On the Prowl (19 page)

She would have said that Tuesday and Wednesday were spent mostly in bed, but the truth was that that particular piece of furniture entered into the picture only on occasion. Most of the time, she couldn’t wait for him to drag her to that room and instead teased, and taunted, and enticed until he took her right where they stood. Or sat, or knelt, or lay. They christened every room in the apartment, some more than once. He took her several times bent over the kitchen counters and on one memorable occasional standing pressed up against the front of the refrigerator. She remembered it because it had taken her ten minutes to polish her ass prints off of the stainless-steel doors.

By Thursday morning, she knew if she wasn’t already pregnant, she would be soon. Maybe as soon as Nicolas walked back in the door from his errand. He’d left the apartment almost an hour ago to deliver some important paper to his office. While he’d worked mostly from home the last few days—and even then, only when she left him alone long enough to catch his breath for a few minutes—the move to New York meant that the company couldn’t let him go completely. While he delegated as much as he could, some things only the boss could handle.

He had told her he wouldn’t be long, so she was expecting him, not a visitor, when the doorbell rang a little after 10:00
A.M.
The sound surprised her and it took a moment to register what it meant before she hurried to the door and checked the peephole. Her father shifted impatiently on the other side of the door.

“Papa,” she said, yanking the barrier aside and waving him in. “What on earth are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

Gregor Arcos stepped over the threshold and swept his daughter up in a forceful embrace. “What? A father can’t come to check up on his little girl without her getting suspicious? I’ve missed you, poppet. I wanted to make sure this Preda character is treating you right.”

“Of course he is. Don’t be silly.” She returned the hug, then stepped back and led Gregor into the living room. “Come in and sit down. Can I get you something? Coffee or tea?”

Gregor started to wave away the offer, then stopped. “Actually, tea sounds lovely, poppet, if you’ll brew it for me. It’s impossible to get a good cup in this city, I swear.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Papa, and I’ll be right back.”

Gregor nodded and hitched up the legs of his trousers before sinking to a seat on the elegant chenille sofa.

Saskia hurried into the kitchen to put on a kettle and assemble the makings of tea. A quick glance at the clock confirmed her suspicion that Nicolas could return at any moment. She had gone from wishing he’d hurry up already to hoping his errand might take longer than he expected. She’d rather he didn’t get back while her father was in the apartment. She had no desire to conceal the visit from her mate; she just feared that with the hormones of her heat still surging, she might not be able to keep her hands off him once he returned. There were just some things a father shouldn’t see his daughter doing, and crawling all over a man was one of them.

Stacking a serving tray with cups and saucers, sugar, cream, lemon, strainers, and, of course, the teapot made for a heavy load once she added the boiling water to the leaves, she walked very carefully back into the living room. As she approached the sofa her father rose and relieved her of her burden, setting the tray down on the coffee table before resuming his seat.

“I hope English is all right,” she said, setting out the cups while the leaves steeped. “I haven’t had time to lay in a selection yet. This is all I could find.”

“It’s fine. Fine. I’m sure you’ve had other things on your mind just lately.”

Saskia blushed and murmured, “It’s been a busy few days.”

“Of course, of course.” Gregor reached for his cup, remembered it was empty, and drew his hand back, cupping his knee and rubbing in tight circles, a nervous habit Saskia remembered well.

She frowned. “Papa, what’s wrong?” she asked. “Something’s bothering you, which is clearly the reason you’ve come for this visit. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Don’t be silly.” He laughed too heartily. “There’s nothing bothering me. Nothing at all.”

She paused with the teapot poised over his cup. “Papa,” she scolded.

“All right, all right.” He sighed. “I suppose by now you’ve heard about this business with the Council?”

“Yes.” She nodded, her expression tightening as she added two lumps of sugar to her father’s cup and a tiny splash of cream to her own. “The whole thing is ridiculous, if you ask me. As if any of us would have any reason to harm Rafael De Santos. Besides which, you and Mr. Preda were at home at the time of the attack and have Mother and your staffs to vouch for you. And Nicolas was here with me. None of you could have committed the attack, even if you’d wanted to.”

Gregor appeared surprised that she knew quite so many of the details of the event in question, but he didn’t ask about it. He probably assumed that Nicolas had shielded her from most of the worry, as he had likely done with her mother; but he hadn’t counted on his daughter’s determination to share her mate’s worries, nor would he have understood if she had tried to explain.

“Yes, well. Clearly none of us was involved in the dreadful business, but that hasn’t kept the rumor mill from working overtime. Our reputations are being ground down like soft summer wheat.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that this damned attack is all anyone can talk about lately,” Gregor snapped, his fingers clamping around the handle of his cup until his knuckles turned white.

Saskia gave a little prayer of thanks for the deceptive strength of porcelain.

“Everywhere I go, every Other in a five-mile radius can’t manage to discuss a single, solitary subject without the conversation circling back to the Tiguri, and the way the Council of Others is treating us like serial killers who just haven’t yet been linked back to the crime scenes yet.”

Saskia winced. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s worse!” Gregor slammed down his cup and surged to his feet to pace restlessly around the room. As he spoke, he gestured wildly, his hands slicing through the air in testimony to his agitation. “I received a call last night from Milan Voros.”

“Voros?” Saskia couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Voros was
ther
of one of the powerful old Tiguri streaks still hanging on to territory near Rostov in the northern Caucasus. Of course, he and Gregor knew each other, but she would never have called the men friends. “What on earth did he want?”

“To express the concern of several of the old families that perhaps our families had not been the wisest choice to test the idea of our people moving into the new world.”

Okay, Saskia wouldn’t touch that “new world” stuff with a stick. It just showed how wrapped up in tradition the Voros
ther
still was. But that stuff about there being a deliberate choice to expand the presence of their kind to America … that gave her pause.

“What could he have meant by that?”

“I think his meaning was obvious, Saskia.” Her father glared at her. “He wanted me to know that if Preda and I continue to have problems with the Council, the old families will not hesitate to remove us from this city, undoing all of our hard work and installing themselves in our place.”

“Whoa, wait a minute, Papa. What’s this about hard work and installing someone in New York? I though this move was about business. You said Preda Industries and Arcos Enterprises need to move here in order to stay competitive in the global market. You said that New York represented the hub of the business world and it would benefit the companies to relocate their headquarters here. You didn’t say anything about this being a coordinated effort among our people to establish some kind of toehold on new territories.”

Gregor froze and turned to look at her. He wore an odd expression, a combination of guilt and calculation. She didn’t like it one bit.

He smiled at her, and the paternalistic gesture made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

“What aren’t you telling me, Papa?”

“It’s nothing. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“I beg to differ,” she gritted out, clenching her teeth. “If it involves my race and my family and now my mate, then it involves me. Therefore I have a right to know. Are you telling me that the old streaks came together to make the decision to move into America? Is that actually something that happened without my knowledge?”

Gregor scowled. “And why would you need knowledge of something like that, eh, little girl? That is a matter for
theri,
not females or cubs.”

She drew a deep breath, searching for calm. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I can’t believe you did that. Did someone forget that keeping our paws off of North America is a large part of how we’ve kept the peace with the Lupines all these centuries? Did that slip someone’s mind?”

The old refrain of “not for women and cubs” was a familiar one, but that never seemed to make it sound any better to Saskia’s ears. She wanted to shout about how she and her mother probably had a better grasp on the nuances of the Tiguri political atmosphere than Gregor did, but she knew the information would fall on deaf ears. Bound up in tradition, her father really believed that women didn’t get involved in politics. Never mind that her mother and grandmother had steered their clan into the alliance with both the Voros and the Berec clans, or that Saskia herself had given him the outline of the solution he and another
ther
had used to rein in a young male without a streak who had been attempting to siphon members and power off an old and weakened clan.

Her father might know that Saskia had as deft a political hand as he did, but she knew she would never hear him admit it. She tried not to let that knowledge upset her.

“Of course it didn’t,” Gregor said, “But times have changed, and some among the
theri
believe that we need to change with them. The expansion of territory was only a by-product of our discussions. The important part…”

He trailed off, and Saskia shook her head emphatically. “Oh, no, Papa. You’ve come this far. Now I need to hear the rest.”

“Yes, I suppose you do, since your role in the whole situation has become so crucial.”

He paused to draw a deep breath, clasping his hands together behind his back and rocking back on his heels the way he always did before he made a big announcement. The last time she’d seen him do it, he’d been about to tell her that Preda had approached him about a mating between her and Nicolas.

She waited, nervous tension tightening her belly. She felt as if the sword of Damocles hung above her head.

“Over the last few years, there has been … rumbling among the streaks. Some of the newer groups have begun to question whether the old families should really have so much influence over our laws and customs.”

Saskia nodded, not finding that particularly surprising. While she’d been raised in an old family, she realized that many of the Tiguri who grew up in the newer, less entrenched clans often saw her kind and their traditions as antiquated. Almost obsolete.

“The things we heard told us nothing new,” Gregor continued, “but the volume of some of those dissenting voices has increased in the last year or two. It prompted five of the old families to get together last year and discuss our options.”

“Your options for what?” she wanted to know. Or actually, she didn’t, but she felt she needed to in order to understand.

Her father looked grim. “For consolidating our power and enhancing our authority over the rest of the Tiguri. The
theri
who attended the meeting took a vote to determine which of us would step forward as representatives of the old guard.”

The knot in her stomach drew painfully tight. “So who won the vote? You, or Stefan Preda?”

“Neither of us. Both of us.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gregor sighed. “During the discussions, the subject of the betrothal agreement between you and Nicolas came up. A couple of the
theri
were swayed by the thought that the mating, especially if it were fruitful, would make for a powerful leading force by tying two old families together for a single purpose, behind a single leader.”

“A single leader? Who was that supposed to be? You, or Mr. Preda?”

“Nicolas.”

Saskia felt as if she’d been slapped. “Nicolas?”

“That was the main reason why Stefan stepped down as
ther
last year. With Nicolas as head of their streak, and the two of you engaged, it would seem perfectly natural if he became the official head of both our families, and therefore of all the old guard. Of course, his position would only be strengthened if you were known to be carrying his cub.” Gregor’s blue eyes, so like her own, bored into her. “Tell me, Saskia. Are you pregnant yet?”

*   *   *

If she had managed to conceive, she hoped an iron-rich diet would be good for her baby, because Saskia felt angry enough to chew nails. Fury had struck her so hard, she’d barely managed to keep from throwing her father bodily out of the apartment. As it was, her demand that he get out had left him looking wounded and her feeling like a horrible child.

Just not horrible enough to look at his face at the moment.

She felt betrayed, as if she’d just discovered that her father wasn’t really her father or her mother not her mother. Saskia felt like an orphan, abandoned by parents who cared more about their own position in society than about her happiness or well-being. How could they do that to her?

Saskia knew she was painting her mother with a fairly broad brush, since Gregor hadn’t mentioned Victoria taking any active role in the big plan, but it didn’t matter. She always followed her husband’s lead. Victoria was the perfect mate, obedient, loyal, and content to let Gregor steer the course of their lives while she rode around in his wake, content with luxurious houses and pretty jewels and the occasional fond glance.