Beneath a Blood Moon (31 page)

No matter what I decided, I couldn’t afford to hide behind Sanders and Desmond any longer. If I was going to survive in a world where the supernatural were real, I needed to stand on my own.

My wolf despaired at the idea of being alone, without other wolves wanting her to be a part of their pack. While her desire for Sanders lingered, the driving need for him crumbled under the constant pressure from the pack.

I would be my wolf’s pack, if need be.

For a moment, she was startled, and then the warmth of her affection washed through me. If Seattle’s wolves didn’t want us, we would survive, somehow.

The layover in Charlotte lasted all of ten minutes before I boarded for the final stretch of my trip. The flight was delayed while the plane waited to taxi, but twenty minutes after our original departure time, I was in the air.

I sighed my relief.

“You’d think they would have the hang of things by now,” my seat mate grumbled. She was easily old enough to be my grandmother if not my great-grandmother. I had no idea how she got knitting needles through security, but she worked with her yarn.

“No kidding,” I replied, watching her fingers move with enviable agility. Row by row, the blue and green yarn started to take the shape of a scarf featuring an intricately braided center. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Why thank you, dearie.”

I went back to watching the ground drop away as the plane gained elevation. When we rose above the clouds, I wrinkled my nose. A smart woman would have rejected the idea of going to New York. A wise woman would have learned more about what it meant to be pack before agreeing to join one. An independent woman would have said no when asked to join a second time, knowing nothing but dislike and hatred waited for her.

I’d find a way to make Sanders mine without dealing with his pack at all. If there was a way, I’d find it.

But first, I’d have to show them I was capable, independent, and able to play their stupid money games, mingling with the wealthy and the elite. My jeans and tank top wouldn’t do. The cute little sundresses Sanders so liked wouldn’t suffice.

Blonde and blue hair didn’t belong among the wealthy elite. The blue would be easy enough to get rid of. I could afford to lose a couple of inches cutting it out before dyeing the rest of my hair a more natural chestnut. A trip to a salon, a trip to a high-end clothing store, and I’d be armed with everything I needed to show everyone I remembered how New York worked.

“Where are you going, Missy?” my seat mate asked, looking up from her knitting.

In the time since we took off, the scarf had grown by several feet. I gaped at it, marveling at the weave of the braiding work. “New York. You?”

“The same. I’m visiting my daughter.”

“I hope you have a nice trip, ma’am.”

“Aren’t you just a polite young lady? What’s such a sweet thing like yourself doing traveling alone?”

“I have a meeting to go,” I replied, wrinkling my nose. “Hopefully, I’ll be headed home in a few days.”

I’d have to figure out where home was, but that was another bridge I’d cross when I got to it.

“You’ll be fine,” the old woman replied, returning to her knitting.

I would be, one way or another.

It was early afternoon when I arrived in New York. I caught a cab and headed for Fifth Avenue.

The bounty for killing Kent left me with a bank account with more zeros than I knew what to do with. If I wanted to prove I knew the New York game, I’d spend a lot of it dressing for the occasion. Before I could hit the designer stores, I needed to fix my hair. It took several stops before I found a salon willing to make the blue and blond disappear in favor of a more appropriate shade.

When I told the stylist I was attending a business party and the blue had to go, he narrowed his eyes, running his fingers through my hair.

“What color is your dress?”

“Undecided,” I replied, shrugging. “I figured I’d dye first and buy second.”

“If you go with a really dark shade, you won’t have to strip your hair,” he replied, making thoughtful noises in his throat. “What’s your natural color?”

“Light brown.”

“Boring,” he declared, grabbing a magazine to flip through it. “Dark brown to black would work well with your skin tone, and you could work a red dress. It’ll be a nice contrast.”

The color he pointed out was black with a subtle hint of blue.

Black wasn’t a color I had ever done before. “Eyebrows, too,” I replied, nodding my approval. “Work your magic. Cut however you think looks best with the color.”

“Style?”

“My hair is your playground.”

If I didn’t like it, it’d grow back.

Two hours and several hundred dollars later, I escaped the stylist with black hair with glints of blue in it. He didn’t even cut much off while layering and styling it. Pleased with the cut, I planned the next stage of my transformation.

In order to hit the high-end boutiques, I needed to dress the part. Service mattered, and the last thing I needed was a sales person wanting to get rid of me because I wasn’t a classy enough broad for their establishment.

I found a mid-line boutique, bought the first dress with a designer label that fit me and didn’t look terrible, found matching shoes, and wore them out of the store, much to the amusement of the employees. My wolf didn’t understand what I was doing or why, but she recognized I was hunting, which intrigued her. Aware of her interest, I prowled along Fifth Avenue in search of the perfect boutique or department store for several evening dresses.

I settled on a large department store. If I ended up wearing the same dress as another woman, all I had to do was wear it better, wear it with more confidence, and accessorize better than she did.

A gentleman in a suit approached me with a smile fixed into place. “Can I help you, Miss?”

I glanced at his name tag. “Logan,” I murmured, offering a faint smile. “I require a dress. I’m looking for something expensive, in red. I will require shoes and a purse to go with it. I don’t want to dance around. Impress me.”

Logan examined me from head to toe. “Size two,” he declared.

“Oh, you’re good,” I replied, fluttering my lashes at him.

“I think I have the perfect dress, Miss. Please come with me.”

He took me to the third floor, guiding me through racks of dresses to a corner. While many department stores displayed the most elegant gowns, the one I had chosen focused on the latest winter fashions most women could afford.

The gown was a deep red, floor length, and came with a white fur shrug. Instead of the deep, plunging neckline I expected, it was designed to show a mere hint of cleavage.

I narrowed my eyes, touching it. “Silk?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Let’s see if it fits, shall we?” I asked. “Which shoes do you recommend?”

Logan carefully removed the dress from the rack and wasted no time selecting a pair of heels and a purse. He guided me to a dressing room, and when he snapped his fingers, a young woman hurried to join us.

“The young lady will be trying on this dress,” he stated.

I got the feeling he thought I intended to steal it. Forcing a smile, I went to the dressing room and changed.

Maybe Logan didn’t approve of me, but he had a good eye for clothes. The dress Desmond had purchased had been beautiful, but the simplicity of the gown and the way its skirts flowed around my legs with my every movement, put it in a class all its own. I spun, giggling with delight at the way it flared.

When I stepped out of the dressing room to take advantage of the full-length mirror in the main area, Logan was waiting for me. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but he didn’t say a word. His attention tempted me into taking the first few steps of a waltz and spinning to make certain I wouldn’t trip over the hem should the gala include dancing.

“It needs something,” I declared, coming to a halt to stare at the mirror.

“Jewelry,” he immediately suggested. “Please wait here. I think I know of just the piece, Miss.”

I fluttered my hand at him in dismissal.

When he returned, he carried a jewelry box containing a necklace and earrings. White metal gleamed at me, and I fought the urge to recoil. “White gold?” I asked, forcing my attention to the rest of the piece. A single large, red stone was surrounded by clusters of diamonds, which was held by a delicate chain.

“Platinum, Miss.”

I relaxed, smiling. “Excellent. I’m allergic to silver.”

Presenting my back to the salesman, I clasped my hands in front of me. The necklace hugged my neck, with the stone settling in the hollow of my throat.

The ruby matched the gown, while the diamonds and platinum added a sense of uniformity with the shrug. The tear-drop earrings added sparkle and contrasted with my hair.

“This will do nicely. I’ll take it,” I announced.

“Do you not wish to know the price?” Logan stammered.

“I do not. Work your magic one more time, Logan. I require a cocktail dress for this evening, and I’d like to wear it out of the store. I will need a necklace and earrings to match, as well as a bracelet if you can find one suitable. I have a date, and I wish to look my best.”

I left the department store having done substantial damage to my bank account. Taunting my mate, I had my lingerie, picked to drive him wild when he saw me in them, delivered to his room. Borrowing the department store’s phone, I booked myself into the same hotel with instructions to leave the rest of my purchases in my room. In addition to two purses, I had also acquired two coats and two pairs of gloves matching my dresses.

Witnessing Sander’s expression alone would be worth the investment.

Tonight, he would be attending a party with Desmond, Wendy, Joseph, and another one of the pack’s bitches. When I showed up in my little black dress, sparkling with diamonds and sapphires, I would give them all a taste of who I had once been and would be again. If Joseph was going to hate me, I’d earn every bit of his loathing.

When the night was over, when I finished proving there was a prim and proper lady beneath my stripper exterior, I’d find a way out of the pack that didn’t want me while I kept my mate as mine and mine alone.

I wouldn’t accept no as an answer.

With my arrangements made, I made one final stop, purchasing a brand new cell phone. Pleased to discover it came out of the box with a strong charge, I found a discreet corner of the store to place a call.

“How may I direct your call?” the receptionist to Topside asked.

“Topside. It’s Sara Madison, the—”

“Connecting.”

I snorted. “Waiting for my call, were you?” I asked.

“This is not your normal number,” the Shadow Pope commented. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a New York number.”

“Surprise. My phone had an accident.”

“An accident.”

“I underestimated my strength. It’s in a trash can somewhere.”

He sighed. “Where are you, Miss Madison? You’re obviously not in O’Hare, as one of my agents has been searching for you for the past six hours.”

“You already told me where I’m at. I’m calling from a New York number because I’m in New York.”

There was a long moment of silence, followed by a sigh. “How exactly did you make it to New York?”

“Magic.”

“Magic,” he echoed.

“I rebooked on my own and utilized the modern marvels of bus travel and flew out from a different airport.”

“You left O’Hare.”

“Damned fucking right I left O’Hare,” I snarled.

“Would you please call either Mr. Desmond or Mr. Sanders and reassure them you are still among the living?”

“No, I won’t. They can reassure themselves I’m still among the living when they show up at this stupid party this evening like they’re supposed to. You can ensure their attendance, can’t you?”

“You have your invitation?”

“I do, sir.”

“Very well. I will endeavor to make certain they’re in attendance. Could you at least explain what you think you’re doing?”

“Proving a point,” I grumbled. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, especially if it explains why you’ve taken complete leave of your senses.”

If anyone would know what I needed to know, it was the Shadow Pope. Biting my lip, I considered whether or not I really wanted to know the answer. “Is it possible for me to leave this stupid pack without losing Sanders as my mate?”