Little witch. He looked at her askance as she took another long drink of vodka. Aside from blood, vodka was the one substance that Lena’s kind could imbibe. Thus she drank a lot of it. The silver cup clinked as she set it down. “I refer to the human you brought home the other night, and you well know it. Ah, a scowl is it? Already, you are taken with her. It is written all over your handsome face.”

And there it was. He set his cup down. “I’ve vowed to protect her. I take my vows seriously.”

One ink-black brow lifted. “Oh? And what of your familial vow?”

He forced himself not to move, but deep inside his wolf growled in agreement. “I do not recall taking any vows that I have broken.”

“No, you turn from them before making the expected commitment.”

His fingers clutched the thick leather armrests. “What I do or do not do for my family is not why I am here.”

Lena shifted in her seat, curling her slim legs under her rump. “Forgive me, dearest, but that is precisely why you are here.” Her cold, black eyes pinned him. “You seek this mad wolf, and yet you do not go to The Ranulf. You come to me. And we both know why.”

Ian forced his fingers to unclench. “I’d rather keep my head if that’s all right with you.” Should he approach the Ranulf court without express invitation, his would be rolling on the floor.

Lena hummed. “It is a lovely head. And a pity that you chose exile rather than to lead.”

Ian sat forward and let his eyes linger on her. Lena loved to be admired, and he was not above using her vanity. “But then I wouldn’t get to see you.” He lowered his voice to a rumble. “I’d much rather you provide me with what I need.”

Aside from running the popular club, Lena was a ranking captain in The Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals, commonly referred to as the SOS. It was her duty to keep informed of all supernatural beings and their activities. More so, she was responsible for keeping their deeds from the human world. The SOS was the last defense, and he needed them.

Lena ran her tongue along the tip of her tiny fang. “I am listening.”

“I suspect the SOS has an idea as to who and where the werewolf is,” he said. “I am asking for Mother’s help.”

There it was. A plea. Mother, the enigmatic head of the SOS, had never been seen. No one but Lena knew who or what she was. And no one was granted Mother’s, and hence the SOS’s, permission without first going through Lena. A little fact that gave Lena a rather extraordinary sense of superiority.

One she reveled in now by smirking at him. “And here I thought the putting down of turned lycans was The Ranulf’s duty. The question of the night is, why does Ian Ranulf come here, searching for the outlaw, and yet The Ranulf sits on his throne and does nothing?”

A series of small pops sounded, and Ian realized his claws had sunk into the leather. Lena’s eyes gleamed with victory. “I suspect you know the answer as well as I do.”

Ian’s wame pitched. He swallowed hard, the vodka running like vitriol through his veins. Damn it, but she was right. Conall had not hunted the were down. Which was not only against the clan’s honor but a direct violation of their arrangement with the SOS.

She tilted her head toward the door, and her beads clacked again. “You act the ostrich, sticking your head in the sand while the world about you falls apart. Do you know how many lycans have come to me in the past months seeking asylum?”

His jaw tightened. “I suspect you will tell me.”

“Do not be churlish, Ian Ranulf. They come and tell me tales. Of Conall using corrupt humans to fund his empire.”

Despite his irritation, Ian’s eyes shot to hers.

She poured herself another drink and downed it in one graceful swallow. “They come because The Ranulf believes they exist to serve him.”

“They do.” But he knew what she’d meant, and it made his insides twist. No lycan would leave the court of a proper alpha. Bloody hell. He could not go back to that life. He wanted to forget. Ah, but the wee bitch knew it, and still she wouldn’t let him breathe.

“I am not a nanny,” she said. “I send them to America and Canada when I can, but this business tires me.”

“Send them to me,” he said. “I will situate them.”

“Very well, they are your problem now. And you are being duplicitous,” she added. “What is worse, you have ignored your wolf, ignored who you are, for so long your power has atrophied. No wonder you cannot bed a woman.”

Ian shot forward, slamming his forearms on his thighs. “Enough. Will you help me or no?”

She didn’t flinch. “No.”

“Right.” He stood to go but her sharp voice stopped him.

“You are alpha, and you know it. It is time you took what is yours.”

Ian stared down at her. “Conall is the alpha. I will not challenge him, if that is what you are after.”

She stood as well, a rustling of silk and limbs. Her chin barely reached his collarbone, but she held power enough to match him, perhaps break him should they face off on the night of a waxing moon. Hell, she was right, he had ignored his wolf for too long, and it had made him weak.

“You cannot even call him The Ranulf,” she snapped. “He wants to expose our world to the humans, and yet you run from the truth with your tail between your legs.”

Ian turned away. God, he hated politics. He didn’t want to be a lycan, nor a wolf. He only wanted to be a man and live a normal life. “Conall—The Ranulf—knows his duty. He might be lax, but he’d never expose us.”

Lena’s eyes were black steel. “Bullshite, as your kind would say. If you really believed that, you would not be here with your hat in hand. Because The Ranulf would have already eradicated the threat.”

“Then help me find the were,” he said. “Tell me what you know, Lena.”

“I have given you my answer. I will not pester Mother with a problem that you can easily solve.”

For a moment, he couldn’t see. The red haze had him. With effort, he gulped down a lungful of air. “Do not make war with me, Lena.” His mouth felt thick with extended fangs. “For the memory of what we once had together, do not.”

Sadness flitted over her face but it was shut down by a wall of cold determination. “Then do what is right, Ian Ranulf. Take control of your clan.”

With a vicious curse, he swept the drinks table aside, sending cups scattering and vodka splashing into the fire. It flared high as he shouted. “Bloody hell, woman! Do you no’ understand? I cannot go back to that life. I lost everything that was dear to me when I was that man. I’ll no’ do it again.”

Lena took a step closer, crowding him with the scent of copper and the cold of her body. “If you lost everything, then there is nothing left to lose, no?”

He scowled, but Lena laughed, a deep throaty sound that made his fists clench.

“If we don’t act, more will die. We do not harm the innocent, Lena.”

“You do not harm them. I am not so particular.”

A growl rumbled in his throat, his claws burning to break free. “Find someone else to play the pawn. The only thing that you’ll accomplish by coming after me is getting bitten.”

She glared back, ice in her gaze and teeth glinting in the firelight. “I like the bite, Ian, you know that.”

Their stalemate was broken with the entrance of Edmund, looking harried and followed by an overlarge black crow. The crow circled once, cawing frantically, before settling on Ian’s shoulder.

His blood ran cold at the sound and what it meant. Damn it all to bloody hell. He was already running from the room as Lena’s laugh cut through his wild thoughts. “I see your human needs you already. Pray, Ian, do not forget her while you think on what I’ve said.”

Chapter Nine

And here Daisy thought Billy stank. The streets were worse. Daisy burrowed deeper into the scarf around her neck and inhaled. Alas, even her perfume could not completely dampen the stench. Rotting water, rotting food, rotting bodies. It was a potpourri of rot, as if the city were slowly dying from the inside out. Perhaps it was. Old Nichol, Billy called this place. The people here appeared forlorn, the light in their eyes dimmed by a hard life, worn out by hunger and pain.

They walked slowly, yet with purpose. Billy had warned her not to meet anyone’s eye but to move as though she owned the world. She could do that. But inside, her heart pounded. Her escort kept one ropey arm slung about her shoulders, his large hand dangling irritatingly close to her breast. They were to look like a couple off in search of fun. Every so often, he’d lean in and whisper something naughty in her ear, and she’d laugh accordingly.

Thankfully, the warmer weather had burned off much of the fog, leaving only a muddy layer to hover a foot or so off the ground. People walked as if without feet, phantoms that seemed to float along the ether. The street was narrow here, sad little houses sagging against crumbling buildings that had once been grand homes. And leaning against them, the men and women who lived in this hovel.

Beneath lowered lids, Daisy watched these people as she passed, saw the gap-toothed smiles of strutting men who wanted to be c**k of the walk and the hunched, thin shoulders of women scuttling by. A few brazen women loitered about on corners, their bosoms all but hanging out like Monday washing.

Not, Daisy rectified, that she was in a position to throw stones. Daisy glanced down at her own rather abundant display of flesh spilling from the top of her low-cut bodice. She’d dressed the part, donning an old evening gown of brilliant green satin. While perfectly respectable in a ballroom, out here, with her hair loosely knotted and naught but a thin scarf for covering, she might as well be another moll hanging on the arm of her man.

“I’m goin’ in first,” Billy said at her ear. “He’s not particularly keen on visitors, right? So’s let me do the talkin’.” The arm about her gave an unnecessary squeeze. “You just stand back lookin’ lovely an’ agreeable.”

She gave his ribs a jab with her elbow, and he grunted. “You get me in, and I’ll talk,” she countered. If this so-called perfumer was purchasing stolen formulas, she doubted he’d be inclined to confess. He might, however, hold a passion for perfume and find himself unable to refrain from discussing the art of developing a scent. She was banking on that small hope. “Just remember who is paying whom.”

Billy looked at her sidelong. “I’d rather you’d pay for a bit of hide the pickle,” he muttered.

Daisy snorted lightly. “I bet you do. Just keep that pickle of yours in its jar and your mind alert.”

Billy muttered a bit more about iron-hearted buors—which she presumed meant women—and pains in his arse, but he led her down a dark alleyway where the general smell grew to a nearly overwhelming stench, so rank that even he couldn’t help but comment upon it.

“Sweet aunt fanny,” he said, pulling out a ratty, scarlet satin neckcloth from his pocket to press against his nose. “Smells fouler than a dock whore’s twat down here.”

She bit her lip. No, she would not laugh. Not when her eyes were watering and her stomach was in danger of voiding. Despite herself, she leaned closer to Billy. The offensive smell touched something inside of her that called forth a desperate need to flee.

Billy’s grip tightened as well. “Something’s off, chips. Let’s come back in the daytime at least.”

Fat, gray clouds scuttled over the bright moon, whose rays cast the alleyway in a palette of blues and blacks. Nothing stirred here. It was as if the fetid air had chased all life away.

“Nonsense,” she said past the lump of fear in her throat. “We’ve come this far.”

Above them, a timber creaked, and her heart jumped. But there was nothing to see, just the settling of an old building.

Billy heaved a sigh and then made a gagging sound as if the action had let in an unwanted mouthful of the stench. “Gor, that’s ripe.” He pointed to the end of the alleyway where a dilapidated building listed sadly to one side. “His spot is there.”

She was strangely hesitant to take another step. “Doesn’t look like the home of a successful perfumer.”

“Mayhaps he has posh digs elsewheres,” Billy drawled. “But that’s where he works his capers so’s that’s where I’m taking you.” His brown eyes softened with surprising gentleness as he glanced down at her. “Come on then, luv, Old Burnt Bill will protect you against what beasties might hide in the night.” He pulled a wicked-looking hunting knife out from behind his back, where it had been hidden beneath his coat, and held it up as if to reassure her.

They’d taken two steps when something large and hulking dropped in front of them in a blur of movement. Daisy screamed as it slammed Billy into the side of the alleyway and forced Billy’s wrist high above his head in one deft move. The hunting knife fell to the ground with a clatter.

“That’s some pigsticker,” came the silk and sand voice of Ian Ranulf, Marquis of Northrup. Moonlight hit the hard curves of his face, highlighting the cruel smile that curled his mouth. “Save it will do you no good if you’re dead.”

Daisy snapped out of her shock and strode forward. “Let him go, Northrup!” Heedless, she slapped Northrup’s shoulder with her reticule. “Get off him, you big beast.”

Northrup released his prize. Billy slumped down the wall as Northrup turned to glare at her. “Ye gods, woman, what do you have in that wee bag of yours? Rocks?” He rubbed his shoulder irritably.

“A handgun,” she retorted, fumbling to get said gun free.