Moonglow. Part 8

"Lena." He bowed. "It has been too long."

"Ian Ranulf." The rich depth in her voice belied her size. "Still as handsome as the devil." Obsidian eyes traveled over his form in a leisurely perusal. "Perhaps more so with that hair."

He saw the interest in her and knew what it was to bed her: cold, exciting, too dangerous-hence the excitement. In the darker hours of his life, Ian had been fairly addicted to that sort of bed sport. Now, however, he gave her a benign smile. "And you, Lena, are incomparable as always."

She laughed at that, showing a bit of sharp teeth. "Flatterer. Sit." A white hand indicated the seat next to hers. She leaned in when he did, setting the carnelian beads in her hair sticks to clattering. "Come, let us drink, then we shall talk."

Deftly, she poured a good measure of vodka into two cups-one silver, the other bone-and handed him the bone cup. A friendly gesture, as lycans, while tolerating silverware well enough, did not like to drink from silver cups.

She waited until he had a mouthful of cold, clean vodka to attack. "The rumors are true then."

Ian took his time swallowing. There were rumors, and there were rumors. He no longer cared about the one but the other..."Given their very nature, I wouldn't put much stock in rumors, Lena."

Unfortunately, her mouth curled again. "Not those stories, darling. I could never believe that of you." As she had had him in his prime, he could see why. He remained silent. "I have every confidence you will soon have need of my girls again." A cold hand patted his. "It's just a lull, I am sure."

Little witch. He looked at her askance as she took another long drink of vodka. Aside from blood, vodka was the one substance that Lena's kind could imbibe. Thus she drank a lot of it. The silver cup clinked as she set it down. "I refer to the human you brought home the other night, and you well know it. Ah, a scowl is it? Already, you are taken with her. It is written all over your handsome face."

And there it was. He set his cup down. "I've vowed to protect her. I take my vows seriously."

One ink-black brow lifted. "Oh? And what of your familial vow?"

He forced himself not to move, but deep inside his wolf growled in agreement. "I do not recall taking any vows that I have broken."

"No, you turn from them before making the expected commitment."

His fingers clutched the thick leather armrests. "What I do or do not do for my family is not why I am here."

Lena s.h.i.+fted in her seat, curling her slim legs under her rump. "Forgive me, dearest, but that is precisely why you are here." Her cold, black eyes pinned him. "You seek this mad wolf, and yet you do not go to The Ranulf. You come to me. And we both know why."

Ian forced his fingers to unclench. "I'd rather keep my head if that's all right with you." Should he approach the Ranulf court without express invitation, his would be rolling on the floor.

Lena hummed. "It is a lovely head. And a pity that you chose exile rather than to lead."

Ian sat forward and let his eyes linger on her. Lena loved to be admired, and he was not above using her vanity. "But then I wouldn't get to see you." He lowered his voice to a rumble. "I'd much rather you provide me with what I need."

Aside from running the popular club, Lena was a ranking captain in The Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals, commonly referred to as the SOS. It was her duty to keep informed of all supernatural beings and their activities. More so, she was responsible for keeping their deeds from the human world. The SOS was the last defense, and he needed them.

Lena ran her tongue along the tip of her tiny fang. "I am listening."

"I suspect the SOS has an idea as to who and where the werewolf is," he said. "I am asking for Mother's help."

There it was. A plea. Mother, the enigmatic head of the SOS, had never been seen. No one but Lena knew who or what she was. And no one was granted Mother's, and hence the SOS's, permission without first going through Lena. A little fact that gave Lena a rather extraordinary sense of superiority.

One she reveled in now by smirking at him. "And here I thought the putting down of turned lycans was The Ranulf's duty. The question of the night is, why does Ian Ranulf come here, searching for the outlaw, and yet The Ranulf sits on his throne and does nothing?"

A series of small pops sounded, and Ian realized his claws had sunk into the leather. Lena's eyes gleamed with victory. "I suspect you know the answer as well as I do."

Ian's wame pitched. He swallowed hard, the vodka running like vitriol through his veins. d.a.m.n it, but she was right. Conall had not hunted the were down. Which was not only against the clan's honor but a direct violation of their arrangement with the SOS.

She tilted her head toward the door, and her beads clacked again. "You act the ostrich, sticking your head in the sand while the world about you falls apart. Do you know how many lycans have come to me in the past months seeking asylum?"

His jaw tightened. "I suspect you will tell me."

"Do not be churlish, Ian Ranulf. They come and tell me tales. Of Conall using corrupt humans to fund his empire."

Despite his irritation, Ian's eyes shot to hers.

She poured herself another drink and downed it in one graceful swallow. "They come because The Ranulf believes they exist to serve him."

"They do." But he knew what she'd meant, and it made his insides twist. No lycan would leave the court of a proper alpha. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. He could not go back to that life. He wanted to forget. Ah, but the wee b.i.t.c.h knew it, and still she wouldn't let him breathe.

"I am not a nanny," she said. "I send them to America and Canada when I can, but this business tires me."

"Send them to me," he said. "I will situate them."

"Very well, they are your problem now. And you are being duplicitous," she added. "What is worse, you have ignored your wolf, ignored who you are, for so long your power has atrophied. No wonder you cannot bed a woman."

Ian shot forward, slamming his forearms on his thighs. "Enough. Will you help me or no?"

She didn't flinch. "No."

"Right." He stood to go but her sharp voice stopped him.

"You are alpha, and you know it. It is time you took what is yours."

Ian stared down at her. "Conall is the alpha. I will not challenge him, if that is what you are after."

She stood as well, a rustling of silk and limbs. Her chin barely reached his collarbone, but she held power enough to match him, perhaps break him should they face off on the night of a waxing moon. h.e.l.l, she was right, he had ignored his wolf for too long, and it had made him weak.

"You cannot even call him The Ranulf," she snapped. "He wants to expose our world to the humans, and yet you run from the truth with your tail between your legs."

Ian turned away. G.o.d, he hated politics. He didn't want to be a lycan, nor a wolf. He only wanted to be a man and live a normal life. "Conall-The Ranulf-knows his duty. He might be lax, but he'd never expose us."

Lena's eyes were black steel. "Bulls.h.i.+te, as your kind would say. If you really believed that, you would not be here with your hat in hand. Because The Ranulf would have already eradicated the threat."

"Then help me find the were," he said. "Tell me what you know, Lena."

"I have given you my answer. I will not pester Mother with a problem that you can easily solve."

For a moment, he couldn't see. The red haze had him. With effort, he gulped down a lungful of air. "Do not make war with me, Lena." His mouth felt thick with extended fangs. "For the memory of what we once had together, do not."

Sadness flitted over her face but it was shut down by a wall of cold determination. "Then do what is right, Ian Ranulf. Take control of your clan."

With a vicious curse, he swept the drinks table aside, sending cups scattering and vodka splas.h.i.+ng into the fire. It flared high as he shouted. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, woman! Do you no' understand? I cannot go back to that life. I lost everything that was dear to me when I was that man. I'll no' do it again."

Lena took a step closer, crowding him with the scent of copper and the cold of her body. "If you lost everything, then there is nothing left to lose, no?"

He scowled, but Lena laughed, a deep throaty sound that made his fists clench.

"If we don't act, more will die. We do not harm the innocent, Lena."

"You do not harm them. I am not so particular."

A growl rumbled in his throat, his claws burning to break free. "Find someone else to play the p.a.w.n. The only thing that you'll accomplish by coming after me is getting bitten."

She glared back, ice in her gaze and teeth glinting in the firelight. "I like the bite, Ian, you know that."

Their stalemate was broken with the entrance of Edmund, looking harried and followed by an overlarge black crow. The crow circled once, cawing frantically, before settling on Ian's shoulder.

His blood ran cold at the sound and what it meant. d.a.m.n it all to b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. He was already running from the room as Lena's laugh cut through his wild thoughts. "I see your human needs you already. Pray, Ian, do not forget her while you think on what I've said."

Chapter Nine.

And here Daisy thought Billy stank. The streets were worse. Daisy burrowed deeper into the scarf around her neck and inhaled. Alas, even her perfume could not completely dampen the stench. Rotting water, rotting food, rotting bodies. It was a potpourri of rot, as if the city were slowly dying from the inside out. Perhaps it was. Old Nichol, Billy called this place. The people here appeared forlorn, the light in their eyes dimmed by a hard life, worn out by hunger and pain.

They walked slowly, yet with purpose. Billy had warned her not to meet anyone's eye but to move as though she owned the world. She could do that. But inside, her heart pounded. Her escort kept one ropey arm slung about her shoulders, his large hand dangling irritatingly close to her breast. They were to look like a couple off in search of fun. Every so often, he'd lean in and whisper something naughty in her ear, and she'd laugh accordingly.

Thankfully, the warmer weather had burned off much of the fog, leaving only a muddy layer to hover a foot or so off the ground. People walked as if without feet, phantoms that seemed to float along the ether. The street was narrow here, sad little houses sagging against crumbling buildings that had once been grand homes. And leaning against them, the men and women who lived in this hovel.

Beneath lowered lids, Daisy watched these people as she pa.s.sed, saw the gap-toothed smiles of strutting men who wanted to be c.o.c.k of the walk and the hunched, thin shoulders of women scuttling by. A few brazen women loitered about on corners, their bosoms all but hanging out like Monday was.h.i.+ng.

Not, Daisy rectified, that she was in a position to throw stones. Daisy glanced down at her own rather abundant display of flesh spilling from the top of her low-cut bodice. She'd dressed the part, donning an old evening gown of brilliant green satin. While perfectly respectable in a ballroom, out here, with her hair loosely knotted and naught but a thin scarf for covering, she might as well be another moll hanging on the arm of her man.

"I'm goin' in first," Billy said at her ear. "He's not particularly keen on visitors, right? So's let me do the talkin'." The arm about her gave an unnecessary squeeze. "You just stand back lookin' lovely an' agreeable."

She gave his ribs a jab with her elbow, and he grunted. "You get me in, and I'll talk," she countered. If this so-called perfumer was purchasing stolen formulas, she doubted he'd be inclined to confess. He might, however, hold a pa.s.sion for perfume and find himself unable to refrain from discussing the art of developing a scent. She was banking on that small hope. "Just remember who is paying whom."

Billy looked at her sidelong. "I'd rather you'd pay for a bit of hide the pickle," he muttered.

Daisy snorted lightly. "I bet you do. Just keep that pickle of yours in its jar and your mind alert."

Billy muttered a bit more about iron-hearted buors-which she presumed meant women-and pains in his a.r.s.e, but he led her down a dark alleyway where the general smell grew to a nearly overwhelming stench, so rank that even he couldn't help but comment upon it.

"Sweet aunt f.a.n.n.y," he said, pulling out a ratty, scarlet satin neckcloth from his pocket to press against his nose. "Smells fouler than a dock wh.o.r.e's t.w.a.t down here."

She bit her lip. No, she would not laugh. Not when her eyes were watering and her stomach was in danger of voiding. Despite herself, she leaned closer to Billy. The offensive smell touched something inside of her that called forth a desperate need to flee.

Billy's grip tightened as well. "Something's off, chips. Let's come back in the daytime at least."

Fat, gray clouds scuttled over the bright moon, whose rays cast the alleyway in a palette of blues and blacks. Nothing stirred here. It was as if the fetid air had chased all life away.

"Nonsense," she said past the lump of fear in her throat. "We've come this far."

Above them, a timber creaked, and her heart jumped. But there was nothing to see, just the settling of an old building.

Billy heaved a sigh and then made a gagging sound as if the action had let in an unwanted mouthful of the stench. "Gor, that's ripe." He pointed to the end of the alleyway where a dilapidated building listed sadly to one side. "His spot is there."

She was strangely hesitant to take another step. "Doesn't look like the home of a successful perfumer."

"Mayhaps he has posh digs elsewheres," Billy drawled. "But that's where he works his capers so's that's where I'm taking you." His brown eyes softened with surprising gentleness as he glanced down at her. "Come on then, luv, Old Burnt Bill will protect you against what beasties might hide in the night." He pulled a wicked-looking hunting knife out from behind his back, where it had been hidden beneath his coat, and held it up as if to rea.s.sure her.

They'd taken two steps when something large and hulking dropped in front of them in a blur of movement. Daisy screamed as it slammed Billy into the side of the alleyway and forced Billy's wrist high above his head in one deft move. The hunting knife fell to the ground with a clatter.

"That's some pigsticker," came the silk and sand voice of Ian Ranulf, Marquis of Northrup. Moonlight hit the hard curves of his face, highlighting the cruel smile that curled his mouth. "Save it will do you no good if you're dead."

Daisy snapped out of her shock and strode forward. "Let him go, Northrup!" Heedless, she slapped Northrup's shoulder with her reticule. "Get off him, you big beast."

Northrup released his prize. Billy slumped down the wall as Northrup turned to glare at her. "Ye G.o.ds, woman, what do you have in that wee bag of yours? Rocks?" He rubbed his shoulder irritably.

"A handgun," she retorted, fumbling to get said gun free.

Billy, who was rising on unsteady feet, spat on the ground before glaring at her as well. "Well, that's a fine place to keep your iron. Might have been a bit more helpful in yer hand, eh?"

Northrup grunted. His gaze alighted on the swells of her bosom, and his nostrils flared. A wicked light came into his eyes. "Oh, I don't know. She'd probably shoot off her own... foot at that."

Daisy refused to dignify their remarks. Instead, she shoved the gun back into her reticule; it was useless now at any rate. "What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l are you doing jumping off rooftops anyway? Trying to scare the life out of people?"

Northrup's brows slanted. "I had to jump off the roof to get down here, aye?"

"Is there something untoward about walking along the street as normal people do?" She hit his shoulder with her bag again. The brute had scared her witless, and no doubt had taken pleasure in doing so.

"Ow! And no, I cannot," he said. "Not when I am in a hurry to chase down one fool woman." He snorted in disgust. "I'm of a mind to take ye over me knee for sheer stupidity, never mind insulting me to the core. Ye G.o.ds, I should have known you'd get up to something, as single-minded as you are. But I never fathomed this depth of idiocy."

Daisy muttered the vilest oath she could think of and he rolled his eyes. "I'll consider that one day. Until then, why don't you tell me whom it is you're after."

"The perfumer," she said. "Apparently, my legitimate perfumer sold the formula to my perfume to a man who then concocts a cheaper version and sells to other stores or private buyers."

Northrup turned to scowl at the perfumer's hovel. "Of course. I hadn't thought to go right to the source," he mused and then glared at her. "Might have saved me an evening's worth of trouble had you mentioned that little tidbit."

Daisy swallowed the niggling feeling of guilt down.

"Lookit," said a voice. "Seems to me you two are cozy like. Why don't I leave you alone?"

Billy, she thought dimly. She'd almost forgotten him. She glanced his way to find him edging back from them. "Oh no, you don't." Daisy pushed away from Northrup and stalked Billy. "I paid good money, you." She pointed a finger at Billy. "That includes not fobbing me off on the first man who gets in your way."

In truth, the idea of being alone with Northrup unsettled her in more ways than one. She ought to have included him in her plans. She ought to have trusted him, for she could see that he cared about her welfare despite his rather snide comments. The idea of facing him with that knowledge made her insides writhe with shame.

Northrup caught her arm and wrenched her back. "Fob you off?" His dark brows lifted in outrage. "Have ye gone daft?" He glowered at Billy, and the poor man twitched. "She stays with me. Go on before I lose my temper with ye."

"I'm not staying with you if it means being sent home, Northrup!" Daisy wriggled to get free, but Northrup only tucked her more securely at his side.