FUR FOR ALL, Book 5 in FIXED (12 page)

Christine Warren

and the others expected her to become his mate for a year and a day had her head spinning.

“It wouldn’t be permanent,” Missy had said. “It’s not like we’re asking you to marry him. Just…be nice to him. For the next three hundred and sixty-seven days. It’s a leap year.”

Tess could almost feel her eyes rolling back into her head again.

“It’s not as if we’re going to force you into it,” Ava added. “We’re not barbarians. We understand if the idea of spending the next year schtupping one of the most gorgeous men in Manhattan would be such a trial to you that you can’t even stomach the idea. Just let us know, and we’ll go let the Feline world know it was too much to ask.”

At least Regina had protested that. “Ava, come on. Give the girl a break. It’s not your responsibility, Tess, so don’t feel like it is. And it’s not like Rafe even knows about us talking to you. It was our idea, not his.”

“Right.” Tess scoffed at the memory. “‘Cause that makes me feel so much better.”

She let herself into her apartment a little before six and wanted nothing more than to change into flannel jammys and sit in front of her television with a big bowl of popcorn and a four-pack of Guinness. Unfortunately, she only had forty-five minutes before she had to be out the door and hailing a cab to take her to her grandfather’s house for the requested audience. If she rushed, she might have just enough time to make herself presentable to the point of passing inspection.

Lionel Menzies had really missed his calling as King of the Universe, instead becoming a successful investment banker, the same as his father and grandfather before him. But he still liked to call people into his throne room from time to time, just to keep his instincts sharp. Tess, for instance had been called upon the carpet of his intimidating library so often, she thought she might have worn through the pile. Since Lionel had raised her after her parents’ death when she 94

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was just four, she’d had ample time to try his patience and disappoint him on all possible fronts. She’d been mediocre in school, dropped out of college and forgone a career in banking to open “that hippie dive in the ghetto.” Unless she declared herself a lesbian, converted to Buddhism and went to live in a commune in California, she didn’t think she could fail more miserably in her grandfather’s eyes. Which meant dinner promised to be as much fun as elective root canal without anesthesia.

With such a fine incentive, she hurried through her shower, rinsing away the scent of Rafe’s soap that had been driving her crazy since Bette first mentioned it.

As soon as she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, she ruthlessly blow-dried her hair and set it in hot rollers to try and tame it. It never worked completely, but she was hoping to instill enough discipline to keep her grandfather from commenting on it the way he usually did.

While the rollers cooled, she slathered herself in lotion and pulled on bra, panties and stockings before rummaging through her closet to find the Dinner with Granddad section—the one that contained all her most suitable and therefore least favorite dresses. She pulled one out without really looking and laid it out on the bed. They all looked alike to her, all with conservative cuts in traditional fabrics and dull, understated colors. She hated them all, so she didn’t figure it mattered which one she wore.

She tugged the dress over her head and padded back into the bathroom to take care of her makeup and finish her hair. The makeup took less than five minutes, but the hair decided to fight with her and took nearly fifteen before it settled into semi-respectability on top of her head. She gave it a securing spritz of hairspray and prayed for the best as she dashed back into the bedroom to grab her purse and slip on her shoes. She made it out the door at six-thirty on the nose and prayed traffic wouldn’t be too bad. She did not want to have to make 95

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excuses about being late on top of everything else. She thought her head might explode.

She was fairly sure it would by the time the taxi let her out at her grandfather’s doorstep. After paying the cabbie, she paused for a moment on the steps of the elegant, understated brownstone and took a few deep breaths. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to do, but figured as long as she didn’t hyperventilate it probably couldn’t hurt.

She ignored the feeling of being stared at by random passersby and climbed the last two steps to the heavy brass doorknocker. She gave it a precisely spaced two taps and dropped her hand to wait.

The door opened, as always, in front of a moderately tall, moderately thin, moderately gray and moderately polite man who had looked precisely the same age since Tess had been four.

“Good evening, Howard. I believe my grandfather is expecting me this evening.”

“Miss Menzies.” The butler bowed and stepped aside to let her in. “Mr.

Menzies and his guests are in the drawing room.” Tess resisted the urge to roll her eyes and stepped into the foyer. Only her grandfather had a drawing room in this day and age. Of course, only her grandfather had a butler that could have posed for a treatise on stereotypes.

Personally, she preferred her modest little lifestyle on the other end of the island.

She’d rather be poor than pompous. “Thank you. I’ll show myself there.”

“Very good, miss.”

This time Tess did roll her eyes, but only after she handed Howard her coat and stepped past him. Not that she would have been surprised if he could see the gesture anyway. The man had strange and unsettling butler powers, made even more unsettling by the fact that he wasn’t even a witch.

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Tess paused for a second on the threshold of the drawing room—or the living room, as normal people liked to call it—before she convinced herself to just go in and get it over with. She figured if she approached this evening in the same way as she approached ripping off a bandage really fast so the pain would be over and done quickly, she might just survive.

Call me an optimist
.

Three people looked up when Tess entered the room, none of them appearing very pleased to see her. Not that she’d expected anything different.

“Good evening, Granddad. How are you tonight?” She crossed to where the old man stood in front of the fireplace and extended her hands to him even as she reached up to kiss his weathered cheek.

Lionel Menzies was a tall man, a hair over six feet, and still had the posture of a general. He didn’t bend down to make it easier on Tess.

“I’m fine,” he dismissed. “Gentlemen, I don’t know if you remember my granddaughter, Tess. Tess, this is Jeremy Knowles and William Bambridge.” Tess nodded to the two men, both of whom had been at her grandfather’s seventy-fifth birthday celebration just six months ago. The one she had planned, executed and hostessed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” The men nodded at her and turned back to the conversation she had clearly interrupted. Tess sighed. She had known it would be that kind of night.

Rafe memorized the information Graham got for him before he left his apartment that evening, but in the end, his nose led him to her.

He followed Graham’s directions to a very nice neighborhood on the Upper West Side, setting out once dark had fallen and making good time sticking to shadows and traveling silently through mostly deserted alleyways. He preferred to remain hidden while he tracked her, since he hadn’t told her of his intentions 97

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to spy on her during her meeting with her grandfather. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d appreciate the gesture.

He did not intend, however, to let that stop him from following her. After the information Graham had dug up on Lionel Menzies, Rafe wasn’t quite sure he wanted Tess getting all that close to the man, blood relation or no.

According to the Silverback Clan’s huge network of information, Lionel Menzies wasn’t just a former member of the Witches’ Council. He was the former High Authority, and in spite of having stepped down some time ago, rumors claimed he had merely gone behind the scenes, where he continued to manipulate people and events to suit his own purposes. And right now, his purposes had something to do with Rafe.

Last night’s note had certainly come as a surprise, and Rafe still hadn’t quite been able to pin down the motive for it. Why, after nearly four hundred years of diplomatic silence, did Menzies want to reopen relations between the two council bodies? Why now? And why contact Rafe the way he had? Why not approach the council as a whole, or approach Rafe himself? It’s not like Rafe would have turned Menzies away if the man had appeared on his doorstep.

Rafe shook his head and crouched deeper into the shadows. There was something odd going on here, and he intended to find out what it was. He had already agreed through Tess to appear at the next Witches’ Council meeting, but until then, he wanted to gather as much information about them as he could. It never hurt to be prepared.

He just wished he’d been more prepared for Tess.

Helpless, Rafe sighed as his thoughts drifted back to the same place they’d been all day—on Tess. And come to think of it, that was right were he wanted to be, and where he intended to be again before the night was over.

Her taste had lingered in his mouth all day, and as soon as he’d scented her again this evening, his body had begun aching to have her. He hadn’t been 98

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prepared for his reaction to her. How could he have been when he’d never felt this way about other woman in his life? Tess was unique, and so was his response to her.

Rafe wasn’t a man to put much store in legends. He considered himself a modern fellow, and he lived his life according to modern principles. He paid little attention to stories told by old men over pipe smoke and chess boards, but he knew something about his reaction to Tess set her apart from other women.

Maybe the part where he didn’t get bored with her the minute he’d had her. That might be a clue that she was different, but it didn’t have anything to do with the ridiculous legend Graham had seemed compelled to bring up. Of that, he was sure.

He shifted restlessly in his hiding spot and tried to gauge the time. He’d arrived around eight-thirty when Tess’s scent had already begun to fade from the air and he estimated he’d been waiting for somewhere just past an hour. He pushed aside a rise of impatience and sat back to wait some more. He wasn’t sure just how long the meeting would take, but he was prepared for another hour at least. Either way, he would be waiting when Tess came through that door.

Graham had warned him that information on the Witches’ Council was scarce, but what the Lupines had discovered painted an interesting picture.

Insular, secretive and bordering on paranoid, the council had been operating in Manhattan since just after the time of the last diplomatic relations between witches and Others. They had formed from the most respected elders of the community at the time, and created a sort of governing body to police the affairs of their own kind. Viewing mundane humans and Others alike with deep suspicion, the thirteen-member council—quite traditional of them—saw to it that the secrets of true magic remained hidden from the outside world and that any crimes perpetrated by witches were answered by witches. It became a 99

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xenophobic little culture, simultaneously progressing with society and shunning it.

“From what I hear, they aren’t fans of ours, either,” Graham had said. “When they’re not pretending the Others don’t exist, they’re letting their kids get their educations about us the same way the humans do. Which is to say, not at all.

They have some limited contact with Faerie, though. To tell you the truth, most of the good info I got, I got from Luc. You ought to talk to him yourself, when you have the time. He says he’s met this Menzies guy—Lionel, by the way—once or twice. Doesn’t seem all that wild about him either. He called him, and I quote,

‘an arrogant, unbending old bastard with a stick up his ass and the sense of humor of a three-day-dead golum.’ So, I’m assuming by that he didn’t like the guy.”

Rafe tried to reconcile the image of Lionel that Graham and Luc had painted with what he knew of the man’s granddaughter and found himself baffled. How in the world could someone as quick and lively and vibrant as the Tess he’d known last night possibly be a blood relation to a man like Lionel Menzies? Not only that, but have been raised by the man, according to Graham.

“He’s her only living relative,” the Lupine reported with a grin. “Which means that when you petition for her hand in marriage, he’s the one you’ll be petitioning to. Good luck. Hopefully he’ll take the news better than Missy’s dad did. She still claims I nearly gave him a heart attack. Humans.” Rafe waited for the instinctive denial he always felt when someone uttered the words marriage and him in the same sentence. It hadn’t come when Graham had first said it, and it didn’t come now. What was wrong with him? He’d check himself for fever if it wouldn’t make him feel like an idiot.

No, scratch that. He knew very well he had a fever. He’d been burning for Tess since the moment he saw her. Even when he’d taken her, he’d burned.

Shit. Something weird was happening to him.

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Chapter Eleven

By the time Tess let Howard help her into her coat, her face ached from maintaining the polite smile and her jaw ached from clenching it. If she didn’t get out of her grandfather’s house in the next fifteen seconds, she thought she might scream. She felt like she’d been questioned by the CIA, and thought she might just have the bruises to prove it. The mental scarring went without saying.

“Thank you for dinner, Granddad.” She gave him a polite peck on the cheek as they stood in the foyer. “You didn’t have to see me to the door, but I appreciate it. I’ll call you next week.”

Lionel waved that aside. “Yes, yes. I wanted to have the opportunity to remind you of what we said, Tess. Establishing a relationship with the Others is very important to us just now. The seers are certain that the time when we will all be exposed to society is getting nearer. Unless we all band together now, we risk a very unfavorable reaction to our existence.” Since her grandfather, Senator Knowles and Judge Bambridge had spent nearly every minute of the past three and a half hours impressing that very point upon her, Tess didn’t feel she was likely to forget. “I know, Granddad, and like I said, I got the impression that Rafe was not averse to the idea of speaking with you. I’m sure when he meets with the council, you’ll all get things sorted out.” Lionel’s head turned and his gaze sharpened on Tess’s face. “Rafe?” Tess swore at herself, and fought the urge to blush. Like
that
would go over well. “Yes. Like I said, I spoke to him and to several of his acquaintances last night. Rafe seems to be what he prefers to be called.” Lionel raised an eyebrow. “It sounds very familiar.”
Not as familiar as I’m sure it sounded when I was screaming it last night…