Authors: Gigi Moore
He knew that
he
had come to a realization about Desiree in that moment: he had completely lost his heart to her.
Chapter 17
Remy sat in his Mercedes SUV eyeing the glass doors out front of the towering building where he had subleased a penthouse apartment for the duration of his stay. Of course, there was a uniformed security guard stationed at the reception desk in the building’s sleek and sumptuous marble lobby.
He took a deep breath, ribs still aching from that cheeky, impetuous whelp’s surprise attack. The gashes had healed, but the internal injuries would take a little longer to repair.
That Samson Guidry had done his share of damage before Remy recovered enough to spank him down to size and show him who remained boss.
Remy had to gather himself enough to pass muster and not raise the curiosity of the guard. Not that the man would ever in a million years guess at what had happened to Remy, but better safe than sorry.
He hadn’t yet gotten over the younger one’s aggression. He had expected it from Carson, especially after Ben’s oldest had made
the
accusation. He supposed he should have been prepared for anything at that point. Neither brother had anything to lose.
Rarely did Remy regret anything he had done to get where he was, but so many times since Ben’s death he wished he could go back and change the way he had done things. True, he would not change the result—Ben had grown suspicious of Remy’s feelings for Helena over the years since he had brought her into the fold, and he had to be eliminated—but Remy could have hired someone to do the deed at Guidry’s Bar and Grill that night. He’d done it in the past with acceptable results, and he was high enough up on the food chain to avoid getting his hands dirty with the wet work, after all. From the beginning, however, things had always been intimate and personal where Ben and Helena were concerned. He’d wanted to make sure that the deed was done right, and the only way to ensure that had always been to do things himself.
He had been so careful in every other aspect of his groundwork, preparing for every contingency except the one that involved Ben’s oldest showing up at the restaurant as Remy left.
Like years before, tonight he hadn’t proved as prepared as he had first thought himself. He had certainly not been ready for either of the whelps’ opposition, at least not the intensity of their resistance. He must be getting lax in his old age, thinking he could handle two young, able-bodied shifters by himself.
Remy had handled more and worse in the past. Things were different now, though. He had more at stake, the future of his mate for one.
Nothing had changed. He remained determined to make Helena his for life, even more so now. He’d never been one to back down from a challenge, and the one the two young men represented energized him, excited him like he hadn’t been over anything in a long time.
Over the years, the chase had thrilled him, but lately he’d become complacent, doing things by rote, bored.
He’d needed that earlier fight to show him of what he was still capable, to prove that he remained a vital, relevant being, a powerful alpha that should not be questioned.
Of course he hadn’t missed the dissent back in Louisiana, the murmurs of doubt at his ability to lead the pack. They had started after Duane’s death, along with the questions of how he had handled the Guidry family. The noise of opposition, however, had gotten louder over the years, several whelps in the ranks ready to make their mark. He could feel it.
Gossip was an unavoidable evil, especially in so tight a pack as Remy’s. When Carson’s initial accusation had surfaced and spread through the lower rank and file, doubt in Remy’s innocence also spread. The pack had seen this lapse as a way to usurp his command, as if he slipped in his advanced years and his mistakes could no longer be tolerated.
He would show them that he wasn’t an alpha with whom to be toyed. He would show them all once he’d handled the Guidry brothers once and for all, the way he should have handled them from the beginning.
Admittedly he had been easy on them, more out of deference to their mother than anything else, and a latent respect for the man who had been their father. His complacence and deference had reached an end.
Remy leaned forward and glanced through the windshield at the sunrise as it gradually turned the horizon into a salmon-hued burst of color, signaling the beginning of a new day.
Gingerly, he got out of his vehicle, engaging the power locks and alarm with his remote control.
He straightened his posture, tilting his head back just slightly, strutting toward the entrance like the proud alpha that he remained.
“Morning, Mr. Bastien,” the security guard greeted as Remy entered the lobby.
Albert Roberts, Remy thought, a friendly enough sort, but not overly nosey or terribly observant, which was a good thing for both of them.
Though all the men who manned the desk seemed interchangeable, especially in their uniforms, Remy made it his business to know the name and a little bit more personal background information for each man who worked every shift. One didn’t get to where he was in business without paying attention to everyone—underlings and equals alike.
He wondered what Albert would do if he knew his sweet, ginger-haired wife stepped out on him with the next man every other night when she was supposed to be attending Pilates classes at the health club. Remy knew shifters who had killed their mates for less.
“Busy evening, I take it.”
“Oh you know how it is, Albert. Money never sleeps.”
“I got ya.” Albert smiled. “You have a good day now, Mr. Bastien.”
“I intend to.” He had a lot to get done today, starting with mending his body and mind in preparation for the next battle. He wouldn’t be taken off guard again.
However, he had given as good as he got. He knew for a fact that the younger whelp was severely injured and would take a day or two, if not more, to recover, even with his accelerated shifter metabolism.
As soon as Remy entered his penthouse apartment he dialed one of his trusted lieutenants back in Louisiana. It was time now to put the other part of his plans in motion and make the final arrangements for the Guidry boys and their mama.
* * * *
Desiree sat by Sam’s side for the next twenty-four hours, changing his bandages, monitoring his fluctuating temperature, and forcing as much food down him as he could tolerate.
Helena had reported to the cookhouse for work and Carson had reported to his duties as night wrangler, both vaguely explaining Sam’s absence due to an illness.
Jesse and Jax had accepted the explanation without much question, as had Tamara when Desiree called in sick herself. She suspected part of Tamara’s acquiescence was due to Maia putting a bug in Jesse and Jax’s ear. Not to mention Remy had called Tamara bright and early, stating that he had to cancel due to an “unforeseen family emergency” and to please extend his apologies to Desiree.
Life went on, but Sam had yet to shift.
With each passing hour, Desiree wondered if he ever would or if he would die in this form without Desiree ever having witnessed the awesome sight of him changing from wolf to man.
She had been deprived of the spectacle when Carson had limped a good distance away from her to shift under the cover of the forest. When he returned, unabashedly naked with bloody scrapes that were already healing, it only solidified what she already knew. Except it wasn’t the same. She hadn’t
seen
Carson change.
Desiree glanced down now at the wolf Sam, patting down his body with a cool, damp rag as he shuddered and perspired on his large four-poster bed.
The bleeding had stopped long ago, only to be replaced with spiking temperatures and night sweats. She should have taken comfort in the idea that he had a fever, which meant his body obviously fought off whatever infection he had gotten from his wounds. She worried even more than Helena and Carson, both of whom knew so much more about shifter anatomy and rebounding than she did.
Still, Sam hung on as a wolf, much longer than either Helena or Carson had ever heard of happening, much longer than they expected.
How long could he stay in his wolf form so badly injured and not succumb to his wounds? Desiree wondered. Maybe they should have taken him to a vet. Who knew what kind of permanent damage had been done to his physiology? Who knew what condition he would be in even once he shifted?
She had so many questions but no answers.
It drove Desiree mad sitting around and doing practically nothing except watch someone she loved suffer. She felt helpless, and she really didn’t like not being in control, not being able to do something useful.
When Maia had dropped by earlier to see how Sam was doing, Desiree had asked her sister about the doctor who had treated her at the emergency room—T. Malloy—wondering aloud if they could trust him with their secret and take Sam in for treatment. Just as quickly, she’d shaken her head, discounting the idea as pure lunacy.
Maia, on the other hand, remained neutral, not showing shock or disapproval and simply said, “I know I was only in with him a short time, but there’s something about him that makes me think we probably could trust him. He wears an exquisite crystal pendant around his neck.”
Desiree gaped at the non sequitur, wondering at her sister’s logic. Leave it to Maia to notice something like a piece of jewelry and deduce some significant sign of an individual’s personality and moral code in it. Must have been a psychic, Wiccan thing.
“It’s up to you, Desiree,” Maia had finally added. “Whatever you think is best.”
Why did everyone seem to think she knew what was best in this? Even Helena, who, once she had decided she could trust Desiree to stay with and nurse Sam until she and Carson returned, seemed to think that Desiree had an answer to Sam’s inability to shift.
Well, she didn’t, dammit! She didn’t know what she was doing or how to make him come out of this semi-comatose, one-foot-in-the-grave, the-other-on-a-banana-peel state of existence.
Sam took a trembling breath beside her and whimpered.
Was that a whimper of pain or a whimper of frustration?
Desiree planted a hand on each side of his furry face and stared him in his golden-honey eyes. She knew she shouldn’t stare an animal in the eyes like this, especially a predator. She knew that it was a sign of aggression. Sam wasn’t just any “animal,” though. He was one of the men she loved, and he was trapped. There had to be some way to reach him, to get him out.
“What are you trying to tell me, honey? Are you hurting, or are you angry? Because I have to tell
you
something, I sure am—hurting and angry that you feel the need to hide from me and that you won’t come out to be with me.”
Sam growled deep in his throat and tried to wriggle his head free from her grasp, but Desiree held firm, held his gaze.
“Personally, I think someone here is just being a lazy wimp, and it ain’t me.”
Sam snarled, snapping his jaws at her.
Oh-ho, she’d hit a nerve. Not to mention he’d just missed nipping her, but that was all right if it got him to shift. “Oh, did I hurt the big, bad wolf’s feelings? You want to fight, huh? Let me tell you something. You. Don’t. Scare. Me.”
Sam jerked his face free of her hands, tilted his head back, and howled. He lowered his head several seconds later to glare at her.
“So what? Was that supposed to impress me?”
Sam barked and struggled to his feet.
That’s it, baby, fight. Come back to us.
Desiree had her doubts that he could, however, when she saw the way his weak legs trembled with his efforts to stay on his feet. Something phenomenal, however, happened. The muscles along Sam’s back rippled beneath his skin and fur, elongating and transforming as she watched.