The Road to Redemption (30 page)

Gwyneth walked
by, tossing a towel at Tina as she passed. “Your shift started two
minutes ago.”

“I’ll be right
there.” Tina slid off the stool. “So, what are you going to
do?”

“Nothing, I
guess.” Sam swirled the liquid in her glass. “Act like nothing
happened. Business as usual.”

“Sorry I
wasn’t more help.”

Sam gave her a
smile. “That’s okay. I really just needed to talk to someone.”

“Any
time.”

Tina left, and
Sam nursed her drink a bit longer. If she was honest, she was…hurt.
Something about Damien had grabbed her attention from the very
beginning. Not only was he good looking, he was strong and
physically fit. Plus he was smart, had a sense of humour, and
seemed to care about the members of her pack. Sure he could be
sullen and closed mouthed, but she understood that since he
obviously carried a hurt deep inside.

Damien made
her heart flutter. She found herself looking for ways to make him
smile, waiting for him to tease her. When she was with him, it was
like she was with her other half. Hell, he even rode a Harley! He
was the male image of herself. In all respects they seemed a
perfect match. Naturally, when the opportunity presented itself,
she’d gambled hoping he felt a similar attraction to her. The odds
had seemed in her favour, and her instincts were usually pretty
good.

She shook her
head and downed the remainder of her drink. Life and love; they
were both a crap shoot.

There was a
break in the dance music and the patrons were starting to gather at
the bar, thirsty from their exertions. Sam was preparing to vacate
her seat when a tingling at the back of her neck had her pausing.
She looked into the mirror that backed the bar and scanned the
crowd gathering behind her. One person stood out. Older than most
of the group, he had greying hair and a lined face. Something about
him seemed familiar. She didn’t let her gaze linger despite the
fact she was sure he was staring at her.

Where did she
know him from? As she pondered the point, someone bumped into her,
spilling part of their drink on her arm. Ignoring the half drunken
apologies of the man—had the fool really thought that was a good
pick-up line—she looked in the mirror again. Damn. He was gone.

She spun
around, searching the crowds, hoping for a glimpse of him even
though she knew it would be futile. Who was he and why had he been
watching her? Probably some dirty old man looking for some sweet
young thing. Well she might be young, but tonight she certainly
wasn’t feeling sweet!

Grumbling
under her breath, she finished drying her arm on her shirt. Men.
Nothing but a pain in the ass.

Sam pounded on Damien’s bedroom door. The scent of
alcohol oozed from beneath the wooden panel and added fuel to the
rage already smouldering inside her. He hadn’t shown up for dinner
last night, patrol duty or breakfast this morning. Coward. She’d
expected better of him.

Thud, thud,
thud.

She knocked
again and then jiggled the door handle. It wasn’t locked. Taking
that fact as an invitation to enter, she stepped inside wrinkling
her nose at the smell of sweat and booze. The room was dark, the
blinds drawn. As she flicked on the lights, she noticed a hole in
the plaster and snarled. He’d damned well better fix that before he
left!

Stalking
across the room, she opened the drapes and pushed up the window
panes to let the stench out.

A low groan
came from the bed as a beam of light fell across it.

Damien was
sprawled there, bare chested and still dressed in the same grey
track pants from yesterday. One arm was slung over his eyes, the
other hung limply off the bed. A whiskey bottle lay open and empty
on the floor where it had fallen from his hand.

Walking over
to the bed, Sam stared down at the unconscious Lycan. His chest
rose and fell with each deep breath. He was sound asleep.

For a moment,
she admired the pure beauty of his form. Broad chest, narrow hips,
the hint of a treasure trail disappearing into his pants. His jaw
was heavily shadowed with stubble, his lips barely parted. Thick,
dark hair showed above where his arm shielded the rest of his face.
God, he was gorgeous. Too bad he was also a douche.

Her toe nudged
the bottle on the floor and she bent to pick it up. The faintest
trace of golden liquid still remained. Giving a shrug, she downed
it, enjoying the burn. It was the good stuff.

Sam wiped her
mouth with the back of her hand. “Time to wake, sleeping
beauty.”

She went to
the bathroom, filled the bottle with cold water and returned to his
bed side. Holding the container over his lower abdomen, she tipped
it and let the icy liquid serve as an alarm clock.

“What the
hell!” Damien shot up, a look of bewildered outrage on his
face.

“Time to get
up.” She dropped the bottle on him. It landed exactly where she’d
planned and she watched with grim satisfaction as he gave a yelp of
pain and automatically grabbed the offended area.

“Watch what
you’re doing.” Growling in displeasure, he swung his legs off the
bed.

“I was.” Sam
gave an evil smile and stepped back.

“Damn, woman.
Have some compassion.” He ran his hands through his hair, wincing
as if the very roots were protesting in pain.

“I told you no
drinking except on your own time.”

“It was my own
time.”

“The drinking
might have been, but the hangover is on my time, so suck it
up.”

Damien got to
his feet, swaying slightly and peered at her with bleary eyes.
“Okay, I’m up. What’d you need?”

Sam looked him
up and down, shaking her head and curling her lip. “Was the sex
between us so bad, you had to get drunk?” She clamped her mouth
shut, not having intended to ask the question.

He blinked at
her, and slowly straightened. Her comment seemed to have sobered
him better than the cold water she’d dumped on his crotch. “Uh, no.
Not at all.”

“Good.” She
pulled back her arm and slugged him, a feeling of satisfaction
filling her even as her fist protested in pain.

Damien
staggered backward and hit the wall, shocked surprise on his face.
Then he started to laugh.

“What’s so
funny?” She scowled at him, hands on her hips.

He shook his
head. “You wouldn’t understand, Sugar.”

She huffed in
disgust at the annoying name he kept using. “When you’re done
laughing like a hyena, get cleaned up. There’s a pack meeting in an
hour.”

Damien slid
into his seat on Sam’s right and scanned those gathered around the
table. Jonah, Laurie, Andrea, Keith, Hiram, Florence… Only the pup,
the grandfather and three others were missing. A pathetically small
showing for what had once, purportedly, been an impressive pack.
Their demeanour in no way indicated they were hanging on by the
tips of their claws, however. Each appeared confident, relaxed,
well-balanced. Sam did a good job leading them, instilling in them
a sense of security.

They nodded or
gave him a friendly greeting, before resuming their casual
conversations. There was no sign given that they were aware he’d
bedded their Alpha. Not that he expected Sam to be the kind to kiss
and tell; it was his own self guilt over his betrayal that was
making him edgy. He took a deep breath and buried the feeling; if
he dwelled on it, the others would sense his unease. It was best to
put the incident behind them.

Sam cleared
her throat and drew the attention of those gathered. “I’ve called
this impromptu meeting to bring you up to speed with what’s
happening regarding the possible takeover of our pack by
Sinclair.”

She stood with
her fingertips resting lightly on the back of her chair, her voice
steady as was her gaze while she looked over those assembled. Such
a statement should have disquieted those gathered, but her
demeanour calmed the others, just as it should. The pack always
followed the Alpha’s example. Damien was sure he was the only one
present who could see how her thumbnail was digging into the wood
on the back of the chair. Inside, she was likely a churning mass of
seething anger and worry; if it had been him in the same position,
that’s how he’d feel.

“As you know,
Sinclair is trying to build a case against us. He claims we have
too few members to carry out our duties.” She began to walk around
the table. “It’s completely untrue, of course. I’ve sent Lycan Link
a copy of our duty roster showing how we manage. I even added
Damien’s name to the list so our ranks are showing growth, albeit
by one.”

Her statement
was followed by soft chuckles from the pack and a few shot
appreciative looks toward their new Beta. Damien merely nodded, his
blank expression hiding the squirming of his conscience.

“Sinclair’s
latest bit of ‘ammunition’ against us is to claim that Grandfather
is no longer the Alpha and we’ve been operating under false
pretences.”

“Of course,
he’s our Alpha!” Florence interrupted, her cheeks flushed. “It’s
utter nonsense to say otherwise.”

“I agree.” Sam
placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder and gave it a comforting
squeeze before continuing to circle the table. “As most of you
know, all packs that are members of the Lycan Link affiliation must
maintain honest and up to date records of pack administration.” She
turned to face Damien. “Would you care to explain to the pack why
this is required?”

Surprised by
her request and not sure of her motivation, he nodded. “According
to the Book of the Law, accurate records must be maintained not
only for the benefit of Lycan Link, but also to make sure there is
a clear line of accountability should problems arise.” He raised
his brows and gave Sam an inquiring look to see if she wanted him
to say more.

“Thank you.”
Turning her back on him, she continued.

Inwardly,
Damien frowned. Had she hoped to catch him off guard and embarrass
him in front of the pack? Or had she been trying to include him, to
make him seem part of the pack leadership? She wasn’t spiteful, so
it was likely the latter. A united Alpha and Beta was what the pack
members needed when someone began questioning the validity of the
leadership, and Sam was all about caring for her pack.

He shifted in
his seat and focused on what she was saying once again.

“As you know,
I am the acting-Alpha. The Book of the Law clearly states that if
an Alpha is temporarily unable to fulfill his duties, the Beta will
step into the role for that period of time until the Alpha is able
to resume his normal place.”

“So, what is
Sinclair’s problem?” Jonah growled.

“He claims my
position isn’t temporary since I’ve been acting-Alpha for over four
years, and since no one has seen or heard from Samuel Harper,
Senior, in ages, his position, even his existence, is in
question.”

“That’s
outrageous,” Andrea stated, rising to her feet. “Sinclair is
basically stating your grandfather is dead and we just ‘forgot’ to
tell anyone!”

Her mate,
Keith, laid a calming hand on her arm and she slowly sank back into
her seat.

“While I agree
it is utterly ridiculous, the fact remains that we have to counter
his claim. That’s where you come in.” She swept a look over
everyone there. “I’ve had Christopher busy pulling all the records
from the attic and bringing them down to the living room. Each of
you will be given one box to go through and I want you to find
every piece of paper that my grandfather has signed or initialled
over the past four years.”

The pack
members murmured in approval, obviously pleased to be able to do
something to help out their cause. Damien clenched his jaw, feeling
more and more like a traitor.

“I can help
Chris carry the boxes down.” He rose to his feet and moved to
leave.

“No, I have
another job for you.” The sound of Sam’s voice stopped him and he
turned to face her. She nodded towards her office and he followed
her there.

“Yes?”

“Are you
recovered from your hangover?” Her expression held a look of mild
interest, no hint of accusation. Still, he answered cautiously, not
sure where the conversation was headed.

“I’m
fine.”

“Good.” She
paused and he wondered if she’d bring up their…encounter…in the
cellar. Indeed, she opened her mouth as if to speak, only to close
it and begin again. “I want you to check on Mr. Marcello. I’ve
tried to stop by each day since the break in but won’t have time
today. Could you take care of it, please?”

“Sure.” He
wondered why this required them speaking in private. “I’ll do it
right away. Anything else?”

“No. Yes.” She
took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. “Our fucking
in the cellar was obviously a mistake, but it can’t get in the way
of our jobs, especially now. Understood?”

Her use of the
coarse word shocked him. Not because it seemed strange to hear her
use it—Sam’s vocabulary was anything but dainty—but because a part
of him didn’t want what they’d done to be reduced to something so
base. His wolf was in total agreement.

“It won’t be a
problem.” His answer reflected none of his inner turmoil.

“Good. I’ll go
help with the boxes. Report in when you get back.” She opened the
door and waited with her hand on the knob.

As he passed
by, her scent hit him in the gut, stirring the animal inside,
urging him to reach out and touch her. He could barely force
himself to keep walking. Hell, this was going to be harder to deal
with than any of the casual encounters he’d had in his misspent
youth.

Damien walked
out of the office and out of the pack house, giving no visible sign
of his struggle. Down the sidewalk, around the corner and now… Out
of the sight of prying eyes, he braced himself against a fence and
took deep cleansing breaths. Sam’s unique scent of leather and
spice continued to linger, taunting him with memories of holding
her close, of being buried in her…