Keeping Secret: Secret McQueen, Book 4 (12 page)

“Yes, it’s been handled.”

“Good.” He nodded, smiling more to himself than to me, and waved Dominick onwards to the waiting car. “There’s been a slight change of plan.”

I eyed the car with wary apprehension. “Oh?”

“Your uncle has requested that rather than stay in the city and have us commute to and from his estate, he would prefer if we come to stay with him.”

“He…” I looked at our idling ride and an unease crept under my skin that felt, for all the world, like a thousand cicadas had begun buzzing inside me. “And you
agreed
?”

“Keep your friends close…”

“Lucas,” I said as his words drifted off. “This isn’t really that kind of situation, is it? There’s a very real possibility Callum is working with Mercy and together they are responsible for the attempts on my life. And you honestly thought it was a good idea for us to stay where he can see us at all times? How does us going to Callum’s estate help us keep
our
friends close?”

“Maybe your friends were a little
too
close.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “This is about Holden? I told you that was taken care of.”

“This is about more than your vampire friend, Secret.” He didn’t look at me when he opened the back door of the car and stepped aside so I could get in. “I can’t refuse an invitation from the king when we are in his territory.”

I didn’t have anything sassy to say in reply. “Well…”

“Don’t mistake me. I’m not thrilled the vampire was here. And I will admit I’m glad this relocation puts us outside the influence of your…sect.” Here his voice lowered, like he was trying to handle his words as delicately as china.

“My council,” I corrected.

“Whatever.”

I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the car, slamming the door behind us. When I was certain the only person with us was Dominick, I fixed Lucas with a cold stare and made sure he knew I wasn’t putting it on for show.

“I don’t pretend to know everything about pack law, Lucas, and I never would, but don’t you
dare
talk down to me because you don’t have the slightest clue what goes on with the council. I make every effort to respect pack law, yet you dismiss something important to me like it’s meaningless.”

There was a cool, regal silence while he considered my words, and the temperature inside the car dropped several degrees as I waited for him to speak. In the front seat, Dominick drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

We were all silent.

“You’re right,” Lucas said finally. “I haven’t been fair to you.”

I’d been expecting more of a fight, so I was taken aback by his easy acceptance.

“But…”

Ah, there it was.

“But what?” I never liked “but” statements—they were just another way for a conversation to turn around and kick you in the butt.

“There is a difference between you respecting the werewolves, and my respect or lack thereof for the vampire council you so willingly serve.”

I jerked my chin up to signal him to continue.

“You are part werewolf and have the right and need to know what goes on in our society,” he said. “Whereas I have no desire to be any part of the vampire world.”

Chapter Seventeen

If there were a Girl Scout merit badge for sitting through uncomfortable silences, I would have qualified for it a thousand times over. Lucas and I sat on opposite sides of the backseat while Dominick listened to a crackling classic-rock radio station. “Freebird” twanged on, with brief static solos to change things up a little.

Lucas cleared his throat, and I shifted closer to the door, crossing my arms tighter over my stomach. I refused to look at him.

“Are you going to—?”

I turned, regarding him directly for the first time since we’d left New Orleans, and the move surprised him enough he stopped talking mid-sentence. Either that or my curls had turned into snakes and I’d transformed him into a statue.

“Where are we going?” My gaze was trained on Lucas but somehow Dominick understood the question was for him. Maybe because of the warmth in my voice.

“St. Francisville.”

“Where?” He might as well have told me we were going to Timbuktu for all St. Francisville meant to me.

This time Lucas spoke, forcing me to focus my attention on him for real. “We’re going north. St. Francisville is just beyond Baton Rouge.”

“And flying into the Baton Rouge airport was too obvious?”

“We couldn’t. It’s too deep into Callum’s territory. The only way we could have entered the state that close to his home base was if he brought us. If it had been an option, I think he would have had us land in Florida and drive all the way from there. The only reason we were allowed to go into a Louisiana airport at all was because we were invited.”

Winding the strings from my hood around my fingers, I looked out the window of the car and watched the light from small towns speed by in a glowing blur. The highway wasn’t deserted, but it didn’t feel like we were close to anything substantial anymore.

“Werewolves are fucking ridiculous.”

Dominick snorted, unable to stop himself in time. To try to hide the gaffe, he turned the volume on the radio up a little more. Eric Clapton crooned on about that coldhearted bitch, Layla. I was betting if I could read Lucas’s mind, he was probably thinking,
Amen, Clapton. Amen.
Instead of saying this out loud, he sighed his particular, regal sigh. “Then I guess that explains a lot about you, doesn’t it?”

My mouth hung open, and Dominick struggled to keep from laughing, but his shoulders were trembling from the effort. I let out a huff of breath and my lips made a
pfffft
sound. “Can we agree to try not to get at each other’s throats for this trip? We’re in love. We’re getting married. Can we pretend everything is perfect for Callum’s sake?”

“You’re saying it’s not perfect?” This time his smirk betrayed him.

“Smartass.”

“I think we’re already where my parents were after a decade of marriage. Half an inch from strangling each other to death at any given moment.”

“Well, if we don’t do each other in, something tells me Callum will be more than willing to do it for us.”

Lucas’s charming smirk vanished, and with its departure came the familiar sinking feeling in my gut. I’d been teasing, but he appeared to be worried. Deeply and truly worried. He reached across the seat and took my hand, giving it a squeeze of false comfort. He might have meant to be comforting, but I knew he didn’t feel certain of our safety. It was written all over his face.

I squeezed back. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“I don’t know.” He had turned to stare out the window, and now I was looking at the back of his head. “I just don’t know.”

As it turned out, St. Francisville was a two-hour drive north of New Orleans, and the most interesting sight on the way was the dim, ominous outline of the Maurepas swamplands. The farther north we crawled, the more the silence thickened between Lucas and me, to the point where I was looking forwards to hearing whatever shitty, crackling song would come on the radio next because it was just one more three-minute interruption to the uneasy quiet.

The sign welcoming us to St. Francisville felt like a pin in the inflated balloon of our tension. The car ahead of us that held Morgan, Jackson and the member of Callum’s pack serving as our guide drove past the beautiful stately homes of the small town. The street was lined by big, old houses with wraparound porches and potted plants that were in bloom even in the early spring climate.

In the grand tradition of all American small towns, the main street was called Main Street, and we followed it all the way through the heart of the town and right back out again. I whipped my head around and watched our destination shrink out of sight into the gloom of the night.

“Uhhhh.”

“Patience.”

“And sweetness, my two greatest traits.”

“Eyes up front,” Lucas directed, gently rotating my chin towards the front seat again. “Look.”

The car ahead of us took a left turn and pulled off the main highway onto an unlit road. Dominick hit the signal and followed onto the gravel.

The wheels crunched the small rocks with the crackle of a bag of chips. Waving sycamore boughs dripping with moss brushed the roof of the car and hung in green curtains down the visible length of the road. A road that seemed to go forever and onward into nothing.

After about five minutes of driving through the Louisiana equivalent of a car wash, the road turned to proper pavement and fanned out into a huge circular driveway. In the center of the driveway was a fountain featuring a low rocky outcropping with a wolf standing on top posed in a howl stance.

The lead car pulled off to the side and we followed suit, taking an open spot in a parking lot already brimming full with a variety of mismatched automobiles ranging from a battered pickup with a Confederate flag sticker in the back window to a silver Lexus convertible.

The three Harley motorcycles next to the fountain piqued my interest, but I said nothing. What the hell were all these cars doing out here, and where was my uncle’s house?

Morgan and Jackson got out of the backseat, and Dominick let himself out before coming around to open Lucas’s door. Once Lucas was out, he rounded the back of the car and released me, offering me a hand to give me a more graceful exit from the backseat.

I don’t know how much grace mattered considering my T-shirt had a prancing cartoon pony on it and my hoodie had fucking ears.

The other driver was a petite young woman with auburn hair who was about two inches shorter than me and looked ten times nicer. She was smiling so much I thought her teeth might crack. Considering how actively Morgan was ignoring the wee driver, I suspected our resident alpha bitch wasn’t a big fan of the shorter woman.

Which meant I liked her right away.

“Your Majesty,” she said, dropping to her knees at Lucas’s feet and ducking her head so low it touched the tips of his shoes. “It is my most profound pleasure to have brought you safely before my king. My name is Magnolia, and I will be at your service during your stay.”

Magnolia got to her feet then stood in front of me. Her smile widened, which I didn’t think was possible. “Your Royal Highness.” Her voice pitched upwards with excitement, then she repeated her toe-touching bow. “I can’t tell you what a joy it is to welcome our long-lost princess back.” She clasped my hand and squeezed. “I will do anything you need.
Anything
.”

Creepy.

“Well…thanks, Mags.”

Her hazel eyes lit up. “Mags,” she repeated.

Had this girl never heard of a nickname? Did people seriously only call her Magnolia?

Goddamn, I’d dodged a bullet when I avoided being raised by the Southern McQueen clan.

Mags wasn’t a McQueen because of the way she was genuflecting like a motherfucker all over Lucas and me. No one in the upper ranks of the pack would be required to display such a show of obedience.

Magnolia bowed to each of us again—much more subtly this time—then swept her arm to a small path at our left. The winding trail was paved with red wood chips and led up a hill. We followed her lead, Dominick ahead of Lucas and me, while Morgan and Jackson brought up the rear.

Once we’d crested the hill, the answer to where the house was hidden became obvious. A massive Greek-revival plantation house was nestled amongst a group of huge, ancient oak trees whose trunks were green with thick, spongy-looking moss. The house itself rose two stories up, but judging by the height, the rooms inside must have all had twelve-to-fifteen-foot ceilings. Eight white columns lined the front of the house, with more around the sides supporting the roof for the wraparound verandah.

Brilliantly white and clean, the house looked equal parts modern elegance and old-fashioned charm. Above the verandah’s roof was a third floor that was smaller, as though someone had plopped a guesthouse on top, the proverbial cherry at the end of a sundae.

The chip wood path split into a fork, one end leading to the house, another winding behind it and off into the darkness. I didn’t know much about plantations, but I suspected there were more buildings, some equipment sheds and maybe a real guest suite. I was hopeful about the latter, because in spite of the beauty of the main house, I wanted to keep my distance from my uncle.

Magnolia trotted ahead and took the three steps up to the verandah in one leap. A man emerged from the front door, and she hit the deck with such speed I thought she’d been knocked over, but the drop was too graceful. Her forehead was practically against the wooden planks. If I had three guesses as to who the man was, I’d use one and two to suggest Santa or the Tooth Fairy, because they’d be totally unnecessary.

Lucas and I arrived at the steps. I wanted to stay on the ground, but Lucas had no interest in standing lower than the other man. He bounded up the stairs, waiting for Magnolia to move before he extended his hand.

Callum McQueen, Southern werewolf King, was as large in height as Lucas and broader across the chest. He wasn’t yet forty, but the hair around his temples had begun to go gray, showing in stark contrast to his dark brown curls. Curly hair ran in the McQueen family. Blond did not.