On the Prowl Read online

  “University was sort of overwhelming at first,” she confessed, sliding her prepared ingredients to the side of the huge cooktop. She set a wok on the top of a burner and lit it, leaning down to expertly check the level of the flame. “I mean, I’d spent eight years at the same school tucked away in the mountains of Switzerland and suddenly I was trying to navigate my way around Edinburgh without a single familiar face around me.”

  Her mouth curved into a wry smile as she pulled a covered bowl from the refrigerator and set it beside the vegetables. “I probably spent the first month looking like a deer in headlights.”

  She reached for her wine finally, took a sip, and gave an appreciative little hum. Nic shifted on his stool and tried to ignore the way that sound altered the fit of his trousers.

  “What made you decide to go to school in Scotland?” he asked, mostly to distract himself.

  “Because my parents wanted me to go to Oxford.” Her smile widened into a grin and her eyes sparkled as she added oil to the hot wok and then tossed in garlic and shallots. “That was my rebellious phase. My parents were living mostly at Shadelea at the time, and they liked the idea of me being so close to home. I didn’t.”

  She moved with graceful efficiency, adding carrot, celery, and broccoli flowers to the wok, using a rounded metal spatula to keep it all moving. “Big rebellion, I know. A whopping three hundred and fifty extra miles. But at the time, that seemed like a grand gesture.”

  “Not every gesture needs to be a grand one. It looks like yours worked out fairly well.”

  “It did.” Beef went into the wok, got tossed around, then coated with a splash of the marinade. “I had a wonderful time in Edinburgh, and I got the taste of independence I wanted. I was still able to visit often enough to keep my parents happy, but I wasn’t so close that they felt compelled to check in on me constantly. I enjoyed it.” She turned to look at him. “This is just about ready. Should we take it into the dining room?”

  The table there sat at least twelve, even without the extending leaves. Nic shook his head. “Let’s eat in here. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all. Can you grab place mats or something?”

  He dug out a pair of colorful mats, folded linen napkins, and chopsticks. Somehow after seeing her expertise with the wok, he doubted the wooden implements would present her with any sort of challenge. Setting two places side by side at the counter, he moved around to pick up her wine as she dished rice, meat, and vegetables onto two plates.

  “That smells wonderful,” he commented. He watched while she reached across the counter to set out the food, then circled around to take the stool beside his.

  Because he was watching her closely, he saw the slight grimace of discomfort when she sat, even with the stool’s padded seat. Damn, he’d been too rough with her.

  She didn’t betray herself with so much as a grumble, just smiled and spread her napkin daintily across her lap. “I hope it tastes good.”

  It did, so good he gave an involuntary grunt of pleasure the moment the first strip of tender, flavorful beef crossed his tongue. Saskia said nothing, but he saw her smile over the rim of her wineglass.

  They ate in silence for several minutes, Nic working his way steadily through a healthy pile of meat, rice, and vegetables while his mate lifted each bite-sized morsel to her lips with the delicate grace of a house cat. The contrast made him feel like an even bigger brute for the way he’d handled her earlier. He wracked his brain for a delicate way to broach the subject but came up empty. Did a polite way even exist to ask a woman if you’d fucked her hard enough for her to require medical attention?

  Finishing his meal, Nic pushed his plate away and angled his body toward his mate. She glanced up at him, caution and curiosity mingling in her expression. He decided the only way to get answers was to ask the damned question and worry later about who blushed harder. He felt pretty safe in assuming it would wind up being her, anyway.

  “Did I hurt you earlier?” He tried to keep his voice soft and undemanding but surprised himself when it came out low and intimate. As he’d predicted, her cheeks turned the color of ripe apples.

  She also nearly choked on a mouthful of rice.

  “N-no!” she coughed, reaching for her wineglass and taking an indelicate swig. After clearing her throat again, she shook her head, her eyes watery and unable to look straight at his. “No, you didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” he persisted. “You looked like you were feeling a little … tender.”

  Her cheeks burned even brighter, if such a thing was possible. “It’s nothing. Really.”

  He wanted to press further but feared his little mate might actually burst into flames if she felt any more embarrassed, so he dropped the subject and raised his hand to tweak the end of her ponytail. “Good, because I have to admit, I’m glad you’re officially mine now.”

  My mate. Officially my mate. That’s what he had meant to say. Really.

  Either way, the confession did nothing to reduce the color in her cheeks, but Saskia nibbled on her lower lip and nodded shyly. “Me, too.”

  Good, they had agreed on something. Nic let the small triumph buoy him and turned his attention back to his master plan. Now that they were both fed and rested and feeling relaxed, it might be a good time to begin clarifying what he expected of their relationship. Being careful to keep any hint of scolding or accusation from his voice, he ventured, “I think maybe we need to talk about this morning. Don’t you?”

  To his surprise, his mate nodded eagerly. He’d been expecting her to try to avoid the subject; no woman liked being lectured on what she’d done wrong, even if it was for her own good. Still, Nic wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially not when it had teeth like a tigress.

  “I thought about what you said, and I realize that it was partly my fault for not saying anything,” he began, trying to begin with a gesture of goodwill. “I regret that, but you still need to know that leaving here without saying a word or even leaving a note behind was very inconsiderate. I was worried when I got back and found you gone. Really worried. Just think how you would have felt if you were in my place. Now can you understand why I’m going to ask you not to leave the apartment again without first telling me where you’re going and when you’ll be coming back?”

  His mate’s eyes widened as he spoke until, by the time he fell silent, the vivid blue had been drowned out by the ever-expanding ring of white visible around the edges. She looked like a lemur with those wide, blinking eyes. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, like a fish, and when she slapped her palms lightly against her temples she made the journey through the animal kingdom complete with the startlingly chimplike action.

  Nic frowned. He hoped she wasn’t having some sort of breakdown brought on by the stress of her guilty conscience.

  “Inconsiderate?”

  She nearly gargled the word, and he had to wonder if some more rice had gotten lodged somewhere in her throat. That definitely wasn’t a natural sort of sound.

  “I was inconsiderate?!”

  And neither was that. He tried not to wince, but the high-pitched shrieking noise felt like an ice pick on his sensitive eardrums.

  “I. Cannot. Believe. You!”

  Jerking back, Nic stared at his mate, his eyebrows drawing together as he realized she might not be in complete agreement with him after all. In fact, judging by the look on her face, it occurred to him she might be about to take his gesture of goodwill and shove it up a part of his anatomy he really preferred to keep to himself.

  “You arrogant, selfish, egotistical, medieval, despotic, swollen-headed, dumb, idiot penis owner!” Leaping off her stool, Saskia clenched her hands into fists and drew them up in front of her torso as if she had already half-decided to take a swing at him. “I can’t believe that after the way you treated me last night, you have the nerve, the unmitigated indecency, to talk about what I did wrong! You’ve got to be kidding me!”

 
She opened her mouth for another attack, changed her mind, spun on her heel, and left, stalking out of the kitchen and down the rear hall toward the bedroom, her footsteps surprisingly loud given her lack of even the most basic footwear. His acute Tiguri hearing allowed him to detect her muttered words, uttered under her breath all the way to the other side of the apartment; and he would have had to be deaf not to hear the echoing slam of the bedroom door when she reached her destination.

  Hm. He glanced around the kitchen, grabbed both nearly empty glasses of wine, downed the contents of each, then reached for the rest of the bottle. That certainly hadn’t gone according to plan.

  * * *

  Saskia started the night on the sofa in the sitting area of the master bedroom, absolutely unwilling to share the bed of so clueless, heartless, and hopeless an excuse for masculinity as her erstwhile mate. It had taken her hours to calm down enough to settle into the plump cushions, but considering her mate stayed away until almost the wee hours of the morning, she was well asleep by the time he entered the room and spied her lying on her makeshift bed for the night. His quiet curses woke her, along with the feeling of his hands lifting her and carrying her gently to the large bed where they had tangled together just hours before. She thought about admitting her wakefulness, slapping his hands away, and stalking back to the sofa, but he made no attempt to touch her after he settled her on the mattress, just pulled the covers up over her still-clad form, climbed in beside her, and settled down to sleep.

  Damn his considerate hide.

  By the next morning—when she woke for the third time to a cold and empty bed—she’d had plenty of time to calm down, and also enough time to reach some tough conclusions. Her mate was not going to spontaneously reach an understanding about what he had done to make her angry, let alone apologize of his own volition. It just wasn’t in the cards. She needed to accept that and move on. What she was not prepared to do was allow their small war to continue. He had made her angry; she had made him angry. They each needed to accept the past failings of the other and go forward from there. Since Saskia was the woman in the relationship, and therefore the one with the larger capacity for both logical thought and forgiveness, it would be up to her to broker the peace deal.

  But if she was going to do that, first she needed coffee.

  This time, she managed to get out of bed without so much as a twinge of discomfort. One of the blessings of a shifter metabolism—ultraquick healing—apparently extended to, ah, more intimate injuries as well. She felt as good as new, if a little grungy from sleeping in her clothes.

  A quick shower put everything to rights, and Saskia found herself minutes later standing nude in her cavernous closet wondering just what a woman with a plan wore to talk some serious sense into a pigheaded male. Silk? Cotton? Denim?

  Plate armor?

  She settled on one of her favorite stay-at-home outfits, comfortable enough to lounge around in but attractive enough to give her the boost of confidence she felt pretty sure she would need. The dark jeans had just enough stretch to combine comfort with curve-hugging visual appeal, and the vivid blue of the V-neck pullover accentuated the color of her eyes while simultaneously drawing attention to the shadow of her cleavage. A shadow she ensured looked its best with the strategic application of a push-up bra in lace-covered satin.

  This time, she coached herself silently as she padded down the hall to her fiancé’s office—what she was already coming to think of as his lair—she wouldn’t wait for an apology or a lecture. She would state her grievances straight out, outline the compromise she had in mind to guide each of them in their future behavior, and reach an amicable settlement with a minimum of fuss.

  Or bloodshed.

  Unlike the previous afternoon, Saskia found the door to the office firmly shut, but the thin strip of illumination shining just above the floor told her she would find her mate inside. She could hear the low rumble of his voice through the thick wood and guessed he must be on the phone. All the better; she could slip in and make herself comfortable while he finished the call. Then she would be able to begin the conversation from a position of power.

  She knocked lightly, but she already had one hand on the knob, and she twisted without waiting for a reply, swinging the door open and stepping inside before her fiancé could invite or rebuff her. He glanced toward her, a frown marring his features. Apparently, Nicolas didn’t like to be interrupted. She had an idea why when she saw that he hadn’t been alone.

  Rather than speaking on the phone, Nicolas had been carrying on a conversation with a tall, lean figure currently sprawled in one of the armchairs facing the large mahogany desk.

  “Excuse the interruption,” her mate grumbled, fixing her with an impatient scowl. “Saskia, is there a problem?”

  “Only that I didn’t realize you were entertaining, Nicolas,” she answered smoothly, refusing to be intimidated, especially not in front of a guest. “I had no idea you had made an appointment for this early in the morning. It’s barely past seven.” She stepped toward the desk and offered her hand to the man she suspected her fiancé hadn’t wanted her to meet. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. I’m Saskia Arcos. Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

  The visitor had turned at her entrance and now rose to take her hand, demonstrating the good manners Nicolas hadn’t bothered with.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine,” he said, his mouth quirking in a charming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Arcos. I’m McIntyre Callahan, but please, call me Mac.”

  “Mac,” she repeated, smiling warmly. The touch of his hand confirmed what her nose had already told her. Callahan wasn’t human. Not entirely. “And you should call me Saskia. I apologize for the interruption, but as I said, Nicolas didn’t warn me he’d be entertaining this early.”

  “I’m not entertaining,” her mate snapped, sounding as if he’d like to shove her out the door and turn the key in the lock. She hoped he’d think twice about that while there was a witness present. “This is a business meeting.”

  “Oh? What sort of business are you in, Mac?”

  She heard Nicolas growl low in his throat, but she ignored him. He needed to learn that being old fashioned didn’t make her a doormat.

  “I’m a private investigator,” Mac answered, clearly aware of the fierce undercurrents flowing between his hosts and just as clearly amused by it.

  Saskia felt her eyebrows lift and took another, closer, look at her husband’s visitor. She thought the man looked more like a carpenter or an artist than a PI. He had blond hair, worn long and pulled back into a queue at the back of his neck, and blue-gray eyes that sparkled with humor. At six feet and change, he was a tall man, though not as tall as Nicolas, and while his lean build spoke more of a runner than a weight lifter, Saskia didn’t doubt he was stronger than he looked. He wore a pair of battered jeans, scuffed boots, and a long-sleeved thermal, topped by a button-down shirt he wore both unbuttoned and untucked. Instead of looking sloppy, it looked comfortable and casual, as if he was a man who dressed not to impress but to take care of business.

  Since she didn’t much believe in coincidence, Saskia was willing to bet she knew just what sort of business Nicolas had called him to deal with.

  Ignoring her mate, she offered Mac a look of wide-eyed innocence. “An investigator? Oh, then you must be here to look into the accusations the Council has made against my fiancé. Have you discovered anything yet?”

  “Saskia!” Nicolas snapped, slapping his hands down on the desk and shoving to his feet. “This is not your concern.”

  Saskia dug in her heels, clenched her teeth, and did her best to appear both baffled and guileless. “But of course it is,” she protested, counting on the chance that her fiancé wouldn’t want to make a scene in front of a man who was essentially an employee. “Anything that affects my mate affects me. Tell me, Mac, have you been able to find any information about who might really have attacked Mr. De Santos?”

  She heard Nicolas
swear, but her stomach settled a bit when she saw him sink back into his seat behind the desk and scowl at her.

  “This is actually only our first meeting.” Mac kept his tone professional, but she could see that he understood she was using him to manipulate her mate. Thankfully, it seemed to amuse more than offend him. “I haven’t yet started my investigation. Your fiancé was just filling me in on the meeting he had yesterday with the Council.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Please go on, Nicolas. I promise not to interrupt again.” With that, she planted herself firmly in the seat opposite Mac’s, tucking her crossed fingers under her thighs and hoping frantically that Nicolas wouldn’t give in to his temper and throw her bodily out of the room. Judging by his expression, he thought about it, long and hard.

  Finally, though, he clenched his jaw and turned back to Mac. “As I was saying, after I got the call from my father letting me know about the attack and that the Council wanted to see us immediately, he drove over to pick me up and we met with the Council in their chambers at the Vircolac club.”

  Mac nodded, picking up a pen and small notebook Saskia had overlooked earlier. “Was the full Council is session?”

  “No. From what I understand, it was only the Inner Council.”

  “And was anyone else called before them? Other than you and your father.”

  “Just Gregor Arcos. Saskia’s father.” Nicolas glanced toward her, his expression tight but unreadable. She fought to keep her own from betraying any emotion. “He’d brought his wife along, but her presence wasn’t a requirement.”

  “Why just you three?”

  “We’re the only three Tiguri males currently living in the city.”