The Strip

  He glanced at these pictures, carelessly, and then turned around, leaned on the dresser, and crossed his broad arms over his chest.

  “You see,” he began, softly, “the man I want to bring here tonight is cursed. He bears marks placed upon him by a gypsy long ago. And any time there is a murder, without heart, without purpose or reason – grisly enough to make the front page news,” he flashed the woman a straight, white smile, “he has no choice but to pop out of existence wherever and whenever he may be and pop back into existence at the scene of the crime.”

  He laughed softly then as the woman stared at him with eyes that were wide with shock and fear, despite the puffy nature of one of them.

  “I know. It’s a horrible curse, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “I don’t envy the man.” Gabriel paused and frowned. “Well, that’s not strictly true. I do, actually. He claimed Charlie first, and I can’t deny that I’m jealous over that. Still, it doesn’t matter. He’ll soon be dead and when he is, Charlie will be unclaimed once more.”

  The woman in the chair began to struggle in her bonds. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what was coming.

  Gabriel gave her a cursory glance, but paid her labors no further heed. She was bound tight. He’d had years of practice tying knots that held.

  * * * *

  Charlie lifted the giant sweater before her and marveled at its size. Cole was a big man. She would be swimming in it. But she was grateful for it. When the world overwhelmed you, it helped to be able to hide in something warm.

  She placed the sweater on the counter, pulled on her jeans and t-shirt, lamented the fact that she had no underwear or bra, and then pulled the sweater on over everything else. Her hair was already beginning to dry in the arid Nevada night. So, she flipped her head over, ran her fingers through it, and then straightened again, calling it good.

  She had yet to look at herself in the mirror, however. She was certain that she looked like a ragamuffin draped in the fleece that Malcolm had given her and that her legs probably resembled stilts, sticking out the bottom in their fitted denim – but she didn’t really care to see it, because if she did glance in the mirror in order to adjust her wardrobe, she might see her eyes again. She wasn’t quite ready for that.

  She sighed heavily. Gotta get used to it, sweetheart, she told herself. While he’d held her in the shower, Cole had tried his best to explain things to her. Things about the werewolf world and the fact that she was even more a part of it now than she had been a few hours ago.

  He’d told her that when he’d bitten her, her body had accepted that it was time to make the Change. The Dormant wolf within her climbed to the surface, forever altering her physiology and the way she would feel and behave.

  Her knee-jerk reaction to this news had been anger. Had she been adequately warned? Was this even fair? But as she stood there and listened, she realized that this final turning point had been her destiny all along. And that, yes, she had been warned. Gabriel Phelan had intimated that as much would happen. Lily Kane had hinted at it. And the very fact that she’d been “marked” in the first place was a reminder that she was special – and that she represented a hope for the werewolf community that they could not find in any other woman. That hope was for procreation and survival.

  She could only do that if she was one of them.

  Cole explained to her that the glowing eyes she seemed to be so upset over were actually very beautiful, and quite natural for a werewolf. He assured her that she would very soon learn to control the light of emotion behind her “baby blues.” Though, he claimed he wouldn’t mind if they looked like that forever. He said she was stunning and gorgeous and that she would never know what she meant to him.

  And when she’d finally stopped crying and was able to return his gentle smile, he’d left her alone to finish bathing.

  All along, she’d managed to keep the red marks on her wrists hidden from him. She still wasn’t certain why she had bothered. She just felt that it was important somehow and that this new and delicate treaty of understanding between them would be ruptured should he catch sight of the red tattoos that had by now fully formed on the insides of her arms.

  Charlie shoved the sleeves of the large sweater up to her elbows and gazed down at the strange new brands. They were nearly as intricate as Cole’s emerald green mark had been, but there was a wicked, unkind appearance to them. They were the color of blood and the angles were sharp and unforgiving.

  He hadn’t mentioned anything about new marks when he had been explaining her Change and the symptoms of it a few minutes ago. It was possible that he forgot. But it was far more probable that he didn’t know about them. And Charlie was willing to place money on that.

  She sighed and dropped the sleeves, effectively hiding the marks. Then she opened the door to the bathroom, allowing a thick cloud of steam to swirl upwards and out as she stepped into the hallway beyond.

  The air that hit her face was air conditioned and much cooler than it had been on the other side of the door, and she was instantly grateful for the big, soft sweater draped so comfortably over her. She wrapped her arms around her waist and tip-toed into the hallway, craning her neck and listening carefully to catch any sign of Cole in the rooms beyond.

  But they were empty.

  She stilled when a delicious, deeply enticing scent wafted toward her and caressed her senses. She entered the dining room to find that candles had been lit on the table and several porcelain plates had been filled and left for her.

  There was wine; a deep blood red that she could tell would burn wonderfully across the tongue and down the throat. There was a plate filled with chocolate covered strawberries – six of them. And most enticing of all, though she never really ate red meat, was the rare steak that waited on a plate closest to her. Its surface steamed in the chilled air, its scent carrying across the room toward her, pulling her closer.

  Her mouth began to water. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t even realized how famished she was until now. With a rush, she closed the distance to the table in long, quick strides and sat down in front of the steak. She picked up the fork and knife and began to eat.

  As the first piece hit her tongue and fairly melted across it, she closed her eyes, lost in some sort of primal ecstasy. Her teeth ached in her gums. She wanted to rend, to chew, to swallow more of it. She finished the steak in five minutes and then reached for the glass of wine that had already been poured for her and left beside the plate.

  She downed the wine and it did burn. But as she drained the glass and replaced it, she realized that there was no immediate buzzing sensation leaping to life in her body. There was no dullness seeping to her extremities.

  Non alcoholic wine? No matter, she thought. It was probably better that way, because she was really thirsty and wanted to drink more of it.

  She poured herself another glass and then started in on the strawberries. She ate with abandon, not caring about morality or fat content or cholesterol or calories. She chewed slowly, but continuously, her mouth ever filled with the next bite, the next taste, of this amazingly delicious fare.

  The front door beeped and its lock clicked in its hinge. Charlie set down the last bit of strawberry she was holding and stood, turning around to face the entrance. She swallowed just as Malcolm came through the small foyer and into the hallway.

  When he exited the shadows and entered the light of the dining room, he stopped and gazed steadily at her. “Christ, you’re beautiful Charlie.” He stared as if in wonder, his light green eyes drinking her in, despite the over-sized sweater hiding most of her body from him. “You have no clue.” He shook his head. “None,” he whispered.

  Charlie blushed beneath his scrutiny and the unexpected praise. She hugged herself, wrapping her arms around her middle. He tsked her gently and came forward, crossing the room in long, slow strides. “I told you not to hide yourself from me, did I not?” he asked her, his tone one of gentle but stern reprimand.

  She didn’t move her arms.
She remembered his words well enough – she would never forget them. But she felt strong, just at that moment. She stayed where she was and lifted her chin in defiance. As she did, her heart rate sped up.

  He stopped a few feet away and smiled, the dark pupils at the centers of his eyes expanding quickly. “I would love to remind you of what happens when you disobey my commands, Charlie, but as it is, we’re late.”

  Charlie blinked. She ignored the first half of his statement and focused on the last bit. “Late for what?”

  “Come with me,” he told her, offering her his hand.

  She hesitated just for a second and then slid her hand into his. As they always did, his fingers curled around hers possessively. He led her from the room and down the hall to the elevators.

  “Where are we going?” she asked again, as the elevator doors pinged closed once they’d boarded.

  “You’ll see.”

  She turned and pinned him with a hard gaze. “I’ve had enough surprises for one night, Cole. Where are we going?”

  Instantly, Cole was hitting the stop button in the elevator, his green gaze cutting a fast line to her and pinning her to the spot. The elevator lurched to a halt and Charlie gripped the brass bar beside her. She could feel his sudden surge of anger. She could hear his heartbeat speed up and smell the adrenaline in his veins.

  It was both intoxicating and terrifying.

  “My name is Malcolm, Charlie,” he told her, his jaw tight and his tone low. “A lot of people call me Cole. Friends. Editors. Werewolves. The Overseer.” He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them. “But the woman I just slept with will call me by my first name.” His tall form towered above her, filling the space of the elevator with werewolf power and heated frustration. “My mate will call me Malcolm. Do you understand?”

  It didn’t take a genius to see that this had become a sore point with him. And so, though she felt defiant and strong, she decided this probably wasn’t the best time or place to display it. She nodded. Once. She could always give him a hard time about something else later.

  Malcolm turned and hit the same button again and the elevator began moving once more. An amp somewhere near the top of the elevator came to static life.

  “Mr. Cole, is everything all right?” asked an unseen speaker.

  Cole gazed steadily at Charlie and then slowly, he looked away to glance up at the tiny black camera lens that rested, half-hidden, in the top corner of the lift. “We’re fine,” he said calmly. “Thank you.”

  “Very good,” came the static reply.

  The elevator reached the casino level and the doors pinged open. Cole gestured for Charlie to exit first, and she did. She was a tad more nervous now than she had been a few minutes ago. “You really aren’t going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “Almost there,” he replied, this time reaching down and grasping her hand firmly in his. The touch instantly warmed Charlie. It was a gesture of reassurance and was almost electric. She wondered if her touch had anywhere near that kind of effect on him.

  Cole led her through the Casino and out into the Las Vegas night. People were gathering along the stone wall in-between Las Vegas Boulevard and the lake in front of the Bellagio. They spoke with one another and laughed out loud and many of them were drinking. But every now and again, they glanced back at the lake and seemed to be waiting for something.

  Charlie wondered what it was.

  “Here, luv.” Cole pulled her attention back to him and she looked up to see that he was gesturing toward a break in the copse of bushes to their left. No one else seemed to notice it and she speculated as to where it led. “After you,” he said, softly.

  She searched his face for some hint of the secret he was keeping from her, but his expression gave nothing away. He simply smiled an easy, sexy smile and waited for her to duck into the small pathway.

  Charlie sighed and stepped through. On the other side was a ledge and a drop of about six feet. Lucas Caige and a few other members of Cole’s pack were waiting for her down below.

  Caige turned as she came through the bushes and he raised his arms. “Come here, Charlie. I’ll help you down.”

  Charlie blinked at him and then turned back toward Cole. He was right behind her. He nodded, urging her forward. Then he turned to Caige. “Make it quick, Caige. They’re due to start any minute.”

  Now Charlie was as confused as ever, but she decided to resign herself to it and allowed Caige to lift her off of the wall and help her down. It wasn’t necessary. In her training over the past several years, Charlie had learned how to jump distances that were much further down and quite a bit more painful than this one would have been. But she knew that Cole’s pack wouldn’t know that. And they were trying to be nice.

  “To the boat, Charlie,” Caige instructed, nodding toward a small row boat that had been pulled up at the edge of the lake. She walked toward it as two other werewolves held it still.

  “Get in, luv,” Cole instructed, a gentle hand at her back, urging her forward. She carefully stepped into the boat, admiring its polished wooden edges and carved designs as she took a seat and waited.

  Cole stepped in after her and then sat down. He nodded toward Caige, who gave the boat a gentle shove with his motorcycle boot. The boat drifted from the white ledge of the hidden walkway and Charlie watched as the shadows of the looming hotel above her receded and the boat coasted out into open water.

  All around her, revelers gazed in their direction, but none of them pointed. Their behavior didn’t change. They continued to talk and drink and glance at the lake expectantly. It was as if the boat was not even there.

  “Can they see us?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes and no,” Malcolm replied. He pulled two oars from the bottom of the boat, shoved them through the loops at the sides of the craft, and began to row them further out into the lake.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They possess the capability of noticing us,” Cole clarified, his smile broadening mischievously. “However, I’m not allowing them to.”

  Charlie blinked. “You’re – you’re what?”

  “Charlie, many werewolves are born with gifts that set them apart from others of our kind – ”

  “Oh, crap, don’t tell me you can read my mind!” Charlie immediately exclaimed, thinking, instantly, of her grandfather and those exact same words that he had uttered.

  Now it was Malcolm’s turn to blink. “What? No! No, I can’t read your mind. Why on earth would you ask such a thing?” And then comprehension dawned on his handsome features and he nodded. “Ah. The Overseer.” He nodded again and rowed them a little further in. “No, as far as I’m aware, Kavanagh is the only one who possesses that particular ability. Along with several other very useful talents,” he added, softly.

  “Then…” Charlie ventured. “What are you doing?”

  “I have the power to control human minds, or their actions, that is. To a certain extent.”

  “And you can make them blind to us?”

  His grin broadened. “That’s a lovely way to put it, Charlie. I’ll have to recall that for one of my books.”

  Charlie had no response for that, so she focused on the lake and their boat. “The lake is very pretty, and the night is gorgeous,” she admitted softly. “But is this what you brought me out to show me?” She recalled his words to Lucas Caige. Something about being late. “What were you talking about when you told Caige that… they’re due to start any minute?”

  Cole didn’t have a chance to answer her because, at that moment, the speakers embedded in the walls around the lake began to vibrate with music. Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” rode across the water’s smooth, reflective plane and the lake’s surface started to bubble. Charlie looked around the boat, her eyes wide, and realized that the bubbling was surrounding them on all sides. The small vessel was right smack in the middle of some kind of churning water work.

  The music grew louder and Dion’s voice caressed th
e audience. Water began to break the surface of the lake, spraying in what seemed like a hundred fine streams of fountained beauty. The lines of water swayed back and forth in time with the music.

  Charlie’s breath caught in her throat and her face broke into a smile that she simply could not suppress as the song crescendoed and canons of water shot straight into the sky, drum beats of majestic, liquid beauty that pierced the darkness hundreds of feet in the air.

  All around them, the crowd gasped in wonder and Charlie found herself laughing, unable to hide her joy. Werewolf or not, she couldn’t hear the sound of her own exclamations over the roar of the music and the crowd and the sonic boom of the Bellagio’s fountains.

  The water began to fall back down to Earth and Malcolm produced an umbrella, seemingly out of nowhere, opening it with perfectly timed precision in order to place it over them both as the fountain’s droplets slammed into the lake.

  Charlie smiled broadly at her mate, too amazed to say anything. But she didn’t need to. As the song continued and the fountains erupted around them, her glittering eyes told him everything he needed to know. And his smile was a reflection of her own.

  There was nothing else in that moment. There was nothing but the music and a kind of magic that seemed to swell within and around them. Charlie would never forget this moment. This precious space in time seemed to freeze, like the water suspended in space above them, drifting on sound waves of bliss and hovering, poised before the love-struck gazes of a thousand gasping children. Children, because they laughed and cried and abandoned themselves to the beauty that was before them.

  For the space of a song, they were no longer forty or fifty or twenty-one. They were four and a half and in lust with life.

  A single tear escaped the corner of Charlie’s once-more glowing eyes and, as she smiled at the beautiful man across from her, it trickled down her cheek, the only drop of water that managed to fall into the boat that night.