Wolf King (Wolves of New York #1) Page 9

  Chapter 14

  Willow

  Gone is the billionaire in a suit.

  In his place is primal male power and perfection.

  He looks like a hero sent to save the day and, true to form, before I can shout out a warning about the monster behind me, he’s shifted into a big, black-furred wolf.

  And damn, but his wolf is also magnificent, gorgeous, and terrifying in a way I’m so grateful for right now.

  He races past me, headed straight into the teeth and claws of danger, an almost equally powerful white wolf not far behind him.

  More wolves stream through the doors and forward to offer aid as I turn, watching Maxim launch himself at Sweaty, landing on the tiger’s back as it tries to turn and run. I see Maxim’s bared teeth dig deep into the nape of the tiger’s neck, hear the cat roar, and then the white wolf joins the fray.

  And then another wolf and another until it’s a big puppy pile with Sweaty on the bottom.

  But it’s not a cute puppy pile, like the ones at the toddler playground today.

  It’s lethal.

  I’m not surprised, when, just a few minutes later, the wolves prowl away from Sweaty, leaving his now human form limp and lifeless on the floor.

  A knot in my throat, I hurry forward, brushing past two wolves who try to block me with their muzzles and falling to the carpet by the man’s prone form.

  I reach out, pressing two fingers to his neck, holding my breath until I feel the faint, thready pump of his pulse and words emerge in a rush, “Get a medical unit down here. Now. We have to get him stabilized. We don’t want him dying on us before we can figure out who hired him and what he was here for.”

  “I think we know who he was here for,” Maxim says. I glance up to find him once again in his human form, studying me with narrowed eyes. But before I can respond, he jerks his head at someone behind me. “She’s right. Get medical down here. Fast. We can’t interrogate a dead man.”

  Shoulders slumping with relief, I sit back on my heels, knowing there’s nothing I can do for the man without medical supplies.

  The wounds at Sweaty’s neck aren’t bleeding freely anymore—some healing occurred during his shift into his human form—and anything beyond applying pressure is out of my hands right now.

  “You, come with me,” Maxim says, circling around to stand beside me. “Until we’re sure we have everyone involved in this in custody, it’s not safe for you to be alone.”

  I stand on shaking legs, grateful for the surprisingly gentle arm Maxim wraps around me, offering support.

  “Hermione, take point on completing the lockdown and coordinating the second sweep to make sure all threats are clear,” he continues. “Drake, the tiger’s yours. Keep a team on him until he’s cleared by medical for interrogation. Nix, check in on my father and Diana and get back to me. I’ll be in my rooms.”

  Without waiting for confirmation that his orders will be obeyed—of course they will, he’s Maxim—he turns, guiding me across the carpet toward the lobby doors.

  I risk a glance up at his face as we walk, but he doesn’t seem angry with me, just…on high alert.

  He’s in contain the tragedy mode. What happens when the crisis is contained, and he has a chance to process that all of this is my fault remains to be seen.

  “Here, let’s pull this down,” he says as we stop beside the bank of elevators. Before I can ask him what he means, he reaches down, tugging my skirt—which I only now realize is up around my waist—down over my bottom and thighs. “There. More comfortable?”

  I swallow, keeping my eyes very deliberately on his face as I say, “You’re completely naked.”

  He nods. “I am, but partly undressed is different. More naked than naked. Don’t you think?”

  “I-I don’t know,” I say, continuing to make an effort not to look at his sculpted chest, his powerful thighs, or the equally intimidating length between them.

  Even flaccid, his cock is a beast—thick, long, a slightly darker tan than the rest of his skin and surrounded by a close-cropped nest of black hair I find inexplicably sexy.

  Pubic hair is natural, of course, but in what little experience I’ve had with it, I can’t say I’ve ever found it all that appealing.

  But now…. I do.

  I want to study every part of Maxim—including his beautiful and beastly cock—like an artist preparing for a portrait.

  But now isn’t the time or the place.

  There’s never going to be a time or a place, not after what happened today.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, cheeks going hot with shame. Here I am thinking obscene things about Maxim’s body when members of his pack are lost forever.

  “What are you sorry for?” he asks calmly.

  “The bomb,” I say. “I have a feeling it was a distraction so that man could take me. It’s…my fault your people are dead.”

  “We’ve had no casualties. At least, not yet. Two of the men who were in the orchestra pit when it exploded are in bad shape, but they’re breathing and receiving the best care. Stars willing, they’ll pull through.” He exhales. “And it isn’t your fault. It’s mine. My security should be tighter. I have no idea how these people got in, but no one else will be breaching our defenses. We’re going into stage four lock down. Which means you won’t be allowed to leave your rooms. At all. Even with an escort. Not until we sort out what the hell this was all about. So far, the puzzle pieces aren’t coming together.”

  “I understand,” I say.

  The elevator dings and the doors slide open. I take the hand he offers, relishing the big, safe feel of his palm wrapped around mine as we step inside and he hits the button for our floor.

  It’s weird, holding his hand.

  But also, weirdly right.

  I’m not sure why he’s not angry with me, but he’s calm enough that I feel comfortable asking, “What are the puzzle pieces? Because I admit, I didn’t expect that guy to be a tiger shifter. As far as I know, Pax and Victor’s allies are all wolves. They’re pretty anti-cat, actually. They seem to buy into the ‘cats are lazy, selfish, and untrustworthy’ stereotype.”

  He grunts. “It’s a stereotype for a reason.”

  I shift to face him more fully as we zoom upwards. “Come on. You don’t really think that. Cat shifters are all different, just like wolves. I don’t know many cats, personally, but the ones I have met were really cool.” He arches a challenging brow and I admit, “Except the guy tonight. He was awful.”

  “But you stood your ground and fought back.” His gaze sweeps up and down my frame as he gives my hand a squeeze. “You’re tougher than you look, little wolf.”

  “Thanks,” I say, biting my lip as the elevator comes to a stop and we step out into the hall.

  I expect him to release my hand, but he doesn’t, and I don’t mind.

  In fact, I could see holding his hand quickly becoming one of my favorite things. I can’t remember that last time I felt so safe and…connected.

  Things have definitely shifted between us, a fact he proves as he says, “Yes, the fact that at least one of the shifters who breached our defenses was a cat is strange.”

  My brows shoot up. “There was more than one?”

  “Yes, the young shifter who set off the bomb and later lit himself on fire.”

  I wince in horror. “How awful.”

  “Indeed,” he agrees. “And we spotted an incoming helicopter from the roof not long after the explosion, but it turned around before we could get a good look at who was inside. But it was a luxury aircraft. Very sleek, very expensive, even to rent. I don’t see why Pax and Victor would drop that much money to come fetch a wayward mate.”

  I frown. “Well, they might have done it to show off, to show they’re as wealthy as you are, though I’m pretty sure they’re not, but…” I trail off with a shake my head. “But you’re right. It feels off. Why hire non-wolves and why turn this into an attack before they even tried to make a deal? They have to know that if
this is pinned on them, it will be war between the two packs. And Victor isn’t ready for war. Our enforcers are spread too thin. He’s picked too many fights in the Parallel already and lost men he couldn’t afford to lose because of it.”

  Maxim stops in front of an unfamiliar door. “So my spies tell me. But one piece of the puzzle does point to Blood River. When the bomb went off, it blew Venom all over the orchestra pit.”

  I scowl as he touches his ring to the panel above the door handle. “What? That’s…weird. Why fill the bomb with Venom? It’s not going to hurt anyone unless they mix it with some sort of solvent and swallow it.”

  “Maybe as a calling card.” He opens the door and motions me inside. “Maybe they wanted to make sure I knew who was responsible.”

  “Maybe…” I step through, chewing on my lip as I pad barefoot through the cool marble entryway into a massive living space dominated by uber-masculine furniture in dark browns and grays arranged to face the floor-to-ceiling picture windows.

  It’s much what I would have expected from a “Maxim” room, but the couch and chairs are overstuffed, plush, and thick blankets are draped over the ends of the couch and the arms of the chair.

  It’s…cozy in a very manly, Alpha kind of way that’s sort of adorable.

  “I like your place,” I say, turning to take in the big screen on the wall, what looks like a vintage record player in the corner, and a finely appointed bar set into the wall.

  “Thank you,” he says, walking into the room from the entryway in a black satin robe. Thank. God. Partially clothed Maxim is much easier to talk to than Naked Maxim. “I decorated it myself.”

  I smile. “Good.”

  He arches a brow as he crosses to the bar. “Why is that good?”

  “Just…because,” I say, not ready to admit that this room hints at his soft side, the one I really like. At least what I’ve glimpsed of it so far. I cover by crossing my arms and picking up where we left off. “You could be right about the calling card, but my gut says Victor would want at least plausible deniability. He’d want a shot at getting in, getting me out, and getting away with it. I’m sure he’s pissed about what I did to Pax, but I seriously doubt he wants to start a war over a lower-level pack member, and a woman, no less.”

  “Not much respect for the fairer sex in your pack, is there?” He motions toward the row of crystal decanters. “Bourbon? Whiskey? Port?”

  “Water?” I ask, not missing the way his lips twitch in response. “What? I’m a lightweight. More than one drink and I won’t be able to focus on solving this mystery.”

  “No, I agree. Water is the best choice. I’ll join you. On the rocks, then?”

  “Yes, please,” I say. “And no, there isn’t much respect for women in my pack. We don’t have a single female alpha. Victor says a woman being an alpha is like a man giving birth—impossible. It’s pretty much the dark ages over there.”

  “You should talk to my sister. Tell her how evolved we are.” He clinks ice into two glasses and fills them with water from the small sink at the wet bar. “She’s always going on about how shameful it is that we’ve never had a female leader. I’m pretty sure she’s planning to challenge me for pack Alpha as soon as she turns twenty-one.”

  I huff. “Doubtful.”

  He shrugs. “I agree, but she is frustrated by the pace of progress.” He crosses the space between us and extends a glass my way.

  “Thank you,” I say, lifting the water to my lips and gulping, mostly to cover the thoughts suddenly racing through my head regarding his sister.

  Diana is dating a cat shifter. Secretly. Without her brother’s knowledge.

  Could that have something to do with tonight’s attack?

  Is it possible I wasn’t the target?

  I suppose Diana and I might look enough alike if you were following us out of the Alpha’s private box from behind. We both have dark hair and the heels I was wearing would have brought me nearly up to her height. I’m far curvier that the slender teen, but in all the chaos the man sent to do the kidnapping might not have noticed.

  I’m tempted to say something to Maxim, but force the words back down my throat.

  Diana told me that secret in strict confidence and made it clear there would be serious fall-out if her brother found out she’s dating a cat. Until I check with her or have more than a hunch to confirm she’s the one in danger, I should keep my mouth shut.

  Especially now that Maxim’s cracking this window. “So, you’re open to allowing me to speak to your sister?” I ask, arching a brow. “I thought I was supposed to keep my mouth shut if she showed up unannounced in my rooms again.”

  He nods. “You are. But if I arrange for you two to meet, you can speak freely.”

  “And might you arrange that?” I ask, trying not to sound too eager. “Because I would like to talk to her again. She seems like a great kid, who could maybe use a woman to talk to.”

  “She has Hermione and her tutors. And her friends,” he says, but I catch the hint of doubt in his tone.

  “Hermione is great, but Diana’s probably known her all her life, right?” When he gives a slight nod to confirm, I continue, “And tutors are paid to help her, and her friends are probably as confused about life and love and growing up as she is. Trust me, talking to a woman who’s a little older and wiser can really help keep a girl’s feet on the ground. I had a girlfriend who was in grad school while I was in undergrad; she kept me sane. And out of trouble.”

  “Were you the sort to go looking for trouble, Willow?” he asks in that soft, husky voice of his, the one that makes me want to confess all my secrets.

  No matter how stupid that would be.

  I shake my head as I spin my water glass slowly in my hands. “No, I wasn’t. I was just…stubborn, I guess. I wanted to do things my way, even if that way was against the rules.”

  “And why’s that?”

  I shrug. “I just felt like I knew things sometimes. That I knew what was true and right. It was like a voice in my head, demanding I do what it said to do. My conscience, I guess. Going against it was hard.”

  “I believe that.” He reaches out, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. “Speaking of breaking the rules… I told you to stay put in the box. Since you were attacked in the lower lobby, I’m assuming you chose to ignore that order?”

  I swallow. “I was going down to check on the wounded. To see if I could help. I have first aid training and a fair bit of medical knowledge I picked up from helping my friends in pre-med study. I thought maybe I could save someone, or at least make them more comfortable while they waited for a real doctor.”

  “But you were told to stay put,” he insists. “You disobeyed an order from your Alpha. If you want to be a member of this pack someday, you need to learn that my command trumps everything else. My instincts are your instincts.”

  I know I should quit while I’m ahead, but I can’t seem to stop my lips from moving. “But what if they’re not? What if the voice inside is screaming for me to go help people, even if I know it will make you mad? What if it insists I take action? How am I supposed to ignore that?”

  “Practice,” he says, taking my glass from my hand. “And we can start working on that now. Go sit in the armchair, make yourself comfortable, and close your eyes. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “B-but what about the attack?” I ask. “Surely you have more important things to do than—”

  “Strike one,” he cuts in, motioning toward the chair. “Get to three and you’ll earn yourself a punishment.”

  “I’d rather not be punished, if that’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s already been a scary night.”

  His gaze softens the tiniest bit, but he doesn’t back down. He just nods toward the chair and says, “Do as you’re told, and no more scary things will happen to you tonight.”

  I believe he means it, but he has no idea how terrifying he is, and not because he’s the big bad alpha.

  It’s the other side of
him that scares me most, the one that I know I could develop a brutally pointless crush on pretty quick.

  Hell, I’m already halfway there, a fact that becomes undeniable once I’m in the chair with my eyes closed and Maxim’s hands come to rest on my shoulders, setting my body on fire with even that simple touch.

  Damn, I’m in trouble.

  Big trouble.

  Chapter 15

  Maxim

  Tell her the truth.

  She deserves to know.

  It’s her body, her gift.

  The voice of my conscience is insistent, but so much softer than the voice of curiosity that compels me to take advantage of Willow’s innocence, to get as much information as I can from her before she learns how to control her emerging talent.

  If just a few hours in the company of a large number of wolves was enough to coax out the first stirrings of her pack gift, by the time it’s fully formed she’ll be a force to be reckoned with.

  And I confess, I’m surprised.

  For all her stubbornness, Willow exudes gentleness and compassion. And a degree of submission, too.

  I wouldn’t have pegged her as a Pathfinder, but the way her eyes were glowing as we spoke leaves no doubt that’s where her talent lies.

  Pathfinders are unique alphas. A pack’s lucky to get one or two in each generation. Our last Pathfinder, Rake, was killed in a car accident not long after I was born, but his name is familiar to me. My father mentions it often enough, how much he misses his talks with Rake, how comforting it was to get confirmation that his plans were in alignment with the path already set by the stars.

  Pathfinders can instinctively sense truth from fiction and the best choice to make in any given situation. Eventually, with practice, they can learn to predict problems—and their solutions—before they arise.

  In its earliest incarnation, the gift is marked by a strong, personal moral compass. As it matures, it manifests in flashes of insight accompanied by a glow in the eyes that earlier generations assumed meant anything said while the Finder’s eyes were alight was to be obeyed without question.