Wolf King (Wolves of New York #1) Page 3

  My mother says I’m beautiful and I shouldn’t be surprised if one day the wolf of my dreams falls at my feet, but she’s my mom.

  She has to say things like that.

  Mom…

  I wonder where she is now. I wonder if she’s safe and if she’s as worried about me as I am about her.

  Probably more worried.

  I wish there was a way to tell her I was okay without putting her in more danger. But there isn’t. The safest thing for my family is to cut them out of my life completely, the way my sister Kelley did when she left.

  I swallow hard and fight the wave of emotion shoving up my throat, but a tear slips down my cheek anyway. Good thing I didn’t put on any mascara.

  I wipe my face and pull myself together just as Dara calls my name from the front of the locker room.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  Or as ready as I’ll ever be.

  Chapter 4

  Maxim

  I swirl the amber contents of my second bourbon of the night—never more than two and never closer than an hour apart—in my glass, waiting for the knock at my study door.

  It comes just after midnight.

  “Come in,” I say, and Dara pops her head in.

  “She’s settled, Sir,” she says. “Is there anything else you need from me tonight?”

  “No, thank you,” I say, then add warmly. “I appreciate your help, Dara. And your discretion. No one needs to know where we’re keeping our guest except you, me, and Hermione. Understood?”

  “Absolutely, Sir. You can count on me,” she says, and I know I can. Dara’s mate was shot last year during a drug delivery gone wrong. I carried Jenkins back to the tower myself, on my back, keeping pressure on his wound the entire way.

  It’s no less than I would have done for any of my men—no less than I should have done as Alpha—but since that day I can do no wrong in either of their eyes. I have their loyalty and their secrecy whenever I have need of it.

  “But you can tell Jenkins,” I add, triggering a relieved smile from the petite wolf.

  “Thank you, again. Hard to keep a secret from the man who’s slept in your bed for over a decade.”

  “I would imagine so.” I lift a hand to let her know she’s dismissed. “Sleep well. Both of you.”

  After she’s gone, I down the rest of my drink and rise, leaving my glass on my desk as I open the secret door in the corner of the study. Tucked behind a curio cabinet with all the china inside firmly glued down, it opens with a creaking sound and a puff of dust.

  It’s been years since anyone’s taken this passage into the consort’s quarters, not since my father visited my mother there when I was a child. But my mother’s been dead a long time and Father never sought another mate. The rooms were redecorated, but it wasn’t until I became Alpha last year that the cleaning staff added maintenance of the consort’s wing back into their weekly rotation.

  My loyal staff continues to maintain the rooms, despite the fact that I’ve shown no interest in finding a mate, which meant all was in place for my prisoner to be made comfortable there tonight.

  But not too comfortable…

  There’s something about this woman, something…off, that has every instinct in my body warning to proceed with caution.

  I make my way through the secret passage to the entrance to her private bathroom, wait a moment to ensure there’s no activity in-process inside—I don’t intend to respect her privacy, but surprising women on the toilet isn’t one of my kinks—and then slip in through the full-length mirror.

  Let Willow think I was in here waiting for her all along, if she likes.

  I don’t mind if she eventually realizes there’s a private passage between her rooms and mine—the door only opens when triggered by the mechanism in the ring on my right hand—but if she stays confused and off-balance for a while, wondering how I keep surprising her, that’s fine with me.

  I want her unbalanced.

  No, I want her broken, I admit as I stalk through the bathroom toward the bedroom. Not broken in such a way that she can’t be repaired, but all her defenses down and her secrets laid bare. Because I don’t buy this offer to give me her child to raise for a moment. One look in her heart-on-her-sleeve eyes was enough to give that lie away.

  But maybe she hopes to stay here and help with the baby.

  If so, I should disabuse her of that notion right away. If I decide to raise my enemy’s son, I’ll do so alone, exerting complete control over the child, ensuring he’s raised to hate the man who sired him as much as I do.

  In the bedroom, I find the bed still made and the plush couch in the corner empty. I turn. The small breakfast table is empty as well. I’m about to head into the formal sitting room, to see if Willow’s settled in there, when a soft voice sounds from the large picture window.

  “I’ve never seen a view of the city like this,” she says. “It’s so beautiful.”

  I turn, spotting her in the folds of the heavy curtains, tucked into the shadows. “More beautiful in The Parallel,” I say. “The fairy lights make Parallel Manhattan’s skyline dance after dark.”

  She hums beneath her breath as I cross slowly to the window. “I’ve never seen that, either. Blood River pack outsiders don’t get out much.”

  “Outsiders don’t end up the Alpha’s mate,” I say, my guard up again. Not that it was ever really down.

  What is it about this woman that has my teeth on fucking edge? I’m not a fan of her pack, but this is over the top, even for me.

  “Sure, they do,” she says, stepping out of the curtain folds and into the light. “If the horoscopes say so. Victor’s superstitious.”

  “So, I’ve heard. But I’m sure he’d rearrange the stars for his son. If necessary.” I study her freshly scrubbed face, something shifting inside as I take in the chocolate curls, flushed cheeks, full lips, and the plush curves beneath her flannel pajamas.

  She doesn’t look at all like a drowned rat now. She’s actually very pretty.

  And very familiar.

  The key turns in the lock and it all suddenly falls into place.

  Chapter 5

  Maxim

  “Kelley Astor,” I say softly, the way Willow’s eyes go wide confirming my guess. “You’re her little sister.”

  She blinks faster. “Y-yes. Did you know Kelley?” Hope sparks in her features. “Do you know her now? Is she safe? Is she—”

  “I have no idea. I haven’t seen her in eight years.”

  She deflates and the bitter part of me takes pleasure in the pain in her eyes. “Oh. Right, well…me, either. But you knew her before? How?”

  “Knew her well,” I say, my jaw clenching as I think back to those long, summer nights, out in Human Side with Kelley and Bane.

  We’d dance at some shitty little club until midnight and then shift and run through Central Park with our friends, causing trouble, even though my father would have whipped my brother and me within an inch of our lives if he’d caught us. But my older brother, Bane, was desperately in love with a pretty wolf from a rival pack, rebellious, and past ready to return to the freedom of The Parallel.

  Kelley was the same.

  The two of them fancied themselves the next Romeo and Juliet, but without the tragic ending. They decided the rules didn’t apply to them and behaved accordingly.

  And for a long time, I was as charmed by them as everyone else.

  They were funny and beautiful and brave and reckless and…

  Dead.

  Now, they’re both probably dead. They disappeared the night after Kelley was mated to a different Darius and no one has seen or heard from them since. And that isn’t my brother’s way. If Bane were still alive, he would have made contact. At the very least, he would have come home when my father was nearly killed.

  But he didn’t. He hasn’t. And he won’t.

  I reconciled myself to the fact that my brother is gone, and I won’t even have the luxury of visiting his grave a long time ag
o.

  But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to tell Willow that her sister is dead. Instead, I say, “She destroyed my brother’s life.”

  Willow’s brow furrows. “What?”

  “Your older sister, my older brother—they were a couple. And then they were both gone. Bane should be here, leading the pack, protecting our people, but he chose your sister instead.”

  Her green eyes—the same shade of vibrant emerald as Kelley’s—widen to saucers again. “I had…no idea.”

  “Why would you? Kelley was good at keeping secrets and you were…what? Ten when she left?”

  “Sixteen,” she says, proving she’s older than she looks.

  Her round cheeks and petite stature would have made me guess her age now at no more than eighteen. That’s the usual age for a Blood River pack female to take a mate.

  They start them young over there, the better to keep their females pumping out babies that Victor can treat like his own personal, disposable army.

  “So how did you escape the claiming ceremony for so long?” I ask. “You’re…twenty-four?” She nods and I continue, “Practically an old maid.”

  Her lips quirk. “You’re not wrong. I was in grad school, getting my master’s in chemistry. Just graduated this past summer and have been finishing up a few research projects. I was supposed to start work in the Blood River labs next month.” She nods toward the door. “I told Hermione about my experience. I spent six years working on recreational drug applications in my spare time. That’s what Victor was going to have me do. I’m happy to bring that expertise to bear for you here, instead.”

  “Not interested,” I say, with a dismissive wave of my hand.

  “But I’m very good,” she insists. “And I think we share a philosophy. I’ve heard you only sell drugs that have very few or no side effects, and that’s what I’ve been—”

  “Not. Interested,” I repeat, with more bite in my tone.

  But she doesn’t cower away or shut her pretty mouth. She props her hands on her hips and says, “Well, you should get interested. A lack of curiosity is a sign of a stagnant mind.”

  “And a lack of fear is a sign of a foolish one,” I warn, low and soft.

  She swallows hard and her lips stay closed.

  “I’m not sure what you think is happening here but let me enlighten you so there’s no confusion in the future,” I continue, stepping closer, until I’m looming over her.

  At six three, I’m a tall man, but she can’t be more than five three.

  Maybe less. But I don’t feel bad about using my size to intimidate her. The faster we get on the same page, the less trouble she’ll be to me.

  “If you are pregnant, you’ll be allowed to stay here until you give birth,” I say. “You’ll receive medical care, and all your needs will be met. Then, once the child is born, you will sign your parental rights over to me and be escorted to a safe house in another country, where you’ll have a chance to start a new life far from Pax Darius and his people.”

  Her mouth falls open with a sound of protest, but I push on, “That is the best scenario for you, I’m afraid. If you refuse to grant me full custody of the child, or if you turn out not to be pregnant, you get a bus ticket and a ‘best of luck’ from me. And you should feel grateful for that.”

  “Grateful?” she echoes, anger flashing in her eyes.

  “Yes,” I say. “Pax is a foul specimen who loathes me every bit as much as I loathe him, but I’m sure he’d be grateful to have his wayward mate returned to him. It could be an opportunity for us to bury the hatchet. Or at least secure safe passage in and out of The Parallel for my people. We have friends there we haven’t seen for nearly a decade. Victor really did crack down on monitoring the portals after your sister ran off. She had a way of fucking things up for everyone, didn’t she?”

  Willow lifts her chin, holding my gaze. “My sister ran from a miserable match and honored her own needs and her own dreams. In my book, that’s called self-respect.” She shrugs. “If you want to paint her as a villain like all the other misogynistic creeps I know, I can’t stop you. But in my eyes, the only villains around here are all the Alphas who have forgotten their job is to serve their people, not violate their wishes and personal autonomy like cracked out Doms without a safe word.”

  “Had a lot of experience with safe words?” I ask, more impressed than I want to admit. I resent being lumped in with the rest of the villains in her analogy, but I agree with her and I respect her moxie.

  Not to mention her intelligence. This one clearly didn’t earn her graduate degree coasting on her pretty face.

  “No,” she says, her stubborn chin still in the air. “None at all, but I’ve read dirty books. Lots of them.”

  I arch a brow. “Is that right?”

  She arches hers right back. “It is. And I’m not even a little bit embarrassed about admitting it.”

  “Says the girl with pink cheeks.”

  “Woman,” she whispers. “Woman with…pink cheeks.”

  I bite my lip, fighting a smile.

  Fuck.

  I actually like this girl. This woman.

  I like her, but I can’t let her know it. That, I can already tell, would be a serious mistake.

  She’s smart and brave and determined to get what she wants from me. If I hope to maintain the upper hand, I can’t show weakness. I’m in control here, and she needs to acknowledge that, and remember it.

  With that in mind, I thread my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and make a light, but firm fist.

  Her eyes widen and her throat works, but she doesn’t try to pull away and doesn’t so much as flinch as I bring my lips closer to hers and ask, “And why did you read so many naughty books, little wolf? What was the attraction for you?”

  She swallows. “I think you know.”

  “I want you to tell me. Tell me what you liked about those books. Did you imagine you were the big, bad Dom, in total control of your willing submissive?”

  “No,” she confesses softly.

  “No?” I ask, tightening my grip on her hair.

  Her breath feathers out, warm and minty on my lips and her chest rises and falls faster, drawing my attention to her full breasts. She’s curvy as hell and I can practically taste how sweet her skin would be against my tongue as I lick and suck her tight nipples.

  As I slide my fingers between her legs and make her come on my hand, erasing the memory of whatever unpleasantness she experienced with her mate earlier tonight.

  I can’t imagine fucking Pax was anything but a chore for her and not nearly as exciting as one of her novels.

  The thought makes me ask, “So how did your night with your one true mate compare to your romantic fantasies?”

  Pain flashes across her features and I almost regret the question.

  But it’s best if she hates me. Like I told her the moment I met her, I don’t have time for new friends.

  And I don’t fuck members of my pack, let alone any other. I don’t fuck wolves. Period. I fuck fairies and nymphs and other women who are good at understanding the boundary between sex and love, and who aren’t interested in more than a good time.

  I’m especially disinterested in bossy little wolves who might be pregnant with another man’s child.

  Or so I tell myself, ignoring the thickening behind my fly and the way my blood rushes faster as Willow says, “He’s not my one true mate. He’s not fit to lick my shoe, and I will never be naked or semi-naked with him ever again.”

  “No, you won’t,” I agree. “I’m sure he’s already made plans to kill you. Slowly.”

  “Well, I have plans, too,” she says. “And my plans include finding a job and making a new life for myself and maybe, someday, meeting a man who knows how to make a woman feel good.”

  I could make her feel so much better than good.

  She deserves to feel better than good. She deserves orgasms and pleasure and a man who knows what to do with a strong woman who d
aydreams about abandoning control to her lover.

  And I confess, the thought of this strong woman on her knees for me, because she chooses to be there, and can’t wait to do what I tell her, turns me on.

  And just like that, I’m fully erect, hard and thick, my cock straining the front of my pants in its eagerness to be buried inside this curvy little wolf.

  “Well, maybe those dreams will come true,” I say, my voice low and husky, even as I will my dick back under control. “If you do what you’re told and hand over your baby without making a fuss.”

  She scowls harder. “If you want that baby to grow up healthy and strong, he or she will need a mother. Deprive the child of that, and you’re setting yourself—and an innocent kid—up for failure with a side of misery and pain.”

  “Children are more resilient than you give them credit for,” I say. “They need safety, security, and one person they know loves them to distraction.”

  She arches a challenging brow. “And you’re going to be that one person? No offense, but you seem about as capable of love as that ugly vase in the bathroom.”

  “My aunt picked out that vase.”

  “Your aunt has hideous taste in vases. And nephews.”

  My lips curve in a hard smile. “Perhaps. But my terms aren’t up for debate. Sleep on it, little wolf, and in the morning, if you decide you can’t stomach giving your baby to a man who will offer it every creature comfort, every opportunity, and every spark of his devotion, then by all means…be on your way.”

  Her eyes shoot emerald daggers into mine. “We both know that if I do that, the baby won’t live to be born.”

  I tsk softly, insincerely, and release her hair.

  I sift my fingers slowly through the silky strands as I murmur, “Then it seems your decision isn’t all that hard, after all.”

  “You’re—”

  “Watch it, little wolf,” I cut in, waving a warning finger back and forth in front of her livid face. “I’ve been patient with your insults, thus far. But if you keep at it, you’ll become sufficiently irritating that I might rethink my decision to offer you shelter. Let alone accommodation in my consort quarters with luxurious sheets, a stunning view, and my aunt’s vase.”