Deceit Can Be Deadly

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you. But why?” She looked at him quizzically, the morning sunlight streaming in through her apartment window and highlighting the various shades of red in her hair.

  “I have a vague recollection of suggesting you have your way with me last night.” He watched as the corners of her mouth twitched. “I might have been slightly under the influence of alcohol.”

  “Slightly?” Her eyes widened. “It was more like your brain was marinating. However,” she took the bouquet of flowers and sniffed them. “I’ve run a bar for years and have seen my fair share of inebriated men, so you’re forgiven.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come in while I put these in water.” She led the way to the kitchen. “You did have just cause for drinking though. I remember drowning my sorrows for quite some time after Sven passed away.”

  “Sven?”

  “Ancient history.” She gestured towards her arm. “My tat is a memorial to him. And is also called Sven.”

  “I see.”

  “We have wonderful conversations.” She smiled. “He never argues, keeps me company and,” she cast a look his way, “never gets drunk.”

  “A truly remarkable man…er…tattoo.” He chuckled softly. “Since I’m not as perfect as Sven and did get drunk, could I beg some coffee from you?”

  “I’ll mix you an herbal tea that will negate the hangover.”

  “Er…” He recalled the last ‘remedy’ and shuddered. “Thanks, but coffee will do.”

  “That you can fix yourself, then. Coffee’s in the cupboard.”

  He made a reviving brew while she arranged the flowers. There was an air of delight about her as she worked with the delicate blooms, her fingers pausing to stroke the petals. Buying the flowers had been a gamble as he wasn’t sure how she’d feel about such a traditional gesture. It would seem that the outwardly harsh shell harboured a lover of natural beauty.

  She looked his way and a faint stain of pink graced her cheeks. “I ran a plant nursery once.”

  He nodded. “Having lived as long as you have, I’m sure you’ve had a variety of careers.”

  “A few.” She shrugged. “It was much harder years ago. A woman wasn’t supposed to have a career.”

  “And you’d have to hide the fact you were a witch.”

  “And my age. I think the longest I ever stayed in one place was twenty years before the rumours of my perpetual youth began.” She stood back to examine the floral arrangement and then began to adjust the blossoms again. “Arriving alone in a new town, the easiest place to get work was a bar. They often assumed I was a whore but I soon put them straight. Once I saved enough, I started buying my own establishments to run and the girls I employed had no obligation to provide ‘extras’ unless they wished.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  “They were loyal and hard-working, grateful for a chance. Many had escaped abusive situations.” She walked into the living room and set the bouquet on a table. “That brightens the room.”

  He moved to stand beside her. “They do look lovely, though not as lovely as you.”

  “Laying it on a bit thick there, Dante.” She looked at him askance.

  “Is this better?” He leaned over and brushed a chaste kiss against her lips.

  “Not better but less likely to raise my suspicions that you’re buttering me up for something.”

  “No buttering, I promise.” He raised his hands.

  “What about some explaining then.”

  “Explaining?”

  “Your coffee is ready.” She headed back to the kitchen. “And yes, explaining. Such as why you approached me to begin with? Why you were basically stalking me? Oh, and we can’t forget why you bugged my office?”

  “Er…”

  She handed him a mug of coffee, sat down at the table and leaned back arms folded and one brow elegantly arched. “Start whenever you’re ready.”

  He sat down opposite her. “Lycan Link realized a malefic witch existed—had known for years—and tried to keep it hush-hush from the general Lycan population. But, as Cyrus increased his activity, rumours were beginning to fly. Wanting to keep the impression that everything was copacetic, the director of Lycan Link contacted me to take care of the situation.”

  “Directly contacting the witching community would have made more sense.”

  “Perhaps, but your people aren’t exactly viewed as warm and welcoming by the rest of us. Higgins—that’s the director’s name—didn’t want to upset the Alliance negotiations, I suppose, by creating controversy. Since Lycan Link’s wishes aligned with my own plans I agreed.”

  “You work for Lycan Link?”

  “It’s more like they contract out jobs to me.”

  “And you were stalking me because?”

  “I knew the quarterly Coven meeting was being held in Chicago and that you were a member. My hope was you’d lead me to Cyrus. The bug was in case he visited you or you had a phone call that revealed the location of that meeting. There’s one in your cellar as well. Under the edge of the table.”

  “Was that why you seemed obsessed with my private stock?”

  He shrugged. “It seemed logical that you’d keep items of value or hold private meetings down there.”

  She eyed him for a minute. “You really are a sneaky bastard, aren’t you?”

  “I am. It comes with the territory. A territory I’m now relinquishing, I might add. This was my last job for Lycan Link.”

  “Did you get a better offer?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m hopeful, though.” He studied her over the rim of his cup.

  Gwyneth shifted in her chair, looked away, then abruptly stood and walked out of the kitchen. The conversation was making her uneasy.

  He followed. “I’m interested in you Gwyneth. You can deny it all you want but there is an attraction between us. Because of what has happened recently, the brick wall you’ve built around yourself has developed a few cracks. Don’t be too quick to repair it. Not all walls are meant to last for eternity.”

  “Mine is.” She might privately declare her interest in the man but discussing it with him was a different matter. Sherman was perched on the back of an armchair and she paused to scratch his ears; the sound of his rough purr filled the room but did little to soothe the turmoil Dante’s words were causing inside her.

  “That’s not what you said the other day. I heard you tell Cyrus that you would trade eternity to experience true love.”

  “I was talking to keep Cyrus from noticing you creeping up on him.”

  “Liar.”

  “Just because you don’t like my answer doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

  “I’m very good at reading people. The tone of their voice, subtle nuances of expression and movement. There was truth in your words, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

  “A moot point. I can’t choose again.” An image appeared in her mind; the grimoire that had belonged to Sam. A version of the blood spell was in there, the second paragraph addressing time being restored but was it exactly the same as the one she’d used? Mixing spells was risky. And so was sharing feelings.

  “Everyone has choices.”

  “Not me.” She moved to the window and idly noted the activity in the street below. The neighbourhood was beginning to wake up, shops opening for the day, people appearing on the sidewalk. A new day was starting. If only starting a new life were as easy.

  Dante came to stand behind her. She could feel the heat of his body against her back, penetrating her skin and easing the tension in her shoulders. If the heat were ever to reach her heart, would it be able to thaw the decades of ice surrounding that vital organ? She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?” He turned her so she was facing him.

  She looked into his eyes. Saw the warmth, the faint twinkle. “I like how your eyes twinkle.”

  He blinked at the non-sequitur.

  “It doesn’t seem to matter how much a situation stinks, you can
come up with some kind of a comment to add levity.”

  “Not always.”

  “No, but often enough.”

  He shrugged. “Life’s short and full of crap. When you get a chance to escape the shit, you might was well enjoy it. Like I said, choices.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to explain. “I made my choice years ago. I thought my heart was broken so I took the family grimoire and enacted a blood spell on a blood moon.” She reached up and traced the scar on her chest through the material of her shirt. “I had no use for love so I made a trade; my heart in exchange for life extended.”

  “I’ve felt your heart beating. It’s still there.”

  “But the ability to love isn’t.” She moved, freeing herself from his encircling arms.

  “I don’t believe you. I think you’re scared to try.”

  She shot him an evil look but he took no heed.

  “Because of one man you’ve decided not to trust anyone again.”

  “I trusted Cyrus and look what happened.”

  “Life is a risk. If you keep yourself cut off from others you’re not really living, no matter how many years you might walk the earth. Life is about trust and love. Yes, you’ll get kicked in the teeth a few times but you don’t quit.”

  His words filled her with doubt. Was she scared of the possible danger of reversing the spell or was she scared to love again? She’d never considered herself a coward but now… She folded her arms in an effort to shore up her defences. “Is the sermon over?”

  He gave a frustrated sigh. “Did that bastard Tomas really hurt you that badly?”

  She frowned, distracted from the main point of the argument. Dante had researched her background but there was no way he could have discovered Tomas’ identity. “How do you know his name?”

  “You told me the other night just as you were falling asleep.”

  Scowling, vague recollections of pillow talk surfaced. She’d been exhausted, on the verge of sleep. How much had she revealed? “Tomas Salazar was—”

  “Salazar?” An odd look passed over his face.

  “Yes.” Something about his tone caught her attention. “Why?”

  “Salazar is my last name.”

  “I thought it was Esparza?”

  “That’s one of my working names.” He shrugged off the detail as if it were of no importance. “I have several but Salazar is my official last name.”

  “That’s an interesting coincidence.” She cocked her head to the side. “I can barely recall what he looked like but you do remind me of him.” A dark laugh escaped her. “It would be just my luck that one of his descendants appeared in my life to plague me.”

  Dante didn’t reply immediately, instead staring unseeingly across the room before speaking as if to himself. “I didn’t make the connection. There are hundreds of O’Donohues in the world but what are the chances of one being a witch and having had an affair with Tomas Salazar?”

  “What are you rambling on about?”

  He suddenly pinned her with a hard look. “It was you! You cursed my family.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  “That’s the family legend. That a witch named O’Donohue cursed our family after Tomas had an affair with her.”

  Gwyn shook her head. “It was my grandmother. She was incensed when she found out what happened and cursed Tomas and his bride.”

  “Not just them. Their offspring and all their descendants.”

  She felt herself pale. “She... I had no idea.”

  “The sins of the father have been visited on every generation of our family. Unhappy marriages, stillborn babies, tragic deaths, financial loss; every possible means of heartbreak.” He shook his head. “My grandparents, my parents. Carlotta.” His voice seemed to break and it was a moment before he spoke again. “Even Damien wasn’t safe. I’d hoped given that he wasn’t raised as a Salazar that he’d be spared but he lost Beth, almost lost Sam.”

  “I never thought—”

  “Of the havoc that curse has wreaked?” He shook his head, bitterness twisting his features. “Damien has paid the price, just as all the Salazars have. The curse has ruined every chance of happiness he’s ever had.”

  “I… I’m sorry.”

  She took a step towards him, her hand reaching out to touch his arm but the look on his face made her stop.

  “I need to leave.” Without another word, he swept past her.

  Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, she watched him leave. The door clicked shut behind him, the soft sound seeming louder than normal. Sherman stirred and padded over to wrap himself around her ankles. It took a moment before his actions registered and she bent to pick him up. Absentmindedly rubbing the feline’s head, her eyes drifted to the kitchen table where the two mugs sat companionably side by side. For some reason the sight of them sitting there, abandoned, made her throat feel tight and her chest ache.

  Minutes before, she hadn’t been sure she wanted Dante in her life. Now he was gone. She was alone again. Just herself and a scraggly cat.

  “What is wrong with you?” Sam glared at Damien as he paced the length of the living room. The pack had thrown them a surprise baby shower last night. Damien had abruptly left after the first few gifts had been opened much to the surprise of those gathered. She’d covered up his behaviour explaining he had to contact Reno about recent events. It was a lie and most knew it, but no one had called her on it.

  Now she was trying to show him some of the adorable onesies and baby toys they’d received, yet he was barely glancing at them.

  “Nothing is wrong with me.” His gaze darted about the room, never once looking at her.

  “Yes, there is.” She tossed down the blanket she’d been holding. “You’re acting like a caged animal.”

  “Fine! If you really want to know, everything around me is wrong, that’s the problem.” He growled the words, his eyes shadowed. “The baby’s room isn’t ready. When you’re off the rotation, we won’t have enough members to cover patrol. I just found out my father’s the bastard I’ve hated for years.”

  Sam pursed her lips and took a slow, deep breath. “Is it because of the baby you lost?”

  “No! Yes…” He stopped and scrubbed his hands with his face. “I don’t know.”

  She tried to choose her words carefully, sensing she was walking a tightrope. “I know the past few days have been difficult, you’ve had some shocks, but a lot of good has happened, too.”

  “Such as?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood by the window, his back ramrod straight.

  “The malefic witch was stopped. I’m safe. The baby is safe. The pack gave us some great gifts.” She gave a soft laugh. “We found out I do have a bit of latent witch magic in me.”

  “Oh, and of course that’s a cause to celebrate.” He turned, a sneer twisting his lips. “My mother was murdered by a fucking witch. Having magic in the family isn’t a good thing in my book.”

  His words were like a knife to her heart and she gasped. “Damien!”

  He looked at her and gave his head a shake, the coldness in his eyes suddenly falling away. “Sam, I’m sorry. I…” He wet his lips.

  She blinked unable to hold back the tears that welled in her eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones! Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the room.

  “Sam!” Damien called after her.

  She entered the office and slammed the door shut behind her. What was going on? The stages of grief were familiar to her and she understood that Damien might have been harbouring some secret hopes about a joyous reunion when he finally found his birth parents, but this seemed extreme. He was unkempt, drinking, and she’d discovered he’d missed his patrol duty.

  Well, he’d have to shape up because she wasn’t raising her child in a house full of fighting. She recalled her parents’ battles, the shouting and slammed doors, hiding in the back of the closet crying and thinking it was all her fault because her eyes had been the wrong colour. For years she’d fel
t guilty, secretly happy that though her father had died, at least the yelling had stopped.

  There was a soft knock on the door and then it eased open. She knew it was Damien but she didn’t turn. He didn’t approach, didn’t take her shoulders or nuzzle her neck like he usually did. Silence filled the space making the room seem chilled despite the warm spring sun shining in through the windows. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  He finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what’s going on. It’s like something is taking over me, making me act differently than I intend, words I never planned on saying spilling from my lips.”

  “If you quit drinking so much it might help.”

  “Yeah.” He shuffled his feet. “I know. It seems to quiet the angry feeling inside me for a while, but then…”

  She turned to look at him. “This isn’t like you, Damien. Ever since I escaped from that warehouse you’ve been different.”

  “I know. I was so scared for you and then, once I realized you were safe, this cold wave of anger came over me.” He took a deep breath. “Sam, I think I need to get away before I do something or say something I will regret later.”

  “Get away?” Dread curdled in her stomach.

  “For a while.” He began to pace restlessly again. “When we first agreed to be mates, I told you I was restless, that I didn’t know how long I could stay in one place. You said you’d understand if I had to leave.”

  “For a week or two, as long as you always came back.”

  “Yeah.” His eyes darting about the room in that wild way again.

  “When…” Her voice broke and she paused having trouble forming her words, her throat was so tight. “When are you leaving?” Her hands gripped the back of a nearby chair so hard her knuckles turned white. She tried to use their blood-bond to reach him but he’d locked her out. The knowledge hurt more than she could imagine.

  “Today. Now.” He shook his head, his hands creeping up to rub his temples. “I have to go. I…I’m sorry.” In a blur of movement he left the room.

  Seconds later she saw him passing by the window wearing his black leather jacket. He was heading towards the backyard. Moments later, the roar of his motorcycle filled the air, the sound growing louder as he swung by the house and then fading in the distance as he disappeared from sight.