Hierarchy (13 page)

Luke snorted. “It wasn’t for lack of trying!” He turned to look at her. “But I didn’t kill him, either. We’ll talk it out. Just come to me.”

Caleb’s lips curled with amusement. “This is interesting! Such violence! Is that what sent you scurrying to me? It’s just as well. You saved me the trouble of killing both of them. Although … I certainly can if you like?”

Bronwyn gaped at him in horror.

He sighed. “I take it that’s a no? Very well ….” His expression was taut when he focused on Luke and Constantine again. “You’ve given her a nasty fright and I don’t take kindly to it, I don’t mind telling you. Leave—or, if you’d prefer to camp out on my doorstep, I suppose I could tolerate it for a little while if it’ll please my little Bronwyn.

Just be sure to clean up after yourselves before you go.” He turned then and tugged at Bronwyn’s arm. She hesitated, looking back at Luke and Constantine unhappily, but she knew that going to either one of them would only result in another contest to determine which of them got to ‘keep’ her.

Caleb unnerved her, however.

To her surprise, when she looked at him again, she saw understanding in his eyes.

He lifted her right arm and very lightly brushed his lips along the marking there. “You were created just for me,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting.”

Bronwyn swallowed convulsively. “You’re …?”

He grinned—a cat-like grin. “Your mate, precious.”

Bronwyn blinked at him, feeling more unnerved instead of reassured. She saw no alternative but to follow him, however, hoping she wasn’t, as it seemed to her, walking into yet another pitfall.

* * * *

“Bloody fucking magic user!” Constantine snarled as Bronwyn followed the Raja inside without protest. “This is what comes of that evil old hag’s magic!” Luke, he saw when he finally turned away, was staring at him in baffled rage.

“Bronwyn would cut your heart out with a spoon if she heard you talkin’ about her granny like that. What is that … thing, anyway?”

Constantine was in such a rage himself, he was tempted to ignore the question.

He finally dismissed his pique with the lycan, however. “A Raja.”

“Smelled like cat,” one of the lycans with Luke muttered.

“Because he is,” Constantine said testily.

“You said he was Raja!” Luke said suspiciously.

Constantine rolled his eyes. “King,” he said tightly. “He’s a cat lord—
the
cat lord. High King.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke snarled. “Well, why haven’t I ever heard of them?”

“Because you’re a mere lycan?” Constantine retorted sardonically.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “Well, I don’t give a fuck what he is! Bronwyn is the
75

‘promised one’ and she was meant for us lowly lycans—specifically
me
! And what I’d like to know is why the son-of-a-bitch thinks she was intended for him! Actually, I’d like to know what the fuck you meant by snatching her!”

“I did not snatch her,” Constantine said coldly. “You snatched her. She bears the mark. She was intended for me. She’s the bloody princess … destined to bear the first vampire who will be a day-walker!”

Luke stared at him. “Let me get this straight … You have some fucked up notion that she’s supposed to be a vamp princess? Because of the mark on her arm?”

“The prophesy foretold her coming,” Constantine snapped, losing patience. “She was intended only for a true blood and I happen to be a true blood.”

“
Our
prophesy says she’s intended for a true blood, alright—and I happen to be one—a
lycan
true blood! She’s to bear the first lycan to become king over all of the tribes. He will unite them and they will find their place among the supernaturals.”

Constantine stared at him blankly a moment. “You’ve confused the prophesy,”

he said coolly. “No surprise, considering ….”

“Considering what?” Luke growled belligerently.

“That you’re a lycan.”

The other lycans began to mutter angrily at that.

Constantine studied them a moment and finally turned away, striding briskly toward his vehicle. His minions fell in behind him. Luke caught up with them before they reached the wall. “You’re just gonna walk off? Just like that?”

Constantine threw him an irritated glance. “You have magic?”

Luke lifted his brows. “No.”

Constantine stopped. “He’s Raja ….”

“You keep saying that!”

Constantine gritted his teeth. “The Raja are older than vampires—and lycan.

They have all the speed, all the strength of the strongest among either tribe. Beyond that, they are extremely intelligent and extremely cunning … and they have magic. I can’t get near him with his magic.
You
can’t get near him. By all means, if you want to batter yourself against the protection spell he’s erected until you’re bloody, help yourself. I may even stay a while and watch, just for the amusement.”

“So you’re saying there isn’t a gods damned thing either one of us can do about getting Bronwyn?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well what the fuck are you beating around the bush about?”

“We—
I
need a magic user—a powerful one.”

“I know one,” one of Luke’s pack members piped up.

Luke swiveled his head around to fix the man with a threatening glare and he ducked and scurried into the background.

Constantine looked amused. “Unless you’re planning on throwing your shaman at him wielding magic spears, I doubt you’ll have any more success with one than without.”

Luke glared at him resentfully, but he kept his tongue between his teeth. Fucking vamps and their superiority complexes! He’d bet his shaman against any dozen magic users
he
was likely to dig up!

* * * *

76

Bronwyn’s teeth were chattering with reaction by the time Caleb Westmoreland had escorted her inside. He studied her frowningly for a moment. “A hot bath!” he said abruptly. “Yancy! You’ll play lady’s maid. Draw my princess a bath—the pink room.”

He looked at Bronwyn questioningly. “Do you like pink, my dear?”

Bronwyn stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“I’ll take that as a yes—never seen a woman with red hair yet that didn’t have a fixation with pink and red—clashes atrociously.”

“My hair is brown,” Bronwyn said trough her teeth, mostly because they were chattering, but also because she found his observation insulting.

He looked her over in surprise. “Hmm. You’re right. Curious. It looked red in the picture. I suppose it was the angle of the light.”

“What picture?”

“The headless corpse?” he prompted.

Bronwyn’s eyes widened.

“Yes, I see that rings a bell. Dugan or Dillon, or something like that—a former employee. Run along with Yancy, now, sweetheart. He’ll fix you a nice hot bath to warm you up.”

His highhandedness set her back up, but Bronwyn had never been one to bite off her nose to spite her face. She was cold and the bath sounded wonderful. She wasn’t going to refuse it just to assert her own will. Nodding a little jerkily, relieved when she realized it would give her a little time alone to try to sort through things, she followed the butler as he climbed a wide, winding staircase to the upper floor.

The ‘house’ was palatial. She discovered the upper corridor was as wide as the stairs—six to eight feet. Ornately decorated doors opened off the corridor. The butler marched past four before pausing and opening the fifth and standing back to allow Bronwyn to enter first. She threw him an uncomfortable smile. “Thank you. I can run my own bath.”

The man smiled thinly—it looked like it took an effort. “No problem, my lady.

I’ll be delighted to run the bath for you. I’ll show you about if you’ll give me a moment to start the bath.”

Wondering if it was a politely worded order not to touch anything, Bronwyn moved slowly into the monstrous room and discovered it was a bedroom. Contrary to her expectations, it wasn’t painted pink. The walls were covered in wallpaper that looked like watered silk. Tiny, delicate pink rosebuds twined along pale, grayish-green vines from the wide floor molding all the way up to what looked like a ten foot ceiling delineated by wide, beautifully ornate ceiling molding. The ceiling itself had molding on it that created pleasing patterns. In the center of the ceiling, surrounded by an oval molding like a picture frame was a painting of two cherubs wrapped in a wide pale pink ribbon that curled around both.

The bed looked far larger than any bed she’d ever seen in her life despite the size of the room. The coverlet on it matched the paper on the walls. Beyond that, the room contained a large carpet, also dappled with pink, over a gleaming hardwood floor. The furniture was painted white and, beyond the bed, consisted of a tall armoire, a secretary and matching chair, an upholstered chaise and several occasional chairs. Small tables sat at the arms of each chair and on either side of the bed. Near what looked like French doors sat a larger table with four chairs that looked like a small dining table.

77

The butler, Yancy, emerged from an open door opposite the bed and nodded at her. Striding to another door, he opened it and gestured inside. Curious, Bronwyn followed him and peered in.

It was a closet, she discovered, that was almost as big as the living room of her apartment—and filled with clothing. “I believe you’ll be able to find a change of clothing in here.”

He looked at Bronwyn, studying her expression.

“Feel free to chose whatever you like. It was purchased for you.”

Bronwyn felt the blood leave her face. “For me?”

“Certainly, my lady. Lord Westmoreland wanted everything ready for you when you arrived. We weren’t entirely certain when to expect you, but we did our best on such short notice.”

He closed the door and moved to the armoire, opening it wide so that she could see the huge TV inside. “We weren’t certain if you would like to watch TV in bed—the remotes are on the bedside table.”

He moved from there to the French doors and opened them wide. “A touch cool this evening … perhaps you’d prefer to explore the balcony in the morning … or take breakfast there?”

Bronwyn, unable to think of anything at all to say, merely stared at him.

Nodding, he closed the doors again. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll check the bath.”

He disappeared again. Bronwyn looked around uneasily and finally wilted onto the edge of one of the chairs. She shot up from it guiltily when he returned. “If you’d care to test the water, my lady?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Bronwyn managed.

He favored her with the tight smile again. “Shall I have a light repast brought up for you?”

“What?”

“Are you hungry?”

She hadn’t eaten, but she wasn’t certain she could. “That would be nice, thank you!”

He bowed and, thankfully, left.

Bronwyn simply stood staring at the door for several moments, trying to find her equilibrium. She had the bizarre feeling that she was caught up in some sort of waking dream—or nightmare. She wasn’t certain which, but the uncomfortable thump of her heart with anxiety was very real. After a moment, she moved to the French doors and tested the handle. Discovering it wasn’t locked, she poked her head out and looked around. It was deserted, she discovered, except for the outdoor furnishings scattered about, and, after glancing back at the bedroom door, she rushed from the room to the balcony railing to look over it.

The drop to the ground was daunting. She was only on the second floor, she reminded herself. How high could it be? It must be the shadows that made it seem high!

It still took a good deal of nerve to throw her leg over the railing and she hovered nervously on the outside for several moments, feeling around the wall below in the hope of finding a toehold. Giving up after a moment, she gripped the railing as tightly as she could and lowered herself until she was hanging by her arms and tilted her head down to see how far the ground was from her feet.

78

“Exercising, sweetheart?”

Bronwyn let out a squawk of surprise and whipped her head around to discover Caleb peering down at her from the other side of the railing. After gaping at him a split second, she released her hold, flailing her arms as she dropped.

Caleb leapt the railing and passed her on the way down. She landed with a jolt in his outstretched arms. “That would’ve been a nasty fall!” he cheerfully. Bending his knees, he sprang upward, soared over the balcony rail and landed solidly on the balcony.

“Had your bath already?” he asked pleasantly.

Bronwyn gaped at him. “I was just going to,” she said shakily.

His lips curled. “But you decided to take a little exercise to unwind first?”

Bronwyn smiled at him uneasily. “I needed to stretch.”

He draped an arm across her shoulders and walked her back inside. “Morning will be better, sweetheart. We’ll take a run in the park together. Promise. I told the butler to bring dinner for two. I hope you don’t mind. I so rarely have company for dining.”

“That will be … nice,” she said, slipping from beneath his arm and heading for the bathroom.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she closed the door but discovered, to her dismay, that there was no lock that she could see. No window either, she saw when she’d scanned the room, except for the huge stained glass window above the tub, and she doubted that would open.

“Shall I join you?” Caleb asked from the other side of the door.

“Uh … I’d rather you didn’t.”

He opened the door and studied her expression for a moment. “Is that a definite no? A maybe? Or an undecided?”

Bronwyn gaped at him in dismay.

He sighed. “No, I think. You have such an expressive little face, my angel. May I watch?”

Bronwyn blinked at him, feeling her face redden. “I don’t even know you!” she gasped.

“But, darling, how are you going to
get
to know me if you won’t make a push to do so?” he murmured reasonably. “Fine! You should know my heart is broken, but I will contain my curiosity … for now. We’ll get to know one another after dinner.”

Bronwyn frowned at the door after Caleb had disappeared and finally turned to look at the steaming tub longingly. Did she dare go for it?

He seemed determined for her to bathe. She found that insulting by implication, but she was still chilled from so many shocks. Shaking her uneasiness the best she could, she undressed and climbed the two stairs up to the tub. She’d just managed to plant both feet inside when the voice that she was already beginning to dread startled her.

“Absolutely stunning!”

Uttering a yelp, Bronwyn whirled. Her feet shot out from under her and she hit the bottom of the tub, strangling on the water she’d inhaled on the way down. She came up spluttering and coughing. A large hand settled on her back, pounding it lightly until she shoved it away and glared at the owner, who was grinning at her unrepentantly.

“You look like a half drowned kitten,” he murmured with a chuckle and then amended the comment somewhat ruefully. “A very
angry
little kitten.”

79

“You
said
you’d wait outside!”

“I don’t like to contradict you, sweeting, but I never said any such thing,” he said easily, stepping back to prop his hip on the long vanity across from the tub and folding his arms over his broad chest.

Bronwyn frowned, thinking it over, and realized he hadn’t. “You
suggested
you would.”

“Ah, but that was just a ruse to get you to take your clothes off so that I could have a better look at you. Is it my fault you’re so adorably naïve that you didn’t catch that?”

Bronwyn glared at him sullenly and finally turned to stare down at the water.

He sighed. “I can take a hint. Be quick, sweeting—I smell dinner.” He paused at the door and turned back, the humor absent from his eyes now. “But do take care to wash the nasty scent of dog off. I’ve never particularly relished the scent, and I especially don’t care for it on you.”

Bronwyn gaped at the door when he’d left, struggling with her anger and the temptation to hurl an insult after him. How
dare
he refer to Luke as dog! She sniffed her arm curiously, but she couldn’t detect any scent at all beyond her own, and she damned well didn’t stink! “He isn’t a dog!” she muttered under her breath.

“Lycan if you want to be precise,” Caleb called to her from the depths of the room beyond. “Same thing.”

His voice hadn’t come from the directly beyond the door, she was certain. She just didn’t know how he could’ve heard her.

A shiver skated through her. Constantine had said he was a magic user.

80