Wolf King (Wolves of New York #1) Page 6

  Together, we serve all the needs of our people.

  Still, I know I can’t play the wolf card in this situation. My own human side demands I make amends, even if it’s only in some small way. Amends are different than apologies; amends can actually make a difference in someone’s life.

  “Thank you,” Willow finally whispers, her shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry you have to deal with me. I just…truly didn’t know where else to go. All the packs in The Parallel are loyal to Victor. Even the kindest of them would have turned me over to him to protect their own. You guys are the only ones with the strength to stand up to the bullies.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Hermione says, reaching across the table to take Willow’s hand. “I get it. You didn’t have a lot of options, and wolves should be able to count on each other when times get hard.”

  I frown and lean forward in my chair, wondering if Hermione’s forgotten that I’m back here. Surely, she wouldn’t dare preach to me about being an Alpha “wolves can count on” after what happened with my father?

  But sure enough, she adds, “I’ll talk to Maxim for you. See if he can’t be swayed. I, for one, believe we can protect our pack, while also showing mercy to strangers in need.” She stands, shooting a pointed look toward the glass—and me—before motioning to the door. “Come on, let’s go get a cappuccino. My treat.”

  Willow stands, smiling up at the much taller woman. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  I like her smile, I realize. It’s…sweet.

  But Willow’s more than sweet. She’s strong and stubborn and brave. She went through hell last night, but she still held my gaze this morning without flinching.

  She still flashed sex eyes my way, even after all she’s been through.

  And yes, I know some Betas can’t help but respond sexually to an Alpha, but she had no trouble refusing Pax. Fighting him, even.

  No, she might not like the fact that she’s attracted to me—she clearly doesn’t—but she didn’t shy away from it.

  That takes guts.

  I like guts, too.

  I remind myself that strangers can’t be trusted, but as Hermione and Willow leave the room, I don’t try to stop them. I didn’t clear Hermione to take our prisoner anywhere but from her room, down to interrogation, and back again, but my second made her position clear. She thinks we should give this little wolf the benefit of the doubt.

  Maybe we should. Maybe we shouldn’t.

  And maybe there’s a way to find out for sure, if I’m willing to call in a favor…

  Trusting my gut, I pull up the text thread with Trix and ask—Does your sister still deal in truth stones? If so, I’m in the market for a few.

  Again, Trix doesn’t keep me waiting. We’re totally secure on this line, right? I assure her that we are, and she continues, Yes, she does, but she’s out of town with her boyfriend. Can it wait a week? I could ask around for another recommendation, but Felicity’s stones really are the best. She doesn’t cut corners with the spell work the way a lot of the bigger operations do. And she’s excellent at keeping secrets.

  I frown, but reply, That’s fine. It can wait.

  She sends back a smiley face and a thumbs up and then, Sweet, can’t wait to see you tonight!

  I frown harder, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m cancelling the date. I explain that some unexpected pack business came up and promise to hook up with her soon.

  Trix is cool about the change of plans, but her final text, a playful warning not to “find a girlfriend” between now and next week hints that she senses there’s another woman on my mind.

  And there is, even though starting something with Willow is impossible. The most I can offer our refugee is a provisional place in our pack and protection for her and her child—if she proves trustworthy.

  Truth stones will cost a pretty penny, both in coin and in the risks inherent in purchasing forbidden spells.

  Fairies are forbidden to sell charms outside Fey circles, and the High Fairy Court doesn’t just punish fairies who break the rules. They take their pound of flesh from the people who buy enchantments, too, a form of deterrence that’s unsurprisingly quite effective.

  But there are always customers who will accept the risk in return for the reward, and it looks like I’m about to become one of them.

  I’m putting my safety, and the safety of my pack, in jeopardy for a wolf I barely know. Who means nothing to me.

  It’s not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Not by a long shot.

  Perhaps I’ll rethink the wisdom of the purchase before the week is through.

  But deep down, I know I won’t.

  My gut is screaming that I need to find out the truth about Willow Astor—that she’s important to the future of the North Star pack in some way I can’t logically sort out, but that my instincts know for certain.

  And my instincts are almost never wrong.

  Maybe it’s just that having Pax Darius’s son under my control will change the dynamic between our two packs forever, finally giving me the leverage I need to start re-establishing a presence in The Parallel.

  That’s probably all it is, and Willow’s usefulness to the North Star wolves will end when she gives birth.

  But that doesn’t mean I have to add insult to injury. I don’t want to have anything in common with Pax, either, least of all a shared habit of treating his mate like shit. If Willow passes the truth stone test, I’ll make it clear I’ve changed my mind and she’s welcome to stay as a full-fledged member of our pack.

  Until then, I’ll walk the line between kindness and caution.

  And I know just how to start…

  Chapter 8

  Willow

  I’m out of prison, wandering around a bright, open communal floor with soaring floor-to-ceiling windows and gingko trees growing in massive planters scattered throughout the space. The smells of coffee and fresh baked scones at the café compete with the savory smells wafting from the sit-down restaurant on the other side of the atrium and the air is alive with laughter and conversation.

  The ruckus grows muted for a moment as Hermione and I cross the polished marble floor to get in line for a coffee but resumes with renewed fervor in just a few minutes.

  Clearly, these people are too excited about life to be quiet for long.

  It’s so nice to see. Incredible, really.

  Everywhere I look, there are groups of shifters chatting, eating, playing chess at the tables by the windows, or kicking a ball around the astro-turf outside on the large balcony space. Even the people in business suits chatting intently over laptops look relaxed, at ease.

  It’s just a bunch of normal shifters having a normal day and by the time we get our coffees and grab a table for two not far from a gated, toddler playground, where little wolves are tumbling over each other, shifting back and forth between forms, playing as puppies, then babies, then puppies again, I have tears in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry for what happened, and for making you relive it this morning,” Hermione says, her brow knitting as she empties a raw sugar packet into her cappuccino. “If you’d like to talk to someone, I can arrange for a crisis counselor to come to your room later. We have some really great people on staff.”

  I blink faster, swiping a tear away with my napkin before it can fall. “No, no, it’s not that. I mean, last night was awful, but…” I trail off, biting my bottom lip as I try to put the feelings swirling inside me into words. “Things have just been so bad for our pack for so long. So long that bad became…normal. But it’s not. This is normal. People living their lives without watching everything they say and do or being terrified they’ll be punished for the tiniest little thing. For looking left on a day when the Alpha decided everyone should look right or something. Sometimes people were punished, even killed, for things that seemed that arbitrary. It was…traumatizing,” I say, realizing as I speak just how true the words are.

  Only now, away from my pack and able to relax a little for the fir
st time in years do I realize how scared I’ve been. How anxious and on edge. Even lying to Hermione this morning in an interrogation room was less stressful than my daily life in The Parallel.

  But then, it didn’t really feel like a lie. No, Pax didn’t succeed in raping me, but he got damned close. I’m never going to forget what it felt like to have his big body leveraged over me, pinning me, naked, to the floor, while he tried to shove his flaccid penis inside me.

  Honestly, the horror of it all didn’t hit until I was telling the story to Hermione. I was so focused on getting here and finding a way to win Maxim over that I haven’t stopped to think about those few minutes on the floor in Pax’s foyer.

  I haven’t stopped to think about a lot of things that have happened in the past few years. Hell, the past decade. It’s just been one trauma after another for our pack and for my family.

  So…yeah, a crisis counselor would probably be nice. Really nice. If I thought I could trust the counselor to keep everything I say between the two of us. But I’m not sure if doctor-patient confidentiality is a thing when you’re Maxim’s prisoner, and I can’t afford to screw up.

  I’m on borrowed time as it is.

  “Can I get back to you on the counselor?” I add, cupping my hands around my coffee with extra cream. “I’d kind of like to stop thinking about it right now, but it might be nice to talk to someone. Eventually.”

  Hermione nods. “Of course, whenever you’re ready. I understand wanting to wait. I lost my dad five years ago, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it until last year, after Jukebox was poisoned. Seeing him in the hospital brought back all those grief feelings I’d pushed aside, but I felt ready to deal with them at that point. I wasn’t before.”

  “I’m sorry you lost your dad,” I say, my throat tight.

  “Thanks. Me too.” She glances over my shoulder, her pale brows lifting ever so slightly as she murmurs, “Will wonders never cease.”

  I turn in my chair to see Maxim crossing the marble toward a table of laptop-juggling people by the windows, looking like a movie star playing a businessman in his black pants, white button down, and gray vest. He’s that gorgeous, the kind of person who’s too extraordinary to look like he belongs in the same world as the rest of us.

  Until this point in my experience with the man, his perma-scowl has helped take the edge of his beauty, but now…

  With his features relaxed and a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, he is…breathtaking.

  And still sexy as hell.

  Even fresh from rehashing memories of Pax and his cold, clammy, alcohol-soured skin pressed to mine, my body responds to the sight of Maxim Thorn. It’s crazy, really. No man has ever affected me this way. And yes, I know Alpha pheromones can be intense things, but I really thought I was a different kind of Beta.

  Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was a Beta. Women are never classified as Alphas in any of The Parallel packs.

  Never. If you don’t have a dick, you don’t have dominant energy.

  It’s a belief accepted as truth.

  But I’ve never felt fulfilled by “facilitating the Alpha’s vision” the way a Beta wolf is supposed to feel. I’ve never found obeying orders comforting or natural, and the absolute submission of the Omega class certainly never appealed. I don’t like working in groups and chafe under micromanagement from my superiors. I was born with defiance in my veins and a habit of questioning authority that my mother was afraid would get me killed before I graduated elementary school.

  As I grew older, I learned to hide my secret alpha leanings, but they’ve always been there, simmering beneath the surface, making me wonder why other people are always calling the shots.

  I want to call the shots. I want to lead the charge. I want to head up the next experiment, decide who I should marry, and when I should marry them, and have an equal voice in my home.

  Even my secret fantasies about being dominated by a powerful wolf aren’t Beta-flavored. I don’t crave the comfort of submitting to an Alpha. I crave the combat, the electricity, the fire of two strong personalities colliding in the bedroom. And yes, in my dreams, my man ends up on top—so to speak—but only because I allow it, only because he’s earned my respect and submission.

  Something instinctive inside me insists Maxim would get it.

  Get me.

  And that he’d give me everything I’ve been dreaming about and more.

  If I weren’t his prisoner, and if starting something with him wouldn’t guarantee he learns I’m a liar, liar, with my hymen on fire, of course.

  I’m still a virgin and once he finds out…

  Well, that’s the problem with the “flirt my way into his good graces” plan I cooked up this morning. Flirting with Maxim could quickly become something more than flirting. And if it becomes too much more, the entire thing will blow up in my face.

  But Diana did say that he “never” slept with wolves.

  So maybe it would be okay to play with fire…just a little bit.

  “Seriously, take your time, I’m used to playing second fiddle,” I hear Hermione say, and I turn, my cheeks flushing hot.

  “I’m sorry. I was just worried he’ll be mad that I’m out of my rooms.”

  Hermione’s lips curve. “Right, and I’m worried that my coffee is going to turn into an ice cream cone.”

  I nod seriously, giving her cup a hard look. “Interesting. Is that something that happens around here? I mean, I’ve heard the human world is different.”

  She laughs beneath her breath. “It’s fine. He’s magnetic. I get it. I’d probably have a thing for him too, if I didn’t have…other preferences.”

  I pull in a breath but stop the question on the tip of my tongue before it can escape into the air. I think I know what she means, but I don’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion, especially when I’m not sure if being gay is okay in this pack.

  It most certainly isn’t in mine. It’s grounds for torture. A rumor that a wolf has been experimenting with someone of the same sex is enough to earn them a two month stay at Victor’s “corrections” facility.

  Of course, he doesn’t “correct” anything—there’s nothing wrong with the wolves in the first place. All he does is torture them until they’re too scared to act on their feelings or so much as look at the person they used to love.

  It’s heartbreaking.

  For all his bluster and cruelty when it comes to outsiders, I can’t imagine Maxim having a policy like that one, but years of walking on eggshells has taught me to be cautious.

  “Yes, I prefer women,” Hermione says, her eyes dancing with amusement. “It’s okay to ask. People aren’t shy about their sexuality here.”

  “But you said Maxim and his dad encouraged pack members to abstain from sex before marriage.”

  Her smile widens. “Sex with other wolves. Just because we don’t like to shit where we eat. We all have to live in this tower together. For safety. It’s best for everyone if you hold off on having sex, or children, outside your mate bond. Just makes things less complicated, you know?”

  I blink. “No, I…didn’t know. So, you’re free to have sex with…humans?”

  “Humans, yes.” She bobs her head back and forth. “Though, they’re usually last on the list. They’re so fragile. You have to be careful with a human in the bedroom. Make sure to keep your teeth and claws under wraps at all times. But fairies, vampires, di-jinn, even a witch if she’s powerful enough—they can all give as good as they get.”

  I can feel my eyes going saucer wide. “You sleep with vampires. But don’t they want to kill you over here? Because they definitely want to kill us over there. They hunt wolf blood like it’s the holy grail.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Hermione shrugs, her lips pursing for a beat before she says, “The vampires human side are more…refined. They want wolf blood, yeah, but they’re willing to earn it. Never underestimate the erotic devotion of a vampire who’s promised to make you come three times before they g
et a drink.” She laughs, motioning toward my face with her cup. “You’re scandalized. I’m sorry. Too much too soon?”

  I shake my head. “Um, no. I’m just…” I take a sip of my coffee, struggling to name the feeling swirling inside. “I think I’m…intrigued.”

  She grins. “Good. You should be. There’s a big, cool world out there. And when you’ve got the right people watching your back, it’s pretty fun to explore it.”

  Explore.

  God, that sounds amazing.

  “I’ve never even let myself imagine that before,” I find myself confessing. “I think I knew if I did…”

  Hermione sobers, her brows drawing closer as she prods, “If you did…”

  “That it might destroy me,” I whisper. “It’s dangerous to want things you know you’ll never have. In my old life it was safer to keep my dreams small, manageable. To hope for okay and try to ignore that almost everything was not enough.”

  “Well, we’ll see if we can change all that,” she says, a spark in her eyes that makes me think she really is on my side. That she wants me to have a place here, a home. “Just keep doing what you’re doing with Maxim. Whatever it is, it’s working, or he wouldn’t have given me permission to take you out for a coffee.”

  I blink. “He did?”

  “He did,” she confirms, glancing behind me again. “And he’s on his way over, so get ready.”

  Chapter 9

  Willow

  I gulp. “B-but all we’ve done is fight. Some semi-civil conversation last night but…yeah, mostly fighting.”

  Hermione grins as she pushes her chair back and stands. “Good. Keep showing him what you’re made of, kid, and I’ll catch you later.”

  “Later,” I wheeze, barely having enough time to drag in another tight breath before Maxim is on the other side of the table, glaring down at me.

  No…not glaring.

  Watching, intently, but without any malice in his dark eyes.