The Trouble with Fate (25 page)

The bouncer was arguing with a stripper about VIP room tips. They didn’t turn, even
as the cold air wafted into the hallway with me. I snuck up behind them and tucked
myself into the shadow behind the fake fig tree by the doorway. Then, I slid sideways,
hugging the back wall until I hit the end of the bar.

It took a moment to get my bearings. The girls on stage had bills tucked into their
string bikini bottoms, sticking out like frills on the sides of their hips. Most of
the men wore baseball caps they hadn’t bothered taking off. I wondered if their necks
hurt, staring up like that—I hoped that Trowbridge’s did.

I checked the profile of each upturned face. Old and wrinkled, average and not, young
and groomed, just-plain-ugly, not-so-ugly, ugly and fat, bored and not-so-old. None
of the faces was his.

A brunette was leaning on the bar, her arms folded, her bottom sticking out, talking
to the guy sitting next to her. She wore a mostly see-through top that looked like
it had been savaged by a T. rex. Her hair was tousled, a lot—the effect you get when
you tease the shit out of it, hang it upside down, and spray it with half a can of
hair spray.

“You going to buy one of those for me?” The stripper may have been skinny, but the
heels made her Amazonesque in height. I couldn’t see past her. She did another head
toss, sending a waft of sweat and oversweet perfume my way. I rubbed my nose. He was
here. Nearby.

“Yeah, sure,” said my childhood crush.

There he was—just past the skanky brunette. The only guy
not
facing the stage. His head was bent over the three shot glasses lined up on the bar.
“One for the lady,” he said, lifting his eyes. Though he’d tipped his head sideways
in the stripper’s direction, his gaze hadn’t moved toward her booty or the barmaid’s
belly ring. He was studying his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Maybe
she-with-the-tits-and-hair wouldn’t recognize it, but I, with the encyclopedia of
Trowbridge facial expressions stored in my brain, knew what that blank stare meant:
baby was feeling bleak.
Good.

I tapped the lap dancer on the shoulder. She had two deep lines running like brackets
on either side of her mouth, and a pair of drawn-on eyebrows that were as mobile as
her lips. The brunette looked down, took in the full glory of me and smiled.

“Beat it,” I said.

She laid a talon-tipped hand on her chest. “Excuse me?”

“I need to talk to him. Go away.”

Skanky-ass parked her butt on the edge of the barstool.

In the instant it took to turn back to him, Trowbridge’s features had fallen blank.
No “you’re back!” welcome on his lips, no heavy frown either. His face was stupidly
still as he stared at me, like he’d been caught by a thought he hadn’t expected to
reexamine and needed time to think it through before he made up his mind.

He lifted one eyebrow just slightly.

And with that, the world fell away. Yeah, yeah, the bar was still there—the bass-heavy
music thumping loud enough to tickle my feet; the bar’s belly-twitching stink of sex,
sex, sex, a loathsome miasma all around me, and somewhere beyond the golden glow surrounding
my tousled-headed Were, I knew Suzy-Q was still twirling around her slick man pole—but
we—Trowbridge and I—we went into that mortal world between worlds, where all the other
irritants disappear and there’s nothing more than two thumping hearts, and souls singing.

I can see you, Trowbridge. Right through your eyes.
Pain and want.
If your soul was mine to protect, I would hold it so tightly in my hands that even
Mad-one’s couldn’t pluck it free.
Irises rimmed with a ring of midnight blue.
You’re as sad as me, as lonely
 … Oh my. I don’t know what he was reading in my glittering green eyes, but his pupils
dilated, dark and wicked hot with what … I leaned in.
What?

And maybe that’s what did it. I got too close. Before I could figure out what message
had confused the hell out of me with its throaty whisper, the idiot made up his mind.
First, he bit down hard on his back molar, enough to make a muscle ugly-flex in his
jaw, then he blinked.

That’s all it took. Good-bye, Cupid.

Trowbridge’s glance was quick and comprehensive. “A Barry Manilow T-shirt? Where’d
you come up with that?” he asked me.

I yearned to sink my teeth into his wet lower lip till he howled for mercy.

“The car.” I lifted my chin. “Bob likes to be prepared. Do you want to talk here or
outside?”

The lights on the stage behind him turned from red to purple-pink. “The discussion’s
closed.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the shadowed doorway. “Take off, kid.
You should have been long gone by now.”

“How about that drink, honey?” said the brunette.

“Go away or lose those extensions,” I snapped.

“Give us a minute, will you?” Trowbridge sent her a brief smile.
Oh yeah, send a smile out to the cheap seats.
“Then I’ll see about buying you a drink.” Even her ass looked sulky as she left.

“Okay, I’ve been thinking,” I said. A lie, I’d been soul-traveling.
But I’m always doing that, aren’t I? Lying to Trowbridge. Dropping balls.

Trowbridge had gone back to studying the line of drinks in front of him. “It’s always
good to try something new.”

New is not always good.
I briefly closed my eyes, and banished Threall. When I opened them he was studying
me with his head tilted to one side. “I’ve been trying to come up with a plan that
solves all my problems, but you know what? I’m not good at that. I’m good at finding
things. Food. Jobs. Money for the rent. I haven’t had time for plans. I just run from
problem to problem, plugging up holes the best I can. This time running isn’t the
answer, and stealing isn’t going to work, because I don’t even know where to find
Scawens’s Alpha.” I swallowed to loosen the knot in my tight throat. “Help me, Trowbridge.”

“I have helped you.” With a small frown, he reached for the first of the three shots
of Jack lined up on the bar. “You’re alive, wandering around the world spreading some
more Stronghold bad luck. This is the last time I’m going to tell you. Get a box,
put the piece in it, and send it to Creemore. Then take your round little ass as far
away from here and me as possible.” He raised the drink in a salute and downed the
glass’s contents in one gulp. “I’m done. You’re too much work. I’ve lost my invisibility,
my van, and most of my cash. I’m down to my last pair of jeans.”

But he still had his soul.

“You keep showing up at the worst times of my life, but you never do much good, do
you? You just take in the scenery and walk out again. How’s that feel?” I inhaled
slowly through my nose, and steadied my voice. “I need help, Trowbridge. I need someone
who can guide me through this. Someone who understands the Creemore pack intimately.
Someone who knows the Alpha, and the way his mind works, and is strong enough to stand
up to him.”

The thin blue vein pulsed under his eye. Its beat was the only thing he couldn’t control.
His mouth, his eyes, even that telling muscle in his jaw, they had shut down, but
he couldn’t control the flutter of the pulse under his skin. “Do I look suicidal?
Give him what he wants. That’s all you can do.”

“I can’t.” It came out the way it felt: near desperate.

He toyed with the second glass, spinning it in a circle, before he asked, “Why not?”

“Because he has Lou!” I said, sharper than I meant to. I put a steadying hand to my
stomach. Fire. My stomach was on fire.

“Lou? I thought his name was Billy-Bob?”

“I can’t give the Alpha what he wants. You told me he’s a stone-cold killer, and that
means he won’t make a trade. He’ll just tidy up the scene. I’m not ready to die, and
I’m not ready to give up Lou. There’s got to be some chance of a rescue without both
of us dying. You know the Alpha. You know the pack. You’ve spent all those years watching
your father guide it. You’ll know what to expect, and you can help me come up with
a plan.”

“And why would I do that?”

“My family was innocent and I hold your pack responsible for their deaths.” My Were
shifted closer to my spine. “You owe me justice.”

“Grow up. Your father and mother’s union was an abomination to the Weres. You’re lucky
no one tried to take the family out earlier.”

“No. We were under the Alpha’s protection. You said so yourself.” I studied his unyielding
face and then said in a hard voice, “If you can’t be Robbie Trowbridge anymore, can’t
you at least be Jacob Trowbridge’s son?”

“Get out.”

A less desperate girl would have stood back from those eyes, would have noted the
tension in his pose, and taken herself right out of that bar.
“Strongholds hold.”
I was Benjamin Stronghold’s daughter and I wasn’t folding. I leaned into his personal
space, and made it my own. “You want to explain your eyes? Huh? The whole Alpha thing?
You flare Alpha blue. Only the Alpha is supposed to do that, right? You’re a bloody
searchlight of blue. Your body knows what you are, Robson Trowbridge. It recognizes
you. You’re the true Alpha of Creemore. When are you going to recognize it?”

Deliberately, he washed any emotion from his eyes—
you’re too good at that, Trowbridge
—and reached for the last shot. “I was stupid to ever come back.”

“Then why did you? Just to catch up with old friends? You’re sitting alone in a strip
bar and the thing you’re ogling isn’t a pair of tits—it’s a row of shots.”

“I’m not going to lift a hand when that bouncer throws you out.” He tipped his head
back and swallowed. “I have a life, a job, a business outside of all this. I’ve built
something. I’m sitting in a strip joint because it’s handy, not a habit.”

“Are you sure about that? That it’s not fate,” I said, staring hard at his face, his
stubborn, remote face. “Fate that you walked into my Starbucks just when I needed
you?”

He gave that upward half-sided jerk of the head that looks like someone’s just pulled
his ear. “Look, I don’t believe in fate and fairy ta—”

“Don’t say it.”

“I’m not a prince who’ll fix everything with a sword and kiss.” He lowered his voice
to a growl. “I’m Rogue. I like it that way. I’m partial to my neck, and I’m not going
to risk it rescuing another one of your boyfriends. I’m sorry, kid, but sometimes
you just have to accept your losses.”

“Lou isn’t my boyfriend. Lou’s my aunt.”

His expression froze. “Your aunt,” he repeated, in a hiss. “She’s Fae, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“You told me the portals were closed.”

“They are. I wasn’t lying about that.” He’d gone Were again. If he had fur, his ruff
would be standing up around his ears. “Aunt Lou was still in this realm when the Fae
slammed the Gates of Merenwyn shut. She tried to go back, but she couldn’t find a
portal that would answer her call. When the mages sealed the entrances to their world,
they locked her out.”

Blue lights were starting to glimmer in his eyes. “And it never occurred to you to
tell me this before?”

“You would have thought she was guilty of something, and she’s not,” I replied, trying
not to blink.

“Let me guess: she wouldn’t ever endanger you.”

“She wouldn’t have done anything to hurt my mum.” A wash of heat warmed the base of
my throat. “They were sisters. Close.”

“Close enough to tell each other secrets?”

“Will you just try to understand? Just for once, don’t go all Were on me.” My amulet
protector stirred against my breast. “Not
now,
Merry.” I took a steadying breath, and continued, “You’ve got to understand. She
found me that night. I can’t leave her. She’s dying.”

“How powerful is her magic?” The lights in his eyes were no longer glints; they were
spinning little spits of electric blue, sparking in the gloom.

I broke eye contact. Over his shoulder a girl was hanging upside down from her stripper
pole; the only thing keeping her airborne was one crossed knee. “All her talent, everything
she had; it’s all gone.”

“Can she open the portal?”

“No!” At my sharp reply, Merry started to pull herself up toward the opening of my
blouse. I gave her a not-so-delicate push back into my cleavage and fixed Trowbridge
with a glare. “She couldn’t do it even when she was strong and had access to my amulet.
She tried. Lou dragged me from portal to portal for days trying.”

“Unbelievable,” he said. “You realize that you just admitted to me that you know all
the portals in the Alpha’s territory? Do you know how lucky you are that you spilled
that information to someone who doesn’t give a shit?”

I stared at him for a second and then said, “You’re flaring, Trowbridge.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a couple of seconds. There was a ripple over his body,
and then when he opened them again, his face was set, and his eyes were Trowbridge
blue. “We can’t take another war. Forget the death toll, the fallout will be worse.
It wouldn’t be long before some yahoo with a cell phone saw something he shouldn’t,
and posted his clip on the Web. Enough of those videos stirring up fear, and it would
be back to the Dark Ages. Except this time the assholes will have guns.” He brooded
at the men ringing the stage, his mouth turned down. “It wouldn’t be the odd nut-job
either. It would be everyone. We’d be hunted again with everything from BB guns to
AK-47s.”

“I’d steal Lou back if I knew where she was,” I said in exasperation. “I thought all
the Alpha wanted was the amulet.”

“Which is why you came looking for me.” He leaned back in his seat. “How’d you know
I had one?”

“You had it around your neck when you came through the kitchen door. You were still
wearing it when you walked into my Starbucks. Who was the geezer with you?”

“You were at Starbucks?” There was a screw-you glint in his eye, before he lowered
his attention to the empty glass in his hand. He spun it. It made eight revolutions
before he came to a decision. “All right, I’ll take care of this. Give me the amulets.”