“Harley.” Caine answered her unspoken question, his finger pressing the screen to pause the video.
Cassie clutched his arm in horror, frantically studying the image of her sister bound to a chair with silver chains and a heavy silver collar around her neck. She appeared to be unconscious as her head drooped to the side, a thin line of blood trailing down her cheek from a wound to her temple.
“Oh my God, she’s hurt,” she breathed, turning to find Caine watching her with concern. “Is there more to the video?”
“Yes, but maybe you should let me—”
“Play it,” she pleaded. “Please.”
She felt his muscles clench beneath her fingers, but with obvious reluctance he at last pressed his thumb to the screen and the image of Harley was joined by Ingrid as she knelt beside the chair.
“If you want her released unharmed . . .” The female cur smirked. “Well, relatively unharmed, then call me so we can set up a meet and greet. You have twenty-four hours. Oh, and if you’re thinking about sharing this video with your new allies . . . don’t.” She leaned sideways so the camera could catch her hand reaching toward the small bulge of Harley’s belly. “If I even suspect that I’m being hunted, the first to die will be these sweet, innocent pups.” She pressed her lips to the phone. “Call me, liebling.”
The video went black and Caine clenched the phone until the case threatened to shatter.
“I’m going to kill that bitch.”
Cassie nodded, fully onboard with the kill-the-bitch plan, but only after they were certain Harley was safe.
“Would she really hurt the babies?”
The muscle of his jaw knotted as he visibly fought the urge to protect her with a lie.
“Yes.”
“We have to rescue her.” She frowned as he pressed his thumb against the phone screen to replay the video. “Caine, did you hear me?”
“It’s a trap,” he muttered.
“What sort of trap?”
He hit pause, his brow furrowed as he studied the image of Ingrid standing in a dark room with shelves of wine bottles in the background.
“It could be a trick that your sisters dreamed up to lure you back to their protection.”
She snorted. It was no secret her sisters were desperate to have her returned to the bosom of her family. But she didn’t for a moment think they would go to such extremes. “They wouldn’t.”
“No, I don’t think so either,” Caine readily agreed, “but it has to be considered.”
“What are your other theories?”
“It could be that Ingrid was telling the truth.” His gaze returned to the screen where the female cur was smiling with smug arrogance. “She might genuinely believe I have some magical means to transform her into a pureblooded Were and is trying to force me to give her what she desires.”
She studied his perfectly chiseled profile. “But you don’t believe that?”
His lips twisted. “There was a time when I was vain enough to assume that the world revolved around me, but I’m not a complete idiot.”
She tilted her head to her side. “I don’t know what that means.”
He reached to give her ponytail a gentle tug. “I’m traveling with the most sought after creature in the entire universe. If someone’s trying to capture us, it’s all about you, pet.”
Cassie grimaced. Being the most sought after creature in the entire universe wasn’t nearly so fun as it sounded. In fact, it sucked.
“Even if that’s true, I’m not leaving my sister in the hands of that female.”
“I know,” Caine soothed. “Are you getting any . . .” He waved his hand in vague motion.
“Any what?”
“Vibes.”
She blinked in confusion before at last realizing he was referring to her visions. “Oh.” She paused, searching for any hint of a foretelling. “No,” she at last said. “There’s nothing.”
He heaved a sigh. “So you get the command to watch the video, but nothing to tell us what to do about it?”
“That’s how it works.” She shrugged, pointing toward his phone. “You have to call.”
His gaze followed her finger, his muscles abruptly tensing as he studied the image of Ingrid still filling the screen. “Not yet.”
“Caine . . .” She halted her pleading words, sensing his distraction. “You have a plan?”
“Not so much a plan as a desperate hope that we can spring the trap before it’s set and escape with your sister unscathed,” he corrected.
“Is that possible?”
He tapped the screen. “I recognize where Ingrid took this video.”
“Really?”
“It’s Salvatore’s wine cellar.”
“You were in the wine cellar of the King of Weres?”
“Of course.” He turned to meet her expression of disbelief. “Salvatore used to be my enemy. Hell, he still wants to nail my furry ass to the wall.”
“So why were you in the wine cellar?”
“When he turned up in America I needed a secret way to enter his lair if I had to take drastic measures to protect myself. There’s a tunnel that leads into his wine cellar.”
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose I should expect such madness from you. You are far too reckless. But this female . . .” She frowned at the cur’s smug confidence that was captured by the video. “Is she insane?”
“I always suspected she came from the shallow end of the gene pool,” Caine said. “Why?”
“Who would be stupid enough to hold the mate of the King of Weres hostage in his own wine cellar?”
“Salvatore must be out of state or Ingrid wouldn’t have managed to get within a mile of the lair, let alone get her hands on Harley,” he explained.
Cassie still thought the female must be a nut bar.
“So you think they’re still in the wine cellar?”
“Doubtful, but we should be able to pick up Ingrid’s scent and track her from there.”
Her nails unconsciously dug into his arm, her wolf eager to be on the hunt even as her heart clenched with fear. “What if she hurts Harley or the babies before we can reach them?”
“We have twenty-four hours. If we don’t pick up Ingrid’s trail, then I’ll make the call.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing her lips with a soft kiss. “I promise nothing’s going to hurt your sister.”
She leaned her forehead against his, taking strength in his familiar scent.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
Salvatore’s lair in St. Louis
Gaius was fuming as he paced from one end of the wine cellar to the other.
Who could blame him? He was standing in the lair of the King of Weres with two curs who looked like matching G.I. Joe dolls and a goth witch who was wearing a tight leather skirt and spike-heeled boots that were as impractical as they were ridiculous. He’d been forced to shape-shift to look like the Queen of Weres in an attempt to lure the prophet into his clutches. And now he was stuck waiting with his trio of idiots on the off chance the plot would work.
Plus, adding insult to injury, the entire place reeked of dogs.
Che macello.
Clearly possessing more brawn than brains, the male cur sauntered within striking distance of Gaius, seemingly indifferent to the frigid fury that prickled through the air. “It really is remarkable,” Dolf murmured, compounding his stupidity by lifting a hand toward Gaius’s long mane of blond hair.
“Touch me and your sister will be dragging you out of here as a corpse.”
The cur jerked his hand back, his face flushed at the icy warning. “No need for threats,” he protested. “We’re all on the same side here.”
Gaius curled his lips. “Do not remind me.”
The cur grimaced. “What crawled up your ass and died?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why are you in such a pissy mood?”
Gaius narrowed his gaze. “Are you trying to be amusing?”
“No, I just—”
“Do you think I want to humiliate myself with this”—Gaius waved a hand to indicate his slender, delicately curved body—“female form?”
The flush drained from Dolf ’s face to leave him a frightened shade of gray. “Of course not.”
“Or to spend hours trespassing in the lair of the King of Weres?” Gaius continued, his voice edged with a bitterness that was capable of flaying the skin off a lesser creature. “Who, by the way, has his full powers returned and would happily kill me on sight.”
Dolf lifted his hands in a desperate attempt at damage control. “I told you, Ingrid’s source says that the king and queen are in Chicago for at least two more days.”
Gaius wasn’t any more impressed now than he’d been when he first heard the reassurance. Not that he was given any choice, he grimly reminded himself. When Ingrid had approached him with the suggestion of using his ability to alter shapes to bait a trap for the prophet, he’d emphatically refused.
