The devil Moondancer

To deal with widows and heirs

*Jack*

Ignoring the widow following at a rapid clip, I stride briskly through the hallways and rooms, searching for anything familiar, anything that might signal I have been in this residence before.

I have learned long ago that nothing comes easy, and this entire situation seems far too easy. Well, except for dealing with the widow. She is the very definition of the type of she-wolf I avoid at all costs. Judging me through a kaleidoscope of righteous indignation, she is so damned passionate about me being so damned unworthy.

It doesn’t matter that she’s right. Her belief in my unsuitability irritates the devil out of me, and I prefer holding the devil close. It’s the only way to ensure I’m never again taken advantage of, never again hurt, never again left to live with regrets.

The Luna certainly did not take well to the news delivered by the solicitor. The fire of anger burning in her eyes hit me like a punch to the gut, and I wanted to nurture it into a blaze of passion… Damnation. I know better than to lash out at she-wolves, know better than to reveal anything at all about my thoughts or feelings. Somehow, the widow had forced me to throw caution to the wind. I was beginning to lose the upper hand in this game of… what? What in Goddess name is going on here?

So I stormed from the room because I have learned that sometimes retreat can lead to victory. Sometimes effective strategy requires a restocking of the arsenal or a bit of breathing room so a man can think clearly and make sense of things.

What sort of lunatic was Silverpine to appoint me guardian of anything? The Alphas are so protective of their heirs. It’s ludicrous to place the lad in my keeping. Still, it angers me that the widow is so appalled by the notion. I should accept the terms of the will simply to irritate her further.

But I have never been one to base my decisions on immediate reactions. I have always thought out my strategy, always looked at things from every angle. Although in this situation, the angle of inheritance looms enticingly large and threatens to overshadow my common sense. While I have accumulated quite a bit of wealth over the years, my coffers aren’t yet to the point that I want to spend my money on a palace such as this. It’s monstrously huge and overflowing with statuettes, figurines, artwork, handsome handcrafted furniture, and everything else imaginable.

In my mind, I hear Feagan cackling. “Ye finally made it, boy. A fancy place in the best part of the city. Who’d a thought?” Certainly not me.

I have a practiced eye when it comes to identifying valuables, and the good Alpha has accumulated a fortune’s worth. It’s also evident that the family, from the first Alpha to the last, thought highly of themselves. Why else have all the portraits painted of various stages in their lives, from birth to old age? Dear Goddess, the High packs are an amazing lot… to think anyone would care what they looked like. On the other hand, judging by the number of portraits hanging on the walls throughout, someone obviously does care. Maybe I will sell them to the heir for a pretty penny.

As though reading my thoughts, the Luna says, “I’m certain when Mr. Beck said ‘everything’ he didn’t mean everything. The portraits are obviously part of the entailment.”

“How did you come to that conclusion, Luna?” I ask.

“They are portraits of the Alphas and their families, my son’s ancestors. There can be no doubt they are part of his inheritance.” She huffs.

“We will see.” She makes a reasonable argument, but I plan to study the ledger more closely, to memorize and account for every item. I won’t let her take anything that has been designated as mine… not without paying a fair price for it. I have no intention of taking advantage of her, but neither is it in my nature to be charitable.

“I wonder what funds were used to purchase your clothing,” I murmur.

Her eyes widen, “I beg your pardon?”

I come to a stop outside the third dining room I have passed, and she almost rams into me. Her fragrance teases my nostrils now just as it had in the library. Sitting there, I wanted to lean toward her and inhale it more fully. Her scent is a subtle lavender, not the cloyingly harsh musk that prostitutes use to cover the odor of their business and other men.

Her face is set in a worried frown that draws her brows together over unusual amber eyes. From the start, their shade… almost gold, just like the color of the coins I favor… caught my attention. The top of the widow’s head barely comes to my shoulder. She is terribly young for a widow. She must have been a child when the Alpha married her. With their difference in age, he would have been an old man to her. Did she love him? Or did she simply want the title and everything that comes with it?

“I was just wondering if your clothing was part of the entailment,” I drawl.

Anger flashes over her features. “My clothing, sir, is mine. You will not take it from me.”

“Don’t challenge me, Luna, or I might be tempted to prove I could remove those widow’s weeds before you could stammer an objection.” I grin.

“Oh, you blackguard.” She huffs.

Turning away from her, I try not to take delight in pricking her temper. Not very gentlemanly on my part, but then I have never claimed to be a gentleman. I have yet to meet one who isn’t a hypocrite. Better to admit to being a scoundrel; there’s more honesty in that. I don’t pretend to be what I’m not.

Impatient, I head back the way I came. I have to give the Alpha credit: he spent his money wisely. Beneath my breath, I curse a man I had barely known, a man who has obviously judged me very well. Everything I see, I want. I want to look at it and know that I own it. I want to tear down the brick walls, replace them with glass, and let the world catch a glimpse of what Jack Moondancer possesses. I want to gloat. I, the son of a w***e, have not been trampled down by pack society. I have risen above my beginnings. I have conquered Blackrock city.

By the Goddess, that is how it feels, walking through these magnificent hallways with their gilded trim and painted ceilings. It could all be mine for a very small price.

How much trouble could it be to serve as guardian of one boy? Of course, the real question is: how irritating would it be to deal with the merry widow? She is the type of she-wolf I abhor. Self-righteous, judgmental, thinking she is so much better than others. I would like nothing more than to take her down a peg or two. Maybe that’s the reason I brought up the subject of her clothing… certainly not because I had been considering what it might be like to divest her of it.

Her black dress has far too many buttons to be of interest to me. They run from waist to chin, from wrist to elbow. I imagine when she is out of mourning, her clothes are just as boring. She strikes me as someone who would think temptation ultimately leads to hell, and that path is not to be traveled at any cost. Her dull brown hair is pinned up, a widow’s cap covering most of it, leaving me to wonder how long it might be. Then I curse myself for wondering anything at all about her personal intimacies.

She is a Luna, probably related to the lycan queen in some form or fashion. Aren’t they all? They certainly act like they are. Even in my club, on occasion, they try to order me about… but I have created a world where I am king, where my word is law. They pay a yearly stipend to be admitted because I provide entertainment and never judge them for indulging. Unlike the she-wolf following behind me.

I had seen the judgment in her eyes the moment we were introduced, the conviction that I am beneath her. I had felt her gaze remain on me after we had taken our seats, been keenly aware of her studying me as though I were some curiosity that should be on display at the Great Exhibition. I had deliberately avoided looking at her, instead concentrating on studying the room while the solicitor took his time preparing things.

I emerge from a grand hallway into the foyer. Crossing quickly, I start up the black marble stairs.

“Where are you going?” she asks from behind me.

“I told you, Luna, I want to see everything.”

“But only bedchambers are up there.”

“To a man such as me, as I’m sure you might have guessed, no room is more important.”

I fight not to grin as I hear her growl behind me. Dear Goddess, whatever had the Alpha seen in her? From what I have been able to deduce, she doesn’t know the meaning of humor. She is as rigid as a fireplace poker. Although I do have to admire her valiant fight to retain what she considers hers. A willowy wisp of a she-wolf, she certainly turns into a lioness with the thought of her cub being turned over to my care. If my own mother had only been so inclined, my youth might have been less harsh.

At the top of the stairs, I turn to my left and jerk open the first door I come to. I stride into the room, and my gaze falls on the massive four-poster bed. The canopy is covered in heavy purple velvet. I hear Luna breathing harshly as she comes to a stop behind me, and I wonder briefly if she has gasped for breath in that richly appointed bed. I shake my head to clear it of its wandering thoughts. What do I care if she had found satisfaction there?

“The Alpha’s bedchamber?” I ask, surprised by the hoarseness of my voice.

“Yes.”

A book rests on the bedside table, a ribbon sticking out of it as though the Alpha had expected to return to it. It makes me uncomfortable to think about that. I had barely known the man, certainly not well enough to truly mourn his passing, and yet sorrow nudges me. I wonder what else the Alpha may have left unfinished.

Shaking off my morose musings, I glance to the side, toward another closed door, beyond the sitting area. “And is yours through there?”

I hear her swallow. “Yes.”

So the Alpha keeps her near. I don’t know why that knowledge bothers me, but it does. I face her. “What is it with the high packs and this insane notion they have that mates should sleep in separate bedchambers?”

I’m not certain I have ever seen a she-wolf as pale as she is, but suddenly a rose hue blossoms over her cheeks, and I find myself wondering if that blush has visited her in the Alpha’s bed. Why do I keep having visions of her in that blasted bed?

“I suppose they do it because they can,” I say laconically, not really expecting her to answer. She probably goes to bed covered head to toe in something resembling a shroud. I take a step toward the sitting area…

“Please don’t go into my bedchamber,” she orders softly.

The faintness of her voice shimmies through me, disconcerting me. All night she has been demanding, angry, hurt, and upset. It seems at odds she would choose now to be submissive. Perhaps she has deduced that abrasiveness doesn’t influence my temper. Hitching up a corner of my mouth, I turn back toward her. “What’s the matter, Luna? Have all sorts of machines designed to give you s****l pleasure hidden away in there?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

I study her for a moment, her black attire, the proper way she holds herself… “Sadly, you probably don’t.”

Innocence has never appealed to me. I walk out of the room and continue down the long hallway.

“All the bedchambers are the same,” she says from behind me. “I don’t see why you need to…”

I reach for another door.

“I forbid you to go into that room,” she states emphatically.

Looking over my shoulder, I wink at her. “Never forbid me, Luna. It will only make me do it.”

I barge into the room. A young brown-haired, brown-eyed she-wolf, obviously a servant, gasps and comes out of the chair she’s sitting in beside the bed. A young boy abruptly sits up, the covers falling to his waist, his dark hair tousled, his hazel eyes wide.

The Luna brushes past me, sits on the bed, and takes the boy protectively into her arms. It irritates the devil out of me that she assumes the boy needs protecting from me, that she expects me to hurt the lad.

“The heir?” I ask flatly.

The Luna nods. “Yes.”

“Hunter, right?” I ask.

She nods, “Yes.”

“How old are you, lad?” I look at the boy.

“He’s five,” the Luna says.

“Is he mute?” I ask.

She huffs, “No, of course not.”

“Then why didn’t you let him speak? I asked the question of him.” I say.

“You’re terrifying him.” She tells me.

“Am I?” I study the boy. He is as slightly built as his mother, as pale. His eyes are huge and round, but I see more curiosity within them than fear. “Are you afraid of me, lad?”

The boy peers up at his mother.

“Don’t look to your mother for the answer, lad. Look to yourself.” I tell him.

“Do not take that tone with him,” the Luna commands. “You are not yet his guardian.”

I don’t know whether to envy the boy for the protectiveness of his mother… a protectiveness I wish my own mother had bestowed on me… or to pity him because she is raising him to be a milksop. By the age of six, I could survive the streets by cunning, cleverness, and nimble fingers. I hadn’t been afraid to take chances. I had learned how to Dance out of reach from those who wanted to catch me. I had been quick on my feet, but even quicker with my mind.

“Skill will get ye only so far, boy, but thinkin’ will be wot keeps ye alive,” Feagan had told me.

Learning the tricks of the trade gave me confidence, which lead to success, which makes me daring and fearless. I have gotten where I am because I had survived. I’m not convinced this lad can wipe his own nose. Is that the reason the Alpha is turning his care over to me?

I first met Silverpine on a spring day in the Alpha of Claybourne’s garden. I was left with the impression that the Alpha was a sad man. Years later, the Alpha visited my club a number of times, but nothing memorable came of the occasions. At least nothing memorable from my point of view. Had the Alpha noticed something in my demeanor that indicated I had the wherewithal to be an effective guardian over this lad who is obviously mollycoddled?

But even then, to give me everything he owns that isn’t entailed? I’m suspicious by nature, and my mind screams out warnings, insisting something is amiss. I just can’t figure out what, precisely.

I turn on my heel and head toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” the Luna asks, her shoes tapping rapidly behind me.

Dear Goddess, she’s quick to follow. If my legs weren’t so long, I don’t think I’d be able to outdistance her. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I want to speak with Beck.”

Why am I bothering to explain myself? I explain myself to no one. I haven’t since I decided to make the streets my home.

I hurry down the stairs, the Luna nipping at my heels like a rapacious dog. I stride through the hallway that displays possessions that have no doubt been gathered for generations. The liveried servant opens the door to the library. I walk inside and quickly spin around to face the Luna, barring her entry.

She stumbles to an abrupt, jerky halt, her breathing labored, her golden eyes wide, her luscious lips parted. When her mouth isn’t puckered up as though she spends her spare time sucking lemons, she has a damned kissable-looking mouth. It irritates me that I notice, irritates me even more that I wonder what kissing her would be like.

“In private,” I say and slam the door on her. Her infuriated shriek penetrates the thickness of the wood, bringing me a small sense of victory. Not trusting her to do as I bade, I turn the key in the lock. Fortunate that the Alpha kept it handy. He’s no doubt accustomed to dealing with his wife’s disagreeable moods, and this room probably serves as his sanctuary for solitude.