Destiny Concealed, page 22
Ulf led the way up the stone driveway, his expression serious. Rapping on the door, Brax stood at Ulf’s right shoulder and assumed a similar expression on his face. A few moments later, a young male opened the door.
“Yes?” he asked. Brax scrutinized his face. He had hair so dark it had licks of blue in it. His eyes stirred with his wolf, shifting from ice-blue to gold for just a second. On his neck, a tattoo of a snowflake could be seen skirting the edges of his shirt collar.
“I’m Ulf, and this is Brax. We’re here from the Asgard pack to see Malcolm. He’s expecting us.”
The male looked over Ulf then Brax before giving them a tight nod. “You’re early,” he said, leading them down a hall.
“We had a good run on the roads,” Ulf replied.
“You must have driven through the night,” the young male added.
“You must be right,” Brax piped up, earning himself a glare from Ulf. Right. Don’t piss off other wolves in their territory. Brax shrugged and looked ahead again.
They stopped at a room where the Niflheim wolf knocked then opened the door, ushering Ulf and Brax inside. A dark-haired man was sitting in a wing-back chair in front of a fire. In his hands, he held an iPad, his finger swiping over the screen. When Brax looked over, he discovered he was playing Angry Birds, and Brax liked him already.
The male who’d escorted them in cleared his throat. “Malcolm, these are the Asgard wolves you were expecting.”
The guy stood up, balancing his iPad on the arm of his armchair. His eyes skimmed over both of them, evaluating their wolves. “You must be Ulf,” he said.
“Yes, Malcolm,” Ulf replied, his gaze fixed on Malcolm’s chin. Brax was looking at the carpet under his boots, but he could feel Malcolm’s eyes fixed on him.
“And who is this?”
“Another one of our enforcers, Braxton,” Ulf answered for him. Brax grimaced at the use of his full name and looked up for just a moment.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Alpha.”
Malcolm threw his head back and laughed. “Cut the bullshit, Braxton. I get enough ass-kissing from my own wolves.” He looked over at his wolf by the door. “Thanks, Neva. Get us a couple of beers will you?”
Brax gave Ulf a sideways glance and grinned. Damn, he liked this male.
“Take a load off,” Malcolm said, sitting back down in his chair and turning off his iPad. There was only one other available seat, which Ulf took. Brax stood behind him, flanking his right.
“Now, what’s this about exactly? Mathias said you wanted to speak to some of my Bitten wolves?”
“We’d like to, if that’s possible,” Ulf replied, sitting forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. “Mathias sent us here to interview some of the newly Bitten wolves so we know what we’ll be up against, as we think whoever is biting these humans will be moving east soon.”
“What…” Malcom started, but glanced at the door where there was a knock. “Excuse me. Come in,” Malcolm called.
It was Neva with the beers. He handed them out to everyone, starting with his alpha, then excused himself from the room. Brax put the bottle to his lips and sucked back a gulp. It wasn’t Lag, but it would do. Brax glanced down and noticed that Ulf hadn’t sipped from his bottle yet, just had it resting on the arm of the chair.
Malcolm took a drink and placed the sweating bottle onto a small table near his chair. Pulling a phone from his pocket, he slid his finger over the screen.
“What’s your number? I’ll send you the name and number of one of the wolves you can speak to.” Ulf began reciting his cell number to Malcolm, who punched it into his phonebook. “His experience was relatively normal and safe, so he’d be more likely to speak to you about the experience. He also knows you’ll be stopping in to see him today.”
“How many Bitten wolves do you have?” Brax asked.
Malcolm glanced up from the screen. “We had three. One we had to put down because his wolf dragged him too far when he went through the Change. The other wolf we still have is a little…damaged from going through his first shift.”
“All right, got the info,” Ulf replied, checking his own phone. To Brax, he said, “Are you ready to go?”
Brax drained the rest of his beer and placed the empty on the desk in the corner. “Yep.”
Brax and Ulf hopped back into the Hummer, entering the address Malcolm had given them into the GPS. They were heading to a place around fifty miles away. Ulf put the Hummer into first and started down the road, the cage of metal vibrating along the unsealed road as its wheels hit the ruts and runnels grooved into the surface.
Once they were on the highway again, Ulf sank back into his seat and cruised through the traffic. Brax noticed that most of the cars simply got out of his way, and he didn’t really blame them. The car was nearly five thousand pounds of driving steel and guaranteed death if someone got in the way.
Ulf flipped his directional signal on and pulled off the highway twenty minutes later, following the directions the GPS gave him. Another half an hour of semi-sealed roads and more fir trees than Brax thought even possible, they pulled up onto the gravel shoulder in the middle of fucking nowhere.
“Let me do the talking,” Ulf said as he opened his door. Brax nodded and followed Ulf up the mud and gravel driveway concealed by the low-lying fir branches bordering the road. The house that appeared in front of them was small and redefined the word ‘dilapidated’ all on its own. The only thing that didn’t fit with the rest of the facade was that the drive had been cleared recently—salt and grit sprinkling the surface and crunching under their boots as they hiked up to the front door.
Ulf lifted his fist and hammered on the thing when they got there, waiting just a few seconds before repeating the process. His beta looked at Brax over his shoulder, a brow raised in question. Brax shrugged.
“He could be out?” Brax suggested, peering through one of the windows beside the door.
Ulf grunted. “He knew we were coming.”
There didn’t appear to be any movement that Brax could see from the crack in the gingham drapes. “So what do you want to do?” he asked, his breath fogging up the glass as he spoke.
Brax got his answer half a second later. Ulf brought his boot down onto the door, sending sharp splinters of wood flying in every direction, snapping the locking mechanism with a sharp crunch.
Brax cocked an eyebrow at him. “Overkill much?” he said, squatting down onto his haunches and pulling the doormat up. He felt around with his fingers until they clutched at a key. Brax showed it to Ulf with a smile. “All you had to do was find the key.”
The big guy shrugged. “Whatever. My way was faster.”
Ulf cautiously entered the house. Brax followed, figuring there was no need to keep up the nice-and-quiet routine when they’d announced themselves so well.
Stepping over the entrance rug, Brax’s gaze drifted up to the mezzanine level of the hunting-style lodge. An old couch rested like a downed animal in front of the stone hearth, a musty blanket draped over the back. Opposite that was a dated kitchen with olive-green appliances and a chipped Formica benchtop. There was a doorway on either side. While Ulf took the left, Brax went right, pushing open the narrow wood door. It was the bathroom, decorated in the same olive-green as the kitchen. Brax looked around, opening drawers and the vanity above the sink. The place had been cleared out.
Ducking back out into the main part of the house, Brax saw Ulf emerge from what must have been the bedroom.
“He’s gone. The drawers and closet are empty.”
“Same in the bathroom.”
Ulf cursed and pulled out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Brax asked, crossing the distance between them, running his fingers over the blanket on top of the couch.
“Malcolm. Maybe he’ll know where he might be.”
Ulf put the phone to his ear, speaking softly to the alpha on the other end. While they were talking, Brax had a closer look around the place and noticed that there weren’t any photos hanging on the walls or on the mantle.
Moving to the kitchen, he opened up the cupboards and checked out the situation in there. There was a solitary pot with a lid, one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork, knife and spoon. Brax looked up, frowning as Ulf said his goodbyes.
“What’s the story?” he asked.
Ulf shook his head. “Malcolm said he’d spoken to the guy this morning, who’d told him he wasn’t planning on going anywhere today since he knew we were coming.”
Brax leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what now?”
“Malcolm suggested we go to the other Bitten wolf’s place to check that out. He’s going to text me the address.”
Ulf’s phone beeped right on cue. “According to Malcolm, this other guy’s place is about thirty clicks east of here.”
Pushing himself upright, Brax straightened his tee and moved toward the door. “Let’s get this done then.”
Alex was damned near drowning in liquor at the bar when he was finally thrown out after being unable to pay his tab. The little issue of money had started to become a big issue.
Running a hand through his hair, he decided he should get back to the pack house. After hitching for as long and far as he could, he legged the last five miles, arriving to a full house.
As he stood in the entrance hall stomping the snow from his boots, he heard the clinking of silverware on China plates coming from the dining room. He wasn’t interested in playing happy families, though, not with his foul mood, so he proceeded to the stairs that would lead to the room he was shown when he’d first arrived.
“You smell like you bathed in whiskey,” Vaile said from the doorway. Damn, the bastard was quiet. “You need to eat.”
“Not hungry,” Alex replied, putting his hand on the banister.
“You can lose your wolf to hunger.”
“I don’t care.”
He growled. “Don’t make me order your ass around, motherfucker.”
Alex glared at him, still not used to Vaile speaking to him like that. “Fuck you,” he snarled back, his fuse shorting out.
Vaile’s eyes flashed blue. “Get your ass in here, right now.”
Alex felt the power in his words, and he suddenly had no choice in the damned matter. Stifling a groan, he followed the guy into the dining room where a large group of wolves and humans were eating dinner together.
“Sit,” Vaile commanded, pointing at a free chair. Alex glanced at the people on either side of him. One was Sabel. Beside him was a female wolf with blonde hair and black eyes. On the other side of the empty chair was Larissa. She smiled at him warmly, watching him walk around to take his place.
“It’s good to see you, boss,” she whispered once eating had resumed.
“It’s good to see you, too, Grey.”
“Turkey?” she asked, gesturing to the spread set out in front of him. There were three huge turkeys along with a dozen plates of vegetables. Alex’s stomach growled loudly at the sight of it all.
“Sure.”
Larissa leaned over to grab him some slices of turkey from the serving dish, but Vaile stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Serve your damn self, D’Angelo,” he muttered, taking the plate from Larissa’s hand and practically throwing it back in Alex’s face.
Alex did just that—loading up his plate with turkey with all the trimmings. As he ate, he looked around the table. Rhett was at the head—of course—but to his right was a stunning, dark-haired female with violet eyes without a plate in front of her. She turned those eyes on him.
“I wouldn’t make eye contact with her,” Vaile said under his breath. “Rhett doesn’t like it, and it’s only because of his good graces that you’re staying in the house tonight and not in the cage in the basement.”
Alex turned to look at Vaile. “Who is she?”
“Indi, Rhett’s mate.”
“Why isn’t she eating?”
“She already did,” Sabel replied. Alex looked at him quizzically.
“Am I missing something?” he snapped.
“Yeah, a whole damned lot. Indi is—”
“Sabel,” Rhett said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention to him. The alpha shook his head at the other wolf, who simply shrugged and went back to his food.
“Eat,” Rhett commanded. “You’ll need your strength for the return trip tomorrow.”
THIRTY-ONE
Ezekiel shut the door to the garage behind him and let out a deep sigh. He was glad to be home. His client—the less-than-legitimate businessman whose name had thankfully been supressed from the media—was out on bail under strict orders not to leave the city. Ezekiel had left his associates to handle the rest of the fallout, desperate to get home to his mate.
“Saskia?” he called when she didn’t come to greet him at the door. He put his briefcase down. “Saskia, darling? Are you here?”
Figuring she was getting ready for their dinner together, he walked down the hallway, noticing how clean the house was. She must have done it after he’d left so he could come home to a tidy home. He was so lucky to have her.
Pushing open the bedroom door, he saw that she had changed the sheets on the bed, too. Maybe it was a cathartic thing for her to do—to clean the house—almost like wiping the slate clean. The shower was running in the ensuite, Saskia’s gentle humming barely audible over the drum of water.
A pile of her dirty clothes was just by the door, looking out of place in such a spotless home. Unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt, Zeke bent down to scoop up the dirty laundry to put in the hamper.
He paused, a sudden haze of red slipping over his vision. His wolf had pushed forward forcefully in his mind for a moment. As he righted himself, his nostrils flared and a possessive growl escaped his throat.
What was that smell?
Sticking his nose into his mate’s dirty clothes, he drew in the scent and snarled. That male—Alex—was all over them. Ezekiel took in the spotlessly clean room, the changed bed sheets, but refused to let the traitorous idea stick, not until he could ask Saskia himself.
The water was suddenly shut off. Zeke spun around to face the door, waiting for his mate to open it up. Before the door was all the way open, he pounded closer to her, putting them nose to nose.
“Zeke?” Saskia gasped, clutching at the top of her towel. “What are you doing?”
She tried to step away, but he took her arm and held on tight. Saskia winced at the strength in his fingers, her eyes widening, her heart rate increasing.
“Zeke? What’s wrong? You’re scaring me,” she said in a small voice. Her eyes darted down to her clothes still bundled under his arm. “W-why do you have my things?”
“Why do they smell of Alex?” he asked in reply, his voice twisting with his wolf’s growing rage.
Her blue eyes were back on his face, but not looking him directly in the eye. “They were the same clothes I was wearing when I found him and Casey,” she replied unsteadily.
Zeke didn’t know whether that was true or not, his wolf’s hackles rising even further. He had to trust his mate, and he had to mark her as his own in order to push the murderous thoughts about killing Alex from his mind.
Dropping Saskia’s clothes, he pulled her to him, forcefully pushing his mouth against hers. She tasted like she always did, she felt like she always did, but his wolf wasn’t happy. His mouth broke from hers. Roughly, he tilted her head back until her throat was exposed. She gasped and whimpered, but even her surprise wasn’t enough to stop him. His lips trailed down her jaw to her throat, his teeth opening over her delicate skin and biting down. Ezekiel was aware he was being too rough with her, but he was driven by a baser instinct to mark his territory again.
Saskia’s gasp was accompanied by the taste of her blood.
“You’re hurting me, Zeke,” she whispered, her head still tilted up. “Please.”
Zeke’s jaw clamped down harder, causing his mate to jerk away in pain. Blood was dribbling down her throat, the indentations from his teeth clear. She wiped at the wound, her eyes wide when she looked at her hand.
She had taken a few steps away from him. Zeke snarled low in his throat and tackled her again; his wolf raged on the inside. He wasn’t satisfied. He needed more.
Taking large clumps of her hair in his hands, he wrenched her head back. She cried out in pain, but Zeke was too far gone. He forced her mouth to his, but she managed to turn her head away despite the hold he had on her hair. Zeke’s nose ended up behind her ear, buried in her hair. There was no mistaking it this time. Alex was all he could smell.
Rearing back from Saskia, he forced her to look at him. Tears were rapidly tracking down her cheeks.
“Why can I smell Alex on you?” he snarled.
Saskia winced and tried to pull away. He yanked her back hard. Zeke heard her cries, but ignored them.
“Why. Can. I. Smell. Alex. On. You?” he demanded again. “He’s all over you.” He released her to pick up her panties. They were wet, the combined scents of Alex and her overwhelmingly strong. “Did you fuck him?” he asked, throwing her soiled panties into her face.
Saskia caught them, her head bowed as she looked at the sheer fabric in her hands. “Please, let me explain,” she whispered. “I can explain.”
“Explain what?!” he roared. “How my mate fucked another male?” He ripped the quilt from the bed, pulling the pillows, throws and sheets off with it. “Did you fuck him here in our mated bed, too?” he spat, picturing the two of them tangled up together.
She looked up, tears running freely down her cheeks. “I can explain.”
Zeke blinked, letting the rage wash over him. He couldn’t fucking look at her. He turned to leave, and had made it to the hallway, when Saskia tugged on the back of his shirt.
“Zeke!” she cried. “Please give me a minute to explain.”
Without thinking, he raised his hand to her, slapping her hard across the cheek. Saskia’s head spun around, her hand over the place where his palm had just been. Zeke was breathing heavily, his chest pumping up and down at a frenetic pace. He wanted to tear Alex apart for what he had done, and a small piece of him wanted Saskia to suffer, too.
