She deliberately ignored the question, brushed past the body in her path, and stomped into the apartment she couldn’t see. The trip through the business district had been hell to navigate, but she knew the layout of Trevor’s apartment well enough to get along.
And the first place she intended to go was his garden on the back patio.
“Answer me, damn it,” Trevor grumbled and she heard him close the door before following her. “Do I need tae prepare for company?”
“Yes, actually.” She followed her nose and carefully felt around the herbs in the potted garden just past the open French doors, removing a small amount of the soil. “Can you mask my scent?”
“What have you pissed off this time?” His voice relayed his worry and anger. He started mumbling, one of his numerous bad habits. “Like I doona have enough trouble of my own tae deal with, I have tae take care of your shit, as well.”
“Mask the scent first. Then I’ll explain.”
“Doona tell me it’s another ghoul. The last one refused tae stay dead.”
“Would you just mask my scent already?” She lifted the cold dirt and pressed it against each eye, sighing in relief. “I don’t have time to argue with you.”
Trevor grasped the top of her head, and she felt something wet coating the top of her scalp. He spoke several clipped words in Latin, evoking a spell of some kind. When he finished, he snagged her by the arm and guided her into the living area none too gently.
When she was seated on the couch, he ordered, “Start explaining.”
“We’ve got a problem,” she muttered.
“No, you have a problem, singular,” Trevor growled. “I told you after our little run in at the city of the dead I was done. No more, Arden. No more going in half-cocked. Unlike you, I value my life.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice.” She cleared her throat before continuing, “The Lycae that’s on my ass will sniff me out once he passes the Quarter.”
“Damn it!” Trevor brayed, stomping around the room and allowing his temperate Scottish personality to shine. “It’s no’ enough that you have vampires, vampyren, and demon kind wanting to rip out your throat. You had tae go and tangle with a fucking werewolf?”
“He got between me and Taylor. I didn’t have a hell of a lot of choice,” she responded wearily.
“Are you, crazy?” His deep and infuriated voice boomed inside her ears. “A Lycae will tear you apart, Arden. You canna atone for the life of your friend if you’re dead. Did you ever think of that?”
“At the time, no.” She shook her head and her shoulders slumped. “I wasn’t thinking about anything but finding Lucius.”
Trevor’s breathy exhale resounded off the hard wood floor and ceiling, impossibly loud in the silence that followed. She didn’t blame him for being upset. Lycae were something they each swore to avoid, and with the exception of Greyson, she’d kept her word. But, thankfully, Trevor understood why she felt compelled to risk everything for vengeance, having been there once himself.
“We canna stay here,” Trevor announced in another inner rambling expressed vocally, his voice shifting close, then far, as he walked back and forth. “We’ll pack some things and drive over tae my parents’ place in Violet. No one knows about it, and if I mask our scent, nothing will be able tae detect us.” He stopped moving and asked, “How much time do we have?”
“Minutes, maybe?” she answered truthfully. She was fast, but she had been forced to make her way blind. Wolfe would find them. It was only a matter of time.
“Damn, damn, damn!” he bellowed. “You owe me, big time.”
His footsteps faded and she palmed her forehead. Things had taken a turn from bad to worse, and her valued friendship with Trevor McAvoy was something she couldn’t afford to lose. His magic allowed her to space apart her feedings, staving off the bloodlust. Without him, she would have to drink every single day. And since their relationship wasn’t formed in the most common sense, it meant she had to tread with extreme caution.
She’d met her quasi business associate when he needed help exorcising the demon that destroyed his parents and murdered his dearly departed girlfriend. Making money on the side was rather quaint and boring, until they took a job that pitted them against a Lich—the purest and most disgusting kind of vampire born.
Both of them walked away battered and alive, but just barely.
Trevor jumped ship shortly after . . . not that she blamed him.
The shuffle of feet came before something was jabbed into her chest. “Here, take them. They’re no’ what you prefer, but Ray Bans never go out of style.”
Arden accepted the glasses graciously, slid the thick plastic over her scorched eyes, and willed them open. The world was hazy, but her eyes no longer burned with the light. Trevor’s unnaturally beautiful face came into focus, his long mahogany hair mussed as if he’d just woken, his dark goatee lined with shadow at his jaw.
“Thank you,” she murmured and met his livid indigo-hued eyes through the thin, darkened barrier of the glasses.
“The spell isn’t strong, but it’s enough tae protect your eyes until I get my hands on some shade leaf.”
“Anything is better than direct sunlight.”
Quickly, he gathered the duffel at his feet, snatched the stocky wooden casting wand resting across the coffee table, and clutched it in his left hand. Then, he rushed to the vintage coat rack, retrieved his trench coat, and slipped it across his arm. When he returned to her, he paused for a moment, studying her intently. His face smoothed and a moderately perturbed smile formed.
“What am I going tae do with you, Cricket?” he asked softly, bending down to smooth a strand of hair away from her forehead. “You’re more trouble than your worth. Do you know that?”
She nodded numbly and lowered her face. “I’m sorry, Trev. I didn’t know where else to go. Greyson knows where I live. I couldn’t return there.”
His free hand wrapped around her wrist. “Come on, we need tae get the hell out of here. We’ll talk in the car.”
She stood on shaky legs, and Trevor twined a hand around her waist to keep her balanced and pulled her close. Thankful for the support, she went soft and allowed him to bear her weight. He wasn’t built like the average magic castor—as tall as he was large. It came from his father’s side.
The McAvoy men were stout Scots—to hear him tell it.
The floor trembled and shook, as if the world beneath them was protesting their burden. Trevor’s hand tightened on her hip, and he swiveled their bodies around in time to see the apartment door burst free from the hinges. Wood from the frame split and splintered as the door crashed to the side and sent amber thistles skittering across the floor.
Then, one thoroughly enraged Lycae appeared in the entranceway.
Chapter Six
“Get away from my mate.” Wolfe snarled each word distinctly as he stepped over the remnants of the door and stomped into the room.
The beast was nearly unhinged now, crazed by the sight of Arden in the arms of another male. He felt the corresponding tremors in his muscles and bones, the desire to shift and destroy paramount. When he’d demolished the bathroom door and found her missing, he’d nearly lost control. It had taken all of his willpower to track her without going into a maddened state, driven by the possibility she could be lost to him.
The instinct within was primordial. Something he couldn’t deny.
The male released Arden but didn’t step away, his eyes wide and shocked. “Your mate?” he yelled loudly and peered down at her accusingly.
“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault he’s delusional!” Attempting to detach herself, Arden tried to take a step back. “I tried to tell him he was wrong, but he won’t listen to reason.”
The male sized him up and muttered, “Lycae are no’ known tae reason when they mate.”
“To hell with this.” Arden glanced at him and then away. “I’m leaving.”
Reckless vampire!
Wolfe started to eclipse the distance when the male beside her lifted his arm and revealed a casting wand. The rounded end contained a clear orb that glowed white.
“Subnecto,” he barked, and the orb pulsed bright.
Wolfe stopped immediately, leaden feet glued to the floor. He drew back his lips, revealed fang, and scented the air. The stench of amber, wick, and salt permeated the space. He narrowed his eyes at the man, aware of whom he faced. Only one Warlock Judge had survived the curse of the crux demon that wiped out a majority of the magically inclined population of the Quarter a quarter century before.
“Sheriff Trevor McAvoy.” Wolfe’s voice was no longer wholly man—throaty, garbled, and territorial.
“I doona go by that title anymore,” the Warlock corrected.
Arden skirted behind Trevor, and the beast in him went mad, allowing Wolfe to move despite the binding of the spell. His feet shifted, sliding slowly across the floor, and the infamous Trevor McAvoy lost a bit of his cool composure.
The Warlock thrust the wand forward and ordered, “Doona come any closer!”
“Damn it, Arden! Stop running from me,” Wolfe raged, his body pulsating, skin burning.
So close now.
Vocal cords rippling and contorting, he warned, “I’m going to shift. When that happens, only a silver bullet to the heart will stop me from taking you.”
He scented her fear, heard the turmoil echoing inside her frenzied mind. The need to reassure and comfort her came second only to a steely determination not to lose control. If she ran again, he would lose his shoddy hold over the beast inside him. Then she’d learn just how eager his wolf was to claim her. He’d take her with or without the Warlock’s dead eyes watching, in such a way she’d never dare think of another.
“Stop moving.” Trevor addressed Arden quietly, his voice eerily calm. He kept his staff upright, eyes solely on Wolfe. “He’s no’ lying. He’ll shift, rip out my throat, and take you on the floor where we’re standing.”
Wolfe studied her, absorbing the emotions that tumbled so chaotically from her thoughts. She was afraid of what he was, what he represented, and of what he offered. He was the future she didn’t want to conceive. Happiness was something she believed she would never know.
His heart actually ached at the confessions brought forth from the deepest recesses of her mind.
Everything she ever loved, she lost.
“Lycae don’t hurt their mates,” she mumbled weakly, refusing to look at him. “I’ll go while he’s bound. Now that I can see, travel won’t be an issue—”
Trevor cut her short. “If you run, he will find you. And there will no’ be any talking ’til after the deed is done.”
“Damn it,” she snapped, and a spark of temper all but eradicated her fear. “This isn’t logical! I’m a vampire, not a Lycae!”
“A Dhampir,” Trevor corrected. “No’ vampire. There is a distinction.”
“Release me before I break free of the goddamned spell and demolish this entire fucking room,” Wolfe ordered, his eyes locked onto the female who captivated him beyond reason.
“I will no’ allow you tae harm her.” Trevor’s accent was full on now, no longer hindered by years lived in the States. “If you give your word no’ tae, I’ll set you free.”
Arden’s eyes flittered between him and the Warlock. Then she choked bitterly, “Don’t discuss me as if I’m not here!”
“I’m sorry, Cricket,” Trevor said gently. “You doona understand what this means, but I do. Denying him willna only prolong his suffering, but yours, as well.” He turned from her and clarified. “No harm to her, Lycae.”
Wolfe didn’t take his eyes from Arden when he promised, “You have my word.”
With a heavy sigh, Trevor said, “Veera well.” Cautious and wary, he lowered the wand and the orb dimmed.
The heaviness in Wolfe’s feet evaporated, and he didn’t hesitate, crossing the short distance in three long strides and wrapping his arms around Arden’s waist. He lifted her from the ground and buried his nose her nape, covering as much of her in his scent as he was able. She didn’t struggle, utterly passive in his arms, but he knew the temptation to flee remained.
“Don’t run from me, t’keeira.” His muffled voice conveyed his torment and complete devastation at the possibility of failing her. “Don’t force me to become the monstrosity you believe our kind to be.”
“Damn,” Trevor muttered as he moved past. “I have tae replace the door again.”
“Would you put me down.” Arden’s voice sent bristles of want down his spine. “PDA’s are not my thing.”
The scent of her arousal clung to the air, testing his equanimity. She could pretend that she was disinterested—that she didn’t long for him as he longed for her—but her body told a vastly different story.
“I’m not letting go of you again, little mate,” he droned, emphasizing exactly what she was to him. “You may have fooled me once, but no more.”
Smug-ass bastard.
He chuckled in the instant he heard the words in her mind, arms squeezing gently. With her near, the beast was appeased. But it wouldn’t last. Not until he knew the bond between them was forged. And that was something that would only happen after he undressed her delicate body and lost himself inside her.
“Where’s home?” he said next to her ear, nuzzling the soft lobe with his nose. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”
“Don’t even think about it, Lycae,” she argued weakly.
“The old abandoned Smith plant off St. Peter,” Trevor yelled from the door. “She lives on the top floor of the building.”
“Trevor!” she screamed in betrayal.
Wolfe watched as the Warlock approached, turning slightly so Arden could see. Her anger and hurt was brutal to absorb—a miserable twisting of his heart and gut.
“You don’t know it yet, but mating the Lycae is for the best. You canna continue like this. Hell, neither can I. Worrying you will no’ make it home night after night is taking years from my life. Years I’d prefer to keep.” Trevor met Wolfe’s level stare and said, “Your name, Lycae.”
“Wolfe Trevlian.”
The Warlock didn’t react as Arden had. He was entirely unfazed and unimpressed by his stature in the pack hierarchy. He studied Wolfe closely, as if putting him to memory. After a pause, he nodded and said, “I know your face, Wolfe Trevlian. And I’ll be holding you tae that vow. I doona care if you’re related tae the goddamned creator. You harm her, and I’ll hunt you down.”
“I won’t harm her.”
He didn’t have to say it, but he did anyway. The Warlock obviously knew and understood his kind. Otherwise, he’d be missing a large portion of his throat, and Arden would be reaping the punishment of enraging his beast.
Trevor nodded, turned away, and called out just before he vanished around the corner, “Now you have tae convince her.”
Chapter Seven
“I’m going to need my hands.”
Wolfe relinquished his grip on Arden’s fingers and circled his arms around her waist, oblivious to the sigh that betrayed her brisk detachment.
He refused to give her space, even as they had made the trip across the Quarter in Trevor’s Jeep. Wolfe had forced her to sit in his lap, his “Roman hands and Russian fingers” caressing her in the most infuriatingly intimate of ways. Each time Trevor had glanced over at them nestled in passenger seat, Wolfe’s large hands smoothed over the surface of her thighs, back, and stomach possessively. The Warlock couldn’t wait to drop them off and peeled rubber the moment they exited the vehicle and the door slammed shut.
The damned traitor.
“You like my touch, Cricket.” Wolfe nipped at her neck. “You know it, and I know it. It’s a good thing, too, because I love touching you.”
She cringed at nickname bestowed by Trevor a decade before—something he adored as much as she detested—even as Wolfe’s lips and teeth threatened to guide her mind and body in
an entirely different direction.
Wolfe’s tongue flicked against her nape and he murmured, “I think it suits you perfectly.”
“Don’t you have pack things to see to?” she blurted desperately, crouching and bending at the waist as best she could, eager to get inside and take a shower. Recalling his presence in the alley, she grumbled, “Or should I say, vampyren things to see to.”
“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Rolling her eyes, she leaned forward and retrieved the key inside one of the flowerpots. The cool soil along the carved edges was clumpy, and she shook the small key clean before stepping closer to the door. The deadbolt turned with a loud click, and she grasped the knob, pushing as she twisted.