The Strip (8 page)

“That’s okay, baby girl. Give me a hug.” Mary Jane wrapped her arms around Claire and the two embraced. Again, the dark-haired woman whispered something into Claire’s ear. “Thanks for forcing me to come out with you tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” Claire whispered back, too bewildered to say anything else.

With that, Mary Jane pulled away and Jake led her out of the club.

Claire watched her go. And then she looked up at Malcolm. He moved around the table toward her and held up his hand. “Walk with me,” he commanded. It wasn’t even a request. Not any more.

She hesitated anyway. The effect her resistance had on him was to both impress him and to make him even more hungry for her. In truth, he had always liked a good fight. A part of him
wanted
her to run from him. He was a wolf, and wolves were predators. He pursued anything that ran from him. It felt good. And, though the night pressed with a sense of urgency where she was concerned, he couldn’t deny that the chase was his favorite part of the game.

He smiled when she finally put her hand in his and, once more his fingers curled over hers. Claire St.James was definitely game. She was fighting him as much as she was capable of fighting him; which is to say, with every fiber of her conscious being.

But, no woman on the planet could lie to Malcolm. He could read their bodies too well. The scent of their arousals, the sound of their racing hearts, the sight of their cheeks flushed and their lips parted, all chronicled the truth, no matter what their minds might be screaming. That included Charlie. What her body was telling him was that she was loving it as much as he was.

For Malcolm, that fact was like pitching gasoline onto an fire.

He tossed a wad of bills onto the table and wasted no time in leading Charlie out of the club. Once they were outside, he repositioned their hands so that their fingers intertwined. When he did, he felt her stiffen beside him, for just a fraction of a second. And then she let out a quiet, shaky breath – and relented.

He hid his smile. “Your friend seems very liberated,” he said as he walked them down the sidewalk toward the tattoo parlor that he had instructed Lucas to purchase.

Claire was silent beside him. He could tell she was trying to figure out what to say to that. Finally, she sighed. “Yeah, she is.” Malcolm felt victory rush through him when he heard the jealousy in her tone that he was so hoping would be there.

“I would imagine she’s the kind of person who never takes a day for granted,” he continued. “Lives for the moment.” He released a bit more of his power to let it enfold her beside him, swaddling her in submissive influence.

“Yes,” Claire said, “she does.”

“And I imagine you’re the level-headed one in the band,” Malcolm went on, hoping that he was right about what kind of person she was.

Claire frowned, mulling that one over. She didn’t say anything, which meant that it was too true to deny, but too unpleasant to admit.

“After all, someone has to keep everyone in line, right? Not everyone has a motherly instinct, Charlie. I can imagine that you do, though.”

“Oh. Well – I don’t know….” He pretended to stumble over his words, as if he were embarrassed by them. “It’s just that you’re so….”

“Boring?” she asked then. She didn’t spit it at him and it wasn’t scathing, exactly. But, though her voice was still soft, her tone held something in it that he hadn’t heard from her before. “I’m safe. I know,” she told him.

I have to be…
He almost heard her thinking. She wore her thoughts on her beautiful face.

“Come,” he said. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” They were standing in front of the coffee shop that neighbored the tattoo parlor. As he’d suspected it would, Claire’s gaze skirted from the coffee shop to the store front next door.

“Coffee?” Her voice trailed off.

He knew when he had her. Her shoulders rolled back and her chin lifted. Defiant. Strong. He wanted to take her right there on the side walk.

Vincent Cromwell smiled and almost laughed at that. “No, I imagine he isn’t. But it isn’t our fault that he underestimated her pull.” The tall werewolf moved to the nearest seat and took it gracefully, the overhead lights bringing out the blue highlights in his hair. She’s attracted the most powerful available alpha in our community, with the exception perhaps of James Valentine. And Valentine isn’t in the game.”

The older man across from him took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees, and pinned Cromwell with a meaningful gaze. “He’s moved everything up and is flying in right now.” He pulled his cell phone out of the inside breast pocket of his expensive suit and glanced at something on its screen. “He’ll be here in less than two hours.”

Cromwell thought about that for a moment. His magical feelers had been out in that alleyway earlier. He’d sensed an incredible amount of deadly-strong resolve around Malcolm Cole. But, contrary to what he’d been expecting to find, he felt no evil. Darkness, yes. Evil, no. Cromwell somehow doubted that Cole wanted to harm Claire St.James. And turning her tonight would undoubtedly bring her vast amounts of mental anguish. In the end, Vincent couldn’t call this one. He just didn’t know.

“That depends,” he said, running a forefinger over his goatee. “On a lot of things.”

“I see.” The man in the expensive suit stood then, his movements filled with fluid grace. “I want you to cast some sort of recovery spell and at least get her back within the confines of this hotel.” He turned toward the exit when Cromwell’s voice stopped him.

“I could do that,” he said. “But Cole is no stranger to magic. He would know what was happening, and he would stop her. As I said, he has his entire pack with him right now. And he’s strong enough, even alone.”

The gray-haired man considered this for a moment. And then he strode across the room and opened the door. “I’ll deal with Mr. Phelan. You watch Charlie. Wait for the opportunity,” he threw a significant glance over his shoulder, “and then bring her home.”

Behind him, Vincent Cromwell nodded his acquiescence, but said nothing. As the older man left the room, Cromwell steepled his fingers before him, drawing an image of Claire St.James in his mind’s eye. And then he smiled and left the room as well.

* * * *

When Cole led Charlie into the parlor, he was immediately impressed with how well and how quickly Lucas had set everything up. There were two customers already inside, but Caige had possessed enough forethought to hire several other trained artists to deal with whoever might come in that night.

Caige, himself, looked up when Cole entered, and their eyes met. Silent communication passed between the two as Caige approached.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Claire shrank just a little beside Cole, and his grip on her hand tightened. She looked up at him and was captured in his stark green gaze. He willed her not to back down.

“I would like to get a tattoo,” Claire repeated, this time to the parlor owner. Cole could see that she was intimidated by Caige, as most people were. The werewolf looked like a very handsome actor playing a very wicked role. Charlie she was a Dormant and, as such, even more susceptible to other werewolves and their, for lack of a better word, manliness. Lucas Caige was just about as manly as they came, and his pitch black eyes, which were rare for a wolf, were both intoxicating and threatening.

But, as any parlor owner would have done, he nodded and smiled a reassuring smile. White teeth flashed and Claire smiled, a little nervous.

“First one?” Caige asked, his voice low, his tone gently teasing.

She nodded.

“Then the first thing you’ll need to do is pick what you want.” He walked her over to a series of large poster-sized displays on the wall. Each one contained several dozen artistic renderings. There was a dizzying plethora of choices. Cole was half afraid that, while Claire carefully deliberated over which one she might want, she would sober up and decide not to go through with it.

However, she surprised him once more by immediately striding toward the middle display and pointing at a drawing near the top.

Malcolm’s head swam. She was pointing at a black wolf, howling at the full moon. Caige’s eyes cut to him, for a fraction of a second, and he knew that the other wolf was just as surprised.

“Can I have that one?” she asked.

Lucas nodded, expertly hiding his emotions, and led her toward a private room; there were four such rooms in the parlor. Cole joined them, closing the door behind them. At the center of the room rested a plush, reclining table, beside which stood a silver tray, covered in saran wrap. Atop it were a large number of various artist’s tools.

“Would you like me to show you what each of these instruments are and what they’ll do so that you won’t be surprised by anything?”

Claire quickly took in the number of alien-looking devices, replete with needles, and visibly paled. Then she shook her head. “No. Please, just do it. I don’t even want to watch, or I might change my mind.”

Caige nodded and Cole smiled.

“Have a seat.” Lucas motioned toward the table. “Where do you want it?”

“My wrist. Then I can cover the bandage with one of my wrist bands when I’m playing and no one will be the wiser.” She sat down and looked down at the insides of her arms as Cole and Lucas once more locked gazes.

Malcolm was fast becoming flabbergasted by everything Claire chose. A wolf? The inside of her wrist? It was like they were sole mates. If he had believed in such a thing.

“The right one.” She held out her arm and released a shaky breath. It would be the same exact spot where Lily had born Daniel Kane’s mark. Suddenly Cole wondered whether all Dormants instinctively and automatically went down the same roads when it came to their mates.

Claire glanced up at him and he caught and held her gaze. Her ice blue eyes were nearly pleading. Begging for him to make her believe this was the right decision – and to continue to give her strength with which to do it.

My Charlie,
Cole thought.
So very brave.

“It’ll be stunning, luv,” he told her softly. She smiled and blushed. “And should you change your mind fifty years from now, I’m sure they’ll have created some instant method for removing them.”
Just not these kind
, he added mentally.

With that, Lucas moved behind the table and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. Cole’s jealousy instantly spiked, but he reigned it in and allowed the other wolf to ease Claire back into the table-chair, reclining it so that she was in a more relaxed position. Then Caige’s gaze cut to Cole and more silent communication passed between them.

“Just close your eyes and relax, Charlie,” Cole told her, allowing a fair amount of power to lace his words and influence his tone.

Claire closed her eyes.

Cole moved behind the table as Lucas handed him a pocket knife. Malcolm wasted no time, drawing the knife’s sharp blade down across his palm. As the blood welled up, he squeezed his hand into a fist and held it over one of the empty ink containers on the plastic-wrapped tray. When it was half full, Lucas nodded.

Malcolm drew his hand away as the wound closed. His earlier discussion with Lucas came back to him…

Malcolm had considered that carefully. The truth was, he held a good deal of influencing ability when it came to his unique talents, but the power to help someone ignore pain wasn’t one of them. The most he could do was hold her in his sway.

Or kiss her. A werewolf’s kiss could do many things. Through a kiss, a werewolf could exact upon his victim drowsiness, weakness, pleasure, and even sleep. He’d heard that was what Daniel Kane had done to his mate when he’d marked her.

For some reason, following in the Baton Rouge police chief’s footsteps didn’t sit right with Malcolm. And the truth was, he wanted to see the look in Charlie’s eyes when she realized what was happening. He knew that somewhere deep down, she would recognize the mark. It was hardwired into her. She was a female-born and a Dormant. She would know he was marking her as his, and he wanted to see that knowledge in those stark baby blues.

More of Lucas’s words came back to him.

An alpha’s mark forced a submissive effect onto the Dormant he marked, and its initial stages were potent. Dormants were normally overwhelmed with instant sexual need, an utter stripping of will power, and a healthy dose of fear that could cause them to do crazy things. But so far, those Dormants had all been human.

Malcolm wasn’t sure what would happen to Claire. It was entirely possible that she would slip into fight mode and it wouldn’t be fun. God only knew what she would be capable of once an alpha’s blood mingled with her own.

He’d decided that once she’d been marked and Malcolm could see that she’d had a chance to register his claim, he would kiss her then. He would push hard until she was weakened beneath him. If necessary, asleep.