Bloodright (37 page)

“If you would return to him, he would have you.”

“Well, I’m not, so he can’t.” Falon knew she hadn’t given Lucien the answer he wanted by the tightening of his lips. But she didn’t want to talk about her feelings for Rafe or choices that would never have to be made. She was weary of the stress of it all. She was focused and ready to move forward.

She reached up and turned the shower nozzle on him. “Let me rinse off, then you can have your turn.”

When Falon emerged clean and dry from the bathroom she was happy to see a stack of her own clothes neatly folded on the dresser. Hers from when she lived here. Anja would have had them immediately removed from Rafe’s room.

“Anja didn’t waste a second, did she?” she asked as she pulled on a pair of black leather pants.

Lucien ruffled her hair as he strode past her. “Can’t say that I blame her.”

“Whatever.”

She finished dressing as Lucien showered. As she did, she noticed a neat stack of what she knew by scent were Rafe’s clothes on the chair. It hit her how ironic it was, the brothers reconciled and mated because of the one woman they nearly fought to the death to possess. Who’da thunk?

As Falon brushed her damp hair dry, Lucien dressed. He stepped around her and stared at the sheer white gauze shirt she had put on. His dark brows scrunched together as he slowly shook his head. She wasn’t wearing a bra and felt more than a little like a hussy in the sheer, formfitting fabric, but it was the only shirt in the stack.

“It’s all I have!”

He reached over to the dresser and opened the top drawer and pulled out a red-and-white checkered flannel nightshirt. “Wear this.”

“I’m not wearing that!”

He dug deeper and found a skin-tone bra. “Then wear this.”

Falon snatched it from his hand and knew it would be too tight. Talia was petite to Falon’s tall, and though just as endowed as Falon, the bra would be snug. She snatched the shirt off and hurried to put the bra on. Her breasts were tender and when her hand swept across a nipple as she clasped the front clasp she hissed in a breath. Her eyes rose to Lucien’s. Her skin immediately warmed. But she shook her head and backed away. He moved toward her, his laconic eyes burning with heat. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air between them.

“By all that is holy, Falon, I don’t know if I can control the beast in me anymore when it comes to you.”

She hurried and pulled the shirt on and buttoned it as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with us? I feel the same way. I have for several days now.”

“It’s the quickening of your body. It happens to females when they become fertile.”

“God, let’s hope it doesn’t last long. I don’t know how long I can go on like this.”

He scooped her in to the circle of his arms. “So long as your body is only slaked by mine, I don’t care how long you’re like this.”

Not daring to kiss him lest she start what she could not finish, Falon touched his chin and gently pushed him away to a safer distance.

A hard, rapid knock on the door startled her. “It’s Joachim,” Lucien said, clearly surprised.

And the foreboding she had finally been able to file away reemerged with a vengeance.

Twenty-one

“THE SWORDS ARE here, Boss,” Joachim announced, stepping through the door to the small cabin. He smiled and nodded respectfully to Falon before continuing. “But we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem.”

The foreboding howled louder.

“The longshoremen decided to strike at midnight. We can’t get to the container.”

Lucien’s eyes glittered. He slapped Joachim on the back. “When have we ever let a little thing like that stand in our way?”

“There’s been violence. The picket line is ten men deep, and the docks are crawling with cops. Getting in and out of there is going to be like trying to break in and out of Fort Knox.”

“Who says we have to break in or out?”

“Do you know someone who can help us?” Falon asked Lucien, hoping that was the case. Because she wasn’t keen on dodging Oakland cops or angry truckers.

Lucien’s eyes glowed preternaturally. “I have markers everywhere, including Oakland.”

Joachim scratched his jaw with his metal fingers. Falon cringed, thinking if he wasn’t careful he was going to rip his face off. Joachim stopped and grinned. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that dude, what was his name? The one with the crazy kid strung out on meth—”

“Captain Tucker, OPD.”

“Yeah, that’s him. He owes you big-time.”

Lucien smiled. “Indeed he does.”

Her interest piqued, Falon asked the begging question. “How does he owe you?”

“Balor Corbet needed a high-ranking cop in his pocket. He approached Tucker and was told to beat it or he’d arrest him for bribing a police officer.” Lucien shrugged. “Balor set Tucker’s son up in a crack house with a naked underage girl in his arms, took pictures, and blackmailed the good captain instead.”

“That’s terrible!”

“It was a means to an end and not an uncommon one at that. But, as fate would have it, I’d been tracking Corbet that day. I took advantage of the fact that his posse of goons wasn’t shadowing him. I was three steps away from cutting that bastard’s head off when I overheard the exchange between him and Tucker. I went wolf on Corbet. Destroyed his camera with the pics and would have destroyed that bastard, too, but his thugs showed up. I knew if we went to blows I’d come out on the short end. I took the captain aside and told him one day he would have to pay for my intervention. Tonight he pays.”

Falon inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “Once the swords are unloaded, then what?”

Lucien smiled his wolf smile and extended his hand to her. When she slipped her small hand into his big, warm one he said, “That, my love, is the question of the hour.” Joachim opened the door for them. Lucien guided Falon out the door ahead of him, a sign of his respect, and said, “Let’s go grab some chow and see what resources Rafe has at his disposal and go from there.”

Falon’s empty belly growled, but she was too nervous to eat.

As they crossed the compound yard, Falon looked up at the sinking sun. It was late into the afternoon. The sun would be setting soon and with that realization nervous gooseflesh erupted along her arms. She could not shake the feeling that something terrible was waiting for them on that dock.

“Lucien,” she said, pulling his hand, stopping his forward motion. “I have a bad feeling about tonight.”

He smiled and touched her cheek with a soft caress. “I have a bad feeling each time I leave the compound. Such is our life. But soon that will all change.”

Falon pressed his hand more firmly to her. “I hope you’re right.”

He smiled and said, “I’m never wrong.”

AS THEY STEPPED through the threshold of the clubhouse they entered into a wild, raucous party. Rafe sat with his mate at the head of the long dining table, while most of the pack cavorted shamelessly around them. It was like a Roman orgy
sans
the hard-core sex. Falon sniffed the air. From the smell of it, the hard-core sex had already taken place. Now they were celebrating Rafe’s new mate.

Immediately, Falon caught his stare. He scowled, holding her gaze. Her heart somersaulted in her chest. Anja’s mark was visible on his neck. Her stomach roiled nervously. She felt terrible. Not just heartsick, but guilty. Not only that Rafe was saddled with a woman he didn’t love, but that the one he did love was standing in front of him, untouchable and with another man. Sharp pangs of jealousy she could not will away needled her. She knew if the positions were reversed she would be unable to control her emotions. That she had Lucien made this impossible situation bearable.

Rafe’s nostrils flared as he caught her scent. His scowl deepened. Heat rose in Falon’s cheeks. Had he watched her and Lucien as she watched him and Anja? Suddenly she felt ashamed for her voyeurism.

She looked away from Rafe and straight into Anja’s arctic blue eyes. White-hot fire sparked in their depths. Rafe’s mark was as clearly visible on Anja’s creamy white neck as hers was on Rafe’s.

Only by death could either one of the marked pair choose another. The mark was more binding than any human contract. It could not be undone. Except in Falon’s very unusual case.

Falon swallowed hard, fighting the chaotic feelings swirling inside of her. She understood the unspoken words Anja directed at her. Rafe belonged to Anja now and she would stand for no interference from Falon. Falon nodded so subtly only Anja recognized it for what it was—an olive branch. She would not interfere.

“Falon,” Lucien said, clearing his throat, “can you do this?”

She looked up into his concerned eyes and smiled, squeezing his hand. “I am alpha, I can do anything.”

He returned the squeeze and called out to his brother. “Rafael, your council.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a respectful invitation to parley.

Rafe stood and nodded. He took a step from the table, then paused and, as if it was an afterthought, turned and extended his hand to Anja. As his mate, she had the right to be as much a part of pack business as Falon did. Regally, she slipped her hand into his and stood, her chin high, her eyes bright and sure of her place.

Falon and Lucien, with Joachim trailing behind, followed Rafe and Anja into his office. As the door closed behind them, Falon’s eyes swept the room before landing on Rafe’s large desk. Instantly, she remembered the last time she was in Rafe’s office and how passionately Rafael had taken her there on his desk. Not once but twice.

Obviously, Rafe remembered as well, because he looked neither at the desk nor at her.

Lucien pulled a chair out for Falon as Rafe pulled one out for Anja.

“My shipment of swords is sitting on a dock at the Port of Oakland,” Lucien said. “I need to get them off and to the northern hunting grounds as soon as possible.”

“Why not arm our men here and travel north with them?” Rafe countered.

“If they were normal swords and the nation was here as one, I would, but neither happens to be the case.”

“What is abnormal about the swords?”

“They are hewn with toxic properties; one prick by the blade and it will be a matter of minutes before the toxins infiltrate the bloodstream and render the victim paralyzed. A paralyzed Slayer is a dead Slayer. I don’t want to take the chances that any one of our people will have an accident. We need every man and woman for the rising.”

Rafe nodded, impressed. “How can you be so sure it will work on Slayers? Their black magic is strong and getting stronger.”

“They won’t be prepared for what’s coming at them, and by the time they figure out what’s going on it will be too late to counter the poison with magic.”

Anja nodded. “We have used similar methods in Siberia against the thugs who hunt us there. But they were able to easily conjure a spell to counter the effects.”

“What properties did you use?” Falon asked, trying not to sound confrontational.

Anja swept her long platinum hair from her shoulder and speared Falon with a cold glare. “Organic.”

“Organic is good, but as you have said, it’s easy to counter,” Lucien said evenly. “Since Slayer magic works best against organic properties, I sought the expertise of a chemist. He created a synthetic alloy that if exposed to the bloodstream is lethal. It’s what coats the blades.”

Rafe nodded. “Then the safest, most expedient way to get them north is to fly them.”

“My thoughts as well. We’ll need a pilot. Under normal circumstances, a private charter would work, but in this case I don’t want to take any chances of the authorities nosing around.” He looked pointedly at Rafe. “Do you have access to a privately owned aircraft that can haul several tons of payload?”

He nodded. “I do.” And Falon knew exactly who he was thinking of. Mr. Taylor, whose daughter Rafe had rescued last month. Mr. Taylor’s gratitude was without boundaries. And he had the capital to deliver anything Rafe requested.

“I’d prefer not to fly out of a commercial airport for obvious reasons. There’s a private airstrip in Galt that can accommodate larger aircraft than the weekend Cessna fliers I have access to. Can you arrange for your contact to meet us there tomorrow afternoon?”

“I can. I’m going to assume the swords will be transported via tractor trailer?”

“As soon as we can move them, that’s my plan, but we have a hiccough.”

Rafe cocked an eyebrow.

“The docks are shut down at the moment due to a strike. If it were something else, I’d wait it out, but every damn local union is sympathizing with the longshoremen and there’s no telling how long it’s going to take for them to get back to work.”

“We can cross the picket line. It’s legal but dangerous,” Falon suggested.

“With a little help from OPD, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’ll take two trailers in: one empty for the swords, the other loaded with armed Lycan.”

“Does Corbet know about the shipment?” Rafe asked.

“Not that I know of, but that doesn’t mean he won’t catch scent of us once we cross into his territory. If they follow us or wait for us to come out, I want to be prepared.”

“Use the swords then and destroy them all,” Anja said, the bloodlust in her eyes flashing dangerously. Falon felt an answering heat in her own blood but she took an extra beat to consider the ramifications of their actions.

“If one of them survives they will have time to conjure a counterspell,” Falon said dryly.

“Not if we kill them all,” Anja argued, obviously not wanting to be thwarted by her mate’s former lover.

Falon felt Rafe’s body tense across the desk. Lucien on the other hand remained casual more than willing to allow Falon to flex her intellectual muscles and show up the Vulkasin alpha. He was vindictive that way, and though she didn’t want to cause Rafe undue stress, she was not about to let this woman think she had one-upped Falon. Call her trite, spiteful, or vindictive in her own way, but Falon pushed back harder than she had to to make her point.

“I’m sure in your remote part of the world, the Slayers you encounter are formidable, but I surmise they are nothing compared to clan Corbet Slayers. Clan Corbet is the breeding ground of highly intelligent, bloodthirsty bastards who have mastered the art of black magic to such a level, they can blink and Lycan will drop dead. Here in the civilized world, what we have is two world powers at war, not the Hatfields and McCoys shooting buckshot across the fence at each other. So, with all due respect, when you have actually experienced what we face daily and understand their cunning and determination, you will discover it’s best not to assume anything when it comes to clan Corbet Slayers.”