Wicked Circle (9 page)

But this was not the wolf I’d seen before. The fur was still jet-black, and the size and conformation were the same visually, but he
felt
different. Power continuously radiated from the beast to the point that I wouldn’t have been surprised if sparks shot off of him.

When Eris had released him from the bonds she’d placed upon him long ago, I’d been aware he was different. He’d returned to Cleveland before I’d been able to get a real sense of the “new” him. Now, all the power that had been locked away blazed around him like a nimbus only my core could feel, completing him in a way I hadn’t previously realized had been lacking.

Sideways to the camera, the wolf stilled and the transformation reversed. In under a minute Johnny crouched, naked, before us all.

He was on his fingertips and toes, his knees an inch from the floor. His body, lean and muscular, was beautiful. In that position he rolled one shoulder, then the other. He twisted his neck side to side and arched his back. I could see every muscle ripple, and then he stood, his thighs flexing as he assumed a square-shouldered stance and faced the camera.

I felt more in awe of him than I’d ever felt before.

Power radiated from him still. It was heady and invigorating, with a touch of recklessness. It was unreservedly masculine.

He was unquestionably a power-equal to Menessos, in his own unique way.

He said, “I am your Domn Lup.”

Something flickered beneath the camera lens, and Johnny’s focus dropped a few inches to see it. On the far side of the room, a larger screen also flickered. I hadn’t noticed it before because of all the bodies in the way. The whir of a motor sounded as the screen mechanically lifted so those in the back could see it as well.

The screen was a field of black with a crowned wolf rampant in two shades of red: one the bright color of fresh blood, the other darker. The two shades of red meant not only energy, but vigor; not only strength, power, and determination, but leadership and courage. The wolf had his claws out, holding a shield divided into eight triangles of either dark blue or gold. Emblazoned on the shield was a silver and black helmet with spikes rising from its crown.

The crowned rampant wolf was the symbol of the Zvonul; the shield was indicative of the local den. Each pack had its own coat of arms.

The screen faded, showing an array of seating. One grand throne was elevated; other thrones were arranged to either side of it in three rows of five. A short pillar loomed in the foreground; atop it sat a wooden box that appeared to have a small opening in the top.

Within seconds, men started strolling past the container and dropping something inside before finding their seats.

I tried to text Zhan. It wouldn’t go through. Renaldo leaned over. “You can’t get a signal in here.”

“Then you’re going to have another woman coming up your stairs.” I put the phone away and thought apologies to Zhan.

After long minutes of men walking by the box, the studious group assembled in the seats on the screen. Two seats were empty, one of which was the elevated throne. Lastly, a man in a long black cassock strode past, ignoring the wooden box. He placed three stones upon the empty throne: white, red, and black. Then he ceremoniously took his place on the remaining seat.

“They’ve replaced the Rege already?” I whispered.

“Taine Vega,” Gregor whispered back.

The new Rege had dark hair in a style that would have satisfied any drill sergeant. The tribal tattoos on his square face began between his dark eyes to mimic the arch of his brows. Lines defined the bridge of his nose and pointed to his high cheekbones. Accentuating his thin lips, a pair of swirls graced his chin.

A shirtless young boy scurried into view on the screen. He set three small plates before the pillar where the camera and those assembled could see them. He opened the box and retrieved a small white stone from within.
Over the next minute he sorted twenty-nine stones. “Eight black. Six red. Fifteen white,” he said.

The new Rege stared into the camera. “Eight of my brethren oppose you, Mr. Newman.”

“Fifteen do not,” Johnny said.

“And yet six are indifferent. My old seat is unfilled.” He gestured toward the seat he’d placed the stones upon and I noticed his hands had tattoos as well. “Should those six be swayed to oppose you and should my successor choose to oppose you, the vote is split.”

“It is your vote that decides, Rege, regardless of the democratic process you’ve asked your respected peers to engage in.”

“Indeed.”

His gaze conveyed seriousness but not pride, like that of an official whose new responsibility brought with it a dose of loathing. On the plus side, he didn’t look like he was suffering from a swollen ego. On the minus side, he didn’t look happy at all.

At first, I expected Johnny to ask him what bribe he required. The former Rege had candidly stated he would not confirm Johnny as Domn Lup unless Johnny gave him something—namely me. He’d learned of my ability to perform the spell that enabled wærewolves to retain their man-minds while in wolf form. While that deal-making had occurred in private, this Rege had his peers present to witness the proof of Johnny’s power. He’d also had them vote and had had the stones tallied before everyone so he could consider his peers’ opinions before making his decision.

As the silence wore on, I was glad Johnny didn’t inquire about that bribe.
This Rege’s thoughtfulness proved he was quite different from his predecessor. That could be good. Or it could be just as bad in a different way.

On-screen, the new Rege tapped his fingers on his thigh and said, “I confirm you, John Newman.”

A
s the assembled Cleveland pack members showed their enthusiasm by howling and applauding, Johnny struggled internally to keep his poise. Always before when he transformed, even for the few noncyclical complete changes, his beast had roused and paced within, growling, but safely caged.

Not this time.

This time, his inner wolf had burst into sentience with such intensity that all his previous transformations suddenly seemed semiconscious by comparison. Though his man-mind had remained, the instincts of the beast ambushed him, enveloped him in vehement desires so powerful he could barely keep the impulses from becoming actions.

It was so overwhelming that he’d willed an immediate reversion to human form.

The wolf had withdrawn into human flesh, but it did not slumber as before.

On the screen, the Rege called for silence. “Let us talk soon about the date of your coronation. I need to assess the schedule I have just inherited, but I would like to move forward with the ceremony sometime next month. I will make the announcement later today and, afterward, make arrangements for your press conference in Cleveland on Saturday afternoon.”

“Agreed.”

“My Lord.” The Rege gave a bowing nod and gestured. The screen faded out to the wolf rampant and shield, then faded to black.

Again the crowd howled. Gregor leaned into Johnny’s ear. “Someone was spotted coming up the steps. Kirk has gone to investigate.”

“Good. Where are my pants?” Johnny wanted nothing more than to vacate the room and have a few minutes alone to gather himself.

Gregor gestured and a valet hurried up with a long, thick robe. He held it open for Johnny.

Johnny didn’t budge. Rage boiled up inside him instantly—in his mind he knew he wasn’t even angry, but the rash, hot rage begged to be unleashed. His forearms itched. Only desperate resistance, like clenching some mystical muscle, kept his fingers from sprouting claws ready to slash Gregor for his mistake. “Dude. I said
pants
.” It was a struggle to keep his voice even.

Gregor snapped his fingers and the valet scurried away. “Forgive me. As you are confirmed now, I assumed a robe would be more . . . kingly.”

“I don’t wear robes,” Johnny snapped.

Gregor tipped his head. “It will not happen again.”

The crowd quieted into the white noise of happy chatter, and The Dirty Dog—the pack’s official bar—was mentioned repeatedly. Some were leaving already.

The valet hurried back with black denim jeans. Johnny grabbed them from him. “As long as I can still bend over and put my legs into my pants, I wear pants.” He wouldn’t admit that donning jeans in public felt distinctly undignified. “Besides, the new Rege didn’t call me king.”

“He won’t until after your coronation. But here, to your pack, you are king already.”

Johnny zipped the jeans. He wanted everyone gone. He wanted to be alone and get a grip on what was happening to him. He flung his arms up and shouted, “To The Dirty Dog!”

As expected, cheers rose and people converged on the exit. It was the quickest way to empty the room and buy himself a moment of privacy.

However, as the pack massed at the doorway, the air of the room shifted, and a distinctly
not-wolf
smell filled his nostrils again.

Red.

Johnny deserted Gregor, inexorably drawn to Persephone’s aroma. It always made him want her, but tonight, because he hadn’t seen her in days, her scent was new all over again. That newness made his reaction stronger. He was getting hard just thinking about touching her.

When she came into view, the wide neck of her sweatshirt slipped and his attention stuck on the pale skin of her bare shoulder. Her dark hair lay against soft flesh and he brushed the tendrils away and reached behind her neck. His fingertips buzzed with a vibration he knew was her energy—he’d never noticed this gentle and enticing sensation before.

Must be a perk of unlocking my tattoos.

She was always beautiful, but more so when all her skin was exposed and the smell of her sex mingled with his. Add this little electric feeling . . . if it was amplified when their bodies were entwined—
God I can’t wait to fuck her.
He leaned down for a kiss.

Shouts rumbled at the doors.

He turned.

Voices raised in complaint as someone pushed into the room, impeding the flow of those leaving the room. In a heartbeat, his top guard appeared, towing Zhan behind him by the arm.

“Guess who thought she could sneak into the den,” Kirk said as he approached. “An Offerling.”

Zhan said to Persephone, “You didn’t text.”

“There’s no reception in here. I tried. Johnny was in the middle of the ceremony, and I couldn’t ask for access to a landline to call. Sorry. But I
did
tell them to expect you.”

The distinct scent of ginger lingered around Zhan, with a hint of death sealed into the marks given her by Menessos. They all knew the Asian woman was Seph’s bodyguard—and that his own Asian guard had ulterior motives. “Let her go,” Johnny said.

Kirk gazed deeply into Zhan’s eyes. “What if I’d rather hold on?” His question was seductive and inviting.

“I don’t respect any man who won’t follow orders.” Zhan jerked free.

“I’m not after your respect, China Doll.”

Johnny smelled the desire radiating from both of them—even Zhan, though she would have denied it. He didn’t care if the Offerling seduced his guard or vice versa; he trusted Kirk not to reveal secrets that would get back to the vampire. What he did mind, however, was how their attraction fed his own urgency for sex.

“Red, this way.” Without delay, he led her from the room. Those still shuffling out paused to allow them through the doorway. The pack members were all heading down the stairwell to their cars, but he led Seph up the stairwell.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.” He was uncomfortably hard in his jeans. In an effort to counter this intense response, he asked, “How’s your mom?”

Seph groaned.

It wasn’t so different from the sounds she made when he was bedding her. “That good?” he asked. His voice sounded strangled even to him.

Seph didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah. Ask me again later. What’s this?” She patted the steel square to the left side of the stairwell.

“Gates. They run along the tracks,” he replied as he pointed at the metal track across the entry top. Then he pointed at the floor, where a similar track was embedded in the floor. “It’s like the barriers they use in shopping malls. The Omori just had it installed. We can seal off the floors individually if we need to.”

“Why would you need to?”

“The half-formed wæres, mostly. Just an extra security measure.”

He was climbing fast. She was keeping up, but she was panting with the effort. It resonated erotically in his ears.

“That was an impressive transformation,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s it?”

He didn’t want to tell her how he was struggling with all that was new—
Damn! The
in signum amoris
!
He squeezed her hand.
Red? Red, you hear me?

She didn’t answer him. He released her, hoping it wasn’t too abrupt. He was aware that he had to give her some kind of answer, but like a bad joke, her mom had actually given up her right arm in the process of unlocking his tattoos; he wouldn’t
dare complain, but neither would he say anything that might make him sound ungrateful or imply that Eris’s sacrifice hadn’t garnered all they’d hoped for. “It felt easier. Much more fluid.”

Emerging onto the ninth floor, he guided her toward the small guest chamber at the rear of the hallway.

“It was your first change since breaking the binding,” Persephone added. “Did it feel more powerful to you?”

“Yeah.” He opened the door of the small studio apartment and hit the switch for the lights, twisting the knob to dim them. “I guess.” He opened the door wider so she could enter.

“You guess? I was out in the hallway and I felt it.”

“Really?” Instead of letting her acquaint herself with the space, as soon as he shut the door, he seized her and held her against him. “I’ve got something else I want you to feel.” He pressed his lips to hers roughly. “God, I missed you.”

Seph kissed him back and buried her fingers in his hair.

It felt like he hadn’t seen her in months, not mere days. His body thrummed with energy and ached for a release.