You have the keys, but not the alarm remote. The Explorer's outside. No alarm, but it's about fifty feet away. The Mercedes is closer, but you don't have the keys. Shall we race to the Explorer? Or would you rather bolt down the drive and see if you can outrun me?"
"You can't--"
"Yes, I can. You're not leaving. The cage is downstairs. I won't hesitate to use it."
"This isn't--"
"Yes, it's terribly unfair. I know. No one would do this to you in the human world, would they? They'd understand that you have a right to kill yourself."
"I'm not--"
"If you leave here alone, you're committing suicide. I won't let you do that. Either you go to Toronto with Clay or I'll lock you up here until you agree."
I whipped the keys to the cement floor and turned my back on Jeremy. After a minute of silence, I said, "Don't make me take him. You know how hard I've worked to create a life there. You've always said you'd support that, even if you don't agree with it. Send me someplace else or send someone else with me. Don't make me take Clay. He'll destroy everything."
"No, I won't."
Clay's voice was as soft as Jeremy's, so much so that I hesitated, thinking I'd mistaken Jeremy for Clay. The door to the house clicked shut as Jeremy went inside. I didn't turn to look at Clay.
"Protecting you is the most important thing to me right now," Clay said. "No matter how angry I am, that doesn't change. I am capable of fitting in out there, Elena. Just because I don't do it, doesn't mean I can't. I've studied and practiced fitting in since I was eight years old. For fifteen years, I did nothing but study human behavior. Once I figured it out and knew I could fit in, I stopped trying. Why? Because it's not necessary. So long as I can modify my behavior in public enough that I don't have to worry about being attacked by mobs with silver bullets, that's good enough for Jeremy and the rest of the Pack. If I did more, I'd be betraying myself. I won't do that without reason. But protecting you is reason enough. This man may not think I'm the most pleasant person in the world, but he'll have no reason to think anything worse of me. I won't destroy anything."
"I don't want you there."
"And I don't want to be there. But neither of us has much say in the matter, do we?"
Again, the door clicked. When I turned, Clay was gone. Jeremy was back, holding the door open for me. I glared at him, then averted my gaze and walked into the house without another word.
That afternoon, Clay and I were on a plane to Toronto.
CHAPTER 23
DESCENT
This was going to be a catastrophe.
As the plane gained altitude, my mood plummeted. Why had I let Jeremy do this to me? Did he know he was about to ruin my life? Did he care? How could I bring Clay to the apartment I shared with Philip? I was about to bring the man I'd been sleeping with into the home of the man I'd made a commitment to. I could never believe stories I heard about people sneaking their lover into their homes as a house keeper, a nanny, a gardener. Anyone who did something like that was morally bankrupt bottom-feeding trash ... which was a pretty good description of what I thought about myself right then.
I'd called Philip that morning and told him I was bringing a guest home. I'd explained that Clay was my cousin, Jeremy's brother, and he was interested in moving to Toronto, so I'd agreed to put him up for a week or so while he looked for work. Philip was perfectly gracious about the whole thing, though when he'd said he'd like to meet my cousins, I suspected he meant inviting them to dinner, not sharing our tiny a
partment.
And what about Clay? Jeremy had to know how much this would hurt him. Again, didn't he care? How were Clay and I supposed to get along under these circumstances? We had to live together in a one-bedroom apartment with none of the Pack to act as a buffer. So far, we hadn't spoken a word to each other since Clay came out to the garage that morning. Thirty minutes from Toronto and we were sitting side by side like strangers.
"Where do you live?" Clay said.
I jumped at the sound of his voice. I glanced over, but he was looking straight ahead, as if talking to the headrest in front of him.
"Where do you live?" he repeated.
"Uh--near the lake," I said. "South of Front Street."
"And work?"
"Bay-Bloor district."
It sounded like idle conversation, but I knew it wasn't. Behind Clay's eyes, his brain ticked, working out the geography and distances.
"Security?" he asked.
"Pretty good. The apartment building has a secured entrance. Nothing fancy. Just keys and a buzz-in system. Dead bolt and chain on my door."
Clay snorted. If a mutt could get past the front door, all the locks in the world wouldn't keep him out of my apartment. I'd once mentioned a security system to Philip, but he thought the only reliable home protection was a good insurance policy. I couldn't tell him I was worried about being attacked. That hardly fit the persona of a woman who took solitary walks at two o'clock in the morning.
"At work there's a first-floor security guard," I said. "You need an ID card to get into my office. Plus it's a busy place. If I stick to regular working hours, no one's going to target me there. I don't even have to go back to work, really ..."
"Stick to regular routines, like Jeremy said." Clay looked out the window. "So who am I supposed to be?"
"My second cousin. In town looking for work."
"Is that necessary?"
"It sounded good. If you're my cousin, then I'd be obligated to put you up--"
"I meant the looking for work part. I'm not going to be looking for work, Elena, and I don't want some elaborate script to follow. Say I'm in town doing work at the university--my normal work. I'll contact a few people there, stop by the department, maybe do a bit of research. Keep it real."
"Sure, but it would seem easier just to say--"
"I'm not playing a role, Elena. Not any more than I have to."
He faced the window and didn't say anything else for the rest of the flight.
No matter how much I'd brooded during the flight, the full impact of what we were doing didn't hit me until we were in the airport. We'd picked up our luggage and were heading to the taxi stand when I realized I was about to take Clay to the apartment I shared with Philip. My chest constricted, my heart pounded, and by the time we were at the entrance, I was in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.
Clay was a full pace ahead of me. I reached forward and grabbed his arm.
"You don't have to do this," I said.
He didn't look at me. "It's what Jeremy wants."
"But that doesn't mean you have to do it. He wants me safe, right? There's got to be another way."
Clay kept his back to me. "I said I'd stay with you. That's what I'm going to do."
"You can do that without going to my apartment."
He stopped and turned just enough so I could see his quarter profile. "How am I supposed to do that? Sleep in the alley outside your building?"
"No, I mean we don't have to go to my apartment. We'll go someplace else. A hotel room or something."
"And you'll go with me?"
"Sure. Of course."
"And you'll stay with me?"
"Exactly. Whatever you want."
I could hear the desperation in my voice and despised it, but I couldn't stop myself. My hands were shaking so badly that people around us were starting to stare.
"Whatever you want," I repeated. "Jeremy won't know. He said he won't contact us by phone, so he won't know whether we're staying at the apartment. I'll be safe and you'll be with me. That's what's important, right?"
For nearly a minute, Clay didn't move. Then he slowly turned toward me. As he did, I caught a glint of something like hope in his eyes, but it vanished as soon as he saw my expression. His jaw tightened and he locked my gaze.
"Fine," he said. "Anything I want?" He wheeled toward a bank of pay phones and grabbed the nearest receiver. "Call him."
"He said we can't call him. No phone contact."
"Not Jeremy. This man. Call him and tell him it's over. The apartment's his. You'll pick up your stuff later."
"That's not--"
"Not what you meant, right? I didn't think so. What's the plan then? You run back and forth between us until you've made up your mind?"
"I've made up my mind. Anything that happened at Stonehaven was a mistake, like it's always been a mistake. I never misled you. You knew there was someone else. It was the same damned thing that happens every time I go back to that place. I get caught up in it. I lose myself."
"In what? The house? A pile of bricks and mortar?"
"In that place," I said, gritting my teeth. "That world and everything about it, including you. I don't want it, but when I'm there, I can't resist. It takes over."
He gave a harsh laugh. "Bullshit. There is nothing in this world or that world or any world that you couldn't fight, Elena. Do you know what magical spell 'that place' has you under? It makes you happy. But you won't admit that because, to you, the only acceptable happiness comes in the 'normal' world, with 'normal' friends and a 'normal' man. You're bound and determined to make yourself happy with that kind of life, even if it kills you."
People were openly staring now. Alarm bells should have been going off in my head, telling me I was acting improperly for the human world. But they weren't. I didn't give a damn. I turned on my heel and glared at two elderly women tut-tutting behind me. They fell back, eyes widening. I strode toward the exit.
"When's the last time you called him?" Clay called after me.
I stopped.
Clay walked up behind me and lowered his voice so no one else could hear. "Not counting this morning when you called to tell him we were coming. When did you last call?"
I said nothing.
"Sunday," he said. "Three days ago."
"I've been busy," I said.
"Bullshit. You forgot him. You think he makes you happy? You think this life makes you happy? Well, then here's your chance. Take me there. Show me how happy it makes you. Prove it."
"Screw you," I snarled and strode to the door.
Clay came after me, but he was too late. I was out of the airport and in a cab before he caught up. I slammed the cab door, narrowly missing Clay's fingers, then gave the driver my address. As we pulled away, I allowed myself the small satisfaction of looking in the side mirror and seeing Clay standing on the sidewalk.
Too bad I hadn't been more specific when I told him where I lived. "Near" the lake covered a lot of real estate ... with a lot of apartment buildings.
When I got to my building, I buzzed up to my apartment. Philip answered, sounding surprised when I announced myself. I hadn't lost my key. Don't ask why I buzzed to be let in. I only hoped Philip wouldn't ask either.
When I got upstairs, Philip was in the hall outside the elevator. He reached out and embraced me. I instinctively stiffened, then hugged him back.
"You should have called from the airport," he said. "I was waiting to pick you up." He looked over my shoulder. "Where's our guest?"
"Delayed. Maybe indefinitely."
"He's not coming."
I shrugged and feigned a yawn. "Rough flight. Lots of turbulence. You have no idea how glad I am to be home."
"Not as glad as I am to have you home, hon." Philip escorted me into the apartment. "Go sit down. I picked up roast chicken at the deli for dinner. I'll reheat it."
"Thanks."
I didn't even have my shoes off when someone pounded at the door. I thought of ignoring i
t, but it wouldn't do any good. Philip may not have had my sense of hearing, but he wasn't deaf.
I yanked open the door. Clay stood there holding our luggage.
"How did you--" I started.
He held up my overnight bag. Dangling from the handle was the tag with my name and address neatly printed on it.
"Pizza delivery kid held open the front door for me," he said. "Great security."
He walked in and threw our luggage by the coat rack. Behind me, the kitchen door opened. I tensed and listened to Philip's footsteps as he approached. The introduction jammed in my throat. What if Clay didn't go along with it? Was it too late to change my story? Was it too late to shove him out the door?
"You must be Elena's cousin," Philip said, walking up and extending a hand.
"Clay," I managed to get out. "Clayton."
Philip smiled. "Nice to meet you. Which do you prefer? Clayton or Clay?"
Clay said nothing. He didn't even glance at Philip, hadn't looked at him since he'd entered the room. Instead, he kept his eyes on mine. I could see the anger simmering there with the outrage and the humiliation. I braced for the outburst. It didn't come. Instead, he settled for unconscionable rudeness, ignoring Philip, his greeting, his question, and his outstretched hand, and striding into the living room.
Philip's smile faltered only a second, then he turned to Clay, who stood at the window with his back to us. "The sofa bed's right there," he said, waving at the couch, where he'd left a pile of bedding. "I hope it's not too uncomfortable. It's never been used, has it, hon?"
Clay's jaw tightened, but he kept looking out the window.
"No," I said. I struggled to think of something to add, some elaboration or change of subject, but nothing came.
"We're supposed to have a lake view," Philip said with a forced chuckle. "I think if you stand three paces to the left of the window between one and two in the afternoon, turn right, and squint a certain way, you can see a sliver of Lake Ontario. At least, that's the theory."
Still Clay said nothing. Neither did I. Silence deadened the room, as if Philip were talking into a vacuum, his words leaving no echo or impression.
Philip continued, "The other side of the building has a better view of Toronto. It's a great city, really. World-class amenities with a decent cost of living, low crime rate, clean streets. Maybe I can get off work a few hours early tomorrow and take you for a driving tour before Elena gets home."