Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) (16 page)

“Dahlia, please,” he begged with both his voice and his gaze. “I promised Pat.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you promised Patrick. If you know what’s happening to me, I need to know.” My voice shook and tears welled up in my eyes again as my anger slipped into unadulterated rage.

Dean watched me with a furrowed brow. His shoulders released the tension they’d been holding as he released a heavy sigh of resignation. “You’re the first Fertiri in a millennium,” he said softly.

I stared at him as my brain ticked with a conversation on the outskirts of my mind. I strained to remember but couldn’t, like a dream the next morning.

He stood, releasing my hand. He took a few steps back and leaned against the windowsill, far, far away from me. The sunlight of early morning framed his body and highlighted his tanned skin. The light defined every muscle and bulge of his body that played under his crisp, white shirt.

I wanted him. I could admit that to myself but I wouldn’t admit it to him or anyone else. I’d caused enough pain to the people I loved. I’d caused Patrick enough pain.

I couldn’t live like this anymore. The secrets were squeezing me, compressing me into an emotional mess until I felt I might explode. I couldn’t tell up from down or black from white anymore.

“What does that mean?” I whispered, too much fear making my voice tremble.

“A Fertiri,” Dean answered, “is a conduit but also a power of its own. Most importantly, the Fertiri is the link,” he said, watching me closely, “the power of life and death in one being.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. I was just
me
. But even I didn’t know who that was anymore.

“Neither do we. That’s why Pat wanted more information from the Fae before we worried you for no reason.”

“What does it matter,” I almost screeched.

“Dahlia,” Dean snapped. His sharp tone and the command in his voice brought me back to attention. His gaze softened as he watched me and I knew he hadn’t meant to yell at me. “Fertiri’s are rare. The last known Fertiri was hunted down and slaughtered when she became too powerful,” he said as a grim line set across his jaw.

I didn’t respond. My mind exploded with information and the last two years ran through my mind. My abilities had escalated when I met Patrick and to some extent Danny. The last few days had really bumped everything up a notch, especially since Dean had integrated me into the Pack six months ago. Adrenaline pulsed through me like lighter fluid, setting my entire body ablaze with awareness.

“Am I the reason you and Patrick have gained power? Why your magic is stronger?” I asked. Ready for an honest answer.

“Yes.” He turned his head back to the window. “It goes both ways. You’re more powerful, too. In a perfect world,” he said, turning back to face me with crystal clear Caribbean blue eyes blazing, “that’s how it should work. The three of us share power. The last Fertiri wanted too much, took too much. Vampires hunted her down, unwilling to risk that type of destruction again. They’ve hunted down every one since.” Dean’s eyes focused on me as he would his prey. Feeling exposed and vulnerable under his beautiful blue eyes, I shivered. “There’s a standing order to kill any possible Fertiri on sight.” 

“What about Ethan? Why would he have let me live, if that’s what I am?” I asked.

“I suspect Ethan wanted you for himself. He wanted everything for himself.”

For the first time that morning, a small twitch at the corners of his mouth turned his lips up into a smile. “Alex figured it out a few months after Ethan was gone and I,” he said, turning away from me again, “I started to understand after Danny died.”

I cringed. I didn’t want to dredge up Danny. For a moment, I’d forgotten about Danny but I shouldn’t have. I was in love with one man, mourning another, and lusting after a third. What was wrong with me?

I kept replaying everything in my head over and over again. Every little incident since I’d met Patrick hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut.

“Patrick’s been trying to hide me, hasn’t he?” All of those times he’d told me to stay low, to keep my mouth shut, to not provoke the Lebensblut board. I just didn’t understand, wouldn’t listen. Take your pick.

“We both have, but—” he said, hesitating.

“But I just keep sticking my foot in it, don’t I?” I offered with a weak smile.

“You do make our job harder.” He smiled at me, a crooked, but sincere, smile that made my knees weak.

“What happened last night?” I asked, remembering the shock of being stuck between Patrick and Dean, stuck between the magic. I remembered the pain and the fear of being consumed completely by their power and then the peace that followed.

He shrugged and shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. Alex thinks you’ve finally solidified your bond with the pack through me,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

This entire conversation was the most I’d heard him say since I met him. I liked that he was talking to me. I liked that he was so free with me.
Focus on what is important! Not his deep baritone of a voice. Not the size of his hands and how warm they were wrapped around your wrists. Not his firm, muscled biceps! Damn it!

“But if the three of us feed off of each other, how will that affect the power since our
relationships
are different?” I asked, not knowing how to phrase the real question I was asking.

He didn’t say a word for a long, tension-filled moment as his eyes traveled over me, caressing me with each pass of his gaze. A shuddering, quivering breath flowed from me as I tried to shake the arousal off.

“I think the power you share with Patrick flows freely, is easier and less noticeable since you have an emotional and—” The Caribbean blue of his wolf eyes sparkled in the morning light. Clearing his throat, he turned his hungry eyes away from me. “And a physical connection. Your relationship with Danny drew on the Pack’s magic.”

I wanted him to look at me, to tell me what he was holding back. I wanted those blue eyes to focus on me and fill me with the pleasure I knew they wanted to provide as well as the peace I so desperately craved.

“And now that Danny is gone?” I asked. My voice sounded hurt even to my ears and shook with the lingering pain of too many nights in grief. He was quiet, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Tre, please,” I begged. It was a dirty trick and I knew it, but I had to know.

“I think Danny’s death left a hole in your power, left you weak, left us all weak.”

“Did we fill that last night?” I asked, almost hopeful.

“Maybe some of it.” His eyes darted away from mine as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Would I be whole again if I let go and surrendered to the pull I felt between Dean and I? Did I really want to surrender?
If I was completely honest with myself,
God, yes
. I wanted him. I wanted him so badly I could taste the salt of his skin on my tongue. I wouldn’t hurt Patrick again for the world, though, not the way I had with Danny. He didn’t deserve that and neither did Dean. They deserved someone better than me.

“What do you want from me?” I asked again but even I heard the sadness in my voice. Dean let out a long breath and ran his hand over his bald scalp. It was an oddly sensual gesture that tightened my stomach with need. I’d never thought of a bald man as being sexy but Dean’s shaved head sent my skin tingling. When his eyes focused on me, the intensity in them stole my breath and made my blood run hot in my veins.

“I want you to come to me because you want to, not because you have to,” he growled.

Grabbing my hand in his, he jerked me to my feet then buried his hand in my hair and tilted my face up to meet his.

My heart hammered in my chest as my blood thundered in my ears. The only thing I could think of was Dean closing the distance between us and the press of his full, warm lips against mine.

“Tre, please. Oh God, please,” I breathed. Even I didn’t know if I was begging him to stop or just to stop my suffering and kiss me. My body relaxed into his embrace, melting into him. I stopped fighting everything and allowed the feel of his body to soothe my being.

“I haven’t been in love, or with a woman since Janey. I won’t force you,” he said between heavy, forced breaths. His lips trembled as he fought with himself to back away from me. When he managed to find the strength to let me go, my skin burned where his hands had been.

He backed away from me and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, removing the temptation. We both stood panting in the tension-filled silence. He glanced around the office at the mess left in Jackson’s wake and then back at me.

“Will you be all right here?” he asked.

He was talking about the job and the office. See, my brain was functioning again. I wanted to say ‘yes’ but the reality was that I would never be all right again. He had played dirty, and I hadn’t been prepared for it.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“If you find those specs, give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll just say I was out of communication with the office.”

He didn’t want to come back and all I wanted was for him to stay. I nodded and watched him draw back into the silent strength of being the Gaoh. He stalked out of the office, shoulders back and head held high.

I left the questions I couldn’t answer for later and dug for the paper work Dean needed. At least I could work to take my mind off of the hard length of Dean’s arousal pressed against my body. Yeah, right!

Chapter 16

I stood with my hands on my hips in Patrick’s mansion office with the door firmly shut behind me. Patrick sat behind his desk cool as ice, his expression blank and his gaze narrowed on me with anger wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. I wanted to jump over the desk and punch him in the face.

“I wanted all the information before I laid something else on your shoulders,” he said. His voice was filled with pity that had laced his tone for the past six months. 

BULLSHIT!

“I don’t need you to protect me!” I screamed, my voice harsh with my anger. I dragged my palms down my cheeks as my shoulders tightened with tension and rage.

This was a fundamental disconnect between us. He saw me as human, fragile and something for him to protect. I’d overlooked so much of this part of him but this time was different. This time, he’d threatened my very being with his chauvinistic bullshit! “Patrick, I needed to know this,” I said, pleading for him to understand.

“Damn Dean for his interference,” he growled low in his throat, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear him. Oh, I heard him all right.

“Don’t lay this at Dean’s feet,” I snapped. “He only did what his conscience and better judgment told him to do,” I said, focusing my gaze on him. “Something
you
should have done.”

“Sweetheart, I love you. My only thought was of you,” he said with a pained expression on his face.

I knew all of that, I really did. Just because he loved me didn’t give him the right to make decisions for me. I paced back and forth across his office, wearing an angry path into the floor. I couldn’t even look at him. I had to get away from him or I would say something I’d regret.

The heat of my anger tingled through me from my eyes to my fingernails. Betrayal chased the rage back, filling me with a primal urge to draw blood, to hurt someone.
Whoa, that’s not me.

“I can’t even look at you,” I uttered. “You don’t trust me,” I whispered with the hurt that tightened my chest, thickened my voice.

“That’s not true,” he declared in a self-righteous tone as he crossed the room and took me in his arms. “I trust you with my life,” he whispered against my hair.

It took everything I had but I placed both hands on his chest and pushed out of his arms, stumbling backward from the force.

“Sure,” I said as a tear slid down my cheek. “You just don’t trust me with mine.” I turned and stormed out of his office.

“Dahlia,” he called out with an anguished roar. I stopped, keeping my back to him. I refused to let him see the tears free flowing down my cheeks. I would
not
turn and let him see how much he’d hurt me.

Every sound in the house prickled along the edges of my nerves; the ticking clock at the top of the stairs, the soft roar of a television on the second floor, Miguel playing Vivaldi’s “Winter” from the
Four Seasons
on the piano in the communal living room, and the hard
thump, thump, thump
of my own heart beating in my chest.

“The Fae will be here soon. The masquerade is on Friday,” he whispered, as if I might shatter.

I hated this. I hated that he might be right about me. I hated the thought that maybe I
wasn’t
strong enough.

“I’ll be ready,” I answered, miraculously without a quiver to my voice. I left without a glance back at him.

Chapter 17

I spent the next three whole days in a flurry of office organization. I wasn’t hiding, not really. By the third day, I had the entire office organized and looking again like professionals resided in the Trevelyan Dean Construction offices. I called the Kelley Temp agency and got a receptionist to come in three days a week until I could figure out what kind of shape Dean’s company was actually in. I couldn’t answer the phones and get any work done. So, a temp it was.

Once clients discovered someone was in the office and actually answering the phones, the lines started ringing off the hook. I needed the help.

Once I had some organization to the mess I’d inherited, I could actually evaluate what was going on in Dean’s finances. I dug through invoices, through purchasing records, utility bills, payroll files, building specs, and estimates. I started at the beginning of the mess and tried to match spending figures. Dean had set a profit margin of ten percent in previously filed paperwork from the jobs in the preceding five years. I tried to match that figure in the paperwork after the office had gone to hell.

All the paperwork appeared to be on the up and up, until three months into the mess. I couldn’t get the production costs, client payments, and inventory used to match up on several jobs. Each client was charged for more materials used but that difference didn’t show up in the profits or on the order lists. The difference was showing up at billing but not on the ledger. At first, it was a few hundred dollars here and there, nothing too noticeable. But on the bigger jobs it was a thousand dollars here or a thousand dollars there.
Where was the money going?

It took me a while, three mind-splitting hours to make it through all the payroll documentation, cross-checking time cards with paychecks and pay rates. There was nothing there, nothing at all. I’d searched through so many pieces of paper and payroll figures that my eyes had crossed from fatigue.

I sat at the desk, which was covered with the details of my search. Laying my head down on the smooth surface for just a moment, I tried to stop the blood pounding in my brain. My mind was reeling around the missing money. I cleared my head and waited until the pain at my temples ceased before I re-filed the documents I had strewn across the desk in neat little piles.

Tamika, the temp I’d hired, strode into my office and hovered in the doorway. Her tension roiled through the office like a kite in a thunderstorm. I peered up at her with tired eyes. She was dedicated and working out better than I’d expected. My list of things to do included asking Dean about hiring her on full time.

Tamika was young, in her mid-twenties, but her life had been hard. She was a single mother of two. She was strong-willed and responsible with a kindness behind her eyes that gave her a softness I was thankful she still possessed. Her dark chocolate skin with a complexion that was smooth and unblemished framed a face that was beautiful without makeup. She was short, more than a whole head shorter than me. She was a formidable woman though and I appreciated that about her. I appreciated that about any woman.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her mothering tone jolting me back twenty years.

“Sure,” I said, rubbing my temples. “Just frustrated, and this headache isn’t helping.”

“Did you want some help?” she asked, coming further into the office.

“No, but if you wouldn’t mind grabbing us some lunch, I’d appreciate it,” I said. I snatched a 20-dollar bill out of my wallet and gave her a pleading gaze. She seemed relieved to be able to help and took the money from me. “Be sure and get something for yourself,” I called after her.

I cleaned up my mess and was almost finished by the time Tamika got back from the diner on the corner. She had a garden salad and half a turkey sandwich on whole wheat for me and a burger and fries for her. I glanced at the turkey sandwich with a skeptical eye. Glaring down at me, she said in a stern voice that she probably used on her kids, “You need the protein.” I nodded without argument and ate the sandwich.

After I had something in my stomach and had consumed an entire bottle of water, I was ready to start again. I grabbed all the petty cash receipts, deposits and cash withdrawals, looking for anything and everything that looked shady, off. There were more than a few checks made out to
CASH.
The first few were signed by a distinct hand that I recognized from the notes left on my kitchen counter over the last several months.

Dean had spelled his entire name in his signature on all the payroll checks. The checks made out to cash relied on initials and some of them appeared questionable. The stroke lines in the signatures were forced and the cancelled checks seemed like they’d been deliberately crumpled to keep the eye from noticing the difference. After about a year of cancelled checks, they stopped. I assumed the bank had moved to digital check display since they showed up on the statement but not on paper in the files. I didn’t have access to the bank accounts and couldn’t follow the trail any further in the office.

I needed access to the bank records and company bank accounts to see the digital cancelled checks. I’d managed to avoid speaking to either Patrick or Dean for three whole days, and I didn’t want to start now. I was avoiding them. I’ll admit it. Unfortunately, asking for bank access wasn’t something you could do over text message. It necessitated a conversation.

Suck it up and just do it.
Damn it.

After a few deep breaths, I picked up the phone and dialed. See, I could be a grown up.

The phone rang almost four times before relief washed over me. Maybe I could just leave a message. I waited, anxious for the voicemail to pick up but a graveled, husky voice rumbled on the other end instead. Even over the phone, Dean’s voice sent shivers down my spine.

“I need bank access,” I blurted out.

“What?”

“I need to know who has been making deposits and withdrawals,” I said, trying to get him to agree without having to explain. After the display in my kitchen the other night, Jade and I had never gotten around to telling Dean about Jackson’s mysterious influx of funds.

He was silent on the other end, his heavy breathing the only indication he was still there. I dug in and prepared for a long uncomfortable conversation.

“You’re missing money,” I said.

He remained quiet on the other end of the phone.

“Dean?”

“I’m here,” he said with a fire in his voice that melted my self-control. I should have been quivering in fear of that tone but I wasn’t.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he growled and the line went dead.

Oh great! Just what I needed
.

Dean was true to his word and entered the reception area within 29 minutes of hanging up the phone. I know because I counted. His power sizzled in the reception area ahead of him before he ever reached my office door.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I be of assistance?” Tamika sang in her bright, cheery voice. Dean stood before the reception desk, tall and intimidating, but Tamika didn’t seem bothered by him or the impressive expanse of his chest. He was dressed in jeans covered in what I assumed to be dry wall dust, and a dirty white T-shirt.

As I ran my eyes over his tall, bulging form, I noticed a big white hand print on the side of his thigh. Chuckling to myself, I imagined the dirty man I saw in reception running a multimillion-dollar construction firm. The two visuals didn’t add up. At the sound of my laughter, his eyes found me with a predatory glare of possession in them that made me warm and tingly in places that a mere gaze shouldn’t touch. I smiled before I realized it. I cleared my throat and straightened. I was in the office for Christ’s sakes.

“You can turn off the charm, Tamika. It’s the boss,” I said with a friendly smile.

“Miss Dahlia, I don’t know what you mean,” she said, shaking her head with an innocent
who-me?
expression on her face. She smiled brightly at him. By the glimmer in his eye and the slight upturn of his lips, I knew I wouldn’t have a problem keeping Tamika on full time.

“Mr. Trevelyan Dean,” I said with a wave of formality to my introduction. “Please meet Tamika Lunsford.”

“Please call me Dean,” he said in his rich baritone. He glanced at me again and took the several steps in my direction, closing the distance with determination.

I moved out of the doorway and gave Dean the space to stride into my office. Peeking my head around the corner, I said, “Hey, Tamika—”

“No phone calls, right?” she asked without missing a beat.

“You got it.” I closed the door without a sound, trying to ignore the large, anxious werewolf in the room with me. I had to turn around and face him sometime. Now was as good a time as any. Turning, I pressed my back against the closed door, and opened my eyes. He was grinning at me.

“I like her,” he said.

“I would have asked.” It occurred to me I hadn’t actually run that decision by him for approval. I still wasn’t sure what the boundaries were. Mostly, I didn’t have boundaries and did whatever the hell I wanted. I never stopped to think he might not be okay with that arrangement.

“You were avoiding me,” he said as the smile fell from his eyes.

“I was not,” I protested. A good foot stomp would have been appropriate to finish off that statement.

He leaned against the desk and folded his arms over his large muscular chest, glaring at me like he knew better.

“All right, I was avoiding you,” I admitted, throwing my hands into the air as I crumbled under his stern gaze.

“You’re avoiding Pat, too,” he admonished.

I released a long breath and sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. Yes, I had been avoiding him, too.

“He told you?” My tone sounded more contrite than the indignation I’d been hoping for.

“You could say that,” he said, his words cryptic as he rubbed his jaw.

“What does that mean?”

Dean shook his head. He wasn’t going to tell me. I strode over to the window overlooking High Street. People crowded around the bus stop at the corner, oblivious to the world around them. I envied them that.

“I’m sorry I got you involved in my mess,” I murmured. I wanted him to say something so I wouldn’t feel so guilty or so trapped.

“The Masquerade is tonight?” he said. “You’re going?”

“Yes,” I said, turning with a slight smile. “I know how important this is.” I sat down in the chair in front of him on the wrong side of the desk.

He stared down at me with a question in his eyes.

I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair. “Look, I know I’ve been acting childish over the last few days but I needed some time to myself. I needed to be able to focus on something other than preternatural politics and, quite frankly,” I said, slamming my hands down on the armrest of the chair, “I was pissed as hell at the two of you for keeping it from me.”

He smiled at me. A bright, full smile that lit up his eyes.

“Feel better?” he asked, hopping up onto the edge of the desk.

Truth be told, I did. I’d been holding all of that in since I stormed out of Patrick’s office, not really letting my anger take root. I’d allowed the hurt and betrayal to be in charge instead of my anger.

“I do,” I said with a relief-filled breath.

“Good, now, what are you talking about me missing money?” There was a laugh in his voice that I adored and hoped was just for me. He was too serious too often.

I got up and retrieved all the paperwork I’d found and explained what I’d discovered. He watched me in silence as I laid everything out for him. He pored over all the documents, flipping through the cancelled checks.

“You think this was Jackson,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

“I do. I had Jade start digging into his finances a few days ago and he’s had a steady influx of funds to his accounts, totaling around $90,000. He’s deposited it into a Cayman account, a Swiss account, and I believe Jade said an IRA.”

Dean stared at me, his usually full lips a thin line of anger.

“You had Jade look in to his accounts long before coming here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked. He pushed off the desk and strolled to the window then folded his arms over his chest and focused his eyes on the street below.

Honestly, I didn’t know.
How do I explain a feeling?

“Well,” I said as I stood and started to pace. “I don’t really know.” He turned to evaluate me. His gaze met mine with a ferocity that threatened to bring me to my knees.
God, I wanted him to touch me.

“Yes, you do,” he growled.

“He challenged you outright and he continues to do it. You just stand by and let it happen,” I said, astonished at myself. I was angry. Angry at Patrick for keeping secrets, angry at Danny for dying, and angry at Dean for making me care.

Dean took a step toward me then stopped. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood stark still as I seethed in my deep well, filled with years of loss, loneliness, and rage.

“I can’t just watch that man take whatever he wants and not do something about it.” I almost snarled at him, incensed at the entire situation.

Dean’s nostrils flared and he breathed in my scent. His fingers twitched over his bicep but he didn’t move. He was waiting for me, like he said. He wouldn’t force me. It didn’t even look like he was willing to make the first move.

“I can’t challenge him, Dahlia. He’s my Beta. It’s my job to protect him,” he admitted.

My mind raced. He couldn’t challenge Jackson. That’s not how the hierarchy went; up, not down. He could discipline Jackson all he wanted, though. Dean and I both knew that, but nothing was going to get Jackson in line. I couldn’t connect the streams together between Jackson’s $90,000 and Dean’s missing $102,000 but I knew in my gut Jackson had been stealing from Dean.

There
was
no one else.

Dean’s hands were tied, but mine weren’t.

“You can have any access you want. I trust you,” he said with more heart in his words than I was prepared for.