For the Good of All (Law of the Lycans Book 7) (2 page)

Lace curtains stirred as the door opened creating a gap just large enough for him to slip inside. He paused, his face purposely in the shadows, and scanned the room before making his way to the desk. The computer was on, but a few taps on the keyboard revealed it was password protected. It had been too much to hope the codes had remained the same. He moved on, quickly flipping through a few files that had been left out, then searching the contents of the garbage.

Pay dirt.

A list of operatives from the look of it. Some of the names were familiar to him, most were not. One was circled in red—Damien Masterson—and the word deactivated was scrawled in the margin. He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket before moving towards the adjoining room. The door was ajar giving him easy access.

Jewellery, casually tossed on the dresser top, sparkled in the dim light and the scent of leather and musky perfume filled the air. His nostrils flared at that scent, long ago memories stirring.

His mouth compressed as he pushed the past back where it belonged and continued to evaluate the terrain separating him from his quarry. A pair of high heels lay discarded in the middle of the room. Various bits of clothing were strewn about, some on a chair, some forming puddles of fabric on the floor. The wearer obviously hadn’t cared that the fine material might wrinkle or snag.

A muscle twitched in his cheek as he took it all in. Extravagance, waste. People were starving in the world, dying, while she... His lip curled into a sneer before he shifted his gaze to the bed.

The covers outlined the figure of a woman sleeping on her back, her face turned away from her midnight visitor. He inhaled deeply, once again taking in her scent. Visions of the two of them filled his mind; laughing, running through the woods together. It had been years since he’d heard her voice, yet over that expanse of time, the memory of their last encounter had been one of the few things that had kept him sane.

“I’m leaving you in charge. Can you handle it?”

“Of course. We built Virtus together; I know the ins and outs as well as you do.”

“Just keep things steady. Stay the course. I’ll be back in a few months.”

“You’re fussing like an old lady. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Sorry. I know I can trust you.”

She’d smiled then and he’d given her a hug, believing she was one of the few people who truly understood him and his plans for the future.

What a fool he’d been.

He moved closer to the bed, one measured step at a time, carefully avoiding the obstacles created by her shoes and clothing. Closer and closer to his goal. Anticipation built in his gut yet he forced himself to remain calm. If he’d learned one thing over the span of his enforced incarceration, it was that patience was indeed a virtue.

Her breathing remained even as he rounded the end of the bed, sleep still holding her captive. One of her hands was tucked under her pillow, the other pressed to her heart. Now he could see how the moonlight skimmed over her cheek, giving him a glimpse of her features. Still the same as he remembered, though lines could be seen around her eyes and mouth. She’d aged since their last encounter. Was it just the unavoidable ravages of time or was it the blackness of her soul finally showing on her face?

Her soul.

He’d once thought it so pure. Now he’d damn it to perdition if he had the power.

Anger at her betrayal seethed within him. She’d taken what he’d created, what he’d entrusted her with, and twisted it into pure evil. The knowledge had his fists clenching as he struggled for control. With anyone else, he’d mete out justice with no reservations. But she was a female and they had a connection that couldn’t be denied. That earned her some measure of restraint. Not much, but some.

Easing himself down on the mattress, his weight compressed the surface enough that her body shifted towards him. She murmured in her sleep, a slight frown appearing between her brows. Her lashes began to flutter.

He’d delayed long enough.

“De—” His lips had just parted when her arm suddenly swung out and up from under the pillow, the dim light barely allowing him to see the glint of the knife blade as it plunged towards his heart.

“Fuck!” He caught her wrist but not before the tip of the blade sliced through his shirt and cut into his flesh. Immediately, he could feel the wet heat of blood dripping down his chest, the biting pain of injured nerve endings. His fingers squeezed hard enough on the woman’s wrist that she whimpered in pain and dropped the weapon.

“Not exactly the welcome home a man dreams of.” He flung her wrist from his with a growl and reached over to flick on the bedside lamp.

“Who...? Elijah?” As his features were illuminated, a cry of recognition escaped her lips and she flung herself at him.

“Eli!” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight before pulling back to run her hands over his shoulders. “Where have you been? I thought you were dead.” Her fingers caressed his face, slowing when they encountered the scar on his cheek.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, one lone tear trembling on her lashes as she traced the length of the puckered flesh. “Eli, what’s this? What happened to you?”

Years ago the sight of her tears would’ve made his heart soften. Now it had no effect at all. He pushed her hands away and examined the rip in his shirt and the wound underneath. The cut was superficial, thankfully, and would heal quickly. Cocking one eyebrow, he looked at her. “I could ask you that same question.”

“Me? Nothing has happened to me. You’re the one who went missing over four years ago.”

Most men would never have noticed the extra blink she gave, but Stone wasn’t most men. He knew her tricks too well. Any vague hope he’d had that his information was wrong died with those fluttering lashes.

“It was five years, actually. Apparently I was the only one counting.”

“Four. Five. After a while the time became immaterial.” The comment was accompanied by a negligently waved hand. “As to what I’ve been doing, I’ve been here. Running Virtus just like you asked me to. I made sure it was here, ready for you if...when...you came back.” She reached for his hand and laced their fingers together. “I’ve missed you, brother.”

“So you remember that we’re blood? From the way you tried to kill me just now, I wasn’t sure.” He pulled his hand away and stood, moving to study an old family picture hanging on the wall. Deirdre was in his arms looking like a dark haired cherub, his parents flanking either side. A happy family picture if no one looked too closely at the expression in their eyes. His were sullen, his mother’s were tired. Father’s were cold and Dee...strange how even that young there’d been a calculating gleam in her eye. Too bad he’d never noticed it back then.

“I thought you were an intruder.” Deirdre flicked her hair over her shoulder, making no comment about the picture he was examining.

“How long have you kept that knife under your pillow? Do you often have people attacking you while you sleep?” He gave the picture a last look and turned to face her.

“A woman alone has to take care of herself.” She threw back the covers and got out of bed, snagging a robe and then pushing past him.

“I can scent the other males that have been in this room. You haven’t been alone.”

“I’m a grown woman, Eli. Not a child.”

He compressed his lips knowing she was right and recognizing how she was directing the conversation from the real topic. “I’m not here because of your sex life.”

“I’m relieved.”

“Stop it, Dee. I want to know what the hell you were thinking, turning Virtus into—”

“Into what? A successful organization? You should be thanking me for all the work I’ve done.”

“Successful? You call being a criminal organization success?”

“Criminal?” She raised her brow. “We provide a needed service. Isn’t that what you wanted Virtus to do? If Lycan Link no longer
officially
approves, that’s their problem not mine.”

“My plan was to help people with nowhere to turn, not hire out mercenaries to do someone else’s dirty work.”

“That was all well and good in the beginning. However, from a business standpoint we were stagnant. A constant, reliable influx of cash was needed, not dribs and drabs from the lost causes that came crawling to us.”

Lost causes. He clenched his jaw at her condescending tone. “There were sufficient funds to keep things going until I got back.”

“Sufficient? A paltry bank account, a list of passwords, a few contacts.” She snorted. “It’s not like you left me the keys to Fort Knox.”

“All you needed to do was watch the email and pay a few bills.”

“For a few months you said. But you never came back so I did what I needed to do.”

Stone narrowed his eyes. “What you needed to do? You could have closed everything down if it was more than you could handle.”

“I could handle it. And why waste the groundwork you’d laid? Hardly a fitting tribute to my supposedly dead brother.”

“You bastardized it.” He stared at the woman before him. Deirdre had been his younger sister, the little girl he’d protected and pushed on swings, who he’d confided in as they sat under a shade tree together. He’d taken the blame for her misdeeds and patched up her skinned knees. Much younger than him, she’d been cosseted and spoiled, doted on by their parents.

When he’d returned after his stint at the Academy and Lycan Link, he’d thought letting her help with his pet project was an ideal way for her to heal after the death of their parents in a plane crash. It would allow them to reconnect and give her a purpose in life. He’d thought she shared his vision. Now he realized he should have taken more notice of her constant suggestions to expand. Hell, how long had he been gone before she began to gut the organization?

He pulled the paper he’d found from his pocket. Most of his original men were gone. “Who are these bastards?” When she frowned, he almost laughed. “You never did like to empty the trash.”

“You’ve stooped to garbage picking now?”

“I do whatever it takes.” He glanced at the list, his gaze lighting on a bright red circle. “What’s with the Masterson guy?”

“He quit.” From the tight look on her face, he could tell it was a sore point.

“I’ll still check him out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m going to deal with each piece of scum on this list.”

“Keep your nose out of my business, Eli.” She took a step towards him.

“Now it’s your business? A minute ago you said it was mine.” He shook his head. “I created Virtus to help—”

She interrupted. “I help anyone who asks.”

“At a price. And you don’t give a damn as to their motives.”

“It’s not my business to judge. I provide a service.” She folded her arms.

“A service that doesn’t give a rat’s ass about who it employs, who gets hurt or what side of the law it operates on.”

“And look who’s talking! Lycan Link kicked you out.”

Stone narrowed his eyes. “We mutually agreed to go our separate ways.”

“Right.” She snorted. “And a few years later, you left the country and joined some fringe group.”

“Is that what the rumours said?”

“Among other things.”

“But you knew the truth. You could have quashed the rumours. I went on a mission, was captured and held prisoner.”

“That’s your story.” She sniffed. “You’re a Lycan. An ex-Enforcer. You could have escaped.”

“And left the men and women I went to save? As well as probably exposing myself as a Lycan?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Losing them would have been unfortunate but still an acceptable loss in exchange for your own freedom. And the chances of exposure were negligible.”

He lowered his brows, his voice growing cold. “Never say losing a life is acceptable.”

She sighed noisily. “Leave the idealism behind. The point is I did this for you. For us. So you’d have a job, a place to come home to. So we could keep the land this house is built on.”

“I don’t want it.”

“What? But this,” she swept her hand out encompassing the room, “is your heritage!”

“No. It’s yours. It might have been left to me but I never wanted any of it.”

“You want to save the world. Well, let me tell you something Elijah, saving the world doesn’t pay the bills.”

“And you’re paying the bills at whose expense?”

“Small players. People who don’t matter.”

People who don’t matter. In his mind’s eye, he could see the helpless victims, the crying children, the beaten women. Old men too frail to defend themselves or their families from the fanatical hoards. They mattered and he’d damn to Hell anyone who tried to say otherwise.

Before he could stop himself, he’d reached out and grabbed her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh. Idly, he noted that his skin was dark from years in the sun, his knuckles scarred. Quite a contrast to Deirdre’s. “The small players matter to someone. They have lives, hopes—”

She snorted. “Drivel spouted by bleeding hearts.”