Authors: Dakota Cassidy
Claire stuck a knuckle in her eye to keep him from seeing her tears and chuckled. “I feel the same way, Irish. Still, I ask, how do you propose we do it?”
He paused for a moment, making her wonder if he was only being impulsive. “I don’t know. But I wasn’t a high-powered corporate attorney for nothing. I’ll find a loophole. It’s what I do.”
Damn him for filling her heart with hope. She wanted that hope. She needed that hope. “And until
then?”
“We sneak around like any good, warring paranormals from different races do.”
“I feel like I should apologize. I didn’t want to like you, but I couldn’t help it.”
“Really? I wanted to like you. Wow, you’re like the meanest woman ever.”
She tweaked his arm and laughed. “You did not. You were pretty cranky at the town fair. Remember that?”
He nodded, kissing her lips again. “I do. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you in any pack trouble.”
“Fuck the pack,” she replied, cradling his face in her hands.
He w
rapped a hand around her wrist. “So we have some things we need to take care of first—before we rile everyone up.”
Right. Gannon. She had some things to take care of, too. Things she wouldn’t be able to share with Irish. Things over which he’d probably be
really angry with her. But it had to be done. “Like Gannon things?”
“Yep. We need to talk about Gannon’s body, Claire. I’m uncomfortable with where I left it. So later tomorrow, I’m going to dispose of it permanently.”
“Why didn’t you in the first place?”
“I didn’t have a lot of time. While I was in the middle of burying him, I got a text from Liam about Hadley. She was sulking about something and he said he needed me to help him.”
Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Adolescent angst?”
Irish chu
ckled, low and deep. “Times a million.”
She let her intake of air out slowly. “So where did you bury Gannon?”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell. Like you said, if neither of us knows the truth about the details, neither of us can be forced to say anything. Just trust me when I tell you, I’m going to make sure he’s never found.”
His words meant he trusted her choice that night. If he didn’t believe her before when she’d told him Gannon had to die, she knew he did now. “Thank you. I know you don’t understand everything
right now, Irish. I know you want to know what happened between Gannon and me, and I’ll tell you when I can, but promise me one thing?”
He narrowed his dark eyes. “Call me skittish as a new colt, but I hesitate when you ask for a promise. You know, murder
without explanation is a bit of a habit for you.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “It is not a habit. A habit constitutes more than once—habits are addictive. I’ve only killed one person, and it was not addictive—believe me. Now promise me.”
“Tell me, fair maiden, this promise you seek.”
“Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll remember I did what I did for the good of
all
of us. Not just the pack. For vampires, and witches, and demons and whatever else is out there. Gannon’s dead because he deserves to be.”
“I wish you’d just—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Make me another promise.”
“Two? You really are the pushiest broad I’ve ever known. Shoulda been a lawyer, Montgomery.”
“Irish,
please
.”
“Okay—go.”
“Promise you won’t ask me anything else, but trust that I’ll tell you everything the second I can.”
“I don’t like it, but I promise not to ask you anything else.”
“And?”
“Oh, right. And I suppose I trust you.”
Claire chuckled, burrowing against his chest. “Fair enough. Now, are we going to talk all night and waste our time together with Gannon in the middle of it, or are you going to live up to the reputation vampires have for being voracious lovers?”
Irish chuckled, rolling her to her back. “Was that not e
nough voraciousness for you? Are you challenging my prowess, Librarian?”
She giggled, running her tongue over his lips. “I think I just did.”
Irish’s laughter filled her ears just before his mouth took hers and he kissed the challenge right out of her.
Claire woke the next morning to the sound of her phone beeping. Reaching for it, she stretched, her body deliciously sore from their lovemaking.
Irish lay beside her, his body so still, his skin so pale anyone else would be frightened.
Vamp
ire sleep had him in its throes, and she knew enough not to disturb him. Likely, she wouldn’t be able to wake him anyway. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his lean cheek, rubbing her nose against it, savoring waking up beside this man she wanted in her life beyond reason.
Slipping out of the bed, she grabbed her phone and headed toward the kitchen for coffee, Mr. Darcy greeting her in his usual weave in and out of her legs.
She slid the screen of her phone over and saw an unfamiliar number heading the text, making her brow furrow.
But as she read, her eyes opened wide and her gut clenched tight.
Now she had a name and a place
.
Claire gripped the edge of her countertop and fought for her breath, knew she should attempt to wake Irish and share this, knew
she should reach out for help from someone. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t involve Irish. She knew all about the deal he’d had with Gannon for synthetic blood. His clan needed it.
Which meant he couldn’t have anything to do with this fact-finding
mission or Courtland would somehow find fault in him, find any excuse at all to hunt him down and kill him.
This was pack business. Unfortunately, her immediate pack leader included Courtland—and because she didn’t know if Courtland was a part of it, not a
chance in hell was she going to him. But she was going to damn well find out if he knew what Gannon had been up to.
She wasn’t prone to snap decisions or impulsive behavior, but seeing this text, having this information handed to her, sent her flying to h
er bedroom to find clothes and supplies.
She gave one last glance at Irish, his chiseled features so perfect. Leaning over, she dropped a kiss on his cheek, knowing he wouldn’t stir for hours if left to vampire sleep.
Hopefully, he’d sneak out the same way he snuck in so no one would be the wiser.
Throwing on some jeans and a sweater, Claire snuck out of the bedroom and grabbed her notepad, scrawling a quick note to Irish that read,
Please remember, you promised to trust me. I’ll see you later. Love, your librarian
* * *
Irish wasn’t too panicked until nightfall came and no one had seen or heard from Claire. He’d woken with a start, unsure where he was, grateful he’d told Liam he had business to take care of and wouldn’t be back until tonight.
And then he’d found Claire’s note. So he’d spent all day trying not to panic, keeping his head on straight, going though the motions.
As the day grew longer, and night fell, he had to admit, he was a little panicked. Under the guise of making sure the peace was kept, and Courtland hadn’t hauled her off to werewolf jail in some secret werewolf arrest, he’d gone to Freya, her closest friend.
She didn’t like it when he’d shown up at her door. He could tell from the disapproval in her eyes and they way her face
hardened. But according to Freya, Claire had texted her and asked her to feed Mr. Darcy for her until she got home later tonight, and that was all she claimed to know.
So her definition of “see you later tonight” came and went, and still no Claire. He’d s
ent her text after text, circled her house, left her at least ten different voicemails like some lovesick fool, all to no avail.
She’d said to trust her, and he was trying like hell to do that, but each passing second she wasn’t in his sights was trying hi
s boundaries of trust.
He’d spent part of the day looking for any obscure loophole in the reams of paper containing the laws of the packs and clans, searching for a way they could be together out in the open with the new rules. So far, he was shit out of l
uck, but he was going to keep at it.
Because he wanted Claire. And some way, somehow, he’d figure out how to make her his—openly.
To keep his mind busy in Claire’s absence, he’d decided to busy himself by disposing of Gannon’s body—for good. Just like he’d promised.
He didn’t need a shovel; he had his hands and speed on his side. What he needed was for Claire to damn well text him back. It was almost eleven, and she was nowhere to be found.
He’d walked rather than taking his bike, pushing his way through the thick trees of the campgrounds as he began to jog toward the spot where he’d left Gannon’s body.
It hadn’t exactly been a lie when he’d taken Courtland to the abandoned campgrounds. Gannon was there. He just wasn’t in a trailer. He was buried under a fal
len tree about three hundred yards away.
As Irish approached the brush he’d thrown over the spot, he checked his cell phone one last time for something from Claire.
Nothing. Damn her. All women ever wanted to do was communicate and suddenly she’d gone dark? He didn’t like it. It wasn’t sitting well with him.
Clenching his fist, he attempted another exercise in trust before jamming his phone in his back pocket and coming to a complete stop at Gannon’s makeshift grave.
He sniffed the air, the icy breeze carrying an unfamiliar scent.
Something wasn’t right.
He knelt at the fallen tree, lifting it with no struggle at all and gazing down into the hole.
An
empty
hole.
There was nothing but dirt and brush in it, but no Gannon.
Jesus Christ.
Where in the fuck was Ga
nnon Dodd?
To Be Continued…
(You know what comes next. Cue even more evil music.)
Dakota Cassidy is the nationally bestselling author of more than thirty books. She lives in the gorgeous state of Oregon with her real life hero and her dogs, and she loves hearing from readers!
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Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha Part Three
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Were in the World is Gannon Dodd?
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