Motor City Wolf Page 5

  “Me either.” He sat up and pulled away from her, the fingers of one hand lacing with hers when she came to her knees. “But it would still be a bad idea to give in to it.”

  She tried not to wince visibly. “I understand.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “Good, because I sure don’t. Now why don’t you go clean up first?” He jerked his head toward the lavatory. “I’ll take care of the tablecloth.”

  Biting her lip, Fianna nodded and fled.

  Fuck. He was the biggest bastard alive.

  Greg used the tablecloth to wipe his chest and stuffed it into a garbage bag. Even after an orgasm that had nearly blown his head off, he still wanted her more than his next meal. Damn, this was getting bad. For a moment there, his fangs had extended. His urge to mark her had gotten that strong. Nothing like this had ever happened to him, full moon or no.

  When Fianna returned from the restroom, fully clothed and with her hair smoothed back into its ponytail, he gathered up his clothes and went inside, washing with ice-cold water, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. All they had available were hand towels, so it took a while to dry off. By the time he was dressed, he had his hormones more or less under control.

  Or so he thought until he stepped back into the storeroom and the scent of sex hit him like a sledgehammer.

  Fee sat on the floor in one corner, legs curled beneath her, her back propped against a shelf, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Even disheveled as she was, her clothes still wrinkled and covered in soot and cleaning products, she was stunning.

  To be on the safe side, Greg sat on the kegs as far from her as he could get.

  “I still wish you’d consider moving out of the building until Beowulf, or whoever is going after werewolves, is taken care of. So far it’s only werewolves being targeted this time around. You’d be safe somewhere else.”

  “I still have to have a job, don’t I?” She shot him a pointed glance. “I don’t recall the queen rescinding the ‘menial labor’ portion of my sentence.”

  “We’ll lie.” What did he care what some elven bitch wanted? “Meagan and Ric would claim you’re working as their housekeeper or something.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to earn a living? They already have a housekeeper.”

  Greg felt a growl start low in his chest. “I’ll keep up your wages until it’s safe for you to come back.”

  “And the other waitstaff, the cooks, the bartenders?” She studied her fingernails. “Are you going to send them away, too, just in case? How about the customers? Will you close the club to make sure they don’t accidentally get caught in the crossfire?”

  “The others don’t live in the building.” And none of them was Fee. What the hell was he supposed to do?

  Out of the blue, footsteps and voices above their heads caught Greg’s attention and he ran up to the locked door.

  “What the fuck?” he muttered. It sounded like Desmond Sutton, a local mage who didn’t think much of werewolves and usually couldn’t be bothered to step foot in the club.

  “Damn, this looks bad.” That voice belonged to Ric Thornhill, who yelled, “Anybody home? Is everyone all right?”

  Greg pounded on the basement door and shouted, “In here.”

  Moments later, the door flew open and Greg and Fianna joined Ric and Desmond in the thoroughly demolished kitchen.

  “Holy shit.” Greg looked around in dismay. About the only thing he could say on the plus side was at least there hadn’t been another fire. This mess looked to have been made with baseball bats or sledgehammers. The stainless steel side-by-side refrigerator and the flat-top grill and fryer were probably salvageable, along with maybe half the pots and pans. The rest would have to go. “Well, the club might open later this week, but it will be with nothing but popcorn and peanuts for food.”

  “There’s more.” Desmond, tall despite his half-Chinese heritage, and all lean, ropy muscle, absently used magic to sweep some broken glass off a counter and sat on the steel surface. “Yours isn’t the only place in town that’s been hit.”

  “A bakery in Hamtramck has been completely wiped out.” Ric frowned. “The family lived above it. Even the kids were killed.”

  “Fuck.” Greg sagged onto a stool by the prep counter, after first knocking debris off the old-fashioned way, with his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fee do the same. “Fire?”

  Des nodded. “You guys probably need to post watch 24/7. I’ve got some friends with a private security company that doesn’t ask any questions when weird shit happens.”

  Greg almost smiled. “In other words, witches and wizards.” Des worked for an elite group of magic users called the Wyndewin League, who essentially policed other paranormals. The dude’s grudge against werewolves might have been either personal or professional, but he’d unbent some since Greg and George had helped rescue his niece from her sidhe kidnappers last month. Every so often, Greg found himself almost liking the human mage. He sure as hell respected him.

  The back door of the club opened again, and this time George and Jase strolled in, their expressions taut and strained. They were both dressed for an evening out, George in black leather pants and a white silk shirt, Jase in crisp denim and black cotton.

  “I thought you two were gone for the night?” Greg asked.

  “We got a call,” George said with a grim twist of his lips. He looked around the kitchen. “And not about this. What the hell is happening here?”

  Greg shrugged. His brother would read his body language, know he was seriously pissed. “Hell if I know. I do know the assholes locked us in the storeroom. If Ric and Des hadn’t shown up, we’d have been there all night.”

  George took a step toward Fee, who so far hadn’t said a word. George’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened. He didn’t say a word, but lifted one eyebrow at Greg and mouthed, About time.

  “So this call…” Greg prodded.

  “Oh, yeah.” George winced. “Grandfather will be here any minute. He’s demanded a meeting.”

  “Son of a bitch.” The last person Greg wanted to deal with was his grandfather, the Prime alpha werewolf for the entire region.

  “Literally and figuratively,” George agreed.

  Greg dope-slapped his brother, though of course, George was right. Their grandfather was a right bastard, and technically, their superior. All the smaller packs, like Greg’s, reported to the Prime. Greg and the old man had never gotten along, but you didn’t say no to the man who could have you banned from half the state with a word.

  Greg ran his hand through his hair. “I guess we should move this party out into the main room. At least it’s cleaner there.”

  A pounding at the front door announced the Prime’s arrival, so the entire group followed Greg. Jase and George immediately started shoving tables together, well away from the boarded-up windows. Fee hung in the back with Ric and Des. Odd how Greg already missed having her by his side.

  He opened the front door and admitted his grandfather. Ivan Novak was eighty, but still a commanding presence as he swept into the room, tall and strong, with a thick mane of silver hair and penetrating dark eyes. Behind him, as usual, were his two betas, Maurice Zelig, Ivan’s executive assistant and right hand, and Peter Bartok, who had been the old man’s bodyguard since Greg was a kid. Hell, he’d grown up with Peter’s two daughters.

  “Grandfather. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He stepped aside to allow all three men in, greeting each as they passed him. Peter said hello, but Maurice completely ignored him, his sharp, dark gaze sweeping the room.

  “Who are these people? This is a family meeting.” Ivan tossed his head at Des, Ric and Fee.

  Greg stood toe to toe with the old man. “These are my friends, and they’re here about a matter affecting all lupines in the area. They were invited. They stay.”

  “Very well.” The old man grudgingly took a seat at the head of the table, flanked by his two associates.

  Greg allowed
the show of dominance and took his place at the far end. “Can I get you gentlemen some coffee? As you can see, our bar isn’t in working order right now, but I can run down to the storeroom for something else if you prefer.”

  “Coffee will be acceptable.” Ivan folded his hands on the table and added with mock politeness, “Thank you, grandson.”

  “I’ll make it.” Fee ducked behind the bar and busied herself with the coffeemaker while Greg introduced Ric and Des. His grandfather had already met Jase, of course.

  “The Wyndewin are involved in this?” Ivan demanded, not bothering with a polite preamble. “Why? It’s a werewolf matter.”

  “Because the murders go hand in hand with increased drug trafficking by demons, as far as we can tell,” Des said. He nodded at Ric. “Also, they seems to be connected to the Fae takeover plot last month. It’s all tied together. Not just any one supernatural group is involved.”

  “I see.” The old man nodded his shaggy silver head gravely. “Nonetheless, what I have to discuss now is family business. Where are Lana and Vincent? I called them both and told them to come.”

  “Lana is right here.” Wearing a form-fitting micro-miniskirt and towering heels, she strolled in from the kitchen. She flung herself into the seat next to Desmond, who scowled and shifted aside. “And not happy about it, I might add. I had a date tonight. A real, honest-to-goodness date, with a very nice firefighter. We were going dancing and everything. So this better be the family emergency I told him it was.”

  “Svetlana Marja Novak, if you do not wish to be returned to the family compound, you will treat your Prime with greater respect.” Ivan glared daggers at his granddaughter. “I’ll be informing your parents of your behavior.”

  “Sorry, Grandfather.” Lana sat up straighter and pulled her shawl around the skimpy bodice of her dress.

  Greg winced. Lana flat-out hated being called by her full name. He saw Des mouth the name Svetlana with a wicked grin.

  “We’ll proceed without Vincent, since this only affects him indirectly.” Disgust twisted Ivan’s narrow lips. Vince’s parents had never had any significant rank in the pack hierarchy, and had moved to Florida several years earlier. In Ivan’s eyes, that meant Vince was nothing but a stray pack member, one who ought to jump at the Prime’s every command. Ivan looked around the table, spending time studying each face. “Gregory, perhaps you should inform me first of what’s happening in my territory.”

  Briefly, Greg, Des and Ric filled the older werewolves in on what they knew and why the current events might be related to the Fae unrest that Ric and Meagan, along with Aidan and Elise, had gotten caught up in.

  Ivan nodded. “I knew about the fires and the shooting, but not all of this.” He nodded at Des. “My thanks to the league for their assistance in this investigation. Our people have long assumed the assassin known as Beowulf was a myth, but clearly someone is now using that name. However, the fires would seem to be the work of a different, less professional perpetrator.”

  Des tipped his chin in agreement. “We think they may also be using gang members to take out some targets, while others, primarily the more powerful alphas in the region, are being shot. With all due respect, sir, I’d think you’re a prime target for the shooter. You might want to increase your personal security.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration, as will my grandson and heir. Won’t you, Gregory?”

  “Desmond and I have already discussed hiring a wizard-owned security crew to mind the bar until this is over.”

  “Very well.” Ivan accepted a cup of coffee from Fee as she passed it around. Like George, his nostrils flared as she passed, and Greg knew the old man smelled Greg’s scent all over her.

  Greg bit his lip to suppress a possessive grin.

  Ivan narrowed his eyes. “Now, Gregory, if you wish your friends to be present, that’s your choice, but this is personal and pack business.”

  Greg held the chair next to him for Fianna, who sat after she finished passing out the coffees. “My friends can stay. They’re practically pack.” Well, Ric was at least. Des had yet to be categorized, but Greg trusted him at his back. “What do you want?”

  “You are thirty-seven years old,” Ivan began. “And you are heir to the entire southern Michigan territory.”

  “Both things I’m well aware of.” Where the hell was the old man going with this?

  “It is time you took a mate, Gregory. The heir to my pack, to the territory as a whole, has certain obligations. You will return to my territory and follow through with the mating your parents arranged before their deaths.”

  His jaw hanging slack, Greg stared in amazement. Surely, his grandfather had to be joking. Except Ivan didn’t have a sense of humor.

  “My parents died when I was ten,” he said when he’d regained the ability to speak. “While they’d jokingly made plans with their friends about the future, there was never any formal agreement that I would marry Sofia.” He nodded at Peter, showing respect for the man, even though he had no intention of marrying his younger daughter.

  Peter nodded, though he looked like he was eating a lemon. “It wasn’t meant to be humorous, but nothing was ever formalized.”

  Greg smiled his thanks. “Even among the pack, that sort of thing went out of date a hundred years ago. When I decide to mate, it will be with a female of my own choosing, not because she’s the daughter of my father’s best friend.”

  Sofia Bartok was beautiful, smart and almost family, but Greg had no illusions that they could ever work out as mates. A short affair right after college had put paid to that idea. He had no urge for a mate who was as dominant as he was. Greg and the band had hit the road right after that. He’d never once looked back.

  Ivan laid both hands flat on the table and stood, glaring down at Greg. “You will take a mate before the end of this year.”

  “And if I don’t?” Panic began to set in. It was November already. That didn’t leave a lot of time to change the old man’s mind.

  “If you don’t, you will be banished, permanently, from all of my territory. I’ll choose a new heir from among the local alphas. It’s time, grandson. You will be mated by New Year’s Eve.”

  Greg swallowed bile and tried to breathe. Then he felt Fee’s hand pat his knee under the table and it was all clear in a blinding flash. He looked up at his grandfather. “I’ll agree to the mating, but not with Sofia. With all due respect to my parents and hers…” He dipped his head at Peter again. “They didn’t know the people that we would grow up to be. I’ve chosen my own mate, Grandfather. If that means you’re going to exile me, so be it.” He squeezed Fee’s knee under the table, hoping she’d understand and play along.

  “And who is this…person? Not that human who wears your scent, surely?” He said the word human as if it were a curse. To Ivan, it probably was.

  Fee squeezed his hand back as she drew herself upright and gave the old man her best Faerie princess glare, which was pretty damn haughty. Greg didn’t even bother to suppress his grin when she raised one eyebrow and sniffed. “Excuse me? I imagine even among packs, discussing such things is considered rude.”

  Lana laughed as she stood and ran around the table. “It is. Oh, Fee, congratulations and welcome to the family.” She hugged Fee tightly as she beamed. “I’m so glad Greg finally came to his senses.”

  George, next to Fee, leaned over to kiss her cheek. “What Lana said, sweetie.”

  They received slaps on the back and hugs from Ric and Jase as well, and even Des offered his congratulations without too much suspicion in his gaze.

  Greg stood and held out his hand to Fee, his eyes searching hers. Would she do this for him? “Fee?”

  Head held high, Fee stood and wrapped her arm around Greg’s waist. “This isn’t how we’d intended to tell anyone, but we couldn’t be happier.” Playing her part, she gazed up into Greg’s eyes until he brushed a kiss against her lips.

  Finally, he turned back to the others. “Grandfather, packma
tes, I’d like to introduce my future mate, Fianna Meadows.”

  Chapter Four

  Fianna locked her knees to prevent herself from shaking as she stared down Greg’s grandfather. She’d spent her whole life with bullies like this, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.

  Finally, the old werewolf nodded his head. “I see. Provided the mating ceremony is before the end of December, you have my blessing. One day after the New Year, and you, Gregory, are exiled. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As crystal.” Greg’s voice was strained and brittle as ice. “Now was there anything else? We have an assassin to catch, and it appears my fiancée and I have to move up our wedding plans.”

  “Just this.” The old man stood and took a step toward the door, his two betas moving right beside him like puppets. His voice turned even gruffer. “Try not to get yourself killed. And bring the girl to dinner tomorrow. Your grandmother will want to meet her.” With that, he stalked out the door, leaving the others too stunned to speak.

  “Tomorrow?” George managed to croak. He turned to Fee. “Princess, do you still have the clothes you wore as Aidan’s secretary?”

  Fianna nodded. As personal assistant to the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, of course she’d been provided with an elegant wardrobe, including the proper attire for any kind of social event. Aidan had been kind enough to send those with her when she’d moved to the club, even though she hadn’t had a reason to touch them since.

  “Good,” Lana chimed in. “You’ll want an evening gown, but nothing too flashy. And, Greg, you’d fucking better have her ring by tomorrow.”

  “I’d intended to,” he growled. Fianna felt his chest vibrate with the sound. He handed her back into her chair and resumed his own before looking back around the table. “Meanwhile, can we get back to figuring out who’s trying to destroy the club and maybe kill us? It would be nice if we survived until Christmas.”

  “Ric and I were going to go question one of my informants tonight,” Desmond said. “He’s pretty up on what’s happening with new drugs on the market. Greg, you want to come with us?”