Page 14 of Wolfgang

He locked the door behind him—a matter of principal rather than real protection—and brought his mate up to the spare bedroom before placing him gently in the center of the bed. He folded Dr. Monroe’s clothes neatly and set them on the bedside table. Then, after a moment of thought, Wolfe slid the man’s underwear up over his hips, under the robe. Humans could be very particular about modesty, and Wolfe didn’t want Dr. Monroe thinking anything untoward had happened during his transition.

He’d need to make a quick phone call to Tobias, officially letting the den know of his change of loyalties and that Johann was no longer an easy target. He’d been putting it off long enough. But it wouldn’t do to have any lingering complications hanging over his head to deal with, not when his freshly turned obsession would be needing his time and attention.

The good doctor. His mate. And, as they were now intimately acquainted—after all, what was more intimate than an exchange of blood?—perhaps it was finally proper to be on a first-name basis.

“Eric,” Wolfe said out loud, tasting the name on his tongue. “My Eric.”

five

Wolfe

Givenhowinoneanother’s pockets the Hyde Park friend group seemed to be, it came as no surprise when, less than an hour after the encounter with Roman, Wolfe’s doorbell rang.

He’d passed the time since his phone call with Tobias staring intently at his mate’s face, not even bothering to change out of his borrowed clothing (and how convenient, that he and Brenda had been roughly the same height and build). He was trying, and failing, to figure out the exact moment of his loss of control. Was it when he’d bitten Eric, punctured that tender skin and opened the floodgates? Or when he’d touched him for the first time, laid hands on those broad shoulders? Or perhaps from the very first moment Wolfe had seen him and his beast had recognized what it was he meant to them?

Beast aside, Wolfe supposed he’d always especially liked things that belonged to him and him alone. As a child, he’d never wanted to share, hadn’t seen the point of it—not his toys, not his treats, not the attention from adults he occasionally required. He’d reacted with violence when forced to do so, until he’d reluctantly learned the consequences of that aggression from his parents, who’d been quick to punish and even quicker to order others to do it for them. Adults were bigger and stronger than children, was what it came down to, so it didn’t do to give them a reason to exercise that might.

Wolfe had learned at a very early age that manipulation was best, and the more subtle he could be, the better.

He’d started honing those skills with the members of his household staff, then perfected them at boarding school. He’d been a star pupil to the professors and a holy terror to the other children, a reputation he’d earned within days of his arrival.

Nobody had asked him to share after that.

And now here was a person, an entire human being—soon-to-be vampire—that belonged solely to him. Gifted by fate.

Was it any wonder he was so fascinated? Was it truly a surprise, when his patience had started out threadbare as it was, that the beast had been able to dig its claws into those holes and take control?

Perhaps not. Perhaps it had all been inevitable.

So while the doorbell ringing was not surprising, itwasunwelcome. What right did anyone else have to interfere with what belonged to him? But it was necessary for Wolfe to remind himself of the bigger picture. To live the unnaturally long, protected life he envisioned, he would need security, connections, and funds. And for that, he needed community.Thiscommunity, if he wanted his due half of Johann’s billions.

So he reluctantly left the spare bedroom with his transforming mate inside it and opened the front door to find Johann standing there, dressed in another one of his atrocious sweatpants numbers. A quick glance past his small frame confirmed Roman was still on the property, along with his pretty mate, the nurse. Alexei lurked as well, and even from afar, it was clear he wasn’t pleased to be separated from Johann, even for a few moments.

Wolfe was annoyed to note he now understood the sentiment.

“Johann,” Wolfe greeted mildly. He wasn’t quite sure what impulse exactly had him feigning ignorance of the purpose of their visit, other than the simple desire to see if he could pull it off. “How may I help you?”

But the other vampire wasn’t having it, his little face already scrunched in anger. “Wolfgang.” He made Wolfe’s name sound like a scolding.

Wolfe didn’t like that one bit.

But he didn’t let his annoyance show, other than a slight flattening of his lips. “I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid now’s not the best time.”

Wolfe had always liked Johann well enough. He was polite, he was more observant than people gave him credit for, and he treated Wolfe’s psychopathy for what it was—namely, a psychological condition rather than a moral failing. But there was no way in hell Wolfe was allowing anyone—ally or not—into his home when his mate lay there, vulnerable and unconscious. At least not until he had a proper plan of action in place.

Johann continued to look at him like he was the source of some great betrayal. “I thought I told you we wouldn’t be that kind of den.”

As if what Wolfe had done was anything like the practices of their old den: kidnapping random humans, turning them with the misguided hope they’d be happy to serve whatever master had chosen them, then disposing of them when they so often didn’t work out. It was all wasteful, tedious, and unreasonably risky, but Wolfe had never been in a position to change anything without risking his own neck in the process.

“I beg your pardon?” He didn’t let his offense at such an accusation show.

He was ready to continue this ploy of mild confusion right up until Johann threatened to cut him out of the pot, crossing his arms in some subconscious effort to physically intimidate Wolfe (a laughable impulse). “I’ll leave you out in the cold, Wolfe. No money. No den. No nothing. I don’t like liars.”

And what Johann’s body language couldn’t achieve, his words certainly could. Wolfe was forced to go through the indignity of explaining his own actions to another, as if he answered to anyone other than himself. “I only wanted a little taste. The blood of a mate is supposed to be especially sweet. I tried to compel him. My beast would not…cooperate.” Wolfe ran a hand through his hair, which had become decidedly mussed in the massage room scuffle and was not nearly up to its normal standards. “So I did what had to be done.”

Johann’s face scrunched even tighter. “And what are you going to do with him now?”

“He’ll stay with me, of course.”

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