Free The Strip by Heather Killough-Walden, Gildart Jackson

parlor that he had instructed Lucas to purchase.
    Claire was silent beside him. He could tell she was trying to figure out what to say to that. Finally, she sighed. “Yeah, she is.” Malcolm felt victory rush through him when he heard the jealousy in her tone that he was so hoping would be there.
    “I would imagine she’s the kind of person who never takes a day for granted,” he continued. “Lives for the moment.” He released a bit more of his power to let it enfold her beside him, swaddling her in submissive influence.
    “Yes,” Claire said, “she does.”
    “And I imagine you’re the level-headed one in the band,” Malcolm went on, hoping that he was right about what kind of person she was.
    Claire frowned, mulling that one over. She didn’t say anything, which meant that it was too true to deny, but too unpleasant to admit.
    “After all, someone has to keep everyone in line, right? Not everyone has a motherly instinct, Charlie. I can imagine that you do, though.”
    He waited.
    “Why would you imagine that?”
    Bingo.
    “Oh. Well – I don’t know….” He pretended to stumble over his words, as if he were embarrassed by them. “It’s just that you’re so….”
    “Boring?” she asked then. She didn’t spit it at him and it wasn’t scathing, exactly. But, though her voice was still soft, her tone held something in it that he hadn’t heard from her before. “I’m safe. I know,” she told him.
    I have to be… He almost heard her thinking. She wore her thoughts on her beautiful face.
    “Come,” he said. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” They were standing in front of the coffee shop that neighbored the tattoo parlor. As he’d suspected it would, Claire’s gaze skirted from the coffee shop to the store front next door.
    “Coffee?” Her voice trailed off.
    He knew when he had her. Her shoulders rolled back and her chin lifted. Defiant. Strong. He wanted to take her right there on the side walk.
    “Screw the coffee,” she said, outright. “I want a tattoo.”
    * * * *
    “He isn’t happy.”
    Vincent Cromwell smiled and almost laughed at that. “No, I imagine he isn’t. But it isn’t our fault that he underestimated her pull.” The tall werewolf moved to the nearest seat and took it gracefully, the overhead lights bringing out the blue highlights in his hair. She’s attracted the most powerful available alpha in our community, with the exception perhaps of James Valentine. And Valentine isn’t in the game.”
    The older man across from him took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees, and pinned Cromwell with a meaningful gaze. “He’s moved everything up and is flying in right now.” He pulled his cell phone out of the inside breast pocket of his expensive suit and glanced at something on its screen. “He’ll be here in less than two hours.”
    “Do you have a plan?”
    The man with silver hair smirked and sat back again. “I did. Cole ruined it.”
    “Then, we’d better come up with another one,” Cromwell suggested, coolly. He sat back and crossed his hands over his stomach.
    “Do you think he’ll take her tonight?”
    “Cole?”
    The silver haired man nodded. Once.
    Cromwell thought about that for a moment. His magical feelers had been out in that alleyway earlier. He’d sensed an incredible amount of deadly-strong resolve around Malcolm Cole. But, contrary to what he’d been expecting to find, he felt no evil. Darkness, yes. Evil, no. Cromwell somehow doubted that Cole wanted to harm Claire St.James. And turning her tonight would undoubtedly bring her vast amounts of mental anguish. In the end, Vincent couldn’t call this one. He just didn’t know.
    “That depends,” he said, running a forefinger over his goatee. “On a lot of things.”
    “I see.” The man in the expensive suit stood then, his movements filled with fluid grace. “I want you to cast some sort of recovery spell and at least get her