Three Sexy Wolves and I

Chapter 8- King Stefan

"Amelia... a redhead is an excellent camouflage. We didn't recognize you from the newspapers. We had no idea who you were or that you were a fae at all. We didn't recognize your identity until we saw you up close tonight." Justine smiled. "All we knew was that Sebastian's flavour-of-the-month had finally convinced him to ditch his bodyguards for s*x this evening," Justin complained.

Amelia laughed quietly to herself. "Were you guys using my seduction to kidnap Sebastian?"

"Yep. We were watching, waiting for a chance. When we opened the limo door, you surprised us. "I didn't see that one coming." He stopped. "I'm sad to hear about your sister. I see why you went after Sebastian."

Amelia had a million questions, but they were all getting stuck in her throat. They were questions for the coven's leader, not Tyler Marcial's right-hand man, Justin. "I searched for the demon for a month and couldn't find it," she added.

"We've been looking for it as well, but without success," Justin grinned.

"Instead, I sought the source of the demon's existence," she gulped hard. "I just... had to do something, and Sebastian can't bring any more of those creatures into our world."

Justin slipped away, and she shifted her gaze to him on the seat. Her back ached still, but the worst of the agony had passed.

"I understand, Amelia. I do. But instead of becoming a vigilante, you should have come to us. We'd always planned to take down Sebastian, and we're going after the demon." Justin shook his head. "You can't keep on doing this... This is a very bad idea. Come back to us."

"So what's new?" she muttered in response. Andrea had always been the good one. Amelia had always been the one getting into trouble.

Justin must've known she wasn't asking what was new with him, but he answered that way all the same. "I'm going to be a father." The words were spoken with such pride that she smiled.

Amelia fussed with the hem of her skirt, happy to change the subject. "I heard that. Knocked up that little air fae of yours."

"Mirabella." Justine smiled.

God, the look in his eyes when he said her name. Such love. Such devotion. A man had never looked that way while speaking her name, at least not that she knew of, and Amelia had to admit that a part of her regretted it.

Well, at least… What happened in the pub ten months ago wasn't just a mere one-night stand with the stranger. She still dreamt about him, though.

"That's right, her name is Mirabella," Amelia answered. "Everyone's hoping she'll turn up with a baby air fae of her own." Of all the elemental faees, air was by far the rarest and most powerful. "What do you think, air or fire?"

"I think she'll take after her mom and be an air faerie."

She patted him on his shoulder. "Good luck to you both." She scooped up her purse from the floor of the limo and exited the vehicle.

Amelia found herself on a darkened side street in a commercial part of town. The front of the limo had been rammed in by a Hummer. Behind the limo was another car crash, a tangle of metal where the sedan had met a heavy SUV. The sedan had been the vehicle carrying Sebastian's muscle.

She cast a glance at Sebastian, whom they were lifting into the back of Tyler's car. Tyler stood nearby. He stared at her across the distance, his silver hair spread over his shoulders, his expression intent. Then he crooked a finger.

Oh, no. Hell would first freeze over. Tyler was a handsome and attractive man, but there was no time for a crush and so on. She had a duty to do. But she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret because she swore she had a connection to the man, like some unknown emotion, like a matebond, like with the lycan alpha she had a one-night stand with.

Weird. She thought.

Amelia gave him a little wave, a seductive smirk, and walked away.

"Amelia," Tyler called after her. "I need to talk to you."

Ignoring him, she turned a corner and pulled on her remaining supernatural reserves, scraping the very bottom of her capacity. Amelia gathered airborne water molecules, condensing them around dust particles and cloaking herself in the resulting dense fog.By the time she heard his footsteps behind her, she'd disappeared, leaving him standing in zero visibility.

Tyler swore loudly, and Amelia smiled. She needed to talk to him, but she wasn't about to do it on his terms.

Amelia managed to flee and go to a neighboring alleyway. She shivered despite her efforts. That feeling of being watched had returned. It should have been eerie or frightening, but it wasn't. Perhaps a benevolent spirit? Was there such a thing? But it was the same when she met the man from ten months earlier, the lycan alpha, from whom she managed to steal magic. His ice magic. He couldn't blame her; after all, she was a taker. And now she felt the same feeling again.

She shuddered.

First, the Lycan alpha, and now Tyler Marcial, the Fae Coven leader?

Weird indeed.

*****

Few blocks away

As far as nightclubs went, the Wolf's Pit was by far the most expensive, the most elegant, and the most exclusive in the entire city.

Oddly enough, it was also the most obscure.

There was no listing in the phone book. No gaudy ads on billboards or flashing neon lights to reveal their location. In fact, the entire building was hidden behind a subtle glamour.

Anyone who was anyone knew how to find the place. And those anyones didn't include humans.

Moving among the marble pillars and glittering fountains were various demons, all indulging in a variety of nefarious activities. Gambling, drinking, exotic dancing, and discreet (and not so discreet) orgies.

All of which cost a small fortune.

Delicious pastimes, no doubt, but on this cold night, the werewolf warrior known as Stefan was not interested in the activities available below the private balcony. Or even in the various demons who paused to perform a deep bow in his direction.

Instead, he regarded his companion with a measure of resignation.

At a glance, the two of them couldn't have been more different.

Well, that wasn't precisely accurate.

After all, they were both tall and blessed with the muscular bodies of all werewolves. And they both possessed dark eyes and the prerequisite fangs. But that's where the similarities ended.

The younger werewolf, Van, had come from the northern lands and possessed the pale silver hair and even paler skin of his ancestors. Stefan, on the other hand, had come from the hot lands of the South, and even after his transformation, he maintained the bronzed skin and proud angular features of his ancestor.

Tonight, Stefan had put aside his traditional robe and chosen black leather pants, thigh-high boots, and a black silk shirt. He had assumed the garb would make him less noticeable as he traveled the streets. Unfortunately, there was no way for a six-foot-five werewolf with raven hair braided to his knees to go unnoticed.

Especially from mortal women, who had no defense against werewolves' thrall.

As he walked through the dark streets, he had gathered nearly a half-dozen adoring females. At last, he had taken to the rooftops to avoid their persistent attentions.

By the gods, Stefan wished he could have stayed hidden in his caves, which he acknowledged with a sigh.

For centuries, he had lived the life of a monk as he protected the King, the leader of all werewolves. He had been an enforcer and a guardian, rarely leaving the ancient werewolf's side.

With the King now dead, Stefan was being forced into the role of leader, and he was discovering that he could hide no longer. Not when there was one trouble after another plaguing him.

It was enough to annoy the most patient of demons.

"I am always delighted to have you as my guest, Stefan, but I must warn you that my pack is nervous enough having you among us," Van said. "If you don't stop scowling at me, they are bound to fear they will soon be without a warrior leader."

Realizing he had allowed his attention to wander, Stefan abruptly straightened in the plush leather chair. By instinct, his hand lifted to touch the bone medallion tied around his neck.

It was a symbol of his people.

More than that, it was believed to be a means of passing spirits from one generation to another.

Of course, as a werewolf, Stefan had no tangible memories of his life before rising as a demon. That didn't, however, keep him from holding on to at least a few of his more sacred traditions.

"I am not scowling."

Van smiled wryly. "You forget, Stefan, that I have a mate, which means that I am intimately acquainted with every variety of scowls. And you, my friend, are most certainly scowling." The smile faded as the werewolf regarded him with an expression of shrewd intelligence. "Why do you not tell me what is troubling you?"

Stefan paused before letting out a faint sigh. He had to do this. Even if he'd rather be flogged, flayed, or defanged than admit he needed assistance.

Van, as pack chief warrior for the region, knew the area better than any other supernatural being he knew. It would be beyond foolish not to accept his assistance.

"It's the demon rogues," Stefan said abruptly.

"Demon Rogues?" Van gave a low hiss. Like soccers fans, there was little love lost between demons and ferals. "What trouble are they brewing?"

"It has gone beyond mere trouble. They have left their recognized hunting grounds, and I have tracked at least a part of the pack to this region." Stefan clenched his fists in his lap. They have already killed several humans and left them to be discovered by the authorities."

Van didn't so much as flinch. Of course, it would take more than a legion of demons to rattle the powerful werewolf.