The Road to Redemption (5 page)

She forced her
anger down, wondering if having him around was going to be worth
the effort. The answer, of course, was yes. She’d do anything for
her pack, even if it meant putting up with a pain in the ass rogue.
Taking a calming breath, she spoke giving no indication she’d found
anything perturbing about his behaviour. There was no way she was
going to reward him with a reaction!

“Our pack has
traditionally been known as the Chicago pack. No family name has
ever been associated with it simply because one family—my
family—has ruled it since its infancy. Our rights to this territory
go back over a hundred and fifty years.”

Damien’s
eyebrows rose at that statement and she smiled, pleased to see some
show of interest on his part.

“Unusual. No
challenges from outsiders?”

“No. It’s been
a straight line of succession from father to son. Unfortunately,
we’ve had some setbacks in recent years.” Sam hesitated, unsure of
how much she should reveal this early in their association.
“Suffice to say we’re short of manpower and funds right now. But,”
she hastened to add, “don’t worry. There’s sufficient to pay you
your full fee, provided you do as you’re told and hold up your end
of the bargain.” She gave him a stern look.

“I’ll keep
that in mind.” His face was serious, the teasing light that had
faintly flickered in his eyes earlier was gone now, replaced with
cool intelligence.

Good. Maybe he
was only annoying first thing in the morning…or when he’d been
drinking. She frowned recalling the smell of whiskey that had
permeated his room. If she caught him drinking on duty, she’d have
to rip him a new one. Setting her mug down, she proceeded to lay
down the law.

Damien followed Samantha—no, make
that
Sam
—out of the kitchen for an official tour of the pack
house. She’d held up well against his attempts to annoy her and he
was impressed. He couldn’t quite figure out exactly why he felt the
need to get under her skin. This was a job and it would be better
if he pandered to her more, got on her good side so she’d open up
to him. Of course, kissing up too much might seem suspicious and he
doubted he could do it for very long. He rubbed the back of his
neck. Hell, he’d just play it by ear and see how things went;
that’s what he and Reno, his old partner, had always done.

She’d been
blunt about her expectation of his behaviour. No drinking on the
job. No fighting with pack members. No illegal activity.
Interactions with the local humans were to be kept to a minimum. If
any humans asked, he was a friend on vacation.

He’d nodded,
raising no protest as he’d finished his meal. Pretty standard
stuff.

“Dining room.
TV room.” Sam led him through the house and Damien looked at each
with interest, automatically noting exits and inconsistencies in
the rooms’ structures. Old homes like this sometimes had hidden
passages or trap doors. Useful information in a pinch. All the
rooms were a good size, though there was evidence that the original
floor plan of the house had been altered at some time.

“You’ve done
some renovating, I see.” He studied the floorboards noting how the
wood changed halfway through the room. A wall must have been there
at one point.

She made a
non-committal sound. “Some previous Alpha likely thought they’d
need more room for pack meetings.”

Damien nodded
and gestured towards the ornate tables. “And all the antiques? They
don’t seem quite your style.”

Sam barely
glanced towards where he was indicating. “Collected over the years.
Apparently my grandmother enjoyed them, but I’ve too much to do to
be worried about furniture.”

“Some have
been moved recently, I take it.” Damien stared at a patch of darker
flooring. Something large—a bookcase, perhaps—had once sat there,
protecting the wood from being faded by the sun. Strange that it
would have been relocated after so many years.

“What’s with
all the questions? I thought you were a rogue, not some sort of
freakin’ interior designer.” Sam turned and planted her hands on
her hips, a mixture of disbelief and exasperation on her face.

Damien held
back a chuckle. Sam Harper didn’t seem to have much of a filter
between her brain and her mouth. “Rogue, yes. Designer, no. I’m
just observant. I don’t know a Chippendale from a Hepplewhite.”

“A what?” She
blinked.

“Chippendale
and Hepplewhite. They were furniture designers. My mate liked
antiques.”

“You’re
mated?”

If she hadn’t
touched on a sore subject, the look on her face might have made him
laugh out loud. As it was, he scowled and automatically drew his
protective wall around himself. “Was. She died a little over three
years ago.”

“Oh.
I’m…er…sorry.”

“No need to
be. You had nothing to do with her death.” He stared at her, eyes
shuttered and ready to fend off a barrage of nosey questions. She
didn’t ask any though and, after a beat, he verbally prodded her.
“The tour?”

She nodded.
“The office is this way.” Sam headed towards the front of the
house, her expression giving no indication as to how she felt about
his abrupt change of subject. Not that he cared. He didn’t discuss
Beth with anyone.

Damien made no
more comments as he followed her, only half listening as he mulled
over something that had just struck him. When she’d asked about
Beth, the searing pain that always appeared in his heart at the
mention of his mate had only been a dull twinge. Given the night
he’d spent, he’d expected his emotions to be raw, but for some
reason they weren’t. After all this time, the pain of Beth’s memory
was almost like a friend, a constant in his life that reminded him
of all he’d lost. Why hadn’t he felt it just now? Were his emotions
dulled from his night of drinking? Had the well of grief finally
run dry? No. That wasn’t possible. His love for Beth would live
forever. Hadn’t her last words to him been ‘never forget’?

“You with me,
Dante?” Sam’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

“Damien,” he
corrected automatically. “What were you saying?”

Sam rolled her
eyes. “Pay attention if you expect to keep this job. Rogues are a
dime a dozen.”

Her tone of
voice stirred his temper. He wanted to counter that the cost of
hiring him would be a lot more than a dime, but he kept his mouth
shut and merely raised a brow in query.

“I was
explaining that the office is out of bounds unless I’m with you. No
snooping in the files. No answering the phones. Stay away from the
computer; it’s password protected.”

Damien leaned
against the door frame and crossed his arms. “Then exactly what am
I supposed to do as Beta? That
is
the position I was hired
for, isn’t it?”

Sam looked him
up and down then snorted. “Act impressive. Be the ‘big, strong,
he-man’ that everyone expects an Alpha to be.”

She moved to
brush past him, but he blocked the doorway with his arm. Even
though he wasn’t the rogue she’d hired, her casual dismissal of him
rankled and he wasn’t going to put up with it. Plus, he needed to
figure out exactly what was going on with this pack. Kane had sent
him here to gather information and pack hierarchy was a good place
to start. “So why do you need me? Why not promote one of your own
members to the Beta position rather than putting on an act?”

Sam glared at
him. He could see the battle waging inside her and wondered if he’d
pushed too hard. She clenched her hands into fists and he prepared
himself to dodge a blow. Instead, she turned, walked over to the
desk and sat on the edge. “Close the door.”

After eyeing
her for a moment, he complied. “What, exactly, is going on
here?”

She exhaled
loudly then pursed her lips and looked away. It was obvious she was
reluctant to answer his question.

A second
ticked by and then another. Damien hooked his thumbs in his belt
loops and leaned against the door, ankles crossed. “Are you going
to tell me or should I go looking for the Alpha? I assume Sam
Harper is your father.”

His comment
had her snapping her eyes back at him.

“
Assume
. Ha! That’s what everyone does.” A bitter look
twisted her face and she shoved off from the desk and strode
towards the window. Pushing the curtain aside, she gestured at the
street that ran in front of the house. “The whole world
assumes
an Alpha has to be a male. Even the humans out
there, with their insipid paranormal books, have men leading every
pack they write about.”

Damien nodded.
“And your point is…?” She scowled at him and an idea slowly began
to form. “You? You’re the Alpha of the Chicago pack?” He wasn’t
able to mask the incredulity in his voice. Kane had said she was
the spokesperson.

“Acting-Alpha.” Her chin lifted slightly and her eyes narrowed as
if she were daring him to challenge her. “My grandfather has been
unwell for some time, but he hasn’t abdicated his title yet.”

“And your
father?”

“Died when I
was four, though according to the stories I’ve heard, he was never
interested in the position.” A shadow passed over her face before
she squared her shoulders and gave him a challenging look. “My
grandfather raised me to take over the pack and I have. It’s just
not official on paper.”

Damien gave a
long low whistle. Female Alphas were rare and most often occurred
when the Alpha died and his mate took over. To encounter one, even
an acting one, this young was unheard of. “Samuel Harper. Samantha
Harper.” He nodded. “The similarity of your names helped you keep
this under wraps.”

“A fortunate
twist of fate. Being his namesake has allowed me and my pack to
stay off the radar. If anyone found out a ‘female’ was in charge
we’d be deluged with takeover attempts or wanna-be Alphas trying to
weasel their way in through mating with me.” She returned to the
desk, picked up a piece of paper and after glancing at it, threw it
down again. “And we were managing perfectly well until Kane
Sinclair started to poke his nose into our affairs.”

“And my being
the pack Beta is supposed to impress him?” Damien quirked a brow,
wanting confirmation of what he’d begun to suspect.

She nodded.
“You’ll lend an air of ‘male authority’ to the image the pack
administration presents if the chauvinistic old goats at Lycan Link
start to investigate us.”

“Which brings
me back to my original question. Why not use someone from your own
pack?”

A faint
beeping sound interrupted and Sam glanced at her watch. “Sorry.
I’ll explain later. I have a meeting I need to attend.” Damien was
sure he detected a hint of relief in her voice, but let it pass.
She crossed the room swiftly and he stepped aside so he was no
longer blocking the door.

“You can
finish exploring the house and the neighbourhood while I’m gone.
Stay away from the north wing on the second floor – those are my
grandfather’s quarters. He’s not well and needs his rest.”

“I
understand.” He placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Does the
rest of the pack know why I’m here?”

“They do. I
don’t have to shield my pack mates from the truth.” She shrugged
his hand off her arm. “You’ll find we’re a strong, resilient
bunch.”

“I’m sure you
are,” he murmured softly as he watched her leave. “But are you up
to facing Kane?”

The doorbell
jingled merrily overhead as Sam entered Marcello’s Antiques and
Collectibles. Its cheery sound was in stark contrast to the grim
look on her face. She was supposed to meet with Mr. Marcello at ten
o’clock and she was late. She hated being late. It spoke of
carelessness and a disregard for schedules and order.

For a moment,
she paused just inside the shop allowing her eyes to adjust to the
dim lighting. The place was packed with collectibles and it
wouldn’t do to go blundering about. While her eyes grew accustomed
to the darker venue, she took in the familiar scents of wood,
leather, dust and age. After the bustling noise of the street, it
was almost shocking how calm the atmosphere was; the quiet, steady
ticking of a clock, the sound of a kettle simmering somewhere in
the back. It was like stepping back in time, and she felt the
tension begin to ease from her shoulders.

She’d lied to
Damien when she claimed to know nothing of antiques; her
grandfather and Mr. Marcello had been friends for years. She’d
spent a great deal of time here as a child studying the cases of
old jewellery and trinkets, trailing her fingers over ornately
carved furniture while the two men had shared a glass of cognac.
While she might not be an expert, she could usually tell if a piece
was worthy of its price or not.

The old
grandfather clock in the corner gave a whir and began to chime for
ten o’clock. It was always fifteen minutes slow which meant she was
fifteen minutes late.

“Keep your eye
on the clock,” her grandfather had drilled into her. “Once time is
gone, you can never get it back again. An Alpha has too many
responsibilities to be allowed to waste time.”

He was right.
The jobs were never ending, and the extra time she’d spent with
Dante—Damien—meant she’d likely be behind all day.

The tension
returned to her shoulders once again. Striding to the back of the
shop, Sam brought her hand down rather more forcefully than
necessary on the small bell that sat on the counter. The ting that
rang out from it was demanding, reflecting her impatience. Faint
rustling sounds could be heard coming from behind a curtained
doorway and then it parted revealing Mr. Marcello. He was a short,
round, Italian gentleman of indeterminate age.

“Ah, Miss
Samantha. I was thinking of you only a moment ago.”

She didn’t
cringe when he used her proper name. Mr. Marcello was an old-world
gentleman who still clung to the ways of the past. Besides, he’d
known her since she was a child.