making him a great choice to handle dealings in town.
Jonathan inhales deeply, which triggers a low-pitched rumble in his chest. That bastard scents my recent releases and gets off on it! Arrogant prick.
“Down, boy,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster. “Let me get a robe on.”
I walk toward the bedroom as gracefully as I can in my semi-naked state. I’m not going to cover up with my hands, acting embarrassed. It would show weakness to a predator, which is exactly what this werewolf is, something I can never allow myself to forget.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I add.
I can feel his eyes follow me as I walk away.
He starts to snigger, “Nice hammer imprint on your shoulder blade.”
Deciding to rise above his school-aged amusement, I ignore him and keep walking. Rafe comes up the stairs as I cross into our closet for a robe. I grab the closest one, an emerald silk number, before hustling back out.
“Watcha doing here, Wolfman? Like to listen in to what you’ll never get?”
Uh-oh. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! I sprint down the hall projecting calm happy thoughts into their minds before inserting myself between the two. Catching them both right as Jonathan straightens to launch himself at Rafe.
“Now, now, let’s play nice. Rafe, you must know why I’ve called Jonathan here.”
Jonathan’s the only werewolf on our compound. He left his pack in Canada about seven years ago when he didn’t want to challenge his Alpha for dominance. In my eyes, it made him an honorable man for doing so. Two powerful male wolves, Alphas, can’t stay in the same pack for long or a fight to the death would occur. Rafe stares down at the shorter but still powerful man.
Time to get everyone back on track and off the lingering scent of sex in the air.
“The whole ‘dead body in the shed’ thing,” I remind Rafe. He comes back to himself and meets my eyes with a fond smile. He loves baiting Jon, the jerk.
“What are you talking about, Viv?” Jon looks like he’s almost back to his normal laid-back self. His hazel eyes leak back from the lighter golden brown of his wolf form. Rafe loses interest in poking at him and sits down at the kitchen table. I fill Jonathan in on everything we know so far, including the location of the body in the shed, finishing up with the question he never did answer.
“Why are you here early? That’s not like you.”
Jonathan doesn’t avoid the main building—he’s just busier outside of it. In addition to being head groundskeeper, he cares for a huge pack of thirty Alaskan Malamute-wolf crossbreeds, which he employs to patrol the property. Jon does come over when we ask him to, but it isn’t a habit of his to hang out and mingle at the bar. He’s a bit of a loner and it’s fine by me. Once I started feeding from him seven years ago, Rafe hasn’t been overly friendly toward him. Jonathan made his intentions clear: he wants to be my bonded mate, which will never happen.
The simple fact remains that Were blood carries more potency than a human’s. I need more blood than can safely be taken from Rafe in order to stay up around the clock during the long darkness, which is not normal vampire behavior. He’s never minded in the past when I had to feed from some of the employees out of necessity, but when Jonathan entered the picture, it became a whole new game.
Jon’s blood makes me temporarily stronger. Let’s face a cold hard fact: with so many powerful vamps on site, it wouldn’t pay to be weak. Nor does it help matters that this wolf is arrogant and makes a play for me whenever he thinks he can get away with it.
On principal, Rafe understands. He’s secure in our relationship and trusts me, but he doesn’t like Jon. The cold reality exists that through these feedings, Jon became my servant. He wants to please, protect and provide for me. All the things a servant should want after a dual exchange of blood takes place. This relationship, with all its complications, leads Rafe to tweak Jon at every turn. He wants to put the Were firmly in his place and suffers no qualms about being cruel to do it.
Other monogamous, mated couples who need servants may not choose a Were for the job, with good reason. Weres are desirable as hell by nature; it’s a pheromone