Fierce Dancer (Sierra Pride Book 5) (5 page)

“I know, but she wouldn’t understand—”

“You’ve told me about Hera,” he interrupted. “You’ve told me how you were friends from third grade on, and how she knows you better than anyone. You think she wouldn’t understand your job now?”

Emma closed her eyes. “Maybe she would. Yes, she would. But I can’t make myself tell her.”

All she could think about was how awful it had been when Ted’s wife—the producer of the ballet company—had confronted her and Ted. Most of the woman’s wrath had been for Emma. “You’re trash!” the producer had screamed. “Only a trashy whore would sleep with another woman’s husband!”

She hadn’t given Emma the opportunity to tell her she hadn’t known he was married, that he’d been lying to Emma, too. Emma hadn’t seen the signs—she hadn’t even known there were signs to look for. She’d just been a girl in love, or, rather, a girl who’d thought she was in love.

Nathaniel kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be ashamed of what you’re doing, Em. You’re going to keep training, and you’ll audition with a company soon. In the meantime, you’re staying limber and toned. And the second you start thinking poorly about yourself for this job, is the second you should quit and find something else to bring in money. There’s lots to do out there.”

“I know,” she grumbled. “But this one is best for my body.” She’d chosen the job for this very reason, and she’d never had any problems with nudity, a result from years of changing costumes in close quarters with other dancers, both men and women.

Annette came in with a funny expression on her face. “Emma? There’s a guy on the phone for you. Sounds like he needs help.”

“It’s not Dan, is it?” Nathaniel asked.

“No,” Annette said. “Says his name is Quentin.”

Nathaniel grinned. “Is that the guy?”

Emma rolled her eyes, but nodded.

Annette made an exaggerated happy face. “What? There’s a guy? Was it the guy in the club tonight? He was
hot
—”

But Emma was already out of the room, heading for the office. Ruby, one of the owners, was in there, studiously playing a game of Spider solitaire on the computer. When she saw Emma, she waved a hand toward the phone.

Emma picked it up. Before she could even say hello, Quentin spoke. “I’m in trouble,” he said.

His voice was gravelly, low.

“What do you mean? And why should I help you?” But she was already heading for the lockers at the back of the office to grab her purse. There was something in his voice, something desperate. And dammit, Emma didn’t understand any of her feelings right now, but they were clearly telling her to do whatever it took to help this guy.

“Please,” he said. “No one else to call.”

“Where are you?”

He named some side road out in the middle of nowhere, so she plugged it into her cell phone.

“Okay, I’ve got the place on GPS,” she said. “Here’s my phone number, so you can call if anything changes.”

“Thanks, Emma.”

“No problem.”

They hung up, and she remembered with a groan that she’d walked to work, so she’d have to walk all the way back.

Nathaniel was outside the office, waiting for her. “I need to get home early tonight,” he said, “but I can drive you to your car.”

“Thanks.” She sagged against him with relief. “We should get going, then.”

Nathaniel looked intently at her. “You want me to come with? I can cancel my plans—Jerod will understand.”

“No, it’s okay. I think he just needs a ride.”

*

As she drove along the deserted back roads, Emma wished she had taken Nathaniel up on his offer to come with her. It was spooky out here, the trees crowding the lanes, rising up past the insignificant glow of her headlights. She knew she was in the right place, because her phone told her so. After about forty minutes, she saw a ghostly black truck pulled over to the side. She slowed down, and screamed when a hunched figure emerged from behind it. The figure’s eyes reflected in her headlights, making it look demonic.

She thought of gunning the engine and speeding past.

She recognized Quentin’s white-blond hair, though. Hand to her throat, she let out a shaky laugh. She slowed to a stop and unlocked the passenger door.

He climbed in and buckled up one-handed, as if favoring his right arm. “I didn’t think you’d take so long.”

“Excuse me, but I had to drop everything to come out here.” She sounded harsher than she’d meant to, because the truth was, she was glad he’d called her.

“No, I’m grateful,” he said, touching her wrist. “Truly. It’s just more dangerous now.”

She made a U-turn and started driving, but caught a glimpse of him in her peripheral vision. “Were you bleeding? There’s something dark, near your nose.”

“I’m okay.”

“Why are your eyes…they look really weird.”

He closed them. “Don’t worry about it. Weird genetics thing.”

The road stretched before them. “So what happened?”

He was quiet for so long she thought he might not tell her. “My truck got a flat. Then two guys jumped me.”

“They
jumped
you? Did you call the police? Of course not,” she muttered, “because I’m here. Why would they do that?”

“Bad blood. Can you drive a little faster?”

She gave a pointed look at the dashboard. “This baby’s sixteen years old. Hera fixed her up for me when we were in college, and now I don’t push her faster than she wants to go.”

Headlights flashed behind them, and Quentin said, “You might want to try.”

Her breath caught. “Is that—is that them?”

“I’d bet my truck on it.”

The truck rammed into them from behind, and Emma screamed. Quentin lunged over to help with the wheel, wincing as if he was in pain. It was too late, though—Emma’s car went over the shoulder and slid into a tree. She looked over at Quentin to see if he was okay, but when she lifted her head, everything went dark.

nine

When he opened his eyes, he saw bars. He was caged. Fucking
caged
. Where was Emma?

He sat up so fast the room spun, and the bars of his cage spun with it. To his left, Emma lay in a cage of her own. He held his own breath, waiting to see the rise and fall of her back. She was breathing. She was alive.

He pounded his fist on the cement floor, grateful for the pulse of pain. Shit! How could he have let this happen, and how could he have involved her in it? He’d really thought she would get there and back before anyone showed up.

The price for being wrong had never been so high.

“Emma?” he whispered.

She stirred, but didn’t wake up. He didn’t know if he should wake her at all. She hadn’t bumped her head that he had seen, and he’d been watching her as carefully as possible when the Brooks truck rammed into them. But maybe he’d missed something.

“She’s fine,” a voice said from the corner. Tyler. He looked a lot like Bryan, so it took Quentin a moment to be sure. “I checked her out when you got back.”

“If you touch a single
hair
on her head—”

“Relax,” Tyler said, frowning. His eyes were a lighter brown than Bryan’s, his hair a little shorter. “I touched her so my brother wouldn’t.”

While Quentin puzzled over that, Tyler said, “She’s pretty. Is she your mate?”

Quentin growled.

Tyler laughed. “I guess so. I don’t have any interest in her, so you can relax. At least around me. Bryan’s—”

He broke off at the sound of footsteps high above them.

“Bryan’s back,” he finished.

Someone stomped slowly down the stairs. Now that Quentin was looking around more, it seemed they were in a basement, probably beneath the Brooks family home.

“Fee, fi, fo, fum,” Bryan intoned, “I smell the blood of a rogue lion.” Bryan came into view and ogled Emma’s sleeping form. “And his pretty little piece of ass.”

Quentin struggled to keep his temper. Tyler was dangerous because Quentin didn’t know him, but Bryan was fucking insane. The more Quentin acted like he cared, the worse Bryan would behave toward Emma.

“What do you want?” Quentin asked.

Bryan set a knife down on the workbench. “Why are you here?”

“The Fourniers sent me. They’re looking for Cora.”

“And they sent you to get her instead of coming out here themselves? Typical.”

“They thought they might not be welcome. Do you have Cora, or not?”

Before Bryan could answer, Tyler said, “Yes.”

Bryan turned on him. “Tyler, you are not to utter another word in this room.”

Quentin felt the power of an alpha wash through the basement. It wouldn’t affect Quentin, since he didn’t belong to the Nevada Pride, but it would have a powerful hold over Tyler. But if Bryan was wielding alpha power, it meant something had happened to their father.

“Where’s Jerome Brooks?” Quentin asked.

“Business,” Bryan said. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” If Bryan was alpha, his father must have been away for a long time, enough time for the power structure to get reconfigured. Quentin continued, “It’ll be a pride war if you don’t let Cora go.”

“Who says she doesn’t want to stay?” Bryan said with a smirk. “She’s my mate.”

Behind him, Tyler shook his head.

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to stay. She hasn’t answered any calls from her brothers. If she does want to stay, she needs to call them before there’s a war.”

Bryan grinned. “They’ll be on unfamiliar ground. And they won’t want to risk their sister, especially if she’s pregnant with my kittens.”

Tyler’s eyes were wide, and he looked like he wanted to speak, but Bryan’s power over him was too strong. Quentin thought about that—the only way it could be this strong was if Tyler had unsuccessfully challenged Bryan many times over. Tyler must not have agreed with what Bryan was up to.

Now Quentin knew that what he’d suspected was true—he had an ally.

As if sensing Quentin’s relief, Bryan scowled. “Tyler. Out.”

His face furious, with dark splotches on his tan cheeks, Tyler shoved past Bryan and stomped upstairs.

“At least let her go,” Quentin said, pointing behind his shoulder to Emma. “She’s not a shifter. She doesn’t know anything about us.”

“She doesn’t know anything about us?” Bryan asked. “She doesn’t know we can turn into mountain lions at will?”

“That’s what I said.” Quentin frowned. Why had Bryan repeated it?

Then he turned to look at Emma. She sat up, her eyes wide with horror. She was awake, and she’d heard everything he’d said about shifters.

“Guess she knows now,” Bryan said with glee. He gave a mock bow toward Emma. “Hi. I’m Bryan, and I’m a mountain lion shapeshifter.”

ten

Emma’s head ached, and she shivered. The concrete floor was chilly. As she looked around, she noticed the bars. “What are you saying? Why the fuck am I in a cage?”

“I’m saying we can turn into mountain lions,” Bryan said. “Have you ever heard of shapeshifters before today?”

She shook her head. “This is completely nuts. Please let us go. We don’t want to have any part of this. At least, I don’t.” She looked at Quentin and felt a pang of distrust, which hurt at the same time. She’d wanted to believe in him. “I don’t know what he wants.”

His blue eyes looked bottomless. “You,” he mouthed.

Bryan laughed. “You two are so cute. So, you don’t believe me about the mountain lion inside of me? You don’t think I can change my form, shift into something else? Because Quentin here can do the same thing. He hasn’t shown you?”

Emma shrugged. This guy was a lunatic. “I promise I’ll believe whatever you say if you let me out of here. I’ll go home, and I’ll believe the whole time that you can…shift…into whatever you want.”

“Please,” Quentin said, “let her go. Leave her out of this, and we can figure out the Cora situation.”

“The ‘Cora situation,’ as you call it, is doing perfectly fine without your help,” Bryan said. “She’s going to be my wife, my mate. She’s going to bear my kittens and we’ll turn the Nevada pride back into a thing of beauty and power.”

“Does your father agree with this plan?” Quentin asked. “Isn’t he still the alpha?”

Bryan tapped his fingers together. “In theory. He’s off trying to recruit lions to join us. I wonder why he didn’t bring you in? You’re all alone without a pride, right? Something to do with your parents? They destroyed your pride, didn’t they? Hm. I guess you can forget any invitations from anywhere. Bad blood.”

Emma watched Quentin’s shoulders slump. None of this made any sense whatsoever, but his sorrow struck her in a way she understood. Being left out, being turned down. Alone. That had been her, ever since that fateful affair with the producer’s husband. If only she had known he was married. It wasn’t her fault, just like whatever Quentin’s parents had done wasn’t his fault.

She wanted the taunting to stop.

“Fine,” she said, “you marry Cora, give her kittens or whatever. You can’t make any progress on that while you’re holding us hostage.”

“True,” he said, “but I want to have a little fun, first. You see, sweetheart, I want you to really believe.”

He started undressing. She looked away, not wanting to see him naked, already trying to find an escape. If he came in here to rape her, she’d use every single self-defense move she’d practiced over the years. Stomp the instep, go for the eyes, headbutt his nose, punch his throat.

Once he was done, he stood before her. She stared at his face, glaring as hard as she could, conveying the fact that yes, if he came into her cage to do her harm,
she
would definitely fuck him up
.

But he didn’t move. Instead, his body shimmered. She shook her head, thinking maybe she’d injured herself in the car crash and now she was seeing things. The shimmering air around him didn’t clear, though, and she watched as he bent down on all fours. His arms and legs changed shape, and then his head. Finally, tawny fur sprouted all over his body. A long tail grew from his spine.

Emma screamed, the noise raw in her throat.

Quentin paced back and forth in his cage, pushing at the bars, trying to get her attention. “Emma, it’s okay. It’s okay. Emma. Look at me.”