Wolf's Clothing, page 27
Etienne brushed a stray pine needle off his shirt. “For what?”
“For destruction of livestock. Assault. Conspiracy to commit murder.”
“Really? But as I understand it, those poor sheep were slaughtered by a rogue wolf.” He gestured to the group on the ledge. “I see no wolf here. Do you?”
Bishop pointed to the camera. “We have your threats on tape. Your attack on Christophe.”
“I threatened a wolf. Attacked a wolf, who probably was responsible for the death of half a dozen poor little lambs. Surely that isn’t grounds for arrest, not now that wolves are no longer a protected species in this state.”
“You held a gun on Trent.”
“Technically, Anton held the gun. I was merely a bystander.” Etienne tapped his lips with a finger. “Ah yes. Then Trent held a gun on us. We quite feared for our lives, I assure you, since he freely confessed to shooting an astonishingly large number of men.”
“It was only one guy,” Trent muttered. “And he was already a ghost.”
Bishop’s eyebrows bunched together over his nose. “Trent, you’ve got no reason to stick to that bullshit story. You—” He broke off, his gaze darting from Christophe to Etienne. “Aw, fuck me sideways. You mean that’s true too?”
“I told you.” Trent scratched the side of his neck, where his scars were only partially hidden under his sweatshirt. “But I’d kinda prefer not to have to explain that to a judge. Know what I’m saying?”
“So.” Etienne smirked. “Stalemate, I believe.”
“No, damn it,” Bishop growled. “Somebody give me another reason to report these assholes.” He gave Christophe the side-eye. “One that won’t make me look like a lunatic.”
Christophe nodded at Anton, who was glowering in Bishop’s grasp. “Mr. Bishop, my brother’s greatest offenses are against my family and me, and we won’t press charges in an American court. I suggest, therefore, that you remand him into my father’s custody.”
“I don’t like it. They both deserve—”
“I assure you, he will be punished. Severely. But in accordance with our own laws, and in our own country. If you would be so good as to restrain him, however?”
“That I can do.” He pulled handcuffs out of his pocket and slapped them on Anton.
Trent blinked. “I thought you were suspended.”
“Pays to be prepared.”
“And you, Etienne,” Christophe said. “The boards of our companies may have something to say about your methods.”
“Who will tell them? You? You have no clout. The boards would scarcely recognize your face. And with no true Clavret to follow him, your father will have no choice but to agree to our terms, which, I might add, will be far more favorable to us than to him.”
Anton blanched. “Etienne? You swore that the company would remain in my hands.”
Etienne shrugged. “I lied.” He slung his jacket over his shoulder. “Why would I ally myself with an incompetent fool who can’t even shift? Now, if you don’t mind, this gathering has turned tedious, and I am a very busy man.”
“Not so fast.” Julie beckoned Zack over. “Don’t forget, we’ve got your transformation on tape, along with these lovely confessions.”
“You have nothing. My company knows what I am. It’s what we’ve built both our partnerships and our rivalries on since the Middle Ages.”
Christophe clenched his fists. “True. So your directors will know the transformation is fact, not fiction, as will those of Clavret et Cie and Merrick Industries. How do you think they’ll respond to your methods of hostile takeover by way of murder? I doubt you’ll retain their confidence, or your position.”
Etienne’s gaze slid to the side, and he swallowed convulsively. “I’m the only remaining shifter. Our traditions—”
“Are less important to shareholders these days than profits.” It was time for all three of the Old Families’ companies to change their antiquated leadership model. Let it begin here.
Etienne scowled. “What is it you want?”
“Step down.”
“What? Preposterous.”
“If you do not, I will make sure all three of the Old Families know that while your bluster and cruelty may be true, your strength is nothing but a sham. When asked to risk yourself, you turn tail like the most craven of betas.”
Etienne’s face lost all color. “You— No one would believe you.”
“No? Your arm injury is testament to your lack of prowess in battle. But if that is not enough . . .” Christophe turned to Julie. “Ms. Ainsworth? Will you make your footage available to me?”
Julie grinned. “Whenever you say the word.”
“Thank you.” Christophe called up his full alpha power, battered and weary though it might be, and stared down Etienne. “Resign voluntarily and bask in your glory as the last cursed werewolf of your line, or be forced out, disgraced, and shunned. Your choice.”
Etienne drew himself up, although his dignity was rather marred by his injured arm. “I concede nothing. This is not over, Clavret.” He stalked across the ledge. Bishop blocked his path. “Do you mind? I have a plane to catch.”
Bishop growled, but let him pass. “Christ on a soda cracker,” he muttered as Etienne strode down the hill. “It chaps my hide to let him go.”
“Don’t worry. He won’t get away with this either. I promise.”
“You got that right,” Trent said, “because no way can he drive that fricking Ferrari with only one hand.”
Julie watched Etienne disappear into the trees, bouncing on her toes. “Did you see that? How he backed off? That’s the power of the media.”
“Yeah.” Trent leaned close to Christophe and murmured into his ear, “You know we don’t have the wolf throw down on camera, right?”
“Yes. But Etienne does not. I suggest we keep it that way.”
“Got it. But—” Christophe’s knees buckled, and Trent caught him around the waist. “Whoa. Hey, come on, let’s sit you down.”
Julie hugged herself, apparently oblivious to Christophe’s distress. “Zack, you got it all, right? Everything?” Zack gave her a thumbs-up. “Excellent. When we air this—”
“You can’t.” Jesus fuck, this woman could give Bishop serious competition in the one-track-mind department. He eased Christophe onto a flattish rock.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you can’t air this footage. Any of it. For one thing, we’ll lose some of the leverage we’ve got over Etienne.” He looked at Christophe, whose face had gone nearly gray now that he didn’t have to play the Big Bad for Etienne. “And you can’t expose Christophe this way. It’s wrong.”
“But—but—” She slapped an overhanging fir branch. “Shit.” Then she glanced up at Riley and Logan, her expression turning sly. “I can cut out Etienne’s name. Christophe’s too, and we can mask faces. We’ve got that footage of the road trip and the search through the woods.”
“Lots of great shots of me,” Max said. “But we’ll need to cut out the part where I hit my head. And when my jacket got tangled in those brambles.”
Riley glared at her. “Jules. What are you plotting?”
She widened her eyes at him, like that animated cat in the Shrek movies. Trent would bet his last dollar that she was twice as deadly. “I need something to pitch to the money people, Rile, you know that. This is perfect. They’ll see the potential and then—”
Riley narrowed his eyes. “What’s your price for not airing any of it?”
“Well . . . I’d need something to replace it. Something good. Leads with proven audience appeal.”
Max preened. “Say no more, Julie, I accept.” Julie ignored him, smirking at Logan.
Logan sighed. “How many?”
“Six legend-tripping specials.”
“One.”
“Five.”
“One.”
“Three.”
“One.”
“Fine, I’ll use this footage.”
“Logan,” Trent and Riley warned simultaneously.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Three.”
Julie punched the air. “Yes!” She turned to Trent. “And you. Oh my God, you were awesome! Just what my new show needs. I mean, we’ve got Riley for earnest, Logan for surly, and Max for . . . well . . . Max. But your flash and moxie could put us over the top. What’s on your near-term agenda? Think you might be up for sharing the screen with these bozos?”
Trent’s mouth dropped open. Jesus, she was offering him a job? Acting? Hell, legend tripping? He waited for terror to knot his gut, for sweat to break out on his forehead.
And waited. And waited.
“Trent?” Julie’s normally confident tone was hesitant.
Joy bubbled up under his sternum. Holy shit. I’m an actor again. And the supernatural can kiss my ass. “Hell yeah. Where do I sign?”
“Ms. Ainsworth?” Christophe struggled to his feet, and Trent steadied him with an arm around his waist. “Does your production company accept investors?”
“Sure, when we can get them.”
“When we arrange a private showing of your uncut footage for the Clavrets and Merricks, I’m sure both families will be quite interested.”
“Seriously? But you told Etienne we’d keep everything under wraps as long as he behaved.”
Christophe smiled, flashing his canines for the first time since he’d shifted back. “I lied. And in return for your evidence of Etienne’s machinations, the other families will no doubt express their appreciation in a suitably lucrative manner.”
Julie dropped her gaze to her feet. “I wouldn’t really have outed you, you know.”
“I do. You have ethics, although you may need to be reminded of them at times, and a skill in negotiation that sharks would envy. That is something the Old Families respect.”
Julie’s head popped up, her smile blooming. “Wow. Thank you.”
Christophe smiled wryly. “You’re welcome. Now, could we please get off this bloody mountain?”
Christophe leaned heavily on Trent. Truly, he had reached the limits of his stamina.
Logan strode to the center of the ledge. “That’s right. In case everyone has forgotten, there’s a wedding waiting for us back at the resort. Assuming the guests haven’t given up and gone home by now.”
Riley took his hand. “Don’t worry. Even if there’s nobody there but the two of us, I’m still marrying you today.”
“Damn straight.”
Riley grinned. “Damn gay, don’t you mean?”
“Whatever. You’re not getting away from me, Riley Morrel.”
Riley looped his arms around Logan’s neck. “Who says I want to?”
This time, Riley initiated the kiss, and Christophe was surprised that Logan didn’t melt into a puddle at Riley’s feet.
Christophe tugged the hem of the crumpled Henley Trent had provided for him. This may well be my favorite shirt now, other than the undershirt beneath it. “Then let us depart.” He cast a disgusted glance at the cave mouth. “I, for one, never wish to see this spot again.”
Everyone straggled down the hill, Bishop hauling the cowed Anton at the head of the line, followed by Logan and Riley, their hands laced together. Zack, who’d never stopped his camera rolling, brought up the rear with Julie and Max.
“You gonna be okay on this hike?” Trent murmured. “Flip-flops aren’t exactly wilderness-friendly.”
Christophe chuckled, grateful for the support of Trent’s shoulder. “Cher, I would gladly trek barefoot over broken glass to leave this place.”
“Let’s hope it’s not that bad. I can’t carry you, but I’ll help.”
“Thank you.” They followed the parade through the woods. “I am so proud of you, mon amour. You, with your fear of the woods, withstood it without showing any weakness in front of the conspirators. And I guarantee, they would have exploited it, had they known.”
Trent helped Christophe across a tangle of exposed tree roots. “You know, it’s a funny thing. It doesn’t bother me so much anymore. It did a bit, when we were on our way, but now that you’re here . . .” He grinned. “Guess you keep my ghosts away.”
“I am more than happy to do so.”
They were silent as they negotiated a rough bit of terrain. “I’ve been wondering. You and that prick, Etienne, are the last of the line, right?”
“That is correct. The mutation only manifests in the male line, and then only if the mother carries the dosage-dependent gene. Etienne has only sisters. The Merricks of this generation are both female, as are our Clavret cousins. Anton carries the gene, but it’s not expressed.”
“So how come there aren’t more of you?”
“Because women aren’t idiots.”
Trent grinned. “Non sequitur much?”
“The mutation carries with it a high rate of maternal mortality. The babies are born with vestigial claws. That’s how they’re identified at birth. No matter what precautions we take, the outcome is never certain.”
Trent winced. “Ouch.”
“Indeed. When I was born, my family had planned so carefully. My father had contracted with a discreet private hospital, attempting to cover every contingency, reduce the risk as much as possible. But he hadn’t counted on early onset labor coinciding with a blizzard. So despite his best laid plans, my first act in the world was to kill my mother.”
“Listen, you know you can’t blame yourself for that anymore, don’t you?”
“Perhaps. But I can blame my father. And I would certainly blame myself were I to subject any woman to such a fate.”
“Would you? I mean, if there weren’t any danger? Marry a woman?”
Christophe stopped Trent on the path. “Cher, Trent, werewolves may be bisexual by nature, but although I’ve had liaisons with women in the past, my inclinations have always skewed more toward men. Yet another reason I could never accede to my father’s wishes. I harbor secrets enough. I could not bear to live another lie.”
Trent thought about Christophe’s words. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
He swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. “For a minute, did you believe him? Anton, I mean. That I’m only with you for your money. Because the penthouse is awesome, sure. François is a totally kick-ass Alfred or Bunter or whatever. And your clothes—before Anton burned them anyway—were to die for.” Jesus, I’m babbling. Focus, Pielmeyer. “It sucks that you’ll lose all that, but just so you know, it won’t make any difference to how I feel about you.”
“Trent—”
“And when it comes to making do on a budget—hey, I’m your go-to guy. I’ll take you to my favorite thrift stores. You could make even this sweatshirt look good.”
“Shhh.” Christophe laid a finger across Trent’s lips. “I never believed him. Not even for an instant.”
“Why?” It wasn’t like his rocking grunge-style gave away his silver-spoon roots.
“No one who only wanted money would sit with a wolf overnight. Or risk his own dear, foolish neck on the off-chance of a rescue.”
“Dear, huh?”
Christophe kissed him softly on the lips, then again on the forehead. “Adored.”
“If it meant reconciling with your dad, though—if he allowed you to study genetics, revamp the company structure, forget the arranged marriage, blah, blah, blah—would you . . . would you go back? To Europe?”
Christophe shook his head. “It is not my father’s place to allow me to live my life. I shall choose to do so on my own terms. That includes remaining here in America. In Portland. The genetics program at OHSU is exemplary. I need look no further. That is . . .” Christophe held Trent’s gaze. “If you plan to remain.”
Trent grinned. “Well, I’ve kind of got a job now, don’t I? I may have to travel with the show a little, and there are some things I need to take care of, but—”
“Guys!” Julie hollered from where the van was parked on the verge above them. “Come on. Wedding, remember?”
“Keep your skirt on,” Trent shouted. “We’ll be right there.”
“Trent?” Christophe’s voice was tentative, maybe a little fearful.
Trent urged him up the last slope. “I—”
Logan stormed over. “Now, guys.” He fairly hauled Christophe out of Trent’s arms and into the van before he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“I guess we’ll talk later,” Trent muttered. With Riley riding shotgun, the only seat left was next to Bishop.
Fucking great.
Trent slumped down, arms crossed, prepared to sulk in silence all the way back to the resort. He managed several minutes of moping before Bishop cleared his throat.
“So. What you said back there. You really weren’t kidnapped? You were—shit, I don’t know—haunting Forest Park for seven years?”
“Yep.”
Bishop ran his hand over his head. “So there are other places, other . . . what . . . dimensions?”
“Call ’em whatever you want. They’re real, dude, just like werewolves. There’s probably a bunch of other supernatural shit out there too. Better get used to the idea.”
Julie turned around and grinned at them. “Don’t worry. You can hear all about them on my legend-tripping specials.”
“Christ on a carousel,” Bishop muttered. “And I thought kidnapping was the worst that could have happened to—” He clenched his jaw shut, throat working, and stared out the window.
The worst that could have happened to whom? Trent opened his mouth to ask, but at that moment, they pulled up to the resort, and Logan hustled them all out of the van so fast that Trent checked his seat for skid marks.
Chalk up one more thing to talk about later. My to-do list is seriously out of control.
Ahead of him, Christophe caught his flip-flop on the edge of the lodge stairs and stumbled. Trent rushed forward and caught him around the waist before he could fall, earning one of Christophe’s sharp-toothed smiles. God, I love that smile. Trent leaned in and captured it in a kiss.
Yep. Kissing was so going on that list—right at the very top.
