Secret of the Wolf (23 page)

“As a werewolf, she has a new family now, yes?” This from Vida. “She has us. Her pack.”

“With all due respect, madam councilwoman, it’s not the same thing.” Tori knew that all too well. “She’s his flesh and blood.”

“If I may,” Tobias said and stood. “Detective MacMillan would be an excellent asset to the council and to the preternatural community at large. We should consider this.”

“Agreed.” Caladh leaned back in his chair.

The other councilors murmured their agreement.

Deoul looked at Tori. “Go home. We will advise you of our decision within the next forty-eight hours.”

Tori knew, whatever they decided, she’d stand by her man, as corny as that sounded. She’d see to it that Dante wasn’t alone.

R
ain fell in heavy sheets, bringing much needed water to the drought-stricken Sonoran Desert. Two wolves ran side by side through the downpour and then stopped beneath a mesquite tree. Muscles and sinew rippled beneath skin and fur. Bones shifted and realigned, reforming themselves. Wet fur receded, leaving behind only tanned skin as the wolves became human.

Became man and woman.

Tori took several shuddering breaths and fought her way back from the mind of the wolf. Her body ached, and as the last of the wolf retreated inside, it gave her one final slash of pain. She took another deep breath and looked at the man next to her. “Well?” she asked, her voice raspy. “Was it what you expected?”

Dante’s eyes still held the amber glow of the wolf. “So much more. My God.” He cupped her chin in his hand and slanted his mouth over hers. She leaned into the kiss, going down onto her knees to wrap her arms around his neck. She raked her fingers through his wet hair, dragging her nails lightly across his scalp. He drew back and stared down at her. “The sense of freedom, of belonging…”

“Belonging to…” she prompted.

“Everything.” He planted another kiss on her lips, this one brief and hard, a promise of things to come. “Let’s get dressed and get home,” he said, reaching behind him for the plastic bag that held their clothing. He handed over her jeans, T-shirt, and underwear and they dressed, awkwardly bent over beneath the branches of the tree. Then a barefooted dash through the downpour brought them to his heavy-duty pickup truck.

As he drove from the trailhead back toward the main road, he reached over and took her hand, strong, warm fingers wrapped around hers. “So are you ever gonna tell me what made the council change their minds?”

Initially, the council had denied the request. Then they’d backed down and told her she could turn him, but only if she promised to have nothing further to do with Dante. It would have devastated her, but she would have done it. She would have given him up if it meant he could have a long life with his sister.

In the end, Tobias had convinced the others that requiring that of her punished Dante as much as it hurt her. And so they’d done away with any sort of requirement attached to the turning.

“I already told you. You did. Your dedication to your job, your pursuit of the truth, your respect of preternaturals.” She squeezed his hand. “All I did was ask. They agreed because it was you.”

“Hmm.” He looked like he didn’t believe her, but that was because he didn’t think he was all that special. Thankfully, the council had disagreed.

As did Tori. She thought Dante was pretty damn special. And now she had the rest of immortality to spend with him.

He was her love. He was her family. She’d been so hopeful with her brother and her cousin, and had her heart crushed by their cruel, immoral acts. Now she had a husband and a sister by marriage and, if fate was kind, in the future they’d add to the MacMillan clan.

She couldn’t wait to see what the future held.

Z
ombies got a bad rap these days. At least that’s what the drunk one kept telling Finn Evnissyen as he sat at the bar nursing his beer.

“I mean, come on. Do I look like I’m rotting?” The guy held out one arm and turned it so Finn could see the underside. The action sent a waft of ammonia covered up by too much cologne.

That small hint of ammonia told Finn that this guy had become a zombie within hours of death instead of days. Yeah, if he’d been dead longer than that he wouldn’t be so pretty and would be much more odiferous.

The zombie flexed his arm again. “Nope,” he muttered, answering his own question. “Skin’s as clear as a baby’s bottom.”

Finn didn’t give a rat’s ass about the zombie’s skin or baby bottoms. “Uh-huh,” he grunted. He swiveled around on his stool to look out over the bar. It was just after three in the afternoon, and the bar already had a healthy clientele made up of various preternaturals and humans. Finn brought his glass to his lips and sipped while he checked out the other drinkers.

A couple of blue-collar looking guys, probably human, sat at a back booth with pretzels and beers and their eyes glued to the large TV screen hanging on one wall. It looked like a pre-season game of the Arizona Cardinals and Green Bay Packers. Finn watched for a few minutes, trying to ignore the zombie still yammering in his ear.

There was a lone drinker at the end of the bar that caught Finn’s eye. He leaned around zombie guy for a better look, and the loner hunched over his drink, obviously not wanting Finn to see him. Finn understood wanting to be alone with his drink, but he did want to know what kind of pret he was sharing a bar with. Doing his job as well as he did meant he’d made a few enemies. Hell, more than a few. So he wanted to make sure the guy trying to hide behind his drink wasn’t a demon with a grudge.

Finn took a few sniffs of air and grimaced at the sickly-sweet smell emanating from the man next to him, a man who was still going on about zombies getting such negative press.

“Really, man.” The zombie lifted his drink. “Just because we happen to like brains—”

“Mack!” Finn held up his hand to signal the bartender. Enough was enough. He slammed his glass onto the bar and scowled. He’d come here for a drink or three, not to strike up conversation with some random smelly dude. Since this guy wouldn’t shut up, it was time to go. He slapped a few bills down on the bar and pushed off his stool.

“You gotta go?” The whiny zombie looked like he was about to cry. “We was just gettin’ started.”

“Yeah, well, somebody’s disturbing my quiet.” Finn shot the guy a look and headed toward the front of the bar. He glanced behind him for another look at the man hiding behind his drink and saw he had leaned back and was watching Finn, a sneer curling his upper lip. Bloodshot eyes and a slight mottling of the left side of his face—not that noticeable unless you were looking for it—told Finn he was a hobgoblin. So…not a threat. Just surly.

As Finn pushed open the door, he slipped his sunglasses over his eyes. The humid monsoon air of a late Scottsdale afternoon slapped him in the face. God, it was so hot it felt like he’d just stepped into an oven.
Highway to Hell
began playing on his phone. He dragged it out of his pocket and answered with a terse, “What’s up, Dad?”

“I need to see you. Now.” Lucifer Demonicus got, as always, right to the point. “My office.”

“I’m a little busy right now.” He wasn’t, but dear old dad didn’t need to know that.

“My office. Ten minutes.”

“Dad? Dad!” Finn realized his father had disconnected the call. “Damn it.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket. He could blow off his dad, but if he did he had no doubt that the old devil would find him, or send some of his goons. “Damn it,” he muttered again, and threw a leg over the seat of his motorcycle. One day he’d be free from his father’s power to dictate his every move. As soon as he could find something to use as leverage, he’d be out from beneath the king of demons’ tyranny.

Until then, though… With a scowl he started the motorcycle and pulled away from the curb. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

He headed his bike down Scottsdale Avenue toward the office building where the leader of demons in the region conducted his many businesses, legitimate and otherwise. He was just crafty enough not to get caught by the authorities. Finn had a lot to do with that as his father’s enforcer. When a demon stepped too far out of line—and Lucifer was actually pretty lenient—Finn was the one sent to dispense justice. Which wasn’t always quick, or painless.

Or neat.

But he got the job done because somehow in all the mess that was the preternatural community, being the son of the devil evidently meant he’d been born into indentured servitude.

Finn stopped at a traffic light and glanced at the car that pulled to a halt in the next lane. Flirty smiles on their faces, two of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen looked at him with invitation in their eyes. He didn’t get even a single twitch of interest from his body. He blew out a sigh and looked at the light. When a demon could look at two succubi and feel nothing, something was wrong. Really, really wrong.

The light switched to green and he took off, nearly burning a swath of rubber in his hurry to get away from them. When he reached his father’s office building Finn drove up onto the sidewalk and brought his bike to a stop by the front door. He heeled down the kick stand and swung his leg over the seat. As he went through the automatic doors he tipped his head at the security guys at the front desk. “Fellas,” he greeted.

“You should move that before your father sees it.” The guard gestured toward the motorcycle.

Finn merely grinned. If Lucifer had a problem with where he parked his ride, the old man could tell him to get lost. Finn would happily do so.

He took the elevator to the top floor, getting off at the penthouse suite. He crossed the inlaid wood foyer, his boots thumping over the expensive flooring, and went straight into his father’s no-less than opulent office. “The master calleth?” he asked and flung himself down in one of the leather chairs across from Lucifer’s desk.

“I did.” Lucifer looked away from the bank of security monitors on the wall and leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes held Finn’s. His youthful face, making him appear to be in his early forties when in reality he’d been on Earth for over seven thousand years, belied the fact that he had a son as old as Finn.

Not that Finn looked old. He wasn’t vain, but he knew he looked good for his age, roughly thirty-five or so.

His father shook his head and gestured toward the monitors. “Don’t think that parking your motorcycle right in front of the building is enough to cause me to release you from your…obligations.”

“Obligations? Is that what my job is called?” Finn crossed his legs, resting one ankle on top of the opposite knee. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “How is it that just by virtue of being your son I’m automatically at your beck and call forever?” He held his father’s dark gaze. “Seriously, I’ve been doing this for almost three thousand years. Don’t you have another son you can foist this job on, make him miserable for a while?”

“Miserable. Really?” Lucifer frowned, the action barely causing wrinkles to form.

Finn folded his arms over his chest. “We’ve talked about this before. I want to do something more. I want to
be
something more.”

“Is that so?” From the tone of Lucifer’s voice, it was clear he didn’t give a damn. “Well, no matter. I have another job for you.”

No matter?
Finn slouched in his chair. “And if I say no?”

“Don’t turn it down before we’ve had a chance to tell you about it.” Lucifer pressed a button on his desk and Finn heard the elevator start up.

“We?” Finn twisted around as the elevator doors pinged open. He frowned at the vampire who stepped into the foyer.

“Tobias, come in,” Lucifer said, getting to his feet. The two men shook hands and the vampire took the chair next to Finn.

“What’s this all about?” Finn asked as Lucifer sat back down.

A former liaison to the Council of Preternaturals, Tobias Caine was now a council member. He shifted in his seat to look at Finn. “We’re looking at statistics taken over the years to determine the breakdown of preternaturals who come through the rift opened by the Moore-Creasy-Devon comet,” Caine said. “It’s apparent that out of all the pret clans, demons have the smallest representation.”

“So?” Finn frowned. “There are fewer of us than other prets. We can hold our own.”

“For how long?” Lucifer leaned his elbows on the desk. “Every seventy-three years, when the comet opens the rift between dimensions, fewer demons come through than any other preternatural. Century after century this occurs. In another few hundred years we could very well be nearly extinct.”

“Can’t we just procreate the old fashioned way?” Finn wasn’t sure what the fuss was all about. Preternaturals didn’t just happen because they came through the rift and took over bodies of human hosts. “That’s how I got here, after all.”

“Demon women would have to be perpetually pregnant to make any headway,” Caine said dryly.  

 “The only way preternaturals keep the community somewhat at peace is because there is a balance between all groups. As soon as one group becomes more powerful than the others, there will be a fight for control,” Lucifer added.

“I’ve never been much of a big picture kind of guy,” Finn said. “You might need to explain why you’re acting like this is my problem.”

“Because,
son
, it’s my problem. Therefore, it’s yours, too.”

Finn blew out a sigh. Since this wasn’t something that involved another demon directly, Finn’s skills as an enforcer weren’t being called upon. Which meant he could refuse it. “Sorry,” he said, not meaning a bit of it. “Whatever it is you’re wanting me to do, I’ll pass.” He wanted to get away from doing his father’s bidding, not do more of it.

“You can’t refuse to help, Finn.” Lucifer crossed his arms and glowered at his son.

“Are you asking me to hunt down a demon who’s been attacking humans or other prets?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then I believe I can refuse. And I do.”

“Look, I know you’ve never looked out for anyone but yourself, and you do a hell of a job at it, but we need you on this one,” Caine said.

“You’re such a sweet talker,” Finn muttered. “I have one question: What’s in it for me?”

Caine’s scowl mirrored Lucifer’s. He muttered a curse. “Cut the crap, Finn. You’re not as much of a loner as you make out. Listen to your conscience.” Caine pressed his lips together.  “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll give you half a mill to do it.”

“To do what, exactly?” It had to be something good for Caine to toss around that kind of money.

The vampire shared a glance with Lucifer, then said, “We want you to infiltrate a rogue group.  We think they’re planning…something for the next Influx.”

The next influx of preternaturals through the rift was due in three months. That didn’t give him a lot of time to go undercover.

“We figure your reputation will speak for itself,” Caine added.

“The thing is…” Finn stretched his legs out in front of him and clasped his hands across his stomach. “I don’t need the money. I’ve got plenty.”

“Two million.” This from Lucifer.

And it cut. Since when had Finn ever done anything he’d been asked to because of the paycheck? He might be a lot of things, but mercenary wasn’t one of them. He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I don’t need the money,” he repeated.

“Three million.”

Finn folded his arms over his chest and thought about it. Oh, not about the money. He’d been truthful when he said he didn’t need it. He had more money than he could spend in a hundred years. Or more. But there was something he’d been wanting, something that had been just out of his reach for so long… He really couldn’t care less about what happened with the rift, but he would like to be his own man for once. Do what he wanted when he wanted instead of having to ask permission from his boss, who also happened to be his father and the leader of the demon enclave in the region.

He’d never felt like he’d measured up to Lucifer’s expectations, and about five hundred years ago he’d given up trying. He did his job well because that was the kind of guy he was—you do the job you’re hired to do regardless of the pay. And now he didn’t care if good ol’ dad was proud of him or not.

At least, that’s what he told himself. And perhaps if he kept telling himself that eventually he’d believe it.

But for the chance to be his own boss… He’d been tossing around the idea of running a private security firm, one that would cater to the rich and powerful—both preternatural and human—and this might just be his chance.

“There’s more to you asking for my help than my rep,” he said, looking from his dad to Caine.

Lucifer cleared his throat, drawing Finn’s gaze. “The chameleon abilities you got from your mother will prove useful.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “You told him?” he asked, amazed that his father would tell an outsider a closely guarded secret that not even all demons knew.

“I trust him.”

Finn studied Caine. He didn’t know him, not really. He’d had some dealings with Caine in the past, and the vampire struck him as…intense. Dedicated and single-minded in his pursuit of justice. And someone capable of taking secrets to his grave.

“As I understand it,” the vampire said, “you can take on the abilities of any preternatural. So you can enhance your hearing to the level of a werewolf’s, or your sense of smell, right?”

Finn nodded. “There’s a little more to it than that, though. For a short period of time I can actually become that preternatural.”

“Meaning…”

“If I mimic a werewolf, I can shift into a wolf. Or if I want to imitate a vampire…” He paused and got to his feet. “Here, let me show you.”

It had been a while since Finn had impersonated a vamp. He studied Caine, took a deep breath to get his scent, then closed his eyes to concentrate on summoning his chameleon demon abilities. There was a burst of heat deep inside, then his body cooled down. His jaw began to ache and his canine teeth lengthened into fangs. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Caine staring at him in shock.