Heir To The Pack (The Cursed Pack Book 1) (20 page)

He nodded again, his pale
eyes keenly focused on her face. “The Russian Alpha’s sister. She would be
Alpha if they weren’t so damn patriarchal. God knows she’s more powerful than
he is.”

Annie turned her face
away, studied the papers left on the bed. He’d been keeping this information from
her, and regardless of what he might say next, he couldn’t make that go away.

“Annie,” he said. “There’s
nothing between Irina and I.”

“You don’t have to explain
yourself to me,” she said, working hard to make her voice steady. “You don’t
owe me anything.”

“But I do.” He sat down on
the edge of the bed, moving himself into her field of vision. “At least hear me
out.”

She averted her eyes from
him, stared at the floor, and nodded, once. She hoped he would get it over
with, quickly, so she would be able to keep her hurt on the inside. Yes, they’d
only just reconnected this week, but for some reason thinking about Dash with
Irina pushed her buttons.

“My father was an absolute
bastard.”

Surprised, she flicked her
gaze up at him.

“Your mother?” She
realized there was so much she didn’t know about him. They’d never talked about
their families. What she’d seen in the last few days was all she knew. And, she
realized, all he knew about hers.

“Died giving birth to me. Elaine
and Marjie raised me. Mom’s sisters. They knew what a prick my father was, and
they did their best to protect me.” His pupils grew into dark pools, pushing
back the ice-blue glaciers of his eyes.

“Protect you from what?”
she asked, trying to tie this to the conversation they’d been having about Irina.
The change of topic raised her anxiety even further, but this was important. She
was finally hearing something deep and personal from Dash.

His mouth twisted. “As I
said, he was a bastard. Not exactly a gentle, loving father.”

The words sent a cold
spike into Annie’s heart. “Did he beat you?” Poor Dash. Amazing that he was so
normal. His aunts had saved him. She suddenly understood why he was so close to
them. They shared mothering him, and were the only real parents he’d had.

He raised a shoulder in a
half-shrug. “Once in a while.”

A terrifying thought
struck her. “Is that normal, for werewolves?”

“No. No, it’s not. We are
fiercely protective of our young. But he blamed me for my mother’s death. I
killed her, and he lost the only thing that ever made him happy.” Dash’s gaze
grew far away before he re-focused on Annie. “All that doesn’t really matter. The
point is, at a meeting like this one, when I was seven, he made a deal with
Irina and Ivan’s father, the previous alpha, that I would marry Irina when I
became leader.”

How primitive. “Seriously?”

Dash laughed, and it was
one of the coldest things she’d ever heard. He might claim it didn’t matter,
but clearly it had. “Yep. He sold me, pretty much. Sold me in exchange for
diamonds and a pretty bitch he’d had his eye on. She didn’t last long, and the
diamonds not much longer.”

She closed her eyes,
trying to absorb all of it. The hurt deepened when he’d confirmed his
relationship with Irina. “So you
are
promised to her?”

“I never promised a thing.
Last I heard, it was a free country, and I’ll marry who I damn well please.”

She heard the barely
concealed rage in his voice, and echoes of other things—contempt, pain,
and although he’d never admit it, she could have sworn she heard fear. She had
to ask. “What else did he do to you?”

“He’s dead, Annie.”

She opened her eyes. “What
do you mean?”

“Everything else he may
have done is in the past. All that remains is this stupid situation with Irina.”
The color had washed from his face. With his rancher’s tan, he looked grey. And
very, very tired.

 
Annie wanted time to think, to process
all of this. The information overwhelmed her. He was supposed to marry someone
else. But he didn’t want to. Hope kindled in her soul. For what, she avoided
thinking about right now. She put voice to her next question: “What will happen
if you don’t marry her?”

He rubbed a hand across the
side of his jaw, scratching the dark stubble that had sprung up as the day
lengthened. “I think the worst of it has already happened. Ivan told me they
won’t support me as leader. I’ve made an enemy.”

She calculated,
frantically. “Did he do these things? Attack us? Chase us? Try and take Jack?”

“I don’t know for sure,
but I strongly suspect it.”

“Can you confront him?”
she said, urgently. “We need to know.”

“That could provoke a war.
Right now we are enemies, but so far none of the other packs have sided with
Ivan. If we enter an open conflict, the situation could change, and I might
lose the leadership. I don’t care for myself. Honestly, this is not my idea of
fun. But the packs need stability, not upheaval.”

 
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” she said,
believing it. “No one could really have expected you to marry her, could they?”

“In some ways we’re very
medieval. I’ll make some enemies by not doing so—the more conservative werewolves,
the ones who think things should go on the way they’ve always been. And I’ll
probably make some new fans, too, people who think we should modernize, have
more choice and control over our individual lives. It’s politics.” He shook his
head. “It’s the worst part of the job. But it is my job.”

She reached out to touch
his face. It turned into a pat, because she didn’t know what else to do. Any
more of a caress would feel like overstepping her bounds, somehow, given what
they had been talking about.

Closing his eyes, he
leaned into her touch, grabbing her hand and holding it tight against his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You didn’t do anything
wrong.” Although she said it for comfort, she really believed it. She brought
her other hand to the back of his head, and pulled him forward, against her
belly. His arms came around her, and he squeezed.

“Thank you,” he said,
muffled against her body.

Through her shirt, his hot
breath against her skin brought her hard into the present, where she stood
pressed against him, next to the bed. She stroked one hand through his black
hair, allowing herself the luxury of a caress.

He leaned against her for
a second longer, before pulling back. “Much as I’d like to stay here, I have to
prepare for this evening. I have to make a speech, and I have meetings before
dinner.”

“Meetings?”

“I have to meet with the
other pack leaders, find out what they know, and make sure they support me for Lycaon.
The leadership will be decided in two days, and I need to make sure everyone is
with me. Except for Ivan, of course.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I’m glad
you’re thinking about all of this, because honestly, I barely have time to
scratch myself. I need your help.”

“I’ll figure it out,” she
promised, and released him from her embrace.

He stood, and surprised
her with a quick kiss on the cheek. It was sweet, like a kiss between old
friends or childhood sweethearts. “Thank you.”

Annie turned back to her
notes. One caught her eye.
“Who attacked
the house in Missoula
?” “Dash,” she said, “Where are your people we left at
the house? Did they get out?”

Dash turned back to her,
and cursed, under his breath. “I haven’t heard from them. I assumed they’d be
here by now, but I’ve been distracted.”

A dozen scenarios flicked
through her mind, none of them good. While she worried, Dash pulled out his
cellphone and made a call, his frown lines growing deeper as he waited. “No
answer.” He tried a different number. “Nothing there either. Shit.”

She put voice to both
their fears. “Do you think they’re in trouble?”

“It’s hard to say. Best-case
scenario is they’re in a low-signal area. Plenty of places out here have no
reception. Another thing is that Bill and I had a disagreement before we left. Maybe
he’s lying low.”

“A disagreement?” That
didn’t sound good, either.

“Over that stupid white
box.” Dash rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. I bet that’s not the
reason. Werewolves love the Gathering. I can’t imagine he’d miss it for
something so trivial.”

Annie shivered and crossed
her arms. She thought of the quiet wolf, and the woman with the dark cloud of
hair, and she couldn’t help but imagine them like the Oracle, throats torn out.
She shook her head, desperate to dispel the image. “What now?”

“Now, we wait. I can’t
spare people to go and look for them. I need everyone here to look after you,
Jack, and Daisy while I play politics.” He glanced at the clock, and turned
back to her. “I really have to go. Will you come to dinner with me, again?”

The fact he asked, instead
of assuming, made her smile, even given the fears and horrors of the day. “I
can do that.”

“Thank you, again,” he said,
his eyes steady on her, and his lips curving in the hint of a smile. “I
couldn’t do this without you. I don’t know how the hell I made it through last
week, or last year for that matter.”

With a whisper of
movement, he was gone, and Annie stood alone with her thoughts and her papers.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

Dash tried calling Bill
four times that afternoon as he made his way from meeting to meeting. In the
hallways and gardens between meeting places, his steps slowed as the afternoon
progressed. After the last meeting, with the East Canadians—a small, but
loyal group—Gaelan caught his eye as they headed back to the ranch house.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“I can’t get hold of Bill.”

The blond stopped
mid-step. “Ah. I haven’t heard from him since we got here. Last time I talked
to him was when I was driving up here. He planned to sit tight until the smoke
cleared, hoped that whoever threw that Molotov followed me out. They boarded up
the window, cleaned up the kitchen. No sign of anybody, but they were gonna
wait a little longer. Have you tried calling the house direct?”

“Yeah, but I'll try again
now.” Dash punched in the number and held the tiny phone to his ear. The damn
things weren’t big enough anymore. “No answer.”

Gale considered. “I could
send one of the human ranch employees to do a drive-by. Since we gave ’em time
off most of them will be down in Missoula, anyhow.”

“That’s actually a pretty
good idea,” Dash said. Human employees had eyes, after all, even if they were
nose-blind. “Tell them since we got broken into last week we want to make sure
the place is okay. That’ll account for the messed up kitchen window.”

“All right.” G pulled out
his own phone and made a call while they continued heading back to the house. “Hopefully
that will get us some answers.”

Dash nodded as they
entered the house. He kept his eyes on the stairs, not wanting to look at that
damn portrait of his father. The minute he got confirmed as Lycaon, he planned
to take it down and have a bonfire out back. He, Annie, and Jack, could toast marshmallows,
family-style.

Assuming of course, he was
confirmed. The packs he’d met with today were mostly still on his side, but
both the West Canadians and the Mexicans had expressed reservations about
appointing a new leader while the Oracle’s murder remained unsolved. The West
Canadian Alpha had suggested he’d be willing to stay in Montana “as long as it
took”. Dash had trouble not grinding his teeth.

He stomped up the stairs,
eager to have a shower and get through dinner so he could hunt. He needed to
run, to burn off some tension and aggression.

When he opened the inner
suite doors, a child’s voice declared “Daddy!” and Jack ran at him like a
little black-headed cannonball. The boy nearly knocked him down with a
below-knee tackle. Completely disarmed, he swung the boy up to head height and
gave him a nose-to-nose rub.

Daddy. The first time he’d
ever heard the word addressed to him. It was like being punched in the gut. This
was why he was doing all of this. This, it occurred to him suddenly, was quite
possibly the reason he’d been put on the planet. He was overwhelmed with love
for the child, and a small amount of terror at the depth of his feelings.

He squeezed the boy close
and was rewarded with the sticky scent of candy and cookies. His aunts must have
been feeding Jack while he was out.

“Jackie,” he said gruffly
into the boy’s hair. “Have you been playing with Mama?”

“I made cookies!”

He glanced up over Jack’s
head, and saw a vision behind him. Elaine had done it again, produced a dress
for Annie. He had no idea where the clothes came from, but Elaine was a master
of her craft.

Annie wore another
floor-length gown, this time in glowing ruby red. Over it, she had on a cape,
also red, trimmed in rabbit fur, with a hood that rested now around her shoulders.

She took a step toward
him, and the dress moved, mesmerizing him. It plunged down between her breasts,
revealing her breastbone. His mouth went dry, and his palms itched at the urge
to touch her, right there, right now.

Gods, he was hungry for
her.

He kissed Jack’s head and
set him down, opening his arms to Annie.

Lowering her head
demurely, she glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. He grew even
harder, if that were in fact possible.

As she came forward, her
leg emerged from one side. The dress was slit high up the thigh. Was she
wearing anything underneath? He’d been almost positive she’d been naked under
her dress last night.

She took his hands and,
seized by a sudden urge, he twirled her around him, the cape spinning and
following her as she moved.

“You look amazing,” he
said.

“Thank you,” she replied,
with an undertone of smugness. She knew how good she looked, but did she know
how much he wanted her right now? He considered throwing her over his shoulder
and taking her straight to the bedroom. She could keep the dress on. He
wouldn’t mind.

Someone cleared their
throat, interrupting that train. Probably just as well, really.

He let her go. For a
moment, he dared to think of a life where every day ended like this, with his
son and his woman waiting for him. He had work to do before that could ever
happen.

“And miles to go before I
sleep,” he murmured.

“Hmm?” Annie asked.

“Nothing. Let me grab a
quick shower, and I’ll be right with you.”

He turned the water
deliberately cold, resisted the urge to soap himself up and think of Annie. He’d
rather hurry and be with the real thing sooner rather than later.

After the shower, he
rummaged through his formal outfits. He hated all of them pretty much equally,
being a jeans and cowboy shirt guy at heart, but he couldn’t wear his everyday
clothes right now. A pussycat, that was what he looked like, wearing all this
fur and leather, but he knew he needed to look as good—he amended that to
“well-dressed”—as Annie, and as formal as befitted his station. Or the
station he hoped to have.

He shoved hangers this way
and that in the closet. Werewolves in formal dress liked to show a lot of skin,
and he’d gone the no-shirt look last night, in a bow to family tradition.

Tonight he pulled out a
white ruffled shirt thing and donned it before he realized it didn’t even have
buttons. Right. One step up from no shirt, he guessed. He also kind of wished
Annie hadn’t decreed that he had to wear clothes. He wasn’t in the mood.

That said, the next thing
he pulled out was a kilt. A skirt? Really? He was pretty damn sure there wasn’t
a Scottish wolf anywhere in his ancestry. At least he’d have an excuse not to
wear underwear. He snorted and put it back in the closet, finally settling on a
pair of deerskin breeches, and thigh-high leather boots. If he had to wear
fancy dress, pirates beat highlanders in his book.

Upon checking himself out
in the mirror, he realized he needed a shave. Damn it, if he’d realized that
before he’d gotten dressed he would have shifted back and forth to avoid
shaving. It was one of his favorite party tricks, one that always had Gaelan
rolling his eyes.

He sighed, deciding it
would take less time to shave than to get out of and back into the leather
pants. They were tight and he had to work them over his thighs and ass, like
weird man-leggings.

That done, he ran his
hands under the tap and shoved them through his hair to try and make it lie
down. Nothing really worked, so that would have to do. He checked the mirror
again. He didn’t look as good as Annie, but he wouldn’t shame her, and that was
the main thing.

Returning to the living
room, he found Jack in his pajamas.

“He wanted to say good
night before we go to dinner,” Annie said. Jack flung himself at Dash once
again, and Dash caught the boy in a tight hug.

“G’night, sport,” he said.
“Don’t stay up too late, okay?” He mussed Jack’s hair and let his wriggling
body go, and the boy took off at about a hundred miles an hour into the
kitchen, making fire truck noises. “He seems like he’s doing better.”

Annie nodded. “Other than
that bad turn the other day. Your aunts say it’s the pack magic. Having all
these other wolves around is good for him.”

He held out his hand to
her and once again they headed to dinner.

*
         
*
         
*

Annie was relieved to get
back to the suite, afterwards.

Even she, an outsider,
noticed the difference in the collected packs at dinner. Whispers behind hands,
furtive looks, no one making eye contact with her. The stress of the day kept
them quieter than usual, but the tension level ran high.

“I have to run again,”
Dash said, kissing her fast and hot as he stripped off his shirt in the
entryway. The kiss and his nakedness took her breath away. He continued to
surprise her with touches and kisses and of course taking off his clothes at
inopportune intervals.

“I wish you could stay,”
she found herself saying, the heat rising in her skin in response to his body.

He shot her a hot look. “I
have to give this speech for the Oracle, lead the hunt, look out for the witch,
and kill her if I find her. I wish I could stay, but that’s not the life fate
gave me.”

“I’ll see you in the
morning?”

He grabbed her hand. “You
will.”
 
He released her, kicked off
his boots and pulled off his pants. “Gaelan will be here if you need anything. Don’t
hesitate to ask him.”

She had a glimpse of naked
strength before he vanished out the door. She picked up his clothes, lethargically.
They were still hot from his body. Annie pressed his shirt to her nose,
inhaling Dash.

They had so many problems
to solve, so many mountains to climb. She wished for a respite, a little time
to get to know him again.

And, if she was being
completely honest with herself, a little time to get naked with him.

She didn’t quite know what
had happened to her intent to not sleep with him. That had been less than three
days earlier. But three days was a long time, as they’d proved once before.

Her worries dragged her
step as she carried his clothes to his room, and put them in the laundry
basket, wondering if that was even the right thing to do with leather pants. Did
they even go in the machine, or did werewolf kings have the biggest dry
cleaning bill in the world? For all she knew his aunts cleaned them with magic.

She crept into her own
room, where Daisy and Jack were curled up asleep. Clicking on the bedside lamp
revealed that Daisy had gathered up the papers she’d left littered over the bed
and made a tidy pile on her bedside table.

Well. She wasn’t quite
ready to sleep yet. She’d sit in the living room, look at her notes, and maybe
catch the start of the Hunt.

When she entered the
living area, she found Gaelan, sitting on the couch with his feet up, reading a
book. He nodded at her in acknowledgment.

“Hi,” she said, and walked
over to the window. A quick flip of the curtains showed people starting to drift
into the courtyard. No sign of Dash yet. She turned back to Gaelan. “What are
you reading?”

He held the book up so she
could see it.

“Thoreau?”

Raising a single thick
brow, he said, “What were you expecting?”

“I really don’t know.” She
sat down in the armchair, and began spreading her papers out in front of her. “Are
you sorry to miss the service?”

“Nah,” he said. “I hate
formal stuff. Goodbyes should be said in private. I bet Dash wishes he didn’t
have to be there, either.” He smiled at her. “He’d much rather be in here with
you.”

She nodded, slightly,
beginning to believe it true, and turned back to her notes. Not much about the
actual murder, yet, and she’d have to remedy that. Pulling out her notebook
from the bottom of the pile, she bit down on the end of her pen and began to
think.

“Oracle’s throat torn out,”
she wrote. “Occam’s razor says it was a werewolf.”

“Pardon me?”

She’d been thinking out
loud, a habit that had long ceased to embarrass her. “A werewolf, who killed
the Oracle. I mean, it could have been a bear or a mountain lion, or even a
feral dog, but given the large number of werewolves on the premises, I think it
only rational to believe a werewolf committed the crime.” She glanced up at
Gaelan, his gaze fixed on her, his brows drawn together. “Why are you looking
at me like that?”

“Er, no reason.”

“What?”

“It’s kind of incongruous
to sit there in that dress and talk like a rocket scientist.”

“I’m a biologist,” she
said. At least the dress looked good, even if it wasn’t him she wanted to look
good for.

“Okay.” He deliberately
went back to his book.

 
“Michael,” she wrote, “Assaulted with
shovel. Lost his memory.” She said aloud, “I wonder if we could prompt his
memory somehow. Hypnotize him, or cast a spell. If only he could remember who
he was chasing, and who hit him with the shovel.”

Gaelan sighed. “If you’re
going to think out loud, I’m definitely going to another room to read.”