The Others: On The Prowl Part 7

She supposed that made sense. Uncurling her legs, she rose from her chair and held her hand out to the investigator. "In that case, I'll let you get to work, Mac, and wish you luck. I want you to find out who was really behind the attack on the head of the Council, so that my mate can clear his name and we can get on with our lives together."

Mac shook her hand. "I'll do my best."

"Then I'm sure this will all be cleared up in no time." She smiled and turned to leave. "It was lovely meeting you, Mac. I hope you'll stop by again, under more pleasant circ.u.mstances."

Her graceful exit stopped halfway to the door when her fiance spoke her name, his tone cool and hard as steel. "Saskia."

She froze. Schooling her features into a mask of bland inquiry, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Yes, Nicolas?"

"I'm going to be another minute with Mac, and then I have a couple of phone calls to make," he said. "I trust you don't have any plans to go out this morning?"

Translation: You'd better not set foot outside this apartment, or I'll blister your hide so badly, you won't sit straight for a week.

"Not at all," she said calmly. "I thought I'd take the opportunity provided by a quiet morning and get a start on the thank-you notes for our party."

"Then I'll see you later."

"Of course, Nicolas."

When she closed the door behind her, she nearly sagged against it with relief. That hadn't gone exactly as she had planned, but it had worked out even better. She'd learned everything she wanted to know about the issue with the Council, and she'd been able to hide behind Mac Callahan while she pried loose the information. Not bad for an hour's work. In fact, Saskia realized she'd managed to work up quite an appet.i.te.

Smiling in satisfaction, she straightened and headed for the kitchen with a definite bounce in her step. Maybe this relationship would work out after all.

Her optimism lasted until shortly before noon, which was when her fiance finally cornered her in the small spare bedroom she had decided to commandeer for her own purposes. It didn't have quite the right light for a studio, but it had a pretty, streamlined desk perfect for writing thank-you notes, and she found herself quite comfortable there as she began making her way down her list of the party guests who required notes of thanks for their gifts or their attendance. This was the sort of task Saskia could perform with her eyes closed, so she allowed her mind to drift as she inscribed, folded, stuffed, and sealed.

She would need to explore the apartment a little more thoroughly soon if she wanted to find a s.p.a.ce that might suit her as a real work s.p.a.ce. Or maybe she should call it a pleasure s.p.a.ce. Her parents always referred to her drawing as her "little hobby." It had taken her a while to overcome the instinctive surge of anger the dismissal aroused. She knew they had their own ideas about her future, about what she should focus her attentions on-namely, her mate-but Saskia had realized while still a teenager that she would need more than that to make her happy, so she had quietly forged her way ahead, taking art cla.s.ses and perfecting her techniques and keeping quiet about the goals her family didn't care to know about.

By the time she finished university, she had begun to earn commissions as an ill.u.s.trator, her drawings adorning the pages of books from children's stories to academic texts. She never took projects so large or so numerous that she had to work the equivalent of a full-time job, but the work fulfilled her, brought her joy and satisfaction, and made her feel as if she were leaving her own mark on the world, separate from her family and her species.

Saskia had left the door open while she worked, so she knew when he approached, not because she heard him-he moved as silently as a tiger, after all-but because she smelled him, the spicy musk of his scent already indelibly printed on her senses.

He stepped into the room and paused to watch her. She saw him in her peripheral vision, but her pen never paused in her task. This time, he could make the first move.

Finally, he moved closer, prowling across the carpet toward her with the focus of a predator. She couldn't quite get a read on his mood; they still hadn't spent enough time together for that. His tone of voice didn't help, either. The man could make a fortune as a professional poker player.

"Saskia."

Deliberately, she finished the note she was working on, signing it on both their behalves before folding it carefully and slipping it into the envelope she had already addressed. Setting it aside calmly, she turned in her chair and raised her chin to meet his gaze. "Nicolas. Is there a problem?"

If he noticed her using his own words against him, he didn't acknowledge it. "I think there is. Actually, I think there might be several."

"That sounds serious. Maybe you'd better sit down." She waved him to an armchair in the corner near the desk, then rose to angle her own chair to face it. Resuming her seat, she crossed her ankles, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and looked directly into his eyes. "Please, tell me what's bothering you."

Her mate stared at her for a long moment and then did something that surprised her. He laughed.

"I'm sorry, did I say something to amuse you?"

"Sa.s.s, in the last twenty-four hours you've infuriated me, taunted me, aroused me, defied me, and intrigued me, but I can't honestly say you've done anything as innocuous as amuse me." Nicolas lounged in the comfortable chair, his arms extended to curl along the sides, the picture of the relaxed, powerful male; but Saskia knew that if he'd had a tail, it would be twitching.

"Don't call me that," she said, ignoring his provocative words. If he wanted a reaction from her, he needed to get to the point.

"Don't call you what? Sa.s.s?" His mouth curved into a smile that spoke of a bitter kind of humor. "I don't see why not. As far as I can tell, it suits you. Rather perfectly. You've spent most of our time together sa.s.sing me, wouldn't you say?"

"No," she snapped, her fingers curling tightly together. "I wouldn't. I think it would be quite inaccurate to cla.s.s any of my behavior as 'sa.s.sy.' First of all because that's a ridiculous word that makes me sound like a misbehaving five-year-old, and second because I don't consider it 'sa.s.s' to ask my mate reasonable questions about his whereabouts, intentions, or welfare, nor to defend myself against his unreasonable attempts both to control my every move and to exclude me from areas that clearly concern me."

Nicolas's eyes narrowed and his fingers began to drum lightly against the arm of his chair. "Just which of those erroneous statements would you like me to address first, Sa.s.s?"

"My name is Saskia, and not one of my statements was anything but accurate, not to mention admirably restrained."

"I beg to differ."

Saskia snorted at the idea of this arrogant beast begging for anything. Ever.

"To begin with, I'm having trouble remembering the point at which I ever gave you the right to demand answers about where I go or what I intend to do," he continued, his eyes glinting. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me?"

"I'd love to. I think it was around the same time you agreed to make a commitment to me as my mate and the sire of my cubs. You recall that, don't you? It was about twelve hours before you decided it was acceptable to treat me like a child breaking curfew in what I'd like to point out const.i.tutes a rather stunning display of hypocrisy."

He snarled his displeasure, green fire sparking in his eyes, but Saskia refused to back down. She would not be intimidated.

"Maybe that's the problem here," he rumbled, rising from the chair and stalking toward her with predatory menace. "Maybe this all boils down to your lack of understanding over what our mating actually means. So let me spell it out for you."

He leaned down and braced his hands on the arms of her chair, trapping her in place. The position let him lean in close so his face loomed only inches from hers, full of arrogance and irritation. She wanted to back away, but not only did he have her cornered, but also she refused to give him the satisfaction, so she just pressed her lips together and glared straight into his annoying face.

"I might be a man of my times," he said, his voice low and gravelly and full of dangerous power, "but I'm Tiguri first. I have no tolerance for modern human notions of 'marriage.' This is not a relationship of equals. I am ther. My word is law. As my mate, your role is to obey my commands, support my decisions, and bear my cubs. I decide what areas do or do not concern you, just as I decide what you need or do not need to know. If I think you need to know where I'm going, rest a.s.sured I will share that information. If I don't share it, it's because you do not need to concern yourself.

"On the other hand." He leaned in closer, his breath stirring against her cheek and lips, making her clench her jaw to keep from the instinctive urge to touch him that their completed mating had caused. "Everything you do and everywhere you go is of concern to me. As my mate, your actions reflect on me, but more than that, your safety and welfare are now my responsibility, and I can't protect you properly if you disobey my commands and disappear. Which means that from now on, you will never leave this apartment unless I know where you're going, who you'll be seeing, and when you'll be back. Am I making myself clear?"

He waited for an answer. Did he really want to hear what she thought of all of that?

"Saskia," he repeated, his voice low and menacing, "did I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," she spat out, glaring at him. She shook with anger so intense she wasn't sure she could manage anything more coherent than the single word.

"Good; then we shouldn't need to talk about this again." He pushed himself away from her and strolled casually toward the door. "I have one or two loose ends to tie up before I'll be ready for lunch. Give me half an hour before we eat."

Half an hour? That would give her plenty of time to prep the poison. Did this arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d actually think she intended to cook for him like an obedient little mate after what he had just said to her? Could be possibly be that misguided?

Seizing her temper with both hands, she fought for enough self-control to speak. There was one very important message she needed to get across to her mate before he disappeared back into his office, thinking he had solved all of their relationship issues with one ignorant decree.

"Nicolas," she ground out, stopping him just as he stepped across the threshold.

He paused and turned his head back to her, one eyebrow arching in supercilious response. "Yes, Saskia?"

She kept her tone very even and polite, an effort that had her trembling with the strain. "I'd just like you to know, Nicolas, that as far as I'm concerned, you can take your relationship rules and choke on them. I agreed to be your mate, not your Stepford wife broodmare. If that's what you're looking for, then as far as I'm concerned, this engagement is null and void."

He turned on her, fury rising on every line of his face. "That's not the way this works, Saskia," he bit out. "The engagement is sealed. We are mates. This isn't like a human relationship where you just tell me you've changed your mind, you give back the ring, and we each go our own merry way. We were bound together the minute you took me into your body. There is no going back."

"Trust me, I know what having s.e.x with you means," she hissed, her own fury rising. After all, she was the one who would suffer as a consequence of their mating, not him. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I'm fully aware of the way my own body works. When you mated me, you induced my ovulation. Sometime in the next two or three days, I'll be as fertile as a b.l.o.o.d.y earth G.o.ddess and as h.o.r.n.y as a rabid mink. But you know what? I'll get through it, because I will kill you before I will let myself be impregnated by and permanently bound to a mate who has so little respect for me, he can't even treat me like a person in my own right."

The force of her words finally gave her the strength to move, and she rose to her feet as she spoke until she stood before him, spine straight, shoulders back, chin up, her whole body vibrating with pride and defiance. She waited for the explosion, the ultimatum, the lecture. Every muscle tensed to spit and claw and do whatever it took to convince her mate of her sincerity. She had drawn her line in the sand, and now she would hold back the tide, if that was what it took.

"I have never treated you as less than a person."

"You've treated me as less than you. Isn't that enough?"

She expected the explosion; what she got was ossification at lightning speed.

In the s.p.a.ce between one heartbeat and the next, the man in front of her visibly turned to stone. His jaw set, his body hardened, and his expression solidified into something about as warm and welcoming as a slab of rough-hewn marble. When he spoke, she expected something to crack, like the earth's crust above a fault line.

"We'll see," he said tightly, and exited.

Saskia watched the door long after it had closed behind her mate, and blew out a deep breath. The strength went out of her in a rush of cascading adrenaline, leaving her groping for support as she lowered herself back into her chair.

"Okay," she breathed. "That went well."

Then she lowered her head between her knees and stared blankly at the floor.

What the h.e.l.l had she done?

Six.

What in G.o.d's name had he done?

Nic left the apartment in self-defense, like the proverbial rat, only what he'd fled wasn't a ship; it was his engagement, and it wasn't sinking. It had just gone up in flames.

"Holy h.e.l.l."

Just what had he thought he was doing, issuing his mate those sorts of ultimatums? Was he out of his mind?

Completely, he acknowledged, pacing down the sidewalk with long, angry strides. He had no idea where he was going at the moment; he just needed to get away from the mess he'd created of his own life. He knew he'd just screwed up on an epic scale, and he even had a pretty good idea about why-it was all Sa.s.s's fault.

The minute he got within ten feet of his fiancee, he lost his ever-loving mind. He didn't know how it happened; he just knew that one minute he was a sane, logical, amiable fellow and then his mate appeared and in an instant he became a jealous, irrational, possessive, controlling Neanderthal nightmare not sufficiently evolved to beat his own chest or pick his own a.s.s. All he could do was bellow at the cause of his insanity, as if raising the volume on his inane ranting would make it sound any less ridiculous. How had this happened?

Just at the moment, he would have been perfectly content to blame the whole thing on Rafael De Santos, the absolute bane of his existence. Nicolas had never had a nemesis before, but the head of the Council had just won the t.i.tle in a single round of unanimous voting.

It had started at the engagement party.

Nicolas had been on guard before that, of course. He'd known before Preda Industries ever made the decision to relocate its headquarters to New York-a purely practical decision based on the city's position as de facto center of the business universe-that the Council of Others would not likely roll out the welcome mat for an influx of Tiguri. He had planned to remain civil, though, to prove to the Council and its head through his actions that he had no interest in and no intention of wresting control of the paranormal community from the hands of those currently in charge. Nic had enough on his hands, between running the company and starting a new phase of his life, complete with a mate and the new family they would start together. Why would he want to get mixed up in politics? As far as he was concerned, they were a thankless endeavor. He'd much rather concentrate on making money and cubs. He knew he was good at one and had no doubt he would thoroughly enjoy the other.

At the party, though, De Santos had set Nic's downfall in motion by the simple and seemingly innocent fact of his conversation with Saskia. While Nic had been occupied by another guest, the slick werejaguar had moved in and engaged his mate in a seemingly idle conversation, all about how pleasant the party had been and how pleased she and Nic were that De Santos could attend. Nic had heard the words, but more important, he'd heard the tone within them and his attention had immediately snapped from an important business acquaintance to the woman at his side and the way the eyes of Rafael De Santos had raked over every inch of her lovely form.

The fierce rush of jealousy had startled Nic. He'd wondered at himself, not previously having experienced such an intense feeling of possessiveness over any woman, and although Saskia had agreed to become his mate, they had yet to form any real bond between them. That was supposed to come later that night, after they were alone. And naked. He had tried to tell himself not to act like an idiot, that he had nothing to worry about, but then the Felix had smiled at her, and Nic had seen the predatory heat behind the charming gesture, and he had known he had every reason for his jealousy. De Santos had all but devoured Saskia with those d.a.m.ned yellow eyes of his, and Nic had seen the moment when she became aware of it. He'd drawn her closer and attempted to diffuse the situation by deflecting the other man's attention to himself, but he suspected now the plan had backfired.

Very few people had paid attention to De Santos flirting with Saskia. She was a guest of honor, after all, and the head of the Council had a reputation as a notorious Romeo. People almost expected a little bit of charged banter; but when Nic stepped in, the dynamic changed, all of a sudden becoming a lot more interesting for the nonhuman guests still present. More than one person had taken note of the ruthlessly restrained confrontation between the two men, neither Nic's jealousy nor De Santos's appreciation of Saskia's charms going unnoticed. Nic more than suspected that the exchange had only fed the fire of suspicion against him once word got around of the attack on the head of the Council. Who had a stronger motive for attempted murder than a jealous mate publically challenged?

Nic supposed he should be grateful that no one thought to suggest that he'd been anywhere other than at his apartment during the time of the attack. Everyone knew that to say a newly engaged Tiguri would be out roaming the streets looking for revenge when he had a new mate waiting for him at home, ready and willing to seal their relationship in the most intimate manner possible, would do nothing other than make the one suggesting such a thing look like a fool. Especially when the mate in question looked like Nic's Saskia.

And there Nic's mind brought him full circle back to his current dilemma. What was he going to do about Sa.s.s?

He contemplated turning right around, crawling back into the apartment, and begging her forgiveness, but he saw one major flaw in that plan. Other than the possibility that she would take one look at him and slam the door on any and every protuberant part of his anatomy. Right now he might be thinking rationally, but all he had to do was get in the same room with Sa.s.s and he'd bet his entire business that his capacity for logical thought would once again fly right out the window. In other words, while he might go in intending to apologize, he had a sick, overwhelming feeling that once he caught sight of her he would once again transform into an ignorant jacka.s.s and only manage to further alienate the one woman he most wanted to keep happy.

How was that for a kick in the b.a.l.l.s?

Nic grumbled to himself as he turned yet another corner and found himself in a familiar neighborhood. He recognized it instantly, even though he had last approached it in the wee hours of the morning. There, on the next block of the upscale, tree-shaded street, lay the cla.s.sical stone edifice of the Vircolac club.

His lip curled in a snarl. From what he had heard, every other Other in New York City considered the private club to be a home away from home. Every respectable Other, that is. Membership only required that a being prove to be Other or to be mated to one. Inside the walls, vampires and shifters, changelings and magic users all congregated and enjoyed what was rumored to be truly outstanding service, including a highly regarded restaurant, private and public meeting s.p.a.ces, select guest accommodations, and one of the finest bars in the city. In the bas.e.m.e.nts, however, a whole other level of socialization took place-all run by the Council of Others.

The Council chambers took up at least half of the sprawling building's underground s.p.a.ce. Nic had gotten an impression of the size of them during his rather unwilling visit the other night. Decorated more like a medieval dungeon than a state building, the room had possessed an atmosphere that suggested one would be well served to remember that civilization was merely a construct of human history and not something to which the Council of Others felt itself bound. Needless to say, Nic had not enjoyed his visit.

The memory sparked a surge of resentment. At any other time and in any other city, a private club for Others would be falling all over itself to open its doors to Nicolas Preda, member of a n.o.ble supernatural race, ther of his streak, business owner. If the owners were looking for bloodlines, power, and conspicuous wealth, Nic possessed all those in abundance. There was no logical reason why he shouldn't be welcomed into such a club, but the fact remained that he felt barred from the place as surely as if the owners had erected a fence around the building, something with heavy iron bars and about a hundred and twenty volts.

He felt about that level of shock when he saw the doors to the club open and a familiar figure step out into the afternoon sunshine. Nic blinked, but the sight didn't change. He'd crossed half the distance between them on pure instinct before he even realized he was moving.

"What's going on? What happened?" he demanded.

Stefan Preda fixed his son with an icy stare and jerked his head slightly toward the club. "The Council 'politely requested' that I return this morning to answer a few more questions," he sneered. "They detained me for almost three hours demanding explanations for the most errant nonsense I have ever been forced to endure hearing. I had to cancel two very important meetings, and now I'm about to be late for a third because my driver couldn't obey a simple instruction to wait. Here."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?"

"There was no time." Stefan glanced at his watch, then down the street where a sleek black town car had just turned the corner several blocks away. "One of their little functionaries came to my home to escort me this time. I wasn't even permitted to call my secretary. I had to have Robert call about rearranging my schedule after he dropped me off."

Oh, the indignity. Nic heard the subtext; he just didn't care at the moment. "Then she should have called me."

"Didn't she? Then how did you know I would be here?"

He returned his father's frown. "I didn't," he admitted. "It was purely a coincidence that I happened to be walking by when I saw you come out of the building."

"You were out walking?" Stefan's voice rang with incredulity.

"I needed some air."

"Don't be ridiculous. You need to be making use of the time you cleared in your schedule for your new mate and ensuring that she becomes pregnant as quickly as possible." The town car pulled up to the curb and Robert climbed out to open the door for his employer. "You agreed to this arrangement, Nicolas, and now you need to follow through on your commitment. You have a responsibility to the future of our streak."

As if he didn't realize that, he thought, biting back a stinging retort. Sometimes he wondered if his father had paid any attention to the man Nic had become, except, of course, when he needed Nic to do something, like take over the company so he could retire or take the daughter of his old rival as a mate to further the purity of Stefan's bloodlines.

"I'm more than aware of my responsibilities, sir," he said, keeping his voice even with effort. "I've yet to fail at any of them."

"Good."

Stefan slid into the backseat of the car, clearly finished with the discussion, but there were a few things Nic still wanted to know.