Page 19 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
The room fell silent. The air went static. Morgan was trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Hawk inquired with faux, blinking innocence, and someone on the Assembly actually had the nerve to snicker.
Alejandro was universally disliked. Though he was Alpha by grant of his Bloodline, and he was Gifted with Vapor, which only the most powerful were, Alejandro had failed to earn the respect that was due his position. Not only had he proved himself to be a narcissist, a hedonist, and a debauched gambler who often visited the city for the express purposes of whoring and frittering away his inheritance, he was not the eldest son.
In fact, Xander was the eldest son of the former Alpha. But Xander, like Hawk, hated politics. He’d refused the opportunity to ascend to his father’s position. He’d only recently—begrudgingly—consented to join the Assembly at his wife’s insistent behest. So Alejandro sat in the Alpha’s chair instead of Xander, and the entire colony suffered for it.
As for Hawk, he was the product of the former Alpha’s unfortunate liaison with an unmated young girl during a brief period between his marriages to the two wives who produced Hawk’s half brothers. Hawk had royal Blood, but was the only illegitimate child the tribe had seen in generations. To the tribe, he was Salsu Maru, the Least Son.
The Bastard.
An object of equal parts desire—females seemed to love his air of brooding rebelliousness—and derision, Hawk was an outsider among his own people. He never had, and he never would, belong.
A fact which Alejandro took every opportunity to remind him.
“Where are the pictures?” Alejandro slowly enunciated each word, staring at Hawk as if he wished to drive a stake through his heart. Which he undoubtedly did—the vain hate being mocked.
Before he could answer, Morgan interjected, “I was actually thinking we might go in another direction with those pictures.”
Alejandro stared at her with a look that would have made a serial killer quake, but she simply amended it politely, without an ounce of fear, “With your permission, My Lord, of course.”
Alejandro might have missed the faint laughter in her voice, but Hawk didn’t.
What’s she up to?
“May I speak, Sire?”
She rose, leaning forward so a profusion of ample, creamy cleavage pressed in open invitation against the low neckline of her blouse. Most members of the colony wore as little as possible when in human form to circumvent the clinging jungle heat, but Morgan had a clothes fetish. Her wardrobe choices were made independent of the weather. When she’d first come to live in the jungle with Xander, she’d mourned the shoe collection she’d left behind in her far more sophisticated colony in England like a child mourns a pet run over by the neighbor’s car.
Foolish fetishes aside, the woman had a body made to be showcased in designer clothes.
Alejandro’s gaze flickered to the irresistible siren’s call of the top swell of Morgan’s breasts. Beside her, Xander stiffened in anger.
Women had to use every weapon available to them, and Morgan was a veritable arsenal of sex appeal. “Sire” this and “My Lord” that and a cruise missile of va-va-voom aimed straight in Alejandro’s direction—whatever she had in mind, the Alpha didn’t stand a chance.
Hawk felt no pity for Xander, sitting red-faced and livid beside her. Allow yourself to fall for a bombshell like her, make her your wife, what did you expect? Your life would get easier?
Still staring at her breasts, Alejandro gave Morgan permission to speak with an imperious wave of his hand.
“Thank you, My Lord.” She inclined her head and dipped an elegant curtsy in a show of deference that visibly mollified the flustered Alpha. He sat back into his overstuffed chair with a sniff, snapping his fingers for more wine. A young attendant leapt to his side, removed the broken glass from between his stiff fingers, and replaced it with another, already full.
“As we all know, this reporter has caused us irreparable damage. Things were bad before, with the murders of the twenty-six politicians and religious leaders on Easter that Caesar coordinated, but they got even worse after she wrote that article and rallied humans behind her agenda of hate.”
Murmurs of assent swirled around the room. Looking at Alejandro, but including the entire Assembly, Morgan continued.
“It occurred to me that, although your plan for revenge was excellent—as always, Sire—perhaps we might take it one step further. Perhaps we might look at it in a larger context, one that would benefit us beyond just ruining her career and reputation.”
She paused, and the room held a collective breath.
This was a dangerous thing she attempted. The line she walked was paper thin. If the Alpha decided her tone or expression or even her posture weren’t to his liking, if he detected even a hint of disrespect, it would be within his rights to punish her in any way he saw fit.
Including stringing her up to a tree and leaving her there until her corpse was picked clean by the birds.
It had been dangerous for him, too, but he honestly didn’t care. Irritating Alejandro was the closest thing to fun Hawk ever had. He suffered canings on nearly a weekly basis, but he was a quick healer, and thought it a small price to pay for what little amusement he had available.
But for a female to challenge the Alpha, it was more than dangerous. It was downright crazy.
It was suicide.
