No, of course not, but she wasn’t like them. Over the weeks, she’d come to the conclusion that Conall had to be her mate, her reaction to him was too strong—but how could she perform a mating ceremony when she couldn’t change? She’d seen the two wolves….
“Trust me, Vivienne. The mating ceremony looks much scarier than it actually is. In the midst of it, everything else fades but your mate. You won’t even be aware of us, and before long, we, too, will hardly be aware of you.”
With that cryptic sentence, Zahira punched in something into her Blackberry and stood. Vivienne watched her with puzzled eyes.
“I’ll have someone come by to take your measurements. You’ll need a robe. Conall too. And don’t worry about anything, I will make all of the preparations.” She smiled, and stood, passing a hand through her hair. The woman was practically bubbling with excitement. “It’s been years since there’s been a mating ceremony at Cedar Creek. And never for an alpha, since Conall has been our only one.” Remembering herself, she looked down at Vivienne and shook her head. “I think I’ve confused you enough for one day, Vivienne.” A little smile played around her lips. “My house is 312 Cedar Creek Lane. It’s around the bend, opposite the school. Verity and I live there. If you need anything explained, or if you just feel a bit out of place, we’re there.” Another smile, and she was gone.
The glass in Vivienne’s hand had suddenly become heavy, and she placed it on the table. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head.
What the hell just happened?
***
“So you finally made it. Half an hour late, and look, you brought pretty-boy. Did you replace Sloan as Conall’s bitch for the day?” Santiago’s voice boomed as Conall and Raoul arrived at Casa del Lobo, the bar belonging to the were who only serviced his own. When Santiago had opened the place years ago, he’d said anything that wasn’t a were meant trouble, and wasn’t welcome. He’d found out that weres were trouble, too. Conall passed a quick, slightly amused glance at the various pelts stuck to the wall in the rustic-looking place. Wolf skins, bear skins, tiger skins. One would think Santiago was a collector, and in a way he was. Not just the typical shoot-from-a-distance-and-mount-it-on-a-wall type. Every skin on display had once been a were-creature who’d gotten on Santiago’s bad side.
The were in question was seated behind a lounge table, a lit cigar hanging from his lips, as locks of pitch-black hair curled forward into his face, obscuring his eyes. At least this time he was dressed appropriately—well, appropriately for Santiago. He wore a long-sleeved, flower-patterned shirt that still made him look like he belonged somewhere in the Caribbean. Dominic sat opposite him, two beer bottles and a disassembled, nickel-plated Glock on the table before him. Drako faced a window nearby, his long leather jacket practically enveloping him, pale hands clasped behind his back. Upon scenting them, the alpha half turned.
When they were upon the men, Raoul grinned, whipped a hand through his hair, and addressed Santiago. “You really should ask your mother about being Conall’s bitch. I hear it’s her thing lately.”
Santiago’s lazy smirk faded, and his dark eyes hardened as they sized Raoul up. Between the two men, Santiago was slightly larger, but Raoul was quick. Both were deadly and both knew it.
With deliberate care, Santiago eased the cigar from between his lips and said, “Mi mama eats bitches like you for breakfast, pretty boy.”
“Look at you, admitting your mama’s Conall’s bitch—”
“Look, fucker, talk about my mother one time, and I’m going to forget whose bitch you are, and add another wolf pelt to my fucking wall.” As he spoke, he tossed the cigar into an ashtray and began pushing to his feet.
Raoul’s smile widened and his beta had opened his lips when Conall decided enough was enough. If they continued, they’d fight, and that wasn’t why he was here. Santiago had called and told him to stop by Casa today. Granted, he was late—things at Fangs needed to be settled first—but he was here now.
“Enough.” It wasn’t quite a snarl, but it was close. Santiago glared at Conall, but fell back into the lounge seat. “Why’d you call us?”
“Because I always like to be two steps ahead of a potential enemy,” Santiago answered cryptically, and for a moment, Conall wondered if he was referring to him. He wasn’t. “Sit down, Conall. Bitch-boy. You’re cramping my neck.” He whipped his head around and glared at Drako’s back. “And what the fuck is so great about the view of the alleyway, Drako? See a new species of cat or some shit you want to share?”