“Sure,” Zara said.
“Good.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her forehead. They parted ways once inside the foyer. The mansion was silent as she walked and the lack of noise felt ominous. Everyone else was, no doubt, tucked safely away in their beds, their bodies getting the rest they needed, the rest that her own body denied her. If she didn’t get some sleep tonight, Zara wouldn’t be up to making an appearance in the mansion tomorrow. She hadn’t been out of the archives in two days. She knew if she didn’t show her face above ground soon, Jen would eventually pay her a visit. Zara didn’t want that. An uninvited visit from Jen was kind of like eating a suspect burrito. At first, it seems okay, but then, fifteen minutes later, you’re in agony in the bathroom. She didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Jen’s “love.” At least that’s what the blonde claimed it was when she bombarded people to death. And Zara didn’t want to face the others either. She may be able to hide things from Wadim, but she had a feeling Alina and Vasile would see right through her. They would pick up on the sheer terror in her eyes of not knowing what her future held.
Zara had been sitting at the table in the main room of the archives for less than five minutes when she heard the door at the top of the stairs open and then footsteps descending
Wadim appeared at the bottom of the stairs and the flirty smile she’d grown to love was titled up on his face, and his eyes danced with mischief as he took the seat beside her and then reached out his hand. Zara took the outstretched hand and let him pull her out of her chair and into his lap. It was his standard practice. Wadim seemed to think that his lap was the only place worthy of her derrière … his words.
Zara leaned her body into his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. “Where’s my surprise?”
Without answering, he held out his other hand, which had been clenched into a fist, and slowly opened it one finger at a time.
Zara’s breath caught as she stared at the small carved figure attached to a delicate necklace. “A moon?” she asked.
Wadim nodded.
“Did you carve this?”
He nodded again. “It’s carved from a piece of Birch tree. As you know”—he grinned at her and winked—“I have a little bit of love for history, and not just for that of the supernaturals. I enjoy history in general. Native American history is especially interesting to me. They believe trees have different meanings, and a Birch tree symbolizes new beginnings and a cleansing of the past.”
“So why the moon?” Zara asked.
“It represents our Creator. I made this for you to wear as a reminder that you’ve been given a new beginning by The Great Luna. She didn’t forget you. And though your past will definitely shape how you move forward, it does not define you or the future you will have. You have a new beginning, with me, with our pack.” He leaned back and moved her hair over her shoulder. Zara lifted her hair a bit so that he could place the necklace around her neck and connect the clasp.
“Thank you,” she said as she turned to look at him. “I love it.” She didn’t know what else to say. It had been so long since anyone had given her anything, and she felt a little out of sorts.
Wadim pressed his lips to hers for several seconds and then slowly separated them as he pulled back. “You are most welcome. Are you ready to try and get some rest?”
She nodded.
“Good. Because I have it on good authority that you will be having a visitor tomorrow who is willing to drag you by your gorgeous hair from the dungeon if she has to.”
“Let me guess,” Zara said. “Jen?”
Wadim nodded.
“And who was the good authority from?”
Wadim chuckled. “Jen.”
“Of course.”
Chapter Seven
“When we can no longer trust our friends, our family, our pack, who then can we trust?” ~Decebel
Decebel stood outsideat the bottom of the mansion’s front steps. He stared down the long concrete driveway that wound through a manicured lawn across the front of the estate. He heard the approaching vehicle long before he saw it. A black SUV drove toward the house, pulling slowly into the circle drive before coming to a stop. The man behind the steering wheel let the engine idle as he stared through the windshield at Decebel. A woman with dark, shoulder-length hair and a frown plastered on her face sat in the passenger seat. The so-called mate. The pseudo-Alpha bit back a growl as his wolf pushed forward to assert its dominance over the pair. It didn’t happen instantly. Skender was a powerful wolf. Finally, the driver dropped his eyes but made no move to exit the vehicle. The female hadn’t lasted as long as Skender and had dropped her eyes almost instantly. Decebel wondered how long they would sit there. Just when Decebel was getting ready to go and drag Skender out of the SUV, the door opened and the man stepped out. Skender glanced at the woman, and she, too, pushed her door open and climbed out of the vehicle.
“Decebel,” the deep voice rumbled.
“Skender,” Decebel said, watching the other wolf’s movements with keen, alert eyes. He knew they were glowing. Vasile had been right. There was certainly more to Skender’s story than the man let on. Decebel’s wolf could tell instantly. The beast was picking up something the man couldn’t put his finger on. The woman walked around the SUV to stand next to her mate, placing her hand in his. When Skender didn’t move away from the vehicle, Decebel spoke again. “Are you planning on standing there all day?”
“That depends,” Skender answered. “Are we going to live if we step through those doors?” He pointed to the mansion behind Decebel.
Decebel crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the brick post at the bottom of the stairs. “That depends,” he parroted, “on what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Skender snarled.
Decebel’s cool facade didn’t waver even as he felt his wolf’s hackles rising. “And maybe that’s what will get you killed. Sometimes, doing nothing is worse than doing the wrong thing.”
