“What did he see?”
“First, Grace was able to contact Kamis and he’s about as helpful as a fortune cookie. He told her, ‘There are many portals but only one bridge,’ which is what our own legends tell us so it’s not particularly informative. Grace seems to think he meant it as a warning.”
“About what?”
“We were puzzling through that ourselves,” Aiden said. “And then Julian’s mom called—he was having some sort of seizure, so I met Alan at their house. Julian said he saw the bridge collapse.”
Raquel could feel the tension in Christian’s body pressed against her side. “All the more reason to end this,” he said.
“Except that in this vision the Vanir witch is dead. We never get him out of the ice and the bridge collapses when we try to return home.” Aiden looked at her. “You’re coming with us.”
McGuire’s was a little roadside bar at the edge of town, as far away as the strongest ?sir could comfortably get from the fault before they started to feel it. There was a tension in a place like this. A sense of standing on a cliff. A tingle on the fringe of her consciousness, like a warning to turn back. But there wasn’t any danger in staying here.
Another mile or two and she’d start to feel the drain on her power. Even then she could survive for weeks without any negative effect other than feeling worn down and out of sorts. Longer would start to take a toll on her health, both mental and physical. But she was true-blooded ?sir. For the people who had some human blood in them—which was most clan—the effects were usually less severe, unpredictable depending on their heritage. Grace’s parents had been runners and she’d lived her whole life away from a fault.
Here, Raquel just felt a pleasant buzz before she’d even had anything to drink. Christian took her arm as she climbed from the car and tucked it beneath his. An oddly formal gesture considering their surroundings. McGuire’s looked like a biker bar. A short, square building with a faded sign set above the overhang to the front door. The gravel lot was nearly full. It was already getting dark and the neon lights hanging in the windows shone brilliantly.
“I was surprised you asked Aiden without me,” Christian said. “I thought you were afraid of him.”
“I hoped he’d say yes before you made it downstairs.” She glanced up. “I’m not afraid of him.”
Christian raised his brows.
“Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe a little bit, but you didn’t see the way he looked at me after the...accident. I trust him because you, Fen and Grace do. I can trust him, right?”
Christian squeezed her arm. “You don’t need to be afraid. Aiden wouldn’t hurt you...ever. The other night he was more worried than angry. He’s still worried.”
“He wouldn’t have given his permission if not for Julian’s vision.”
“No.”
She looked at him askance. “That’s why you told me to ask him. You knew what he was going to say.”
“I
He had, that was true, but he’d also very neatly maneuvered her so that her anger—if she was going to be angry—would have all been directed at Aiden not him. She thought about how Christian had been dodging her attempts to talk about the wedding all day. He seemed like such a straightforward man. Discovering that he wasn’t was fascinating...and alarming. Was he still playing her now?
Music spilled into the quiet night when he opened the door, a heavy throbbing beat that resonated deep inside her. She paused, looking up at her fiance.
“Aiden does what’s best for the clan,” he said. “He always does. I’ll make sure you make it back okay.”
She touched his hip as she passed him. “Thank you.”
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dim light and take everything in. The area behind the bar was lit and lights hung over each pool table, but there were also a lot of dark corners in the place. The floor was sticky and the music was loud. Not a place you could have a serious conversation. Raquel wondered if that’s why Christian had brought her here. He gave her a little push toward the booths along the wall opposite the bar.
His breath was warm on her ear. “The food is good.”
It didn’t seem like Christian’s sort of place, but they seemed to know him. The bartender lifted a hand and the waitress gave Christian a welcoming smile when she dropped off the menus.
“Do you want—”
His abrupt stop brought her head up, and she followed his gaze to a shadow of what would have been called a dance floor in a larger establishment. Here, it was just a cleared area surrounding the jukebox in a corner of the bar lit only by neon. She rolled her eyes when she saw the woman who had so captured his attention. Her head was tipped back, long dark hair tangled around the forearm of the man standing behind her. Raquel felt a flash of annoyance. Christian knew she had cold feet, but ostensibly they were still a couple. If he was going to goggle at another woman, the least he could do is be discreet.
To be fair, the woman was beautiful. Long-limbed and curvaceous. Not the skinny model type Raquel would’ve matched to a man with Christian’s traditional good looks. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly parted. Neon skated over exposed skin, making her look exotic and dangerous. And that really made Raquel jealous, because she’d never be either of those things.
Christian swore. “Fucking idiot.”
“What—” But the question died on her lips when the man standing behind the sex goddess looked up, right into Raquel’s eyes.
Fen.
He stared at her over the woman’s shoulder for a long moment before closing his eyes and angling his body away. But Raquel couldn’t turn away. She watched as his hand skated up the woman’s bare arm, as the woman’s back arched, pushing her full breasts higher. She watched as Fen touched his lips to the side of her neck.
“Who is she?”
“Carly Jones,” Christian answered. “She’s pack—She likes hounds. I’m sorry. I have to go talk to him.”
Carly was the pack concubine, that’s what Christian had been about to say. It happened. Some women valued control more than affection and whoever bonded a hound controlled them, at least sexually. Sometimes several men from one pack would bond to the same woman. It made it easier for the bonded hounds to compartmentalize their lives. No wife. No girlfriend. Just a sexual partner. And so long as she didn’t stray outside the pack, she became almost an honorary member and it didn’t usually cause problems of jealousy. The women and hounds who entered into that kind of arrangement did it purposefully. If Fen was dancing with the pack concubine, he knew exactly what he was doing.
Raquel couldn’t breathe.
The woman was nearly the same height as Fen, and his arm wrapped around her body just below her breasts. His knee slid between Carly’s thighs and his free hand gripped her hip to hold her against him.
Christian blocked Raquel’s view as he and Fen exchanged words—quite a few of them. The song ended, but Carly didn’t leave Fen’s side. She looked upon the confrontation with a remote and faintly amused expression. When Christian pointed toward Raquel, Carly turned her head to follow the gesture. Her lovely eyes narrowed.
Raquel’s hands curled into fists and she climbed stiffly to her feet. It wasn’t her place to intervene. Fen didn’t want her. She wouldn’t hurt Carly, surely an innocent bystander in this mess.
Raquel couldn’t hear what was being said over the noise in the bar. The game on the big TV on the wall. The people playing pool in the next room. The waitress brought the drinks and set them on the table. Raquel murmured her thanks without turning, all of her attention on the man across the room. Every ounce of willpower consumed by her fight to stay where she was and give Christian a chance to talk some sense into his friend.
A moment later, Christian walked back to the table, his expression grim. “Let’s go.”
Fen and Carly weren’t dancing, they were talking, but Raquel didn’t feel particularly reassured. “What happened?”
“I’m not going to sit here and watch him do this.”
“You’re his friend,” she said. “Maybe his
Christian’s jaw clenched. “He’s made up his mind.”
