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Bran swung Reiver's black Rolls-Royce around to the front of the Darkhaven and put the sedan in park on the paved half-moon drive outside the entrance. His hands itched on the steering wheel, his pulse hammered hard in his ears. Every instinct was on full alert, telling him to get his ass back inside and make sure the situation didn't escalate with his boss and the widowed Breedmate from Boston.
Not that he had to worry about Reiver. His reputation would insulate him from the worst of the gossip following his public rebuke and the attention it attracted from everyone tonight. Tomorrow it would be all but forgotten, or at least hushed into nonexistence. There were few members of the Breed nation in Scotland who didn't know better than to invite the wrath of Edinburgh's most sinister resident.
If Reiver wanted problems to go away, they tended to disappear quickly. True to the origins of his name, he had long grown accustomed to taking whatever he wanted. No one refused him anything, and no one dared stand in his way. When fat bribes and illicit favors didn't suffice, Reiver had no qualms about resorting to less civilized tactics to ensure his interests were protected.
What might Reiver do if he suspected that his private discussion this evening had been overheard by the Breedmate with a longtime connection to the Order?
It wasn't a stretch to imagine. Bad enough that she'd dented his ego and topped it off with a physical insult in the middle of a crowded ballroom. If Reiver worried that she might know details of his current business dealings, Bran hated to think how his employer would go about securing her silence.
Bran despised the son of a bitch. He felt that contempt simmer through his veins and boil into his vision with amber fire as he watched Reiver come out of the mansion and make his way toward the waiting vehicle. It took some effort to tamp down hid ntamp dos hatred and school his features into a mask of professional calm before the other Breed male reached the car and opened the back passenger door.
He slid into the backseat, slamming the door behind him. "That uppity bitch better hope our paths never cross again. Be a shame to ruin such a pretty face, but damn if she's not begging for some hard discipline."
Bran grunted, his eyes narrowed on Reiver in the rearview. "Where to, boss?"
"The club," he snarled. But then the mansion's front door opened and out came the tall blonde and the mated couple who'd come to her defense inside. As they headed for the sea of luxury vehicles parked along the wide driveway, Reiver's seething gaze followed her. "Yes, that's a female in need of a firm hand. Among other things."
Reiver chuckled darkly and Bran's hands tightened to a death grip on the wheel. It was all he could do to resist the urge to reach behind him and smash the other male's face into the bulletproof glass of the back window.
But he had to play it cool.
He hadn't come this far, worked this hard to win Reiver's trust, only to lose it now.
As Bran stepped on the gas and the Rolls eased into motion, Reiver settled back against the leather seat. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a haughty female. Even less ones who don't know their place." Demanding eyes met Bran's gaze in the mirror. "I want you to find out all you can about that widow of the Order. Report back to me on everything you discover."
Bran gave an obedient nod, then went back to studying the night road ahead.
He already knew plenty about the woman.
But that was a long time ago-centuries, in fact. Back in a different time, when he was a different man.
And before the beautiful Danish Breedmate had given her heart to his best friend, Conlan of the clan MacConn.
Chapter Two
Danika hadn't gone to the party looking to make new friends, but she surely hadn't expected to have a one-on-one clash with the Breed's most feared crime boss in Edinburgh.
Not that she'd lost any sleep over her run-in with Reiver the night before, despite the terror Emma and James had tried to instill in her after they'd left the Darkhaven gathering. According to them, Reiver's dirty business dealings began a few hundred years ago on the northern border marches, where he acquired livestock, lands, and loyalty at the end of his sword. Now it was payoffs and personal favors that allowed him the freedom to do whatever he pleased. That and his reputation as a man few, if any, dared to cross.
Danika was more offended by Reiver than afraid.
And she couldn't dismiss the troubling conversation she'd overheard. Ler"zive cargo shipments arriving any day now. Whispered requests for exotic offerings that would command hefty prices and ignite the hunger of Reiver's lascivious society friends.
The very idea chilled her to her marrow.
Although it was forbidden by Breed law, Reiver wouldn't be the first of their kind to peddle humans as if they were nothing more than cattle meant for slaughter. Skin traders were a despicable scourge, usually ranking among the lowest of the low in Breed society. Base street scum like that generally didn't stay in business for very long.
But if someone with Reiver's reputed power and connections had decided to deal in mortal suffering and death, how many innocent lives would he be allowed to steal and destroy before someone had the courage to take him down?
It was that disturbing thought that had Danika dialing a scrambled phone number in the States while she sat alone inside an Edinburgh coffee shop the next morning.
"Gideon, it's Danika," she told the Breed warrior on the other end of the line, in Boston.
"Hey," he replied. The British-born vampire ran the command center of the Order's compound. "You all right? You need anything? I hope things are good in Denmark."
Normally quick with wry humor, today Gideon seemed cautious, an odd intensity edging his voice. "I'm fine," she said. "Everything's fine. And I'm in Scotland, actually. I decided it might be nice to spend the holidays here in Edinburgh with Connor."
