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Authors: Shelly Laurenston

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #Paranormal, #General

Big Bad Beast (25 page)

BOOK: Big Bad Beast
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“Let me see that,” Ric said, spotting her dilemma. He took the bottle and popped off the top using his claws. “Adelle taught me that.” He handed the bottle back to her. “She worked a few summers in the hardcore seafood restaurants out here.”
“Thanks,” Dee said, retrieving the bottle from him and taking a quick sip. “And why would she do that?”
“Experience. A lot of us worked in different restaurants when we were younger, to get a feel for not being in a Van Holtz kitchen.”
“Was it tough?”
“Not really. You keep taking jobs at restaurants with the worst reputations in the city or state, thinking there has to be somewhere more abusive than working with your own family—then you find out you’re wrong. You’ll never work any place tougher than a Van Holtz kitchen.”
Dee took her first bite of a beef rib, the meat falling off the bone, the tenderness of it literally melting in her mouth, and she could only reply, “Shut up, suffer, and learn from your kin, Van Holtz, ’cause this is amazing.”
Ric laughed. “I’m glad you like it. Your beans were a big hit, by the way. Who knew you could sauté?”
“Told you I wasn’t helpless in the kitchen.”
“Everyone says that. Then they end up crying in a corner.”
Ric sat back with his wine and let Dee finish her food. Like most predators, she ate quickly, always worried someone was going to steal her meat from her and drag it up a tree out of her reach. But when she leaned back, licking the last remnants of barbecue seasoning off her fingers rather than using her napkin, he knew he’d made a damn good meal.
“You do have a way with meat,” she finally said, leaning back with her palms flat behind her, her long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
“I know that’s a compliment, but it still sounds . . . weird.”
She smiled and Ric felt himself melting.
No. Not melting. There could be no melting around Dee-Ann Smith. Especially when he should be angry with her because she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut.
“Uncle Van called me.”
“Did he?” She laughed when Ric scowled at her. “What, Ric? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t tell him what I knew? You could have gotten killed today.” Then she softly added, “I could have also handled this myself, but I didn’t.”
“You could have at least waited until after the holiday before you told him.”
“Could do lots of things—often don’t.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I’m heading to Washington tomorrow to meet with him.”
“Good.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Can’t. Got some killin’ to do.”
“If you mean my father—no,” he said simply. “If you mean Missy Llewellyn—no.”
“You’re ruining all my fun.”
“I’m cruel that way. We wait until we talk to Uncle Van.”
“He ain’t my Alpha.”
“No. He’s just the man who signs your checks.
He’s
your boss. And mine.”
“Fine. We’re not flying coach, though, are we?” She hated being stuck in those tiny seats with nowhere for her long legs to go.
Ric gawked at her, making her think she’d started speaking in tongues like old Great Aunt Delilah used to do during church services.
“A commercial plane? Me?”
Dee laughed outright. “Foolish me. Thinking we might have to sully ourselves on a commercial flight like all those normal people.”
“That’s an insane way of thinking, Dee-Ann, and completely unacceptable when you’re with me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced around at the empty plates. “You ready to head back down?”
“And miss the best part?”
“Best part?” She figured he meant to get her naked up here— not that she’d complain if he did—but off in the distance near the park they’d been at the day before, explosions sounded and fireworks exploded in the sky overhead.
The guests below reacted with cheers and applause—although some of the dogs yipped nervously and the pups squealed.
“See?” Ric asked, grinning at her. “Best part.”
“Absolutely. Although if I’d known there’d be a show, I’d have brought us some dessert so we could eat something sweet and watch.”
“Ye of little faith, Miss Smith.” Ric reached into the small insulated bag he’d brought with him. He pulled out small plates, placing one beside her and the other in front of himself. On each he placed four graham crackers and two very large marshmallows.
“Aren’t we supposed to melt these?” she asked, more tickled than she’d ever been before.
“I’ve always loathed the idea of picking up random sticks that were in the dirt and sticking them through clean food. Besides, I’m relatively certain I don’t want to build a fire up here. So no melting.”
Lord, the man was just so logical. And it was just so . . . cute.
“And the best part . . .” He reached back into the bag and pulled out two bars of Hershey milk chocolate. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t try to use that expensive, snooty chocolate the wild dogs preferred. He’d gone with an all-American favorite and since it was Fourth of July with all that “rockets’ red glare” overhead, it only seemed right.
He handed her the still-wrapped candy and she took it, her fingers grazing against his—and that’s when they both froze, the immediate recognition sending a shiver of absolute pleasure down Dee’s spine.
She looked into his eyes, eyes that were suddenly more familiar than they’d been only an hour ago and she saw the same thing there that she felt.
“Thank you kindly,” she whispered and they smiled at the same time.
“I told Uncle Van I’d be the one to feed you,” Ric sighed out.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” Ric’s hand slipped behind the back of her neck and pulled her closer. “Nothing at all.” He kissed her, the fireworks display completely forgotten, and Dee knew in that moment that her daddy would finally have to accept a few things: She’d never be a doctor or lawyer, chances were that killing was as much a family business as her momma’s pie shops, and that his only baby girl would forever be in love with a Van Holtz.
C
HAPTER
27
 
V
an opened his front door and let out a little sigh. “Dee-Ann.”
“Mr. Van Holtz.”
“How are you?”
“Feelin’ pretty fine.”
“Is Ric with you?”
“He’s around.” They gazed at each other and Van knew what he saw: that the cold, bloodthirsty,
deadly
spawn of Eggie Ray Smith loved Van’s favorite cousin.
Why, oh, why, did these things happen to
him?
“Would you like to come in?” he finally—and grudgingly—asked.
“Thank you kindly.”
She stepped inside, those dog-yellow eyes taking everything in. “Nice digs.”
He nearly shuddered. “Thank you.”
Ric stepped through the doorway, carrying two small duffle bags.
“Uncle Van!”
Grinning, feeling pure joy at seeing his cousin alive and well, Van hugged the kid right off his feet.
“I’m so glad to see you, Ric.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.”
Van released him and took a step back. “You’re all right?”
Ric’s gaze moved across the hallway floor to the She-wolf wandering along, studying the pictures on the walls. “I’m doing great.”
Van’s eyes crossed. “You’re such an idiot.”
Ric grinned. “I love you, too, Uncle Van.”
Dee went around a corner, wondering if there was a bathroom nearby, and came face-to-face with a full-human female. She had ice blue eyes and curly dark brown hair that had streaks of grey throughout. The hair was thick and she wore it on top of her head in a loose ponytail. They gazed at each other for several long seconds until the female asked, “Are you doing that on purpose? With your eyes?”
“No, ma’am. Born this way. Just like my daddy.”
“Really? Fascinating. And your height? Is that normal for your kind or are you freakishly built?”
“
Irene
,” Niles Van Holtz said from behind Dee.
“What? I didn’t ask for a blood sample this time.”
“Dee-Ann Smith, this is my wife, Irene Conridge-Van Holtz.”
“Ma’am.”
“You’re a Smith?” She studied Dee a little more. “I thought they were to be killed on sight,” she said to her husband.
“
Irene
.”
“Why do I keep hearing that tone?” She looked at Dee. “Was I offensive to you?”
“Not so’s I’d notice.”
“See?” she smirked. “Not
so’s
she’d notice.” Dee chuckled and watched the female move around her. “Ulrich?”
“Hi, Aunt Irene.”
The full-human opened her arms to Ric and he swept her up, hugging her tight. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“And you.”
He placed her carefully on her feet, kissed her cheek.
“You look very good,” she told him. “Your excellent bone structure will help ensure that you’re extremely attractive well into your sixties. Perhaps even your seventies.”
He winked at Dee. “Did you hear that?”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Oh,” the full-human said. “Are you two sexually involved?”
“And we’re done,” Niles Van Holtz announced, catching the hand of his mate and pulling her to his side. “Ric, why don’t you show Dee-Ann your room . . . since I guess you two will be sharing. And meet me in my office after you get settled.”
“Okay.” Ric took Dee’s hand, openly claiming her in front of the Alpha of her Pack’s fiercest enemies, and pulled her toward a big set of marble stairs. They walked up the steps and met an older teenage female coming down. She was pretty, had her daddy’s face but her momma’s eyes. Cold like her momma’s eyes, too.
“Ulrich.”
“Ulva.” He kissed the girl’s cheek. “How are you doing?”
“Well. I head to Oxford in the fall.”
“Oxford? No restaurant time for you then, huh?”
“Not necessary. I received a full scholarship.” She glanced at Dee and Ric introduced them.
“Nice to meet’cha,” Dee said.
“Yes,” the girl replied.
“Uncle Ric!” Dee heard young boys scream down the second-floor hallway and Ric ran up the stairs to meet them, leaving Dee alone with Niles Van Holtz’s only daughter.
They stared at each other until Dee finally warned her, “You ain’t ready for me yet, little girl.”
“I believe you’re right,” she admitted. “But from what I’ve heard about you, I’m surmising I should endeavor to have you as an ally rather than an enemy.”
“Ain’t you a little young to be so . . . conniving?”
The girl gave a little half smile and continued on her way, but Dee heard her when she replied, “Not in this family.”
Dee headed up the stairs and found Van Holtz rolling on the floor with three boys who were slightly younger than their sister.
They all stopped and gazed at her.
“That your girlfriend, Uncle Ric?” one of them asked.
“It is. Isn’t she pretty?”
“Gorgeous,” one of them sighed and all Dee could do was shake her head. Because something was just plain wrong with all the Van Holtz men.
Before involving Dee-Ann, Van wanted to speak with Ric alone.
“Your father,” he said by way of introduction to the subject.
“Yes, sir.”
“Dee-Ann said he didn’t want you dead.”
“No, he didn’t.” Although Ric wasn’t sure if Alder would have minded if it accidentally happened anyway.
“Does he really think that we don’t already know he’s been stealing from the Tri-State restaurants? That we don’t already know what he and Wendell have been doing?”
“I think my father hoped that the distraction of my injuries would have allowed him time to replace what he’d taken. Especially if being incapacitated gave him direct access to all my money. Because once the money was back, he could claim he’d only borrowed it due to an emergency of some kind and he could use any additional cash to help open his restaurant.”
“And Stein?”
“Convenient. Alder has no use for him anyway, so if something had happened to him, it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“It would have mattered to me,” Van said. “The kid needed a wake-up call but he’s still a Van Holtz. He still has our protection.”
“I know.”
“Your father needs to go, Ric.”
“You can’t kill him, Uncle Van. I’m not sure my mother would ever recover from it, and that I can’t allow.”
“You’d fight me on this?”
“If I had to. This is her mate and her firstborn son we’re talking about.”
“I adore your mother, but—”
“Let her move back to Colorado. To be with her Pack. She’d love that and you can explain to Alder and Wendell that they have no choice but to go with her.”
“And what about you?”
Ric frowned. “You’re going to make me move to Colorado?”
“No.” Van chuckled. “I mean, who’s going to take over the Van Holtz Pack in New York once your father’s out?”
“Anyone but me?”
“You’re the most logical choice.”
Ric admitted the ugly truth. “I’d rather set myself on fire and let pit bulls tear my carcass to pieces than be an Alpha.”
“You know, Ulrich, most people just say no.”
Irene sat back and watched her sons watch Dee-Ann Smith make them something as foreign to them as Ancient Egypt—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Berg, her youngest, observed, “But you didn’t even cut off the crusts.”
“Why would I?”
“And that peanut butter,” Carl pointed out, “it’s the kind we use to get our pet dog to take his pills when he’s sick.”
“What was I supposed to use? That organic crap y’all got?”
“Yes,” all Irene’s sons answered. So much like their father, she already pitied the poor women who’d eventually fall in love with them.
“Shouldn’t you use the homemade jam we make each season?” her middle son Finn asked. “Rather than that store-bought grape jelly?”
“P.B. and J. ain’t supposed to be fancy, boys. It’s supposed to be delicious.”
The abnormally large female cut the sandwich into four pieces and gave one to each before taking one for herself. They all took a bite and she grinned at their appreciative groans. “See?” she said around a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly. “Isn’t that good?”
“And so decadent,” Berg sighed. “I feel like I’m eating evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.”
“But good evil,” Finn added. “The finest evil ever.”
“Come!” Carl, the unabashed history fan and future historical “re-creator” of the lot—an activity Irene had always thought was an incredible waste of time for any human being with a brain—cried out, “Let us tell the others of this glory and what we have learned here today from the enemy She-wolf!”
“Huzzah!” they all cheered and ran out the kitchen back door.
The female turned to her and said, “Bless their hearts.”
Irene had the distinct feeling that wasn’t necessarily an actual blessing, but she couldn’t prove it and she didn’t want to get into a discussion about religion.
“So you’re in love with our Ulrich?” Irene asked, always one to cut right to the heart of the matter rather than dance around it.
“I reckon.”
“You reckon? Is that . . . some form of agreement?”
“Yep.”
“Where are you from exactly?”
“Tennessee.”
“Well, the Southern states are known for their colloquialisms.”
The She-wolf took out more bread and made two more sandwiches, giving one to Irene. She handed it over on a paper towel, turning the sandwich into decadently relaxed dining. Something Irene hadn’t experienced since the eighties when Holtz, her personal nickname for her husband, had made it absolutely clear that peanut butter and crackers—her favorite “work” food—was no longer accepted in his house. It hadn’t stopped her from eating her favorite delicacy, but she often did it when he was out of town on business and there was less chance of her being caught in the act of “betrayal” to his cooking, as he insisted on calling it.
The Van Holtzes took their food very seriously and Irene had come to terms with that. It seemed only fair since Holtz had come to terms with the fact that nine-point-three times out of ten, Irene would insult or completely terrify his friends, Packmates, family members, and business associates. Not on purpose, but still . . .
Irene bit into the sandwich made with average white bread—not sour dough baked fresh that day, but white bread Dee-Ann Smith had brought with her from the nearby 7-11—and relished the taste of generic grape jelly and peanut butter. She ate while Miss Smith found tall water glasses, and took out fresh milk from the refrigerator. She poured them both a glass and joined Irene in eating.
And as Irene neared her last bite, Holtz stepped through the kitchen door, coming to an abrupt halt when he spotted her, his eyes wide.
“What are you eating?” he asked. He made it sound like he’d found her fellating one of his teenage male cousins.
Irene tried to reply around the sticky substance tacked to the roof of her mouth, but it took too long and the enemy She-wolf answered for them both.
“Made a couple of P.B. and J.s for your boys and wife. You want one?”
“Demoness!” Holtz exploded. “Out of my kitchen!”
“Are you trying to sweet talk me?” the female asked and Irene almost choked on her sandwich.
“Ulrich!”
Ulrich rushed into the kitchen. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Look what she’s doing . . . in
my
kitchen.”
Holtz’s young cousin sighed and shook his head sadly. “Oh, Dee-Ann.”
“What? We were hungry. Ain’t that right, Irene?”
“Starving,” Irene finally managed, enjoying the way her husband’s face turned all red like that. Of course, that could be due to the words the She-wolf was speaking or the fact that she’d sullied up his kitchen counter with jelly and peanut-butter-covered utensils that she hadn’t wiped up as she’d gone along.
Irene secretly admitted that his clear OCD issues surrounding his kitchen still amused her after all these years.
“And we had no clear idea how long you would be in congress with your cousin,” Irene added.
“Then you come get me, woman! You don’t let this She-wolf feed my young, defenseless pups crap!”
Those strange yellow eyes that Irene simply couldn’t get enough of because they were so fascinatingly strange narrowed a bit. “I’m hearing a nasty tone I’m not a fan of.”
BOOK: Big Bad Beast
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