Wolf Undaunted

“Uh, he’s one of the district guardians—”

“Do you like him?”

“Sure, he’s nice enough.”

“Nice enough?” Natalie rolled her eyes. “A shiraz is ‘nice enough.’ You’re talking about a guy. Is he gorgeous?”

Vivianne nodded. “He’s good-looking,” she admitted. Then she smiled. “He surprised me.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, you already have so much in common.”

She shrugged as she played with her foundation brush. “It’s just—it’s been a while since I’ve been out with a guy.”

“You were in a supernatural coma for eight months, Vivianne. That will put a dent in anyone’s social life.”

Vivianne chuckled. “No, I mean—I’m a Prime, Natalie. Not many guys are willing to ask a Prime out on a date.”

“Ooh, so this is a date. You said it was business meeting when I first called.”

“Well, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s both.”

“Do you want it to be?”

Vivianne hesitated, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she thought about her response. “Dating is...hard. When I was younger, I couldn’t tell if the guys were asking me out for me, or because it gave them access to my father.” She’d learned that, the hard way. She shrugged. “I don’t get...too involved.”

“You’re playing it safe,” Natalie commented. This time it was her sister-in-law who shrugged. “That’s smart. I get it. But every now and then, a risk can pay off.”

“I take enough risks in business,” Vivianne said.

“I’m just saying, maybe you can trust this one a little more?”

And let him find out that either the toxin was back, or she was going crazy? Yeah, no. Some of her worry must have shown on her face, because Natalie’s expression grew serious.

“Do you want me to come back, Viv?”

Only Natalie and Lucien called her Viv. Only they had the audacity to do so. She was touched by Natalie’s offer. It would mean returning to the very place she’d been held captive, and facing the man who had orchestrated it...Vivianne’s father. That Natalie was prepared to do that just made her care for her sister-in-law all the more. Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone. She sucked in a breath and shook her head.

“No, thanks so much for the offer, but I’m fine. Really.” She’d figure it out on her own, just like she always did, and she’d sort it out. One way or another. The phone chimed, and Vivianne grimaced. “Dad’s trying to get through.”

Natalie made a face. “That’s my cue to leave. I’d say give him my best, but we both know I don’t mean it.”

Vivianne was still chuckling when her sister-in-law disappeared. She fidgeted with her robe, making sure she was modestly presentable, then accepted the call from her father.

Vincent Marchetta’s face peered back at her. His expression was cool, remote, and she quickly adopted the same.

“Hello, Dad.”

“Vivianne, I need to talk with you.” Vivianne kept her features calm. There was never any greeting from her father.

“I’m about to go out—” she began, but he shook his head.

“No. I won’t do this over the phone. I’ll meet with you tomorrow night, seven o’clock, at home.”

She knew her father expected a quick acquiescence, a display of obedience, but she’d been his daughter for hundreds of years, and disappointment came with the role. “I’ll see if I’m free.” She quickly pressed a few buttons on her phone, and scanned her calendar. Sure enough, she had a meeting scheduled.

“Push it to eight and I can make it.”

His lips pressed together. “I’m fairly busy—”

“So am I, Dad,” she interrupted. It was the family business she was working at, after all. Besides, she’d learned that if you didn’t push back a little with her father, he could be a steamroller, crushing everything in his path.

He sighed noisily, clearly communicating his disappointment, before finally nodding—once. “Fine. Eight.”

“Can you give me any idea what this is about?” She could try to guess, but she’d learned she could never figure out how her father thought.

“A campaign,” her father stated shortly. “I’ll see you then.”

The phone screen went black. Vivianne’s shoulders sagged. “Good talk, Dad. Yeah, love you, too.” She stared at the blank screen for a moment. Just once, she wondered what it would be like to have a genuine conversation that didn’t revolve around business, or what he wanted her to do for him, or what he expected her to do for family.

But that kind of wondering led to wishes, and wishes were a waste of time. She was a centuries-old working woman. She wasn’t some simpering little girl with pointless dreams. She grabbed up the remote to her stereo and switched it on. Rock and roll music from the 1950’s era, before The Troubles. She shimmied her shoulders to the beat, singing out “tequila!” She never got tired of this music, and used it to unwind from the stresses of the day—like talking to her dad.

She rose from her dressing table and danced barefoot across the charcoal-colored plush carpet to the wardrobe. She had about twenty minutes before Mike was due to pick her up. She was so surprised and yes, flattered, that he’d invited her out. She’d seen that glint of desire in his eyes, the attraction...she wasn’t a novice when it came to men. It was just rare that guys acted on that attraction. She was the head of the Nightwing colony, she also ran a multimillion-dollar empire. And she knew she wasn’t the easiest woman to get to know. All that was enough to intimidate most men. But apparently not Mike Falcone. She started to do the twist, swinging her hips with her hands swaying. God, she remembered dancing to this music in the dance halls. But then, she remembered dancing the Charleston, too.

Vivianne flicked through the hangars, head bopping along as Chuck Berry told Beethoven to roll over. Her lips quirked. She’d met Ludwig, once. Weird little guy. She pulled two dresses out: one red, one black. She held the red one up to her body, turning a little. It was a figure-hugging dress with a deep V neckline. Sexy and feminine. She hung it on the hook near the mirror, and held up the black dress. This one was also slim-fitting, but with a bateau neckline. Demure and feminine.

“Go with the black—you don’t want to look desperate.”

She whirled, glancing wildly about her room. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

The music blared across the room. Her breath hitched as she strode over to the crimson curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling window of her penthouse apartment that looked out over the city of Irondell, and she twitched the fabric, checking to see if someone was hiding behind it.

Nobody was. She strode over to the dressing table, and switched the music off, listening intently. Nothing.

She dropped to her knees and peered under the king-size bed. Nobody there, either. She covered her face, rocking on her knees for a moment. “I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy,” she whispered to herself, until she could calm her racing heart. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Okay. Get dressed. Go out. Pretend everything is just hunky-dory.

She rose to her feet, and padded over to the mirror where she’d dropped the dress. Black, huh? She reached for the red dress, in an open act of rebellion, and untied the silken belt around her waist. The silk robe parted, and she slipped it off her shoulders, revealing her black, lacy, unlined uplift bra and matching lacy panties.

She heard a low whistle. “Better yet, don’t wear a dress at all.”

Her wide-eyed gaze lifted to the mirror. In its reflection she saw the figure of a man behind her. He was tall—huge, really—and broad-shouldered, his muscled arms and chest revealed by a white singlet. He wore khakis that flattered the long, muscled length of his legs, and his brown hair was scruffy, matching the stubble on his face. A weird light glowed through the dark tendrils of fog or smoke gently swirling around him.

Vivianne screamed.

* * *

Zane winced at the ear-piercing shriek. God, that woman could break glass, if she put in just a little more effort.

She backed away from him, her head slowly shaking in denial, and then it hit him.

“You can see me,” he breathed.

“Get out!” she screamed again, then raced to her dressing table. “Get out, you pervert.” She picked up a container of moisturizer, turned, and hurled it to him. He ducked.

“Hey, if I could get out of here, princess, I would,” he snarled back at her.

“Get. Out. Of my. House!” She picked up another bottle, then another, and threw them in quick succession at him. He dodged the first, but he wasn’t quite fast enough to get out of the way of the second missile. He froze as it sailed through his chest and smashed against the wall behind him. Er. Yeesh. That felt weird. Like fuzzy electrical shocks.

Vivianne’s eyes grew even rounder, if that was possible, and she picked up the vase off the end of the table and hurled it. He shifted, but it still caught him in the shoulder. Or rather, through it. More fuzzy tingling, like he’d cut off the circulation, and the numbness was about to wear off, right before the pins and needles.

She stalked up to him, her eyes glowing red like cigarettes, incisors lengthening, dark hair streaming behind her, silken robe flapping around her, and that curvaceous body quivering with rage. She fisted her hand and punched him—right through the face. He felt a nice little frisson, but that was about it.

He arched his eyebrow. “I can keep this up for hours. You?” He looked around the room. “There’s a crystal lampshade over there that looks handy.”

This time both of her hands clenched into fists. Her chest rose and fell in furious pants, and for a moment he just followed the movement: in, out, in...he blinked. She was...magnificent. He frowned. And she was not happy.

“Who—or what—the hell are you?” she rasped, her eyes bright with anger.

Chapter 3

“You don’t—you don’t know me?” His jaw dropped, and then he raised both hands in exasperation. “Oh, come on. That is so unfair.” He’d been stuck as this vamp’s sidekick for—hell, he didn’t even know how long, but it felt like an eternity. She had become his guide, his anchor... Everything he saw was around her, bound to her.

And she had no idea who he was. Well, that sucked. He pursed his lips. His ego would recover, but he’d need a minute.

Her hand shot out to grasp his throat and passed through him. His lips quirked. So far the only good thing about this was watching her try to hit him and fail. Again, and again. He liked sharing the frustration. He folded his arms, waiting patiently as she tried to move, shove, punch, kick, bite...in scraps of lace that barely covered her.

“This reminds me of a movie I once saw, but I think there was jelly involved.”

She halted, glaring at him through a curtain of dark curls. He waggled his eyebrows and mouthed the word jelly.

“What the hell is going on here?” she snarled as she pulled her robe tight around her, concealing her golden-skinned curves framed in black lingerie. She was such a contradiction. All soft curves and femininity from the neck down. From the neck up—well, she was all sharpness and frost with a hint of homicide. At least her eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but had returned to their normal brown. Well, kind of normal. She had these cool little splinters of dark among the brown, and every now and then there was a fleck of gold. Fascinating. Damn it.

“I’m as confused as you are,” he answered truthfully.

She folded her arms, her lips pursing in a tight, tempting little pout. “Who are you?”

He inclined his head. “Zane Wilder, Alpine Pack Guardian,” he said formally.

She sneered. “A mutt? How dare you come into my home.”

He held up a hand. “Trust me, princess, this is the last place, and you are the last woman, I’d ever want to hang with.” He shuddered. Ugh. Vamps. So full of themselves. They carried the stench of death with them. Usually. Vivianne, though, had quite a pleasing scent. And again, he was not going to focus on that tempting, seductive, sassy little fragrance.

“I find myself...stuck.”

“Stuck?” Vivianne’s eyebrows rose as she grappled with the word.

“On you.”

“On me.”

“Stuck on you,” he clarified.

“Stuck on—”

“This conversation is going to be a long one if you’re just going to repeat everything I say,” he muttered.

Her brows drew together, and her eyes flashed. “Forgive me, I’m trying to understand how a dog got stuck on me.”

Zane narrowed his eyes. He was getting tired of her dog and mutt references. “And I’m trying to figure out how I got hitched to a soulless bloodsucker.”

She lifted her chin. “When?”

“When what?”

“When did you get stuck to me?”

He shrugged, frowning. “I don’t know. I woke up inside some hospital room, and then all hell broke loose.”

“And?”

“And what?”

She rubbed her forehead, as though an ache had started behind her eyes. Good. He hoped he made her head ache. His head pounded from trying to piece together the puzzle, particularly when he only had half the pieces.

“And what happened after that?”

He gestured around the room. “This happened. Where you go, I go. I’ve tried to walk away. Hell, I’ve tried to run away, and it’s like a revolving door, I’m running away, the world tilts, and I’m right back where I started.”

“With me.”

He nodded. “With you.”

She crossed her arms, then raised her hand to her face, nibbling on her thumbnail. It was an unconscious gesture, and possibly one of the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her do. She turned, took a couple of steps, hesitated.

“So...you’ve been with me for...a while.”

He nodded.

“Since I woke up?”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“The hospital room—what can you remember of it?”

He frowned. His memory was a little fuzzy. He was pretty sure there was a massive hole in it, somewhere. “You were lying in a box, your douche of a brother was there, some cute chick, and a guy in motorcycle leathers.”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much when I came out of a coma.”

He frowned. “Why were you in a coma? You’re a vamp.” Vampires, like werewolves and other shifters, had the ability to self-heal. He’d never heard of vamps succumbing to a coma.

She started pacing again. “It wasn’t a normal coma,” she murmured. He rolled his eyes.

“I gathered that. I don’t normally float around coma patients.”

She shot him an annoyed glance. “I was put in a coma by a witch because I was attacked—by one of your kind.” She said the last words with bitter animosity.

Fleetingly, the thought of her being attacked, of being hurt by another, bothered him. But fortunately he was able to tamp that down, squish it into a dark place where nobody would know a werewolf briefly cared about what happened to a bloodsucker.

“Rafe Woodland,” he said quietly, a fragment of memory surfacing among the murk of his brain.

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

“Your douchebag of a brother brought you to our camp, looking for revenge.”

“I was attacked on Nightwing land,” she said, frowning. “He had every right.”

“He had no right,” Zane corrected her harshly. “Rafe had been cast out of Woodland. Whatever he did, he did on his own. Woodland wasn’t to blame.”

“He practically killed me,” she exclaimed. “He bit me.”

“And your brother bit me,” Zane snarled. “What should his punishment be?”

Vivianne’s eyes widened, and he watched as realization crept in. He nodded. “Yes, I’m that mangy mutt, that measly little mongrel who cost you your river access,” he snapped in disgust.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out as she struggled to process his words. Her doorbell rang downstairs, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Uh-oh.”

She whirled and ran over to scoop up the red dress, stepping into it quickly and dragging it up over her body, slipping the robe off her shoulders as she did so. There was a tantalizing glimpse of golden skin, and then she turned, contorting as she pulled the zipper up and slipped into her shoes at the same time.

Zane frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going out,” she muttered, checking her reflection in the mirror, spritzing herself with some fragrance, then plucking up the clutch purse she’d placed on the bed.

“You’re going out?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, I’m going out. I’m going to have dinner with a good-looking man, have some conversation that doesn’t involve—” she waved her hand in his general direction “—weird, freaky stuff, and I’m going to have a nice evening that I’m going to enjoy like a normal woman.”

She hurried over to her bedroom door as the doorbell pealed again from the floor below. She hesitated, then turned back to him.

“Wait a minute, were you stuck with me all of the time?” Her gaze darted toward her en suite bathroom.

His lips quirked. “Yep.”

Her cheeks bloomed with heat, and her mouth parted, then she snapped her lips together. “That wasn’t gentlemanly,” she hissed as she backed out of the room.

He chuckled. “That’s because I’m no gentleman.”

* * *

Vivianne forced her gaze to Mike’s. “So, it sounds like a lot happened when I was...away?” She sat for a moment, digesting the information. Woodland had a new alpha prime, light warriors had been discovered after hundreds of years of folks believing they’d been completely wiped out, and one of the most prominent men in Irondell society, Arthur Armstrong, was now dead.

“It’s great gossip, isn’t it?” Zane chirped, his hands cupping his chin as he leaned on the table between her and Mike.

She glared at him. He’d appeared in the car—God, what an awkward trip that had been, with him chattering away in the back seat. She tried to ignore the lycan—a difficult task seeing as he was six foot three, built and ripped, and mildly gorgeous. For a lycan.

“Who is managing the Armstrong interests?” Arthur Armstrong had been a wily competitor. She’d tangled with him on a few occasions. Sometimes he’d won, sometimes she’d won. She wanted to know who Nightwing were up against now.

Mike grimaced. “Armstrong Enterprises is no more. His sons discarded his name and wiped it out of the family tree. Everything is now Galen Inc.”

“As in, Ryder Galen? Doesn’t his wife work in our legal department?”

Mike shook his head as he chewed on a morsel of steak. “She left when your father stepped in to run the business. She now works as Galen’s legal counsel.”

“Darn,” Vivianne muttered. “She was good.”

“Good for Ryder,” Zane said, nodding.

He knew this Galen? Vivianne didn’t know if that was good or bad. If the lycans were in any way affiliated with Galen, then that was probably bad news for vampires.

Zane twisted in her direction.

“How is the wine?” he inquired, then frowned. “Please tell me that’s wine, and not blood.” He made a gagging sound, and she pursed her lips.

“What’s it going to take to re-open the river channel to market?” she asked, determinedly focusing on the handsome vampire in front of her, and not the annoying werewolf at her side.

Mike shrugged. “Not sure. It’s difficult to get them to the table. They’re very eager to strengthen the relationship with Woodland, and apparently that lycan your brother killed was well liked.”

“Aw, now that’s sweet,” Zane said, sniffing as he dabbed at his eye. “They did that for me? That warms the cockles of my dead little heart.”

Vivianne’s gaze dropped to the fork in her hand. It was so tempting...

“Go on, you know you want to,” Zane said, indicating the fork with a lift of his chin. “I’m sure Wheezy Whistler here would love to see you go batcrap crazy on empty space. They can’t see me, remember?” He blew a kiss at Mike, who smiled, oblivious, at Vivianne. “See?”

Vivianne forced herself to place the fork gently on the plate. “Find out what they want. Then make sure we get it.”

Mike nodded, then glanced down at the fork. “You don’t like your meal?”

“It’s fine.” It was the company she had issues with. Oh, not Mike, he seemed nice enough. She smiled brightly.

He reached over and covered her hand with his. “I’m glad you’re still with us,” he told her softly. She was surprised by the contact and instinctively pulled away. She wasn’t the touchy-feely type.

Zane dropped his forehead to the table. “I really wish I could puke.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Glad I’m still here,” she clarified, when Zane lifted his head to look at her in surprise. No, she didn’t mean she wanted to throw up with him.

“Like, hurl until I get this sick all out of my system. But I can’t,” Zane elaborated, his fist tapping his flat stomach. “Can’t pee, can’t poop. Can’t puke. Must be a dead thing. Hey, you’re dead. Well, undead. But you pee and poop. How does that work?”

She closed her eyes as warmth bloomed in her cheeks. Had he been stuck with her when she did that? And just like that, he’d obliterated any hope for an intimate evening with Mike.

“Is everything okay, Vivianne?” Mike asked, and she opened her eyes to see his concerned expression.

She nodded. “I’m fine. I just remembered I have some work to finish at home before a meeting tomorrow,” she lied. “I’m sorry, can we do this another time?”

“Sure,” Mike said, smiling in understanding. “I figure it’s going to take some time for you to adjust to your normal routine.” He signaled for the waiter, and in moments she was back in his car, her date ending earlier than she’d expected. Earlier than she suspected Mike expected.

* * *

She turned in the foyer that led from the elevator to the front door of her penthouse. Mike stood there, his expression curious, tinged with anticipation.

And right next to him stood a hulk of a werewolf, muscular arms folded as he glared at her.

“Do not invite him in,” Zane warned her. “You and I need to talk.”

She arched an eyebrow and looked at Mike. There was no way in hell she would let a wolf order her about. “Would you like to—”

Zane snarled, and in a flash, her clutch flew out of her grasp.

Mike’s head reared back to avoid the missile, his expression clearly surprised.

Vivianne covered her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she gasped. She’d nearly smacked her date in the head with her bag. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Zane. No, he’d nearly smacked her date in the head with her bag.

“Uh, that’s...fine,” Mike said as he bent to retrieve her purse. He handed it to her. “You were about to say?” he prodded her.

This wasn’t going to work. Not tonight. She had a furious, impatient werewolf ghost, or spirit, or phantom, or hallucination, or whatever the hell he was, effectively blocking any attempt she made at communicating with this man. Frankly, the effort to ignore him and pretend everything was normal was exhausting.

“Would you like to do this again sometime?” she finished gently.

Mike’s disappointment was quickly replaced with a smile and a nod. “Sure.”

He leaned down to kiss her, and Zane’s nose blocked her view of her date for a moment.

“I swear, if this turns into some sort of twisted voyeur experience, you’re going to need to make me some popcorn. Just saying.”

Vivianne tilted her head away from Zane, and Mike’s lips landed on her cheek. “Uh, thanks for a great evening,” she said, then turned and unlocked her door, stepped inside and gave him a shaky wave. She closed the door, then leaned back against it, shutting her eyes.

That had to be the most embarrassing, weird and frustrating—

“Can we talk now?”

She opened her eyes to glare at the six-foot-three-inch wall of infuriating male. He arched an eyebrow, and with his scruffy brown hair, and a short beard that framed his jaw and—wow, he had really nice lips. The bottom one was slightly fuller, and a mental image of her sinking her teeth into it surprised her. Mainly because it wasn’t an image of her ripping him to shreds like she tried to convince herself she wanted to, but because the image was playful and sexy and all kinds of wrong.