Being reminded of him leaving, and why, was too painful. So she protected herself as she always had—by wrapping herself in a cloak of anger. Rage was the best antidote to pain. Better than food, liquor, sex, or just about anything. That was a sad commentary on the state of her life, but anger was all that had gotten her through for too long.
Aric jogged across the lawn and handed her the clothes. Without a word of thanks, she slipped on a pair of underwear and a bra, stepped into the borrowed cargo pants, and tugged on the black T-shirt. Then she padded barefoot with the group to a side door and straight into what was obviously a recreation room.
She stood, blinking at the spacious room for a moment, trying to make the sight gel with what she’d pictured. There were tables set up for pool, foosball, and Ping-Pong, as well as a dart board and a large-screen TV with a gaming system hooked to it. Two sofas with pillows, several oversized chairs, and rugs made the room homey. Comfortable.
She had expected the inside of the compound to appear stark, more like a barracks. But as they guided her out of the recreation room and into the hallway, she continued to be surprised. The floors were carpeted, and tasteful wall sconces lit the way. The walls themselves were a pleasant, warm cream color.
“You expected a military compound with cement floors and armed guards?” Zander questioned, looking at her.
His voice had a strange flatness. She’d noticed it from the start, and now that the excitement had died down somewhat, she wondered about the inflection that was a bit off.
“Something like that. You all live here full time?”
He nodded. “Makes our jobs easier.”
After a few turns, which she memorized, they led her to a hallway marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The rest of the party dispersed, while Zander and Nick escorted her through the double doors. Her blood froze as she noted the rows of steel doors on either side of the corridor, sealing off what could only be cells. Her worst fear was confirmed when Nick halted and pulled open one of the doors.
“This area is Block R, named for Rehabilitation.”
“I could’ve guessed that,” she said shortly.
“Then you can also guess what Block T stands for.” Nick’s voice was gruff. “That’s the next stop for those who prove to be too dangerous to remain among us.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound was ugly. “Really? That’s rich coming from the man who killed my mother!”
“Jesus,” Zan said, his shocked gaze bouncing between them.
“Didn’t know your boss was a murderer? He forget to tell you guys that he had a mate he killed before he abandoned his daughter?”
Her father started to say something, but then he simply shook his head and gestured her inside the cell. “There’s a bunk with a pillow and a blanket. You’ll be given three square meals a day while you’re here. You seem to be in good physical health, but you’ll get an exam tomorrow and begin a psychological evaluation.”
The last part had her mouth dropping open. “A test to see if I’m nuts? Are you shitting me?”
“When it’s determined you’re not a danger to yourself or anyone else here, you’ll be released to join your mate. And not before.” To Zander, he said, “I’m sorry.”
He slammed the door of the cell, and it clanged with an ominous racket. Then the bastard turned and walked away. Zander’s anxious face hovered in the small window for a moment, and she barely heard him say, “I’m sorry, too.”
Then she was alone.
As calmly as possible, Nick walked to his office and closed the door. Then he skirted his desk, sat in his chair, and lowered his head into his shaking hands.
She’s here after all this time. All these years. Selene.
And my baby girl loathes me.
The heartbreak never ended. However, he’d learned one vital piece of information: as much as she might hate him, and even want him dead, his death wouldn’t come at her hands. His gift didn’t allow him to know much more than that, but from the moment she’d come racing from the trees, intent on ripping out his throat, he’d known.
Her rage might have fueled her attack, but her soul wasn’t on board. Deep down, she was still that confused, grieving young girl who’d lost both of her parents in one awful day. Her heart cried out to know why, and she deserved the truth.
But not today. She wasn’t ready to accept it. He didn’t know if she ever would be.
In the meantime, he had to stay on top of the rogue vampires. With a heavy heart, he opened his e-mail to see if Grant had sent him any more information. He scanned his in-box impatiently, then paused on one e-mail address he’d never seen before: viper@speedymail.com. Curious, he opened it and began to read.
Westfall,
I’m coming for you and yours. Don’t think I’ve forgotten, because I haven’t. No matter how long it takes, or how far I have to track you, I’ll come. And when I do, I’ll make you suffer before you die.
No name at the end, of course. He read the e-mail again, and his skin prickled. Cold enveloped his entire body, and he let out a deep breath, thinking. In more than two hundred years, he’d made a few enemies. Most of them were long dead, though not all.
Who would come after him now? Why?
Could Selene’s arrival be a coincidence? She’d obviously been in the area for a while—after all, he now realized she was the white wolf that had pushed Ryon’s mate Daria off the cliff. She might have been hanging around town doing some digging, too, and could have sent the e-mail.
That didn’t feel right, though.
The e-mail carried the distinct chill of death brushing down his neck that he’d been feeling for days. The bastard behind it was the one he had to fear, not his daughter.
A sense of foreboding in his gut warned him that this was much, much bigger than just him and his daughter. And he had to discover the truth, soon.
Picking up his cell phone, he placed a call that was past due. On the other end, the phone rang three times before a deep male voice answered.
“Mountain Lodge. How may I direct your call?”
Nick almost smiled. The cover wasn’t very original, but it was effective in screening wrong numbers and those who might snoop. “This is Nick Westfall, commander of the Alpha Pack in Wyoming. I’m calling to speak with Prince Tarron Romanoff.”
A pause. “How did you get this number?”
“Through our mutual friend Grant.”
“I see. What type of group is your Alpha Pack?”
“Shifters. We combat all sorts of creatures the world is better off not knowing about, if you get my drift.”
The man laughed. “Sure. This is your personal number, Mr. Westfall?”
“It is.”
“Very good. The prince will phone you back shortly.”
After I’ve been checked out, no doubt.
“That’s fine.”
He hung up, settling in to wait, and started playing a new game on his phone. Damn time-wasting crap, but he was as hooked as everyone else. Fortunately, the phone rang, saving him from turning his brain to mush. A glance confirmed it was a different number, but the same area code. Probably the prince’s personal phone.
“Westfall.”
“Hello, Mr. Westfall, this is Tarron Romanoff, of the North American coven,” he said pleasantly. His voice was smooth and warm. Genuine. “Grant had told me you would likely contact me about a certain problem, but I had to be sure your number checked out via a trace. You understand.”