Cracked (11 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“S
o now what?” Angelo faced his mate once the wolves had gone. “You’re due at the gallery in an hour.”

“Kathy will go in my place.” She shrugged.

“To your first New York opening? Are you kidding,
querida
?”

“Mac is more important than art.”

“No, Ita.” Mac walked into the room, his face drawn and gray. “You and Bear and Angelo will go to the opening. And then you can hunt. I’ll be fine until you get back. Kathy can keep me company.”

“Mac…” She protested, reaching for him. He shook his head, pressing the towel he held closer to his face.

“Go enjoy your evening.”

Sarita wore a simple black pantsuit over a paillette-spangled, red camisole. She felt elegant and grown-up and all those things she’d never felt living in her mother’s shadow. The opening seemed to pass in a blur of compliments, a few toasts, and a surprising number of pieces sold. Pricey-haircut-cheap-’tude turned out to be a very competent advocate for her work as he led her around the room, introducing her to collectors and other gallery owners. When she spied Angelo out of the corner of her eye, standing in front of one particular canvas, she disengaged herself from the other man’s arm and made her way toward her mate. His face was a mask as he stared at the piece, but the emotions churning from him rolled over her, intense, animated.

His voice hoarse, he turned to her.

“How did you know?”

The image depicted on the canvas was painted in a heavy-handed style with broad strokes: a darkened bird cage, a hand reaching from it, another gripping the bars, tattoos marking the hands. Some of the tattoos were wolf, some were human: all were symbolic of loyalty to the hierarchies that governed Angelo’s two cultures. All were tattoos that marked his body. Worked into the imagery were bits of fabric from the clothing he’d torn since he had mated Sarita. His fine wool suit had been cut into strips and sewn into the bars of the cage. Paisley swirls from his tie floated from the cage like feathers and gathered into a pile at the bottom of the canvas.

He thought back to her words the day they met.
But my personal projects are about fate. Destiny. A sense of being confined, restrained, trapped.

She touched his hand, and his wolf lunged for her touch. “We’re kindred spirits, you and I.”

“Has it sold?” he asked quietly, hoping it hadn’t. He didn’t want anyone else to own it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at it every day, but he felt as possessive about this piece of art as he did about his beautiful mate.

“It’s not for sale.” Her sweet smile made his heart speed up with longing.

“I never imagined…” He fought to find the words. How she could see so deeply into him? Even Maria, his first mate, who grew up in the same culture, even she hadn’t guessed at the war that had raged within him, the torn loyalties between pack and…

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Sarita laid her head on his shoulder. “I saw the tattoos. I recognized they weren’t all pack tattoos. I looked them up.”

“So your mate, your husband…”

“…is a good man with a colorful past.”

“You believe that?”

“Yes.”

Relief sagged his shoulders. If she could believe that, perhaps it was even true.

Chapter Fifteen

T
he air outside the gallery felt cool after the crush of people inside. Sarita called Mac and Kathy to check in on them. In her gravelly voice, Kathy told Sarita that Mac was growing weaker but seemed stable.
Time to hunt
.

With Gerard and Angelo at her side, Sarita felt safe, even though she knew better than to underestimate the First Blood.

“What do you know about their lifestyle?” She asked her mate in a hushed voice as the cab moved toward the area of East Harlem that Angelo’s cousin had indicated might house a Blood-hive.

“They tend to live in small groups, with a dominant alpha female, usually called the Krönen, the Queen. She’ll have a small number of servants who work for her. The Ahne probably has a half dozen like Lukas, whereas a lesser queen will have maybe two. There are usually lesser, younger servants under them. That’s who we want. They’ll be the weakest, the slowest. They’re also the most likely to be out in public.”

“Okay then. What’s our plan?” She turned to Bear, “You can use me as bait, yeah? One of these lesser servants might see me as quite the prize and a way to move up in the ranks.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Gerard growled, baring his teeth. “But tactically, it works.”

“Fuck, no,” Angelo snarled back. “
Querida
, you are not bait.”

“It’s perfect. The Ahne wants me. The others won’t try anything—they’ll just want to take me back.”

The cab stopped. Angelo handed off a few crisp bills as they spilled out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Sarita gasped, startled, when he pushed her against the wall of a building, pressing a toothy kiss to her throat. His voice vibrated against the soft skin behind her ear.

“We’re in this together. You are not bait.”

His voice brooked no argument as he took her hand.

“Lots of Latinos in this neighborhood,” he remarked. He moved toward a kid sitting on the steps outside a dumpy brick building. The kid looked up at him with sharp eyes and a sullen expression. Sarita listened as Angelo asked the boy something in Spanish. She didn’t know a lot of Spanish, but she got the gist of Angelo’s description of tall, white-skinned people. When the kid nodded and pointed, Angelo grinned and ruffled his hair before slipping something into his hand.

He’s seen them. Thinks they live a couple of blocks away.
Angelo’s voice flooded her mind. From the way Gerard straightened his shoulders, she knew he’d heard him too. They started to walk. It wasn’t long before they heard footsteps falling into step behind them, felt the icy chill in the air that Sarita’s wolf recognized as a Blood-Drinker. She fell a step back, spun to face their follower.

The man was young, with a thin frame and a shock of white hair. Avoiding his eyes, Sarita’s wolf let out a rough growl. Immediately, Angelo was at her back, Gerard looming over them both.

“Hello, Moon-Worshippers.” The young man smiled, attempting to meet their eyes, “Mr. Gonzalez, Mrs. Gonzalez.” Green eyes flickered over Bear, dismissing him.

“How do you know my name?” Angelo’s voice was laced with danger, and Sarita could sense his wolf hovering just under the surface.

“We know quite a bit about you, Mr. Gonzalez. You have been in the papers. You are a visible man.” The creature sniffed, as if visibility didn’t rank high on his list of favorable traits. “Besides, the Ahne favors your wife and would like to befriend her.” A cold hand reached for Sarita, curling into the hair at her nape. “She is sweet.”

Sarita snarled, pushing the hand away as she allowed her claws and teeth to shift.

Almost giddy, the young man clapped his hands and laughed. “Yes! You like to bite, little wolf!” He grinned, flashing his own sharp teeth. “I love to bite. Maybe if I bring you to the Ahne, she’ll let us bite each other.” He reached for her clawed hand with his own.

Taking advantage of the way he leaned toward her, Sarita grabbed his arm and yanked, spilling him down to the concrete sidewalk. She spun, dropped to her knee, pressing it firmly into his back. Gerard was at her side instantly, pushing her away from the Blood-Drinker and hauling him to his feet.

“You will come with us, Blood-Drinker.”

Kathy flung open the door to Angelo’s apartment as they stepped off the elevator with their captive.

“Good, you’re back,” she growled. “He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness the last half hour.” She took up a sentinel-like position outside the door. “I’ll be out here.”

When they walked into the bedroom where Mac lay, gray and sweating on the bed, the Blood-Drinker shrank back.

“Fix him,” Sarita snarled, pushing him toward the bed.

“I can’t,” the man whispered, fear crowding his features. “She’ll kill me.”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.” Sarita’s voice deepened with menace, “And I won’t be quick about it.” She pushed again, and this time, the young man lay down on the bed next to Mac. He reached a tentative finger toward the oozing wound on Mac’s face, then touched it to his tongue. Hissing, he rolled away from the other man.

“Please, little wolf, don’t make me do this,” he begged. For a moment, Sarita felt empathy rolling through her, but her wolf pushed back, rising up. She watched as if from outside herself as her hand rose and slapped the creature across the face. A fierce satisfaction came from the wild animal inside her as she saw blood flow from the creature’s lip.

“I will kill you. Bear will hold you still while I rip out your throat and shred you. Fix my friend.”

Shuddering, the creature leaned toward Mac, gripping his head between pale hands. Sarita watched curiously as he rubbed his face along Mac’s. Beside her, she felt Gerard growl.

Bear, he has to do this.

I know, Italove. I don’t like watching another touching my man like that.

But he did. They all watched the unnerving way the creature undulated and writhed against Mac, clearly growing aroused as he did. Finally he pulled Mac into a rough embrace, kissing the skin along his throat.

“I need to bite him first.” The cold voice was apologetic. Bear snarled as the Blood-Drinker’s lips curled back over shining teeth. Slowly he sank them into the tender skin of Mac’s throat, growling. He pulled back, looked up at Bear. “I had to learn the shape of his spirit, Child of the Moon.” Looking back to Mac, the man licked along the teeth marks in his throat, and they healed almost immediately. He pressed cold lips to the side of Mac’s face, kissing along the ice-burnt skin, flicking his tongue over it. When he pulled away, the skin had closed, leaving only an angry red scar where the wound had been. Mac’s shifter healing was taking over, and before their eyes, it faded to a light pink, then a glittering white.

Head hanging, the creature slipped from the bed, dropping to his knees before Sarita. Gerard quickly took his place in the bed, cradling Mac against his giant chest.

“Kill me now, little wolf, and make it quick,” the creature pleaded.

“No,” Sarita gasped. “You fixed him. You can return to your hive-mates.”

“Sarita,” Angelo murmured. She looked up at him, registered pain in his eyes.
He will die when the Ahne finds out he undid the injury she caused Mac.

“I won’t have his blood on my hands, mate.” She shook her head.

“It will be on your hands either way,” the creature hissed, anger oozing from him.

“I can’t. I can’t kill another creature in cold blood.” She shook her head again, panic setting in. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t believe what was being asked of her. She felt the emotions her companions directed at the Blood-Drinker, Angelo’s sympathy and Bear’s jealous gratitude, and she stepped backwards.

“Kill me.” The creature lunged for her, pushing her against the wall, crowding her angrily. Threatened, her wolf emerged, her brain registering the pinging of red paillettes across the floor as her clothing shredded, and she grasped the Blood-Drinker’s throat between lupine teeth.

Ita, you don’t have to, I would...
Bear’s voice rumbled through her mind as she stood over the man, chest heaving. She knew what he offered: to protect her again, to take over an unpleasant task so she wouldn’t have to do it.

“Now, little wolf,” the Blood-Drinker wheezed, reaching for Sarita’s throat. With a snarl, her teeth clamped down, and a rush of bitterness filled her mouth. Spitting, she fled the room.

Chapter Sixteen

A
ngelo found her lying on the floor of his marble shower, water flowing over her lupine form. From the cold temperature, he could tell she had just nudged the handle into the “on” position, not bothering to shift so that she could adjust it further. When he stripped down and adjusted the water temperature to join her, she snarled at him before whining a low, achy noise that tore at his heart. He knelt beside Sarita, helpless against the emotions that she threw off like sparks. Regret. Shame. Horror.

You saved him a great deal of suffering, querida,
Angelo spoke into her head, stroking the gray fur that matted close to her body under the pressure of the warming water. Low to her belly, she inched closer to him, laying her head on his lap. Her muzzle was still stained with blood, the whites of her eyes showing panic. He’d have given anything to see the woman within, but as she lay there on the floor of his shower, the low whine reverberating around her, he knew her wolf was protecting her from the horror of what she had been forced to do. With a sorrowful shake of his head, he pulled his own wolf forth, curled his body protectively around hers.

He didn’t know how long they lay under the water. He felt fluctuations in pressure and temperature, but he lay next to his mate in solidarity as the woman within the wolf cast about for a new direction, her innocent life unmoored.

Finally, he felt the electric charge in the air that meant she was shifting, and he let his own wolf recede, catching his woman in his arms.

“I’ve never…” she whispered, eyes wide.

“I know, baby,” he shushed into her hair as a sob shook her.

“Our culture is so matter-of-fact about killing and death. It’s not supposed to be like that though. He wasn’t a wolf. He wasn’t powerful like the Ahne. We took him, took advantage of him.”

“You knew what we were doing,” he reminded her. “You threatened him.”

“I know.” She shuddered. “I didn’t realize he was already dead. The moment we pushed him into that cab with us, he was already dead.”

“
S
í,
” Angelo nodded, reaching for the tap, turning off the water.

“Your first time…” Sarita paused, the question on her lips. Finally, she rushed ahead. “Was it wolf-to-wolf?”

The air seemed to have been sucked out of the frigid shower enclosure as Angelo struggled to draw breath. His eyes searched her face, looking for any sort of foreknowledge of the story she was asking him to tell. All he could see was her internal pain; if his story could mitigate that…wouldn’t that be worth it?

“No,
querida
. It was man-to-man, bullet-to-flesh. It was a struggle between a guy who had power and a guy who wanted it. The guy with the gun is sitting in this shower with you. The other guy is dead.”

“Why?”

“Luis and I were close back then. He was more involved in the neighborhood, and I was being groomed for leadership in the pack. Neither of us had a wolf yet. I tagged along with him on some deal, as lookout. It went well, so I did some more jobs for them. I did favors for the guys in power, and they rewarded me. I was faster than a human, smarter than their other wolves, and they started to trust me.

“One night, I got jumped by a guy who didn’t realize what I was. We fought, I drew my gun, and I killed him. I tell myself it was self-defense. I can’t blame it on letting the animal take over. Mami, she was so angry. It’s the only time I ever remember her losing control of her wolf.

“I never carried a gun again. I never will. My human hands—they will never kill another living creature. My wolf—he will do what is necessary.”

He buried his face in his hands, struggling for breath. His darkest, ugliest moment was laid bare in front of his woman.

“I was not a good man. But I am trying, living every day trying not to be that man anymore.”

“You were just a kid, a pup. You said yourself you didn’t have a wolf.”

“We wolves place so much importance on that. I was a man, Sarita. Not a wolf, a man. I was weak, arrogant, and threatened, and I answered the threat with a gun. I wasn’t a child. I was a man.”

Sarita studied the sharpness of Angelo’s face. Since she’d first stumbled into him in the woods, she’d known he was hers, known that his sharpness wouldn’t cut her, never her. He’d made her feel safe, protected. Everyone had mentioned what a dangerous wolf he was, but she hadn’t really seen the evidence of it. The only hint she’d seen was the way six gang members walked into his apartment and bared their necks as if he were the national Alpha.

“Restraint,” she whispered. He met her eyes, a wariness in his face.

“Bondage play again,
querida
?” He smiled gently, trying to tease his way out of the moment.

“No, you… your self-restraint. That’s why you’re so dangerous. The Wolf on Wall Street in his five-thousand-dollar suits with his immaculate self-control. Your restraint, the way you hold yourself in check. People aren’t afraid of you because you’re big and strong like Fionn. They’re afraid of you because your self-control scares the hell out of them.”

“They could all be just as controlled as I am.” He stood, hand extended to help her to her feet. As he wrapped her in a heated towel from the warming rack, she mulled that over, finally shaking her head.

“I don’t think they could. Everyone is in awe of the way you sit down in a business meeting and make everyone roll over to hand you what you want. It’s not compulsion; you don’t force them. You just have the self-control to wait the others out.”

“Maybe.” He began to rub her shoulders with the towel, kissing the end of her nose.

“So why me, mate?”

“
Dios mio,
little one. If Sara heard you say that…”

“I know. She’d kick my ass.”

“No, but she’d tease you about it to no end. Get dressed; let’s go see Mac.” He pressed a swift, sweet kiss to her lips, and when she curled her hand to the back of his head, he pulled away, his wolf flashing in his eyes. “Not so much self-control, it seems.” He winked, reaching for his clothes.

Mac’s skin had lost its grayish cast, but he still looked weak and restless. There was no sign of the Blood-Drinker’s body, no sign of the violence that had occurred. The slash across Mac’s face had healed, but a shiny white scar glittered in the light from the lamp beside his bed. Gerard laid next to him, holding his hand, the tenderness of his expression tugging at Sarita’s heartstrings.

He’s okay?
She pushed the thought to her Guide. He smiled, nodding.

“Hey, Mac,” she said, climbing into the bed on the other side. He rolled toward her, putting his head on her shoulder.

“Are you okay, Ita?” Gentle brown eyes met hers, and she closed them against the rush of tears threatening to overwhelm her.

“I will be,” she whispered finally, when she could speak without crying

“Thank you,” he whispered, letting go of Gerard’s hand and pulling her into an embrace. “You could have let me…”

“No. You’re my packmate, Mac. You’re my friend, and I’m responsible for you, just like you’re responsible for me. We’re pack. Pack comes first. No matter how horrified I am by what I did, my wolf accepted it, and I’ll make my peace with it. I’d never forgive myself for letting my packmate die.”

She closed her eyes as she snuggled closer to Mac. She heard Angelo leave the room, then the apartment. A muffled conversation by the door told her he was relieving Kathy of her guard duties. With a sigh she felt herself drifting to sleep.

When she woke up, she and Mac were alone in the bed. She looked up at him, startled for a moment, but happy to see the color back in his cheeks.

“Where’s Gerard?” she mumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“He’s standing guard. Kathy is keeping him company. She used to be your mom’s bodyguard, you know.”

“Yeah.” Sarita felt a dark empty spot in her chest, and for a maudlin moment, she wondered if she had lost a piece of her soul when she took the Blood-Drinker’s life. Then she realized what was missing.

“Where’s Angelo?” She sat up in the bed, looking around as if she expected him to step out from behind the expensive curtains framing the window. The emptiness she felt meant he was farther away than that.

“He took a shuttle to D.C. He’ll be back this afternoon.”

“Why?” she asked.

“He’s got to talk to his friend in the FBI—not about you, about the First Blood. They’re sharing information.”

“Oh.” She felt disappointment creeping into her as Mac studied her face. “I miss him. He told me some stuff last night, about his past. Stuff that had to be hard to say. I didn’t get to tell him—”

“But he knows, Ita. He always knows.”

“When are we going back to the compound?”

“When Angelo gets back. Do you want to go back by the gallery before we leave?”

Sarita shook her head. “No. Pricey-haircut-cheap-’tude will take care of getting the pieces to the New Orleans gallery.”

Mac laughed at the nickname she’d given the gallery owner. “You’re not going to New Orleans, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Maybe D.C., but that mate of yours will probably get the FBI involved.”

“Gangs in New York, Feds in D.C. Who’s a lucky girl?”