On the Prowl (14 page)

Saskia watched her fiancé evaluate the other man’s statement and nod briefly. “Fine.”

She blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She had a feeling that Mac was going to be the key to keeping abreast of this business, since her fiancé clearly refused to talk to her about it directly. So far, she liked the investigator, though. And she was glad to learn her instincts had been right. Half Fae made him a changeling, definitely more than human.

“So the Council came right out and said they believe the culprit was Tiguri?” Mac asked again.

Nicolas shrugged. “Some of them. De Santos himself said he couldn’t be positive. He knew it was a shifter, and he knew it was Feline, but beyond that he couldn’t swear to it. Most of them seemed to make the assumption based on how he described the size of the thing.”

“Big?”

“According to him.”

“I suppose it would have to be to take down De Santos.” The changeling grinned. “At least, according to him, it would.”

Nicolas snorted, the sound almost passing for amusement. Maybe he was beginning to lighten up and forgive her for forcing him to include her in his business.

“Okay.” Mac flipped to a fresh page in his notebook and settled back down to work. “Now tell me everything De Santos reported. As much as you can remember.”

Saskia curled her feet up under her as she listened to her mate describe the meeting before the Council, complete with Rafe De Santos’s testimony. It sounded like a nightmare, which on the one hand made Saskia almost glad she hadn’t been invited to attend but on the other made her even more furious that she hadn’t been allowed to stand beside her mate and support him through the indignity of the inquisition he’d endured. It made her want to hug him and smack him, probably in that order.

She struggled to remain silent while he described the insulting questions of the Council members, most of whom had clearly decided on the identity of the guilty party well before the summons that had brought the Tiguri before them. According to Nicolas, it had actually been De Santos who had prevented the others from issuing a formal accusation, backed, surprisingly enough, by the Alpha of the Silverback Clan. Though Lupines were usually the first to jump on the bandwagon to run the Tiguri out of town on a rail, Graham Winters had proven surprisingly levelheaded. From what Nicolas had seen, Winters seemed to be fairly close with De Santos, which might have influenced his decision. Either way, the Council had reluctantly declined to issue a formal charge, but they had made it clear that they were going to keep a very close eye on Nicolas.

“Just you? Not your father or Arcos?”

Mac’s question drew a sneer.

“Just me. After all, Saskia’s father and mine are both old men,” Nicolas pointed out. “How could one of them possibly take down the head of the Council, a Felix in his prime?”

“Ah. Understood.” Mac glanced over his notes and nodded. “Well, it’s not a lot to go on, but I’ve started cases with less. Rafe might be able to fill in some holes, too, when I talk to him.”

Saskia frowned. “You’re going to interview De Santos? Do you think that’s wise? Won’t that tip him off to the fact that Nicolas is trying to find the real attacker?”

“I don’t see that being a problem,” the investigator said. “First, it will make it clear that your fiancé is prepared to back up his innocence. A guilty man doesn’t hire someone to do digging in his own backyard. Rafe knows I’m honest, so he’ll know that by hiring me, Nic is doing more than making an empty show of trying to clear himself. Second, Rafe’s already met Nic. Believe me when I tell you, there isn’t a man or beast alive who could look at that man and not just assume that he’d move hell and high water to defend his reputation. That means none of this will come as a surprise, and it may even make the Council curious enough to look past their prejudices to find out who really made a try for their leader.”

She supposed that made sense. Uncurling her legs, she rose from her chair and held her hand out to the investigator. “In that case, I’ll let you get to work, Mac, and wish you luck. I want you to find out who was really behind the attack on the head of the Council, so that my mate can clear his name and we can get on with our lives together.”

Mac shook her hand. “I’ll do my best.”

“Then I’m sure this will all be cleared up in no time.” She smiled and turned to leave. “It was lovely meeting you, Mac. I hope you’ll stop by again, under more pleasant circumstances.”

Her graceful exit stopped halfway to the door when her fiancé spoke her name, his tone cool and hard as steel. “Saskia.”

She froze. Schooling her features into a mask of bland inquiry, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Yes, Nicolas?”

“I’m going to be another minute with Mac, and then I have a couple of phone calls to make,” he said. “I trust you don’t have any plans to go out this morning?”

Translation: You’d better not set foot outside this apartment, or I’ll blister your hide so badly, you won’t sit straight for a week.

“Not at all,” she said calmly. “I thought I’d take the opportunity provided by a quiet morning and get a start on the thank-you notes for our party.”

“Then I’ll see you later.”

“Of course, Nicolas.”

When she closed the door behind her, she nearly sagged against it with relief. That hadn’t gone exactly as she had planned, but it had worked out even better. She’d learned everything she wanted to know about the issue with the Council, and she’d been able to hide behind Mac Callahan while she pried loose the information. Not bad for an hour’s work. In fact, Saskia realized she’d managed to work up quite an appetite.

Smiling in satisfaction, she straightened and headed for the kitchen with a definite bounce in her step. Maybe this relationship would work out after all.

*   *   *

Her optimism lasted until shortly before noon, which was when her fiancé finally cornered her in the small spare bedroom she had decided to commandeer for her own purposes. It didn’t have quite the right light for a studio, but it had a pretty, streamlined desk perfect for writing thank-you notes, and she found herself quite comfortable there as she began making her way down her list of the party guests who required notes of thanks for their gifts or their attendance. This was the sort of task Saskia could perform with her eyes closed, so she allowed her mind to drift as she inscribed, folded, stuffed, and sealed.

She would need to explore the apartment a little more thoroughly soon if she wanted to find a space that might suit her as a real work space. Or maybe she should call it a pleasure space. Her parents always referred to her drawing as her “little hobby.” It had taken her a while to overcome the instinctive surge of anger the dismissal aroused. She knew they had their own ideas about her future, about what she should focus her attentions on—namely, her mate—but Saskia had realized while still a teenager that she would need more than that to make her happy, so she had quietly forged her way ahead, taking art classes and perfecting her techniques and keeping quiet about the goals her family didn’t care to know about.

By the time she finished university, she had begun to earn commissions as an illustrator, her drawings adorning the pages of books from children’s stories to academic texts. She never took projects so large or so numerous that she had to work the equivalent of a full-time job, but the work fulfilled her, brought her joy and satisfaction, and made her feel as if she were leaving her own mark on the world, separate from her family and her species.

Saskia had left the door open while she worked, so she knew when he approached, not because she heard him—he moved as silently as a tiger, after all—but because she smelled him, the spicy musk of his scent already indelibly printed on her senses.

He stepped into the room and paused to watch her. She saw him in her peripheral vision, but her pen never paused in her task. This time, he could make the first move.

Finally, he moved closer, prowling across the carpet toward her with the focus of a predator. She couldn’t quite get a read on his mood; they still hadn’t spent enough time together for that. His tone of voice didn’t help, either. The man could make a fortune as a professional poker player.

“Saskia.”

Deliberately, she finished the note she was working on, signing it on both their behalves before folding it carefully and slipping it into the envelope she had already addressed. Setting it aside calmly, she turned in her chair and raised her chin to meet his gaze. “Nicolas. Is there a problem?”

If he noticed her using his own words against him, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I think there is. Actually, I think there might be several.”

“That sounds serious. Maybe you’d better sit down.” She waved him to an armchair in the corner near the desk, then rose to angle her own chair to face it. Resuming her seat, she crossed her ankles, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and looked directly into his eyes. “Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

Her mate stared at her for a long moment and then did something that surprised her. He laughed.

“I’m sorry, did I say something to amuse you?”

“Sass, in the last twenty-four hours you’ve infuriated me, taunted me, aroused me, defied me, and intrigued me, but I can’t honestly say you’ve done anything as innocuous as amuse me.” Nicolas lounged in the comfortable chair, his arms extended to curl along the sides, the picture of the relaxed, powerful male; but Saskia knew that if he’d had a tail, it would be twitching.

“Don’t call me that,” she said, ignoring his provocative words. If he wanted a reaction from her, he needed to get to the point.

“Don’t call you what? Sass?” His mouth curved into a smile that spoke of a bitter kind of humor. “I don’t see why not. As far as I can tell, it suits you. Rather perfectly. You’ve spent most of our time together sassing me, wouldn’t you say?”

“No,” she snapped, her fingers curling tightly together. “I wouldn’t. I think it would be quite inaccurate to class any of my behavior as ‘sassy.’ First of all because that’s a ridiculous word that makes me sound like a misbehaving five-year-old, and second because I don’t consider it ‘sass’ to ask my mate reasonable questions about his whereabouts, intentions, or welfare, nor to defend myself against his unreasonable attempts both to control my every move and to exclude me from areas that clearly concern me.”

Nicolas’s eyes narrowed and his fingers began to drum lightly against the arm of his chair. “Just which of those erroneous statements would you like me to address first, Sass?”

“My name is Saskia, and not one of my statements was anything but accurate, not to mention admirably restrained.”

“I beg to differ.”

Saskia snorted at the idea of this arrogant beast begging for anything. Ever.

“To begin with, I’m having trouble remembering the point at which I ever gave you the right to demand answers about where I go or what I intend to do,” he continued, his eyes glinting. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me?”

“I’d love to. I think it was around the same time you agreed to make a commitment to me as my mate and the sire of my cubs. You recall that, don’t you? It was about twelve hours before you decided it was acceptable to treat me like a child breaking curfew in what I’d like to point out constitutes a rather stunning display of hypocrisy.”

He snarled his displeasure, green fire sparking in his eyes, but Saskia refused to back down. She would not be intimidated.

“Maybe that’s the problem here,” he rumbled, rising from the chair and stalking toward her with predatory menace. “Maybe this all boils down to your lack of understanding over what our mating actually means. So let me spell it out for you.”

He leaned down and braced his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her in place. The position let him lean in close so his face loomed only inches from hers, full of arrogance and irritation. She wanted to back away, but not only did he have her cornered, but also she refused to give him the satisfaction, so she just pressed her lips together and glared straight into his annoying face.

“I might be a man of my times,” he said, his voice low and gravelly and full of dangerous power, “but I’m Tiguri first. I have no tolerance for modern human notions of ‘marriage.’ This is not a relationship of equals. I am
ther
. My word is law. As my mate, your role is to obey my commands, support my decisions, and bear my cubs.
I
decide what areas do or do not concern you, just as I decide what you need or do not need to know. If I think you need to know where I’m going, rest assured I will share that information. If I don’t share it, it’s because you do not need to concern yourself.

“On the other hand.” He leaned in closer, his breath stirring against her cheek and lips, making her clench her jaw to keep from the instinctive urge to touch him that their completed mating had caused. “Everything you do and everywhere you go is of concern to me. As my mate, your actions reflect on me, but more than that, your safety and welfare are now my responsibility, and I can’t protect you properly if you disobey my commands and disappear. Which means that from now on, you will never leave this apartment unless I know where you’re going, who you’ll be seeing, and when you’ll be back. Am I making myself clear?”

He waited for an answer. Did he really want to hear what she thought of all of that?

“Saskia,” he repeated, his voice low and menacing, “did I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” she spat out, glaring at him. She shook with anger so intense she wasn’t sure she could manage anything more coherent than the single word.

“Good; then we shouldn’t need to talk about this again.” He pushed himself away from her and strolled casually toward the door. “I have one or two loose ends to tie up before I’ll be ready for lunch. Give me half an hour before we eat.”

Half an hour? That would give her plenty of time to prep the poison. Did this arrogant bastard actually think she intended to cook for him like an obedient little mate after what he had just said to her? Could be possibly be
that
misguided?