Page 19 of Hunted Mate (Stalked Mates #1)

C alista

New Orleans is beautiful and ominous in equal measure. We land at a small airport where I am almost certain I see an alligator skittering off into the trees at the end of the runway.

This is not the environment I am used to. It is more humid, it is warmer. The very air smells of very different things. More raw, more animal, more magic .

A car is waiting for us at the airport. Our arrival is clearly expected and very well organized.

It’s similar to the one that picked us up, big and black with tinted windows, even in the fronts where I’m pretty sure it’s not legal.

Then again, this is another state. Laws are mutable in the United States.

Go here, go there, they’re different and different again.

New Orleans feels ripe with meaning. I don’t know how to explain it other than that.

I wonder if I would be feeling these feelings if I had come here before I knew the wolves were real, and murderous.

The city is beautiful and somehow dark. There’s so much water, so much history.

And there’s a power here. I can feel it thrumming in the air, like an electric charge.

A lot of the city looks sort of generic, but it almost feels like a facade, like the buildings are trying to be normal, but not quite succeeding somehow.

I’m probably projecting all sorts of things onto it.

Hard not to while surrounded by the architecture of a rich history.

The verandah game here makes me want to renovate my house ASAP.

The city feels older than most other places in the United States. Don’t know exactly how that is, but there’s a gravitas and spiritual weight to the city that you’d have to be completely dead inside to miss.

I’ve been glued to the window since we got here. Karl is driving. I’ve rolled down the passenger side rear window and am enjoying the view.

“Shut that,” he says.

“I can’t. I won’t be able to see anything.”

He tries to wind the window up from the electric controls up front. I use the controls back by me. The window starts making very distressed sounds that only get worse when I curl my fingers over the pane and physically push it down.

“Don’t make me stop this car,” Karl growls, warning me with a flaccid threat. I already know Gray will kill him if he so much as puts a finger on me. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I guess Gray didn’t exactly kill him when he threw me in the back of the car at my place.

“Let her look out the window,” Gray says.

“You want her seen? You think it’s a good thing if she’s recognized, if someone takes her picture? You want this to be a public scandal?”

“Good point,” Gray says. “Sweetheart, put the window up.”

“No.”

Next thing I know, there’s a hard grip at the back of my neck, and Gray is hauling me across the seat and into his lap, one hand under my jaw, forcing me to look up at him.

“Do as you’re told,” he says, his eyes flashing at me with stern intention.

“This is quite a dangerous journey. Don’t forget humans are never supposed to be seen in the company of wolves.

Your presence with us, especially as everyone already knows about all your studies of our kind, will raise eyebrows. ”

“Fine. But I want to go out for dinner later, when this is all over.”

He shakes his head slightly, his brows furrowed in confusion, and I realize suddenly that it’s very possible that this will never be over. There’s a problem that cannot easily be solved, or be solved at all. Humans are not allowed to know of their kind. I am a human who knows of their kind.

Satisfied that he’s able to wind the window up, Karl stops talking.

We loop around a few old neighborhoods and finally slide into the gated driveway of a pretty palatial place.

The sort of place my real estate agent would show me if I wanted.

I think for a second about getting the address and having an offer made on the place.

It’s a snotty move to try to buy someone’s pack den out from under them, but it’s also quite funny.

As we step out of the car, I feel quite nervous. The house is big and fancy, covered in both ivy and verandahs. I’m used to palatial dwellings, but some places just have gravitas the others don’t. This is definitely one of those places.

Gray takes me by the hand and leads me into the house via a side door that has been left open. It feels like a cozy entrance rather than the big palatial one that faces the street and is clearly designed to impress people.

The interior of the building is much like I expected. It’s clean, polished, and full of the kind of furniture that not only looks traditional, but is somehow comfortable as well. There’s a lot of paintings of wolves and things, which makes sense, keeping things on brand.

At first, nobody else seems to be present.

“Wait here,” Karl says. “I’ll get him.”

Gray and I linger on a Persian rug. I try to stay calm. I tell myself I am Calista Hart. If anything, these people should be feeling honored to meet me. I’m kind of famous. I’m an heiress. That counts for something in places like this, so I’ve been led to believe.

“So. This is the little heiress who is too precious to die,” a rough, deep voice intones.

It is followed in very short order by the alpha of New Orleans.

He is a massive beast in every way. His silver-tinged hair flows thickly from his head, and he has light blue eyes that make me feel like I’m at risk of floating through them to another dimension.

I can see how he managed to father pups with so many females.

His physical attractiveness is just one facet of his charisma.

But there is also intellect in his eyes, and animal magnetism in his every move, and…

if I had not already met Gray, I might be tempted to swoon.

“Gray. Good to see you, son,” he says, his voice warm, but his body language somewhat reserved. I can feel the rift between these two men.

“Hello,” I say, trying not to sound as shy as I am. “I am Calista.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” he says.

“Father, this is Calista,” Gray says, getting on the introduction bandwagon a little behind schedule. “Calista, this is Orion Dulac, alpha of New Orleans.”

There’s reverence in Gray’s voice as he introduces his father formally. I look between the two men, and discover that Gray takes after his father quite strongly. He doesn’t have the old beast element to him, but they share facial structure, and temperament, I suspect.

“Sorry I’ve been such an inconvenience,” I say, trying to be polite.

It’s a far cry from the way I spoke to Karl.

I spent as much time as I could antagonizing the hell out of him.

I don’t want to do that with Orion. He has far too much power, and I actually think I’d feel almost guilty if I forced him to sentence me to death.

“Inconvenience is one word. Come,” he says. “You must be hungry. You’ve been flying, and the food on those planes is never any good, even the private ones.”

“Yeah, what’s up with airplane food,” I say, channeling a nineties comic for a brief moment.

“Small,” he says. “Tasteless.”

Neither of those descriptors can be applied to the food that awaits us in a nearby dining room.

The alpha has ensured a full spread has been put on, with all manner of local delicacies.

There’s shrimp remoulade and crawfish beignets, not to mention oysters Rockefeller.

A duck jambalaya makes up the main dish, with buttermilk cornbread on the side.

It is all served on delightful original china and fine cloth napkins. Simple, but delicious and elegant.

“This is the best meal I have had in months, if not years,” I compliment my host.

“That’s because you eat junk food constantly,” Gray says. “If it doesn’t come in a takeout box, you won’t eat it.”

I shoot him a stony look. I’m trying to make a good impression.

I’m glad I put something nice on before coming.

I’ve gone for a pink dress that falls below the knee, and matching kitten heels.

I almost wish I’d dressed up a little more, but I guess this is good enough.

It’s in keeping. I’ve been taught to always be in keeping.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the meal,” Orion says.

Karl is present too, though he’s barely said a word. It’s strange. Very strange. He’s either deferring to his father, or his father has no idea what an asshole his son is.

“I wanted to meet with you, because you’ve been quite a unique concern,” he says. “I’ve heard what happened in New York when they tried to handle you in the traditional manner.”

“That is a very laidback way of saying they tried to put me in a cage and slaughter me like an animal,” I say. There’s a slight edge in my tone. It’s a pity. I sip a little fresh lemonade to try to get the taste of deadly betrayal out of my mouth.

“Yes, and usually that would be effective. The end of the matter. But you refused to die, and it has been pointed out that your death in a warehouse would almost certainly lead to the kind of investigation that went all the way up to the federal level. People of your ilk do not merely go missing. It’s not like normal people, who can drop off the face of the planet any given Tuesday and hardly anybody cares. ”

“I do have certain privileges,” I admit in a significant understatement.

“Yes, you do, and why not,” he says. “Accidents of birth must be honored. I want to welcome you to my home. And I want to encourage your research. There are libraries here containing information and writings from some of the earliest of our kind. In these walls you will be able to finally know everything you have spent the better part of a lifetime trying to learn.”

“Really?” My jaw drops. “That’s so amazing of you, but can I ask why?”