Jules blew Yolanda a quick kiss she couldn’t see, then adjusted the cape and followed Oscar to the door. Oscar rapped sharply and after some shuffling outside, the door opened. “We’re ready to leave.”

  The big enforcer outside nodded, and his expression supported the idea that his IQ didn’t match the circumference of his bicep. “Ya all done?”

  Oscar pushed the door and bowed Yolanda through it. “He’s being sulky and won’t really help much. He just lay down and won’t even look at Yolanda, so there’s no point trying further.” He smiled at the enforcer. “Thank you. I’ll tell Alpha Siracusa what an excellent job you’re doing.”

  The big guy’s meaty face split with a grin. “Thanks.”

  Oscar waved a hand for Jules to precede him, and he walked down the hall trying not to look either hurried or back. As soon as they turned the bend in the hall, Oscar rushed ahead. He glanced down the staircase, held up his finger for Jules to wait, and padded down, quickly staring into the rooms that flanked the stairs. He waved a hand for Jules to follow.

  Don’t freak. Look natural. Jules held his head high, gathered his skirts with as much feminine grace as he could muster, and descended grandly.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Oscar got into the act and offered his arm, which Jules accepted with a light hand resting on the old man’s forearm. He wanted his hands free in case.

  Oscar headed toward the hall that led to the little-used rooms in the back of the first floor. Where the hell are we going? The kitchen entrance will be guarded. He tried to keep his pace even, but every nerve in his body wanted to hurry—

  “Hey, you, where are you going?”

  The loud voice came from behind them. Oscar tensed, but he plastered on his haughtiest family retainer expression and turned. “Excuse me. Are you addressing me?”

  “Uh, yeah.” The big voice sounded a little less certain. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I don’t think I’m going anywhere. I know that I’m taking the bride for her last snack before she begins her marriage fast.”

  Jules turned just far enough to the side so the enforcer might feel as though he was looking at Yolanda, but all he could really see was a little profile. Since the dude was Siracusa, there was a solid chance he’d never seen Yolanda, and Jules could pass as female at a quick glance.

  Oscar puffed out his chest. “It’s a significant moment in her preparation, and Alpha Siracusa has tasked me with this responsibility. Why don’t you call him and verify, if you feel it’s appropriate to slow the ritual to the point where the lady is unable to eat?”

  “Well, no. I guess you know what you’re doing.”

  “There’s no guessing about it, sir. Our timing is critical.”

  “Sure. Sure.” He waved a hand, which revealed the lump of the gun stuck in his waistband.

  “Would you care to join us, sir?”

  Jules gripped Oscar’s arm convulsively, but Oscar patted his hand.

  The enforcer sounded almost scared. “Uh, no, thanks. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “Very well. We’ll be in the kitchen should you change your mind.” He gripped Jules’s arm and proceeded down the hall and made a grand show of opening the large kitchen door, then ushering Jules through. Behind the door, he waved Jules to a chair at the kitchen table and pressed a finger to his lips. Loudly he said, “Just relax there, miss, and I’ll bring you your last food.” He walked to the refrigerator and seemed to make a quick survey, then pulled out a plate of chopped celery and carrots. With a flourish, he placed it on the table in front of Jules.

  Jules looked at Oscar and saw him glance toward the kitchen door. His lips quirked ever so slightly. The enforcer must be looking in.

  A second later, his expression sobered, and he hurried to the entrance and peeked out. “Come on.”

  Jules leaped up and trotted to the door, slipped out, and followed Oscar silently down the hall. Oscar stopped at the same salon Jules had sat in when his father told him he had to marry Donald Anderson—only a few weeks before, but felt like a year. Oscar glanced both ways, opened the door, and guided Jules through it.

  Inside the salon was dark and musty. Gods, he remembered that night. His heart breaking, his world crushed—and then he’d met Rome, who’d blazed into his life like a blast of truth in a swamp of darkness and lies. I want to help you, he’d said. You seem unhappy. I’m here.

  Has he helped me? Oh gods yes. Even if I die without ever seeing him again, just knowing he exists makes life true and good.

  “This way, sir.” Oscar walked toward the wall.

  “Uh, Oscar, where are we going?”

  “Follow me. Please.”

  Shouts came from down the hall. Oscar obviously didn’t hear them, but Jules did. “We have to hurry. They’re coming.”

  “Here.” Oscar held a large wall hanging aside.

  What? Jules slid behind it and found Oscar opening a door in the wall. Son of a bitch. Jules hurried through and Oscar closed it behind him. Dark. Total. Rustling sounds preceded a flash and an electric torch flared on, illuminating a long, narrow hall that slanted downward. “Holy shit. Where are we?”

  Oscar smiled with secret knowledge. “This is an escape tunnel built in the time of your great-grandfather.”

  Jules stared at the rough-hewn walls. “Amazing. It looks older than that.”

  “Very perceptive, sir. This tunnel was formed out of existing caves and structures carved by the ancients themselves.”

  “Wow.” He walked a few steps down the descending corridor, his hand tracing the stone, and the weight of his culture surrounded him. He shook his head. “I guess I should stop sightseeing and ask who all knows about this tunnel.”

  “Not many, sir. I have never had reason to believe that your father knew of it.”

  “And you never told him?”

  “No, sir.”

  Jules stopped, turned, and faced Oscar. “May I ask why?”

  Oscar’s shoulders rose and fell with his breath. “Sadly, sir, your father’s erratic behavior began rather early in his life, and I feared he’d reveal too much. I’ve harbored this secret for many years, always thinking I would use it for the well-being of your father.” He smiled. “I believe I’m doing that, although he might not recognize it as such.”

  “Thank you, Oscar. You don’t think Siracusa knows about this?”

  “Well, sir, the night that Mr. Rome visited you, I suspected he might have come in through the tunnel. I don’t know how he learned of it. If it was from his father”—he shrugged—“perhaps, as you young folks might say, we’re screwed.” He grinned and Jules laughed, which felt kind of good.

  “Do these tunnels go anywhere, or are we trapped?”

  “Ah, follow me.”

  Oscar took off down the tunnel, carrying the light, dragging a hand along the wall to help keep his balance on the decline. The air was relatively still but fresh, so there had to be ingress somewhere.

  As they descended, the walls of the caves changed. The surface looked—not rougher exactly, but older, and markings appeared, a trail of flowers here, a line of ancient script there. Jules wanted to examine it all, but the need to hurry pressed against his chest like a thousand-pound weight. If he could get out, maybe he could save Rome.

  The wall markings became more intricate and gradually evolved into elaborate pictures of figures in both wolf and man form, fighting, eating, playing and—whoa, fucking. “Uh, Oscar, have you ever examined these drawings?”

  “Only in a cursory way, sir. Your grandfather brought me here to help him escape an enemy, but I never felt that he meant to share the secret knowledge these drawings communicate. I’ve never come in here on my own.”

  That level of restraint boggled Jules’s mind, but then Oscar was a pretty amazing dude.

  They kept up their pace, but Jules kept stumbling because he wanted to stare at the intricate drawings more than he wanted to walk. Scenes of what had to be ruling-class alphas began to unfold, holding forth before packs of wolves, leading packs into battle, and of wolves locked in sexual embrace, sometimes with others watching.

  “Only a few more minutes, sir.”

  “Okay, I—” Jules stopped short. “Wait! Stop.”

  Oscar turned, looking frightened. “What is it? Is someone coming?”

  “No. Bring the light closer, please.” He pointed at the wall. “Shine it here.”

  As the light got nearer, Jules pressed close to the drawings on the wall. “Oscar, look at this and tell me what you see.”

  Oscar moved close to the wall. His gasp filled the tunnel like a soft wind. “Gods!”

  “Yes. Precisely.” He sucked in the close air and tried to get his exploded brain back in one piece. “I’ve got to talk to my father, Oscar.”

  Oscar frowned. “Sadly, that’s not wise, sir. Your father’s so unpredictable these days. I think you should escape Dark Harbor and seek asylum with a friendly pack elsewhere.”

  “I can’t leave Rome.” He rested his forehead against the cool stone.

  “Oh, sir, I’m afraid he’s beyond your reach. By the time you get anywhere near him, he’ll be married to Miss Yolanda and surrounded by Siracusa guards well paid to kill you.”

  He raised his head. “I have to try.” He turned to Oscar. “Let’s get outside. You head for the Midwest, and I’ll see if I can unscramble my brains.” He lurched forward and hugged the small, thin body that belied Oscar’s strength and rectitude. “I can never thank you for all you’ve done for me, but I’ll try. Honestly I will.”

  “I wish you’d come with me, sir. My family would welcome you and be honored for the chance to give you shelter.”

  “Thank you, my friend. I’ll try to live in such a way as to justify your good opinion.”

  “You already do, sir.”

  Arm in arm, they walked to the end of the tunnel. Jules sniffed the air coming from the door and pronounced them safe for the moment. After an easy shove against the huge iron door, they crawled out into the cool night.

  Chapter Twenty

  AS Oscar disappeared into the night, Jules slipped to the outside of the wall surrounding the mansion. Shit, the place reeked with the smell of Siracusas. No more unguarded lawns and easy-climbing trellises.

  Treading softly, he sneaked around the perimeter of the grounds, searching the scents of stressed-out wolves for his father. Finally, outside the east wing, he caught the smell of alcohol and his parent, mixed in with the stink of enforcers—enforcers who’d be searching for Jules, since they might assume he was still in the building or on the grounds. And here I am, proving them right.

  Near a big tree, he took a couple of steps back and ran up the wall, pulling himself to the top and then perching there, hidden in the tree branches. Yes, as expected. The grounds outside the mansion crawled with enforcers, though they looked pretty bored. A couple smoked cigarettes, which helped mask Jules’s scent, although in truth, a lot of rank-and-file wolves only had superior senses in shifted form at the full moon.

  Jules hunkered down and watched. Different wolves replaced two of the five on duty but didn’t seem any more passionate about security than the others. He stared at the faces of the males. Odd, he’d never seen them before. They also didn’t look Italian, which was unusual since almost the entire Siracusa clan had some roots in or near the area that was today Italy. Had Siracusa brought in hired guns? Not his usual style. He was even more clannish than the Havillands.

  Two of the guards wandered closer to the wall, and Jules scooted farther back into the shadows.

  “Shit, man, I sure wish something would happen.”

  The other ground his cigarette onto the grass. “Yeah. The boss said there’d be females to fuck and plenty of loot. So far this place is a fucking dump full of a couple old men.”

  “The boss is freaked about that kid getting away. Man, he’s pissed.”

  “Hey, Georgie, how do you feel about working for a fag?”

  Georgie shrugged. “That fag pays twice as much as anybody else in New York for the same job. Shit, I don’t care who he fucks as long as he pays up.”

  “If we want to keep from getting fucked with a lead pipe, we better look like we’re trying to find that kid. Come on.” The other guy and Georgie walked toward the trees at the far end of the lawn.

  Fag? What the bloody hell? Those guards aren’t Siracusas at all.

  Jules stared after the retreating guards—and pulled out his phone.

  ROME walked up the stairs of the Havilland mansion, flanked by Federico on one side of him and Anthony on the other. Onlookers might assume this was a display of brotherly love. Yeah, and they might think the phalanx of guards behind Rome was there to protect him, not keep him from running. Of all Rome’s jailers, only Federico seemed at all uncomfortable. He kept glancing at Rome uneasily, then rifling through the pages of the Book of Wolf Law that he carried.

  As for Rome, he dragged his feet like he was approaching a funeral, not his own wedding. What would the gods do when he pledged himself to another, knowing he was already partnered for life? Would lightning descend from the sky and strike him dead? Would ethereal wolves rip his throat out? Better they should wipe out Benedetto.

  Federico and Anthony opened the big front doors of the mansion. How strange to be coming here as a right after so many years of regarding this place as the pit of hell. Rome walked into the huge entryway with its big, curved staircase and the massive reception room beyond. The sounds of pack members echoed through the halls.

  Wolfgods, I need to know about Jules. Have they hurt him? He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth against the pain. If Jules was dead, Rome would go too—but he’d take as many fucking pack members with him as he could, even if he had to kill his own father.

  Anthony and Federico stopped near the entrance to the reception hall. Rome could see in, but he wasn’t conspicuous to the guests. VIP seating clustered near the front of the hall, still largely empty of guests; then came a gold divider that separated the leaders from the packs, whose seats stretched out to the end of the big room. Oddly, very few of the seats were filled either. Weird. This alliance should sound promising to a lot of wolves, and the potential for drama added extra excitement. Where were they?

  Federico said, “We’ll wait here for Father.”

  “Right. So he can look like my loving parent.” Rome crossed his arms.

  Federico spoke softly. “He really wants the best for you. He just thinks he knows what that is.”

  Rome whispered intensely. “Do you know if Jules is okay? Please tell me.”

  A frown flitted across Federico’s face, but he said, “Sorry. I don’t know anything.”

  Rome sighed and stared at the sparse crowd. As he watched, a few pack members stood, gathered their families, and left through the rear entrance. One Havilland pack member leaned down and whispered something to another male. After a rapid conversation, that male also stood and walked out.

  Anthony stared around, obviously confused, and Federico shifted uneasily.

  Rome said, “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Federico snapped.

  Simultaneously Anthony said, “Yeah, what the fuck? Where are people going?”

  His brothers glanced at each other, Federico raising an eyebrow significantly.

  A ripple of sound traveled through the small crowd, and Rome looked up to see Yolanda walk out of the room on the other side of the hall, holding the arm of an older male Rome assumed was her father. Man, did he look nervous. Following behind were two Havilland females, both dressed in white. Yolanda stared toward Rome, her face neutral, but there was a tension about her, like she desperately wanted to run over and talk to him.

  “I want to go see my bride.” He started walking, but Federico grabbed him back.

  “No. That’s not part of the ceremony.”

  Rome yanked his shoulder from his brother’s grasp. “I don’t give a shit. I want to see her.”

  He made it a few steps before Anthony gripped one of his arms and Federico the other.

  “Come on, you guys—”

  Noise from behind made all of them turn. Benedetto powered through the front entrance, with a small army of enforcers running to keep up. He hurried to them, not even seeming to notice that Rome was being restrained. “Let’s get on with this now!”

  Rome freed his arms and shook himself like a manhandled dog. “What’s going on, Father? Hardly anyone’s here, and pack members are leaving. It’s like something’s calling them away.”

  His father scowled. “They’re probably afraid there’s going to be trouble. Anderson broke free, and no one knows where he is.”

  Whoa. He’d done it. He’d escaped Siracusa’s army. The slam of his heartbeat against his ribs almost hurt. For once he could look forward to seeing Donald Anderson—maybe. It depended on what that meant for Jules.

  “Uh, did Anderson take Jules Havilland with him when he escaped?”

  His father’s frown could have frozen Medusa. “How would he do that?”

  “No idea, but Anderson sure seemed intent on marrying Jules.”

  His father looked at the crowd, distracted. “I had Anderson caged up, and he’d still be there but for the stupidity of certain wolves.” He cast a look at Anthony. “The Havilland brat is guarded by my enforcers. They aren’t together, wherever Anderson is.”

  Federico and Anthony exchanged a glance. Oh man, I’d like to know what that look meant. His gut feel said it wasn’t bad news—for him.

  His father took Rome’s arm and half led, half dragged him into the hall, where a small altar was set up. Interesting how everyone felt free to drag him around. Of course, he wasn’t fighting back—until he knew he had something to fight for.

  As they drew near to the altar, Yolanda stepped forward on her father’s arm, with her attendants behind her. The father stared at Benedetto as if some serpent had manifested in the garden.

  A priest Rome had never seen before walked out the side entrance and crossed to the altar. He waved his two hands gracefully toward Rome and Yolanda, indicating they should step forward and join hands. Benedetto’s grasp loosened and Rome pulled away, reaching Yolanda in two steps. He grabbed her hand and whispered, “Are you okay?”