Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans (19 page)

“He took the bargain, too?”

“He was the bargain,” she said softly. Her expression shifted like mercury, and I knew I would get no further information. My instincts told me that was a conversation she wanted to have with Damian. I had no idea why Damian and the other werewolves had chucked their religion out the proverbial window, but if I knew anything about the man, it was not a decision made without cause.

“Can you sense my emotions?” asked the Goddess curiously. “Or his?” She nodded toward her husband.

“I wasn’t really trying.” I lowered my shields and attempted to discern their emotions. Nothing. It was exactly like trying to read Jarred. “Is that a god thing?”

“In a way,” she said. “You’ve known someone else you cannot read.”

I nodded, unsure where my ex-boss fit in to the picture. “Jarred Dante. He’s like you?”

“He is … and he isn’t,” she offered. She looked at me apologetically, obviously ill at ease with her non-answer. Then she said, “You must convince Damian to go home, Kelsey—to Schwarzwald.”

I blinked at them. “You want me to convince Damian to go to Germany?”

“To the Black Forest, to the place and the hopes he abandoned there. You must both be at the temple on the eve of Winter Solstice—to prepare for our arrival. The few priestesses who still loyally serve me will know what to do.” She smiled sadly. “I once had many names, but my favorite was Aufanie. You may call me that if you wish.”

“Okay.” My head was starting to itch from drying shampoo, and I felt chilled even though the air wasn’t cold at all. I wrapped my arms around myself as I felt a sudden, awful foreboding. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

“You were never meant to be one of us,” said Tark kindly. He even looked a smidge sorry.

“But she will be,” said Aufanie firmly. “Damian has chosen her. And we will not fail our son again.”

Tark looked down at his wife, his gaze filled with tenderness. I didn’t have to be an empath to sense the deep and abiding love they had for each other. I felt a soul-deep ache as I watched them. I wanted what they had. And I knew—the same as I knew the earth was round and the sky was blue—that I could have that kind of love with Damian.

You know, if I didn’t die.

“Be well, Kelsey,” said Aufanie.

Then, in the blink of an eye, I was back in the shower naked again, shivering under the now-tepid water with a crusty head and big wedge of foreboding lodged in my stomach. I guess Aufanie figured yanking me fully into her realm was better than leaving my body unconscious in the shower. I appreciated her thoughtfulness.

I finished in a hurry. After I got out of the shower, I grabbed a towel from under the sink and wrapped it around me. I heard Damian’s voice—a one-sided conversation no doubt via phone—filter down the hallway.

I went into the bedroom and saw that Damian had placed Elizabeth’s Louis Vuitton suitcase on the bed. I opened it and pawed through the designer clothing. Since Damian had shredded my bra and panties, I had no lingerie. I suppose going bra-less would be doable, but I needed panties.

I looked at the tumbled covers on the bed and saw hundred dollar bills. What the hell? Then I realized I’d left the five hundred dollars and my driver’s license in the bra. Everything must’ve fallen out. Crud. I crawled into the bed, gathered up the bills, and looked for my license. I found it on the floor by the nightstand. I put the money and ID on the nightstand. I wondered where Damian had put my pants. At the very least I could wash and wear them.

I saw a peek of red underneath a gold blouse, and I tugged at it. A halter dress unfurled. Nice.

“Are you decent?” asked Damian. He strode through the doorway holding two sizable boxes. One was a pink rectangle, and the other a big white square.

“That’s a loaded question,” I said. “What are those?”

“Presents,” he said, showing me the pink box. Then he lifted the other. “And this is breakfast.”

I could smell chocolate. My stomach rumbled.

“Gimme!” I said.

He laughed, and moved around the end of the bed so he could lay the boxes there. In black scroll across the top of the pink box was Agent Provocateur. I forgot about food. I gaped at him. “Shut. Up. You did not.”

“It’s my policy to replace any undergarments I’m responsible for destroying.”

I tore it open, and gasped. There were five bras and matching underwear, and underneath those a selection of silk stocking and garters. “Oh, my God. They’re gorgeous, Damian! How did you know my size?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Never mind. How’d you get them here so quickly?”

“I’m persuasive.” He seemed pleased with my reaction. His happiness unfurled like a flag snapping in a summer breeze. “There are more on the way.”

I plucked out a red bra that had a scalloped edge and a thin black ribbon laced through the top. A tiny black bow graced the middle. I found the matching panties. “I can’t believe you—” The rest of his words filtered through my bedazzlement. “More? I don’t need more.”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered one of everything.”

“One of …” I trailed off, astonished. “That’s an insane amount of money to spend on underwear.”

“Not if it pleases you.” His smile widened. “You will need an extensive collection, Kelsey.” He nodded toward the garments. “I can’t guarantee I won’t turn any of those into confetti.”

“Good point,” I said. I put down the lingerie, and opened the other box. Inside were a dozen chocolate frosted cupcakes. “This is breakfast?”

“Unless you want something nutritious and sensible.”

“Hell, no.” I picked up a cupcake and then looked speculatively at Damian.

He backed away, hands up. “We cannot indulge ourselves now, Kelsey. The queen wants to see us.”

“The werewolf queen?”

“She rules lycans and vampires.” Some of his playfulness disappeared.

“And she’s your mom?”

His mouth dropped open. “What? No.”

“But you’re the crown prince.”

“That’s different. And irrelevant. At least for now.”

I licked the frosting from the cupcake, and sighed with contentment.

Damian groaned. “I’m going into the living room to think about the natural beauty and wonder of glaciers.”

“Are you afraid I’ll smear you with cupcake and lick it off?”

“Damn right, I am.” He crossed the room, pausing to kiss the crumbs off my lips. “And I’ll do the same to you. Later.”

He grinned at me, and then he left.

Then I ate my breakfast and got dressed.

 

“I don’t have the boobs for this dress.” I glanced down into my sad cleavage and noted the way the front of it sagged. Elizabeth had a bigger rack than I did.

“Please,” said Damian in a pained voice, “do not mention your boobs. It makes me look at them and want to see them.”

“And do things to them?”

He groaned.

We were walking down a lushly carpeted hallway to a meeting room where we had been summoned by the vampire queen. Damian had filled me in, somewhat, about a few things. Vampires and werewolves were under the purview of a lycan-vampire named Patricia Marchand who ruled both species. Damian had not exactly clarified why he wasn’t ruling the lycans, and it didn’t exactly seem to be a sore point. But it did bother him.

Then he’d told me that the headquarters of a paranormal conglomerate named the Consortium was located here, and its massive compound held most of the official buildings and some residences. Damian’s small, spare house was located within the compound. Most of the citizens lived in town like regular (if by regular, you meant were-cats, fairies, vampires, lycans, and dragons) people.

I was still trying to wrap my brain around it all.

“This dress was actually owned by Jessica Rabbit,” I continued. “It’s all boobs!”

Damian enchained my wrist to halt me, and then he swept me into his arms. “If you say boobs one more time, I will drag you into the nearest janitorial closet and fuck you.”

Electric thrills raced through me. “Boo—”

He kissed me. Hard. I threw my arms around his neck and enjoyed the hell out of it. He pulled away, his breath harsh and his eyes glittering. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Testing your resolve,” I said. “You don’t seem the type to issue empty threats. Honestly? I’m kinda disappointed.” I opened my mouth and he put his forefinger against my lips.

“Don’t say it. I’m already thinking about slamming you against a wall and pushing up that dress.”

My heart started to pound. I was instantly wet. And hot for him. Oh, sweet mamma jamma. “Will you rip off my panties?”

“Yes,” he said. He eyed me and then sighed. “I’m just giving you incentive, aren’t I?”

“Pretty much.”

“You are trouble,” he said. “We must see the queen, Kelsey. And you should know that she will not be in a good mood.”

“I’m a psychotherapist,” I said. “I rarely meet anyone in a good mood.”

Damian released me, and I didn’t insist he hold my hand because I could feel that he was uneasy with our burgeoning relationship. He wasn’t ready to display his affection for me, at least not in public. So I let him lead the way.

We entered a room that reminded me of a theater. The seating was angled and faced a small stage. On the stage was a long table and seated behind it were several people. I recognized Patrick and the brunette on the end. In the middle seat was a pretty blonde who wore a glittering T-shirt that read: QUEEN OF EVERYTHING. She looked grumpy. I could only surmise that she was Queen Patricia. Hmm. Wonderland’s royalty. Was she the white queen? Or the red one?

Behind her was a big, tall man with moon white hair drawn back into a long ponytail. One hand grasped Patsy’s shoulder. That must be her consort … um, Gabriel. Damian had told me a bunch of names attached to the people on the Broken Heart Council, but I had no real clue who was who.

A few people sat in the front row, one of them a lovely girl with violet eyes and a pretty smile. She was very, very pale and young—maybe seventeen, if that. On the other side of her was a woman with the same facial features and white hair as Gabriel. A twin? Huh.

As Damian and I approached the area in front of the stage (no doubt we were supposed to stand there for judgment) I spotted Damian’s brothers. They stood off to the side of the stage talking to each other.

“The prodigal werewolf returns,” said Patsy in a surly tone. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

I was immediately offended on Damian’s behalf. My neck hair rose and I felt a snarl gather in my throat.
Oh.
That was different. I wasn’t used to my rage manifesting in werewolf form. It was scary—and somewhat empowering. But mostly scary.

“Can you be more specific?” asked Damian. He had his serious face on—the mask he wore that displayed his ruthless efficiency and hid his pride. He was not a man who should be ruled. And yet he was. It felt wrong. Really wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He was meant for something better. Something greater than a … a lackey.

I directed my gaze at the queen.

“You know,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm, “disappearing like that and scaring the shit out of us. Fucking ETAC. Do you know how many tests Dr. Michaels is gonna have to do on your sorry ass? And why were you sneaking off to meet with Dante?” Her blue eyes zeroed in on me. “What’s her story?”

“Kelsey Morningstone,” I answered. “Damian rescued me.”

“That’s not what I hear,” she said.

“Sounds like an inner ear problem,” I said cheerfully. I turned on a high-wattage smile. “Maybe a visit to a physician would help.”

She blinked.

Damian glanced down at me, giving me that one-arched-eyebrow expression he was so good at. I blinked up innocently at him.

“Damian,” said Patsy, “what’s going on?”

“There are prophecies concerning the lycanthropes,” he said. He met her gaze. “It seems you are not meant to be queen of the werewolves.”

Chapter 8

P
atsy sat back in her chair, frowning. “Maybe you should start at the beginning and tell me the whole story. Then I’ll decide how pissed off I am.”

“A month ago I received a text asking that I meet a Vedere messenger in Tulsa. I arrived at the designated coffee shop, and the messenger recited a new prophecy about me—as well as a reinterpretation of the original prophecy about you.”

“He couldn’t send an e-mail?” I asked.

Damian glanced at me. “Vedere messengers must memorize every word of a prophecy and give it only to the person designated. When a prophet writes down a prophecy, those papers are locked away in a vault that only the elders can access.”

“Got it,” I said. Actually, I didn’t know what a Vedere was at all, only that they seemed to be paranoid and secretive.

“A month ago,” said Patsy flatly. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to investigate the situation before reporting it.” Damian pulled out a BlackBerry and started hitting the tiny keyboard. It amazed me he had any kind of accuracy considering how big his fingers were. He apparently found whatever file he was looking for. Then he read: