Authors: Cindy Spencer Pape
“Old girlfriend, bad situation. Let’s just say the Vancouver pack and I parted on less than pleasant terms. It doesn’t matter.” Des held out his right hand. “Pax?”
Greg nodded and shook. “Pax, dude. We’re cool.”
The bonding moment over, Des pulled back. “So why do you try so hard to hide your Ivy League education? I’d think your new fiancée might be impressed.”
“My Princeton diploma isn’t something I hide, but I don’t brag about it either.” Greg shrugged. “Mostly it isn’t relevant.”
“And it pisses off your grandfather that you look and speak like a high-school dropout.” Des smirked. “After meeting the man, I’m not sure I blame you.”
The sound of tires squealing in the road behind the club caught Greg’s ears and he shook his head. “Assholes.”
Then he heard the screams. Both he and Des started running.
In Lana’s car on the way back from the spa, butterflies tumbled about in Fianna’s stomach. It was a human expression, but surprisingly apt after her supposedly relaxing afternoon at the salon and spa. Everything Lana told her only left her more nervous about meeting the rest of Greg’s family. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to call off this sham of a betrothal.
Engagement.
She had to learn to think in modern, local English. She did, now more often than not, but when she was upset, she tended to revert to a language so old it didn’t have a proper name, or at least the English translations she’d learned in her youth.
Would Greg let her out of their arrangement? Did she want him to? More importantly, how would it impact him and his pack if she backed away? That was assuming that she wasn’t with child. If she was, which according to Greg was entirely possible, then she knew there was no way he’d let her go—not unless she was willing to leave her son or daughter behind. That was something she could never do.
She and Lana walked down the steps of the parking garage, their hair and makeup professionally finished, as well as sporting fresh polish on their fingers and toes. Lana’s manicure was screaming neon-purple, while Fianna had opted for a subtle, pearlescent pink. Lana had also gotten a matching purple streak in her hair, which waved loosely around her shoulders in contrast to Fianna’s sleek French twist.
“All the better to draw fire away from you,” Lana said. She tucked Fianna’s arm through hers. “Bet Grandfather’s face turns the same shade of purple when he sees my hair.”
“I wish I’d had your courage when I lived with my uncle.” Fianna couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if she’d stood up to her guardian. Living among the werewolves and humans had shown her the strength she’d never known she possessed.
They left the parking garage and started across the street. Seemingly out of nowhere, a big black car swooped around the corner and roared toward them.
Fianna screamed and leaped for the curb. Lana’s shriek was louder, and as the vehicle bore down on them, she gave Fianna an extra push. Lana was almost out of the road when the car struck her hip, slamming her into Fianna with a cry of pain. Both women flew several feet into a heap on the pavement. For a moment, Fianna was afraid the car would keep coming, but the guards watching in their car from the alley had come running with their guns. The attackers’ car peeled away as soon as the security team arrived. The smell of burnt rubber overpowered the odor of the Dumpster and the rosemary shampoo on her hair.
Greg and Des were out the door before the guards reached Fee and Lana.
“Lana?” Fianna got to her knees and leaned over her friend, terror knotted in her throat.
“Oww.” Lana flexed her arms and legs. “Nothing broken, but there’s going to be a bitch of a bruise on my hip. How about you?”
“You pushed me out of the way. I’m fine.” Fianna brushed a strand of hair out of her face and noticed that her hand came away shaking and smeared with blood. “Oh, hell. My hair and makeup are ruined.” Somehow that seemed worse than any pain.
Lana sat up, accepting help from a glowering Des while Greg assisted Fianna to her feet.
“She pushed you out of the way because she heals a lot faster than you do,” Greg said with a snarl. Fianna watched as he breathed deeply and his fangs and claws receded. Had he almost turned? Was he angry with her for almost getting his cousin killed? After a few deep breaths, his tone softened. “Let’s get you two inside and assess the damage.”
Fianna shook her head. “My bag—I dropped it in the street. I need it.” She felt herself tremble, though she wasn’t sure why. She’d been hurt more severely than this many times.
“I’ll get it.” The older of the two guards, a bald-headed man in his forties, walked out into the street. He retrieved Fianna’s purse and a small pink shopping bag, as well as Lana’s bigger shopping bag from beside the curb. “I got the license number, but it’s probably stolen.”
“Inside,” Greg growled at them all. He glared at the guards as he ushered Fianna into the doorway. “I thought you two were supposed to prevent this kind of thing.”
“Sorry,” said the older guard, who introduced himself as Jensen. “We were watching the property for vandalism, not for direct attacks on personnel. We’ll know better next time. You might want to think about personal bodyguards as well.”
They trooped down to Greg’s office. He sat Fianna down at his desk, while the younger guard, handsome and fair, eased a severely limping Lana into a chair.
Jensen set Fianna’s purse and sack on Greg’s desk.
“Let me see that leg.” Des glowered at Lana. “And the hands.”
“I am not taking my pants off so you can see my hip,” Lana snapped. She held out her scraped-up palms. “You could clean these, though, so the grit doesn’t heal inside.”
“There’s a first-aid kit in the bottom drawer of George’s desk,” Greg said. He gently touched Fianna’s cheek. “And someone go into the kitchen for a bowl of water and a couple towels.”
Des rooted around in the desk and came up with a white metal box stamped with a bold red cross while Jensen hurried out of the room. Meanwhile, Greg lifted Fianna’s hands to inspect them for damage.
“Ouch.” She winced when he probed at her wrist, which was swollen and turning purple. She blinked at it in confusion. How hadn’t she noticed until now that it hurt? Both of her palms had red, angry scrapes and her cheek had started to burn. The pain wasn’t what bothered her most. She stared down at her glossy acrylic nails, which were now jagged and gouged, a couple even ripped from her fingertips. “My nails. They’re ruined.” For no explicable reason, that was what made her burst into tears.
“Hey there, it’s okay.” Greg sat on the edge of the desk and pulled her into his arms. “It’s called an adrenaline crash, princess. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not much of a healer,” Desmond said as he bent over Lana’s hands, picking out bits of dirt and rubble. “But I can manage some, and Lana’s wounds are already closing. Is Fee’s wrist sprained or broken?”
Greg’s breath stirred her hair as he spoke. “Sprained. And her palms are pretty much hamburger.”
“I spent all day trying to look good to meet your grandparents,” she sniffled against his chest. “Now it’s all ruined.” Nothing had ever felt as good, as comforting as his big body holding her close. Somehow it felt horrible to let him down in front of his family by looking like a mess.
“Sssh.” Greg kissed her hair. “You’re in shock. Worrying about trivial details is a normal reaction, but try not to. You’re okay, and that’s all that matters.”
“We can fix our hair and makeup, Fee.” Lana’s voice sounded shaky, too, making Fianna feel less like an idiot. “I think both of our manicures are toast, though. At least you didn’t trash yours by sprouting claws.”
Sometimes Fianna almost forgot Lana was a werewolf, who tended to change under stress. She did suppose that growing claws would destroy the other woman’s nail polish.
“Women,” Des grunted. “Wait until I’m done healing your asses, and I’ll see how much magic I have left.”
“Don’t waste your time on me.” Lana bristled like an angry cat. “I’ll be fine in an hour or so. Just fix Fee’s face and hands.”
“I’ll get there. Now hold still.”
Crying jag past, Fianna dried her eyes with the back of her hand and looked over to see Des wipe Lana’s palms with a pad soaked in alcohol. Lana swore viciously, but remained perfectly still.
“Okay, princess, your turn.” Edging away from her so he could work, Greg took a similar pad and held it up to her cheek. “This is going to sting.”
“It’s all right.” The sharp bite of the antiseptic did hurt, but Fianna bit her lip and didn’t move or make a sound as he cleaned the wound. She’d been trained at an early age to remain silent and still no matter what amount of punishment her uncle doled out.
This was different, though. She could sense the concern in Greg’s touch as well as the contained anger that vibrated through his taut body. After he finished with her cheek, he gently blew on the skin to cool the sting. The sweetness of the gesture brought fresh tears to Fianna’s eyes. No one had ever cared for her like this before. She blinked back the wetness as he began to peel back her fingers to reveal the scrapes on her palms. He took a fresh pad and began to wipe away the grit and gravel.
When Greg finished scrubbing her hands, he dropped a kiss onto each and moved behind her. Desmond stepped over and took hold of her throbbing left wrist. Soon the ache receded and fresh pink skin replaced the angry gouges on her palm. He touched her cheek and the pain there vanished, as well.
She couldn’t help the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Once she could have done such minor magic for herself. Sometimes she forgot how that had felt, but at other times, like now, she missed that part of her being so much it hurt.
“Now this we’ll call an engagement present.” Des whispered a short incantation and Fianna’s manicure was once again perfect, her broken nails mended and returned to their glossy pale pink.
Fianna’s head was level with the tall mage’s stomach, but she hugged him anyway, fighting more tears as she offered her thanks.
“Ooh, your hair is back up, too.” Lana gave Des a grudging nod. “That was a nice thing to do. Thanks.”
He shrugged. “I have a sister. I know that stuff matters when you want to make an impression. What the hell is with the purple stripe?”
“Like it’s any of your business.” Lana tossed her messy hair. She tried to stand and wobbled precariously before Des took two steps to her side and caught her. “Oh, hell. I need to go somewhere and shift a couple times if this hip is going to work in time for dinner. Don’t suppose one of you big macho males can help me up the stairs?”
Muttering something incomprehensible, Desmond swept her up into his arms. “I’ll see you tonight, Greg. Call me.” With that, he left the room carrying a startled Lana.
“We’re going back outside,” Jensen said. “Let us know when anyone’s leaving the building and we’ll escort you.”
Greg nodded and the two guards left. Fianna sat up straighter in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, Greg. I never meant for Lana to get hurt protecting me.”
“
Neither
of you should have been attacked.” He stood and paced the small office. “And what are you sorry about? It’s my job to keep you safe. Both of you.”
“No.” She looked down her nose at him. “I’m not an infant, and I won’t be coddled. Lana would say the same. We are both adults and responsible for ourselves. We were laughing and we didn’t pay enough attention to our surroundings. I doubt either of us will make that mistake again.”
He continued pacing. “Damned right. I’m going to call that security firm and hire more guards. Hell, I’m tempted to leave you both out at the compound tonight.”
“And we’ll both leave.” She tapped her newly repaired fingernails on the desk. “For ninety years, I was a mindless pawn. There is no way I’ll be ordered about like that again. I have no objection to taking precautions, but don’t even try to treat me like an idiot or a child.”
“Even though you have no training in self-defense?” He leaned against the closed office door and stared her down. “And even though no one can defend against a lead pipe to the back of the head?”
“Actually, I do. This took me by surprise—as it did Lana.” Despite her inner flinch, she held his gaze. Her skin pricked as the tears and smeared makeup dried on her cheeks. “And no, no one can defend themselves all the time, against a determined opponent. So if we’re all leaving, that’s fine. I’ll be right beside you. But if you’re staying, I am, too. I can’t go back to mindless obedience. Notice how well that worked out for me before. You have to trust my judgment, or this…arrangement is going to be over before we’ve even started.”
“After last night, you gave up that option.” He ran his hands through his hair and dry-scrubbed his face. “But you have a point. You’re both adults, and I’m overreacting. All I can promise is to try to respect that. Alpha wolf instincts are pretty strong.”
Her lip quirked. It was impossible to maintain any distance with him. “I seem to remember that from last night.”
Greg laughed with her. “Okay, I deserved that. Are you really all right?”
“Desmond healed everything. I was frightened, but I’m fine now.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t be able to tell that her hands were still shaking, ever so slightly. This adrenaline thing must be more potent than she’d thought. To hide that, she reached for the small paper sack.
“What’s so important in the bag?” He lifted one bushy eyebrow as she drew out the contents and sighed with relief. Neither of the small cardboard boxes was crushed.
“Lipstick. It matches my manicure.” It had cost far more than she should have spent, but somehow it mattered. She’d used up her favorite lipstick several weeks ago, and until now, hadn’t seen a purpose to spending the money she no longer made to replace it. Feeling her best tonight would be worth the cost. “And a pair of earrings. I was allowed to keep my clothing, but the queen confiscated my jewels.” Those had cost two full weeks’ wages, and they were only small aquamarines, though the stones and settings were good ones.
“Speaking of jewelry…” He reached into a desk drawer beside her and drew out a faded velvet box. “This belonged to my great-grandmother, on my mother’s side.”