Wicked Circle c-5 Page 6

  CHAPTER NINE

  We arrived home just after midnight. Lingering over dinner and staying away from major highways—a tactic Zhan claimed would make it easier to tell if we were being followed—made the trip take almost twice as long as it usually would have. It also meant I slept in the car for the ninety minutes it took us to reach my farmhouse in rural Ohio south of Cleveland.

  The first thing I did upon arriving home was stash the photo album in my desk drawer. I’d looked through it at dinner, but I wanted to snatch all the pictures out and see if anything was written on the backs. I’d deal with that later.

  Despite the nap, after a hot shower I was ready for bed, but that was a luxury I couldn’t afford. The night was far from over. I donned a fresh pair of jeans and layered two tank tops, white and peach, under a black scoop-neck sweatshirt that had the habit of slipping over one shoulder. My hair would be dry by the time we arrived at the den. “Let’s go.”

  Zhan chose a direct route to the Cleveland Cold Storage building (CCS), the giant, mostly windowless structure at the heart of the disputes of the new I-90 project. The real reason the old building continued to exist was that it secretly housed the Cleveland wærewolf pack. The advertising painted on the sides made it a big money-maker for them; they refused to sell and relocate. The city couldn’t afford to forcefully tear down the one place that kenneled ninety percent of the local wærewolves. Bad things would happen if they didn’t have a den.

  Apparently, bad things were happening anyway. It was one thirty in the morning and the parking area underneath the structure was packed like a Best Buy at dawn on Black Friday.

  “There’s nowhere to park and the moon isn’t full for another twelve days.” Zhan stopped the Corvette in front of the rickety freight elevator.

  “Wait for me over by the University Inn,” I said.

  “No way. You don’t know what’s going on up there.”

  “Wæres aren’t fans of Offerlings.” The term referred to a twice-marked member of a vampire’s court, and that’s exactly what Zhan was.

  “I’m not a spy.”

  “I know that. I’m not comfortable pulling E.V. rank on you, but if you need a direct order to remain behind, consider it given.”

  She crossed her arms. “Text me that you’re fine in ten minutes or I’m coming up.”

  “Deal.”

  Having little trust in the elevator, I headed up the stairwell as the Corvette rolled out of the parking garage. The wæres had increased the security, and though there was no one seen here, that didn’t mean they weren’t watching. They should all be familiar enough with me that they weren’t alarmed by my presence.

  A young man and an older man were waiting atop the first-floor landing. I hadn’t seen either of them before. “Miss Alcmedi,” the older man said. “I’m George. This is Renaldo.”

  “Hello.” I paused halfway up and out of reach. “I called earlier, and Johnny said I could meet him here, but he didn’t mention there was anything going on. Has something come up? Can I see him, or is he too busy?”

  “He said to bring you up when you arrived,” George said.

  Renaldo added, “And he said to tell you the elevator’s safe.”

  Johnny knew I was leery of that elevator; that he’d thought to tell them to assure me helped me believe these strangers—but not totally. “Lead on,” I said.

  Without hesitating, Renaldo proceeded to the waiting elevator. It could have transported a car, but I wouldn’t have dared such a thing. George held the gate for me. The second-floor gate wasn’t as bad as the termite-damaged garage-level gate. Still, small pieces of wood splintered to the floor.

  Renaldo lifted the dirty control panel, revealing a pristine and high-tech one underneath. He pressed his thumb to the button. A light flashed under his print. The gears shuddered, and we were heaved upward. Good thing I hadn’t tried the elevator. I would have fiddled with the fake cover forever.

  I glimpsed the dark open expanse of the third floor as we rose past it. Only dim bulbs in steel fixtures at each corner of the elevator illuminated us. On the eighth floor the main doors parted. Renaldo led us out.

  The halls in the upper floors of the CCS were off-center, leaving smaller rooms on one side and larger ones on the other. In the days when this place was the cold storage center of Cleveland, there was probably a reason for it. Now, however, it meant I didn’t have a clear view down the hall from the elevator. It made me nervous.

  I relaxed when Johnny’s voice wafted down the hall. He was talking to someone in slightly loud but formal tones, then he fell silent. He was here and these two were truly escorting me to him.

  As we entered the head of the hall, however, a wave of energy hit me like an explosion. I staggered. Shock waves rolled through the walls. Johnny’s yell of pain followed.

  I bolted.

  Renaldo grabbed my arm as I passed him and he jerked me back. “He’s just transforming.” He released me.

  I’d never felt such a surge of energy when any wære changed near me. “Didn’t you feel that?”

  “Feel what?”

  Guess that was as good an answer as any.

  I knew things might be different for Johnny since we’d unlocked the power bound in his tattoos. That, and the fact Renaldo did let me go, made me more inclined to keep on believing him, but wære strength is not to be underestimated. My skin stung under my sleeves and a bruise was forming.

  “There’s cameras in there,” Renaldo said. “Running live via satellite to the Zvonul. Allow me to lead so you don’t disrupt the confirmation meeting?”

  “Of course.” Johnny had to prove to the Zvonul that he was the Domn Lup, and though they’d sent the Rege to confirm him, the Rege was now dead. It appeared that the Zvonul were moving forward in spite of the loss of their head honcho.

  “Remain quiet when we enter,” he added.

  George and I followed.

  Inside, a throng of bodies stood between us and the corner, where bright lights were illuminating the dingy block wall. Some of the rooms, I’d learned, still had the old steel panels with the piping underneath that had once contained coolant. In this room, all of that had been discarded. Mobile work lights were the only light source in the room, but they had wattage to spare.

  Three cameras were also aimed at the corner, and the red lights atop them meant that they were broadcasting.

  A howl erupted from the corner and resonated off the block walls so loudly that I covered my ears. Renaldo clasped me by the arm, more gently this time, and led me through the throng to the front. Gregor, the head of the Omori—the Zvonul’s version of the Secret Service—adjusted his bulk to give me a spot.

  In front of me a large, familiar black wolf paced. The animal sniffed in my direction, blinking as if the bright lights made it hard to see the crowd.

  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.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  As 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.