Free The Strip by Heather Killough-Walden, Gildart Jackson Page A

back within the confines of this hotel.” He turned toward the exit when Cromwell’s voice stopped him.
    “I could do that,” he said. “But Cole is no stranger to magic. He would know what was happening, and he would stop her. As I said, he has his entire pack with him right now. And he’s strong enough, even alone.”
    The gray-haired man considered this for a moment. And then he strode across the room and opened the door. “I’ll deal with Mr. Phelan. You watch Charlie. Wait for the opportunity,” he threw a significant glance over his shoulder, “and then bring her home.”
    Behind him, Vincent Cromwell nodded his acquiescence, but said nothing. As the older man left the room, Cromwell steepled his fingers before him, drawing an image of Claire St.James in his mind’s eye. And then he smiled and left the room as well.
    * * * *
    When Cole led Charlie into the parlor, he was immediately impressed with how well and how quickly Lucas had set everything up. There were two customers already inside, but Caige had possessed enough forethought to hire several other trained artists to deal with whoever might come in that night.
    Caige, himself, looked up when Cole entered, and their eyes met. Silent communication passed between the two as Caige approached.
    “Can I help you?” he asked.
    Claire shrank just a little beside Cole, and his grip on her hand tightened. She looked up at him and was captured in his stark green gaze. He willed her not to back down.
    “I would like to get a tattoo,” Claire repeated, this time to the parlor owner. Cole could see that she was intimidated by Caige, as most people were. The werewolf looked like a very handsome actor playing a very wicked role. Charlie she was a Dormant and, as such, even more susceptible to other werewolves and their, for lack of a better word, manliness. Lucas Caige was just about as manly as they came, and his pitch black eyes, which were rare for a wolf, were both intoxicating and threatening.
    But, as any parlor owner would have done, he nodded and smiled a reassuring smile. White teeth flashed and Claire smiled, a little nervous.
    “First one?” Caige asked, his voice low, his tone gently teasing.
    She nodded.
    “Then the first thing you’ll need to do is pick what you want.” He walked her over to a series of large poster-sized displays on the wall. Each one contained several dozen artistic renderings. There was a dizzying plethora of choices. Cole was half afraid that, while Claire carefully deliberated over which one she might want, she would sober up and decide not to go through with it.
    However, she surprised him once more by immediately striding toward the middle display and pointing at a drawing near the top.
    Malcolm’s head swam. She was pointing at a black wolf, howling at the full moon. Caige’s eyes cut to him, for a fraction of a second, and he knew that the other wolf was just as surprised.
    “Can I have that one?” she asked.
    Lucas nodded, expertly hiding his emotions, and led her toward a private room; there were four such rooms in the parlor. Cole joined them, closing the door behind them. At the center of the room rested a plush, reclining table, beside which stood a silver tray, covered in saran wrap. Atop it were a large number of various artist’s tools.
    “Would you like me to show you what each of these instruments are and what they’ll do so that you won’t be surprised by anything?”
    Claire quickly took in the number of alien-looking devices, replete with needles, and visibly paled. Then she shook her head. “No. Please, just do it. I don’t even want to watch, or I might change my mind.”
    Caige nodded and Cole smiled.
    “Have a seat.” Lucas motioned toward the table. “Where do you want it?”
    “My wrist. Then I can cover the bandage with one of my wrist bands when I’m playing and no one will be the wiser.” She sat down and looked down at the insides of her arms as Cole and Lucas once more locked