For a second Jules looked stunned; then the blue eyes narrowed. “Right. You don’t want to see the Havillands get the Anderson fortune in our hands, right? As long as we’re impoverished, the Siracusas rule.”

  “No. That’s not so. I just know how you feel.”

  “Nobody knows how I feel. Did your alpha send you here?” His voice got singsongy. “‘Go tell Jules you’re his friend. Send the handsome stud to persuade the poor little gay boy to defy his father and trust you.’ As if. I may be a sacrifice to my father’s greed, Siracusa, but I’ll be fucking damned if I’ll be a sacrifice to your alpha’s ambitions.”

  Shit, how could this be going so wrong? “Honestly, he doesn’t even know I’m here. He has no idea, and if he did, he’d kill me. Not literally.” Maybe. “Anyway, I just crashed your party and ended up seeing how they were abusing you, and I just couldn’t stand it and—”

  Jules’s eyes got wide and shiny. Why? Does he believe me?

  Rome took a step forward and reached out his hand. The door to the kitchen opened. Jules looked up; Rome froze. An old werewolf in a bathrobe said, “Mr. Havilland. Is everything all right, sir?”

  Rome’s head snapped to Jules. Jules stared at him with his eyes glaring and chest rising and falling. Slowly his fists clenched.

  Rome spun, pushed past the old male, and ran down the hall like all the wolves of Havilland pack were chasing him—because pretty soon they would be.

  JULES stared after the retreating intruder. Right. Intruder with ocean-deep eyes and an ass to die for.

  Oscar, the last remaining full-time servant in the huge house, repeated, “Is everything all right, Mr. Havilland? Who was that young man?”

  Who was he? Who is he to me? “A, uh, friend who came to the party earlier. He changed out of his costume and stopped in to say goodbye.”

  “Oh, I see. I’m sorry to have interfered. I looked in and I thought you appeared upset, and he did run out rather fast.”

  Jules gave Oscar a tight smile. He was a good guy. All through Jules’s childhood, Oscar had been there like a rock through his father’s declining “health.” Still, Oscar was the last remaining servant for a reason. He was loyal to Jules’s dad—or at least seemed to be. “Yes, well, he was expressing concern over my betrothal, and I got upset.”

  “Oh, of course. You didn’t want him casting aspersions on your fiancé.” The old male glanced at Jules with interest before his gaze fell deferentially to the carpet.

  Jules perched his hip on the corner of the table. “No. I don’t know Donald well enough to defend him. I just didn’t want to be reminded that I’m a pawn in a giant political game—since there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.” There. He didn’t care if his father knew that was how he felt. Hell, he already knew it. It was the truth—mostly. He’d always known his life was forfeit to the pack, no matter what he wanted. That sure as fuck didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “Why do you think your friend ran away so quickly?”

  Think fast. “He probably thought I was going to cry. You know how males are about stuff like that.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.” He looked around the kitchen and at the meager pile of cheese in front of Jules. “Is there something I can get you, Mr. Havilland? Can I prepare you a sandwich?”

  “I can do it, Oscar.”

  “No, you’ve had a trying day. Please allow me.”

  Jules sat in the kitchen chair. “Thank you. I didn’t get much to eat during the party. I was so busy talking to people.”

  “I noticed. How about a nice roast beef on rye?”

  “Sounds wonderful. Light on the rye.”

  “Of course, sir. You always did like your meat.” He smiled as he pulled ingredients out of the refrigerator. “A touch of mustard?”

  “Definitely.”

  “With a side of turkey?”

  “Also an excellent idea.” He chuckled.

  “I’ve always thought your father should eat more meat. It would help his strength.”

  He wanted to say, “As opposed to drinking more scotch?” But he held back and said nothing.

  “Does your fiancé like meat?”

  Jules fought the frown and shifted in his seat.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” He swiped mustard on the bread, then added another layer of beef, leaving the top piece of rye off. “I suppose I’m like the others in the pack. All I see is what this alliance can do for us, without being sensitive to what you have to give up.” He placed the sandwich on a plate and set it in front of Jules on the table.

  “Thank you.” His throat felt too tight to eat. Everything. That was what he had to give up. His home. His profession. Any chance for a personal life or for love? He stared at the knife and fork Oscar placed beside the plate. “Oscar, are the Siracusas as dangerous to us as my father seems to think?”

  Oscar released a long breath. “Of course, you’ve barely been here since they’ve lived in Dark Harbor. I forget that. Difficult to say, sir. And, of course, I’m no expert. They are very rich and powerful, and I suppose that does threaten the position of our pack.”

  Jules glanced up. “Position?”

  “The, uh, status as the leading pack in Dark Harbor. And, in fairness, it is that status that keeps your father the head of the council.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You might not like them either, sir. They’re rather crass by Havilland standards. Very macho. Also quite homophobic, I’m told.”

  “Really?” Was that why they sent that boy with the cute butt? To spy on him? Denigrate him? He hadn’t seemed that way.

  “Yes, they’re very old-world, I guess you’d say.”

  “Sounds backward to me.”

  “Precisely.” Oscar moved toward the door. “Enjoy your snack.” He paused. “I truly wish I thought your sacrifice would solve all the pack’s problems.” He sighed audibly. “Good night, sir.”

  Jules dropped his head on his arms, roast beef forgotten.

  When he heard the kitchen door open, he didn’t even look up. Nobody in this house he wanted to see. Wait. Unless that Siracusa came back. His head snapped up on its own. Shit. He wanted to drop it back.

  Donald Anderson stood there in all his preppy, too-good-to-be-true glory. He flashed his perfect, probably capped teeth. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.” He pointed at the sandwich. “Obviously, we had the same idea.”

  Jules pushed the plate forward. “Help yourself.”

  Donald sat in the kitchen chair beside Jules, picked up half the sandwich, balancing the beef on the single piece of bread, and took a huge bite. Pushing an edge of meat back into his mouth, he said, “You eat the other half. You’re too skinny as it is.”

  Jules shook his head. “Thanks for your deep concern, but I’m not hungry.”

  “Didn’t I just walk in to find you with a huge sandwich in front of you?” He took another big bite.

  “I changed my mind. I do that.”

  Donald smiled around his chewing. “Sure. Feel free to give me a run for my money.”

  Jules raised an eyebrow. “What a remarkably apt turn of phrase.”

  Anderson raised both brows in a facial shrug. “At least I’m willing to pay for what I want. I could have sided with Siracusa, and I’m sure I could have gotten you as spoils of war with a fraction of the financial commitment of this deal.” He finished that half of the sandwich and grabbed for the other.

  Ice ran up Jules’s spine. War. There hadn’t been a werewolf war in Dark Harbor in a hundred years, but his grandfather hadn’t been weak like his father, and his great-grandfather had, by all accounts, been a pretty good alpha. Of course, that was all BS—Before Siracusa. The powerful pack had only moved to Dark Harbor a decade before, while Jules was in school. That was a mere drop in the history of the old Dark Harbor bloodlines. He sucked in a breath. “I’m sure my father greatly appreciates your support.”

  Donald clasped a hand on Jules’s forearm. Jules stared at it pointedly, and Donald let go like he’d been burned. “Look. I want to make a good life for you, despite the inauspicious circumstances of our beginning.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d slow the unseemly haste of this betrothal so we could get to know each other. That would certainly improve my life.”

  He grinned and raised his shoulders. “Well, I might not be willing to go quite that far, but you can ask me for most anything else.”

  Jules sat back and tried to look imperious, even though bile kept rising up his throat. “How about if I move back to New York, resume my work, and you come there and woo me?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I think that’s just another way of asking your previous question. Plus, why can’t you paint here? I’m sure you understand that bailing out your father’s an expensive enterprise. He’s a pretty incompetent leader. I need to be sure I get what I want out of the deal or”—another charming shrug—“what kind of businessman would I be?”

  “If you’re such a great businessman, how come you’re backing, in your words, an incompetent leader?”

  Half his narrow lips turned up. “There can be long-term benefits in such a transaction. In the short term, it preserves stability and prevents war. Since my businesses aren’t centered in defense products, I have little to gain from conflict.”

  Damn, he didn’t care about who died, just who profited. Jules scraped back his chair and stood. “Good night, Donald.”

  He looked surprised, dropped his half sandwich, and stood also. “Oh, okay. Well, sleep well, I guess.”

  “Right.” Jules strode out of the kitchen with his back straight, then got into the hall and sagged against the wall. How the fucking hell could he rescue his life? Those huge dark Siracusa eyes drifted through his mind.

  Good luck, asshole.

  ROME lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Oh gods, those eyes. Like some giant, bottomless pool where he’d gladly drown. But not a particle of trust reflected from them. Why should he? Hell, I’m a Siracusa.

  He sat up and wiped a hand over his neck. What was I thinking? I could have been caught by the Havillands. I could have started a war. For what? A guy I saw from a distance? Somebody I imagine needs rescuing when he just about gave me up to the Havilland guards? Crap, I’ve lost it.

  He flopped back against his pillow and closed his eyes. Sleep, dammit, it’s almost morning. But his brain wouldn’t give up its hold on the soft sound of Jules Havilland’s sobs.

  Chapter Five

  OH man, coffee. Rome dragged himself down the hall toward the back stairs that led directly to the kitchen, not passing Go, et cetera. How much sleep had he had? Well, since he could remember wondering if he was asleep yet every hour of the night, the answer was not fucking much. He stalled. Just thinking the word fucking brought the reason for his lack of sleep firmly to mind—and to cock. Wow, that guy was gorgeous. Like all the generations of Havilland refinement coalesced in one male, but with an added dash of strength and power Rome would never have expected. Wow.

  He sighed and yawned as he headed for the stairs again, passing one of the mansion’s many sitting rooms.

  “Rome?”

  Okay, damn. He’d assumed his father would be in his office in the back wing of the house. No such luck. He took a breath and stepped into the large, bright room with its patterned couches and huge windows. “Good morning, sir.”

  Rome’s oldest brother Federico sat on a love seat opposite his father, papers spread out in front of him on the coffee table. As the family accountant, Federico kept finances well in check. Anthony, the middle brother and family lawyer, sipped coffee and read the paper at a game table near the window. Though they both had homes of their own, no one would ever know it. Their wives lived as independent units, while they virtually lived with their father. Federico was nearly ten years older than Rome, and Anthony had six years on him, so they’d never had a ton in common. He’d always been the snot-nosed cub trying to horn in on their fun and vie for some tiny bit of their father’s attention. Rome nodded to his brothers.

  His father didn’t look up from the papers he perused but waved a hand at the chair beside the love seat he occupied. “Sit.”

  “I desperately need coffee, sir.” Rome walked to the sideboard, where a silver coffee service stood with servers for add-ins. He laced his cup with a dash of cream and a little cinnamon, then poured in the black, steaming Italian brew his father favored. Gently blowing on the cup, he wandered back and settled in the chair.

  Time ticked by with only the rustling of papers and tweets of birds outside the open windows. Finally his father took off his reading half glasses and looked at Rome. “Why are you up so late?”

  Should he tell? Yes, he could have been seen by his father’s spies. “Merrick took your request that I woo one of the Havilland females very seriously. So we dressed up in costumes and sneaked in.”

  Anthony glanced up from his paper. “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  His father’s lips quirked up. “Yes, I’d heard you’d made an incursion into Havilland territory.”

  Good call, man. Never forget your father sees all. A piece of his mind whispered I hope not. He sipped his coffee. Don’t offer too much.

  “So were you successful in the female-hunting department?”

  What to say? Stay close to the truth. “Obviously, my instincts were unerring. I asked a female to dance, and she turned out to be—are you ready?—Ty Montgomery’s sister, Yolanda.”

  That brought Anthony to his feet. He crossed to the other chair next to Benedetto. “I can’t believe it. You seriously danced with that asshole’s sister?”

  Federico said in his soft voice, “What was she like?”

  “Scary but also kind of nice. She was shocked I asked her to dance since no one ever does because they’re scared of Ty. I told her I’d been away at school and that’s why I didn’t recognize her. Fortunately the evening’s big announcement happened then, so she couldn’t get too curious.”

  Anthony got up and refilled his coffee. “What was the big hoopla?”

  Rome looked at his father. “I suspect you already know, sir, but Havilland’s son is home from New York.”

  “I’d heard.” He gazed at Rome in that noncommittal way he had that sucked information from people like a Dyson.

  “And that the son, Jules, is marrying Donald Anderson.”

  Anthony sneered. “Fucking fags.”

  Federico, a hard one to shock, looked up with his eyes wide. “The Donald Anderson?” Leave it to him to get to the heart of the matter.

  Rome nodded. “Yes, so we can expect a serious influx of cash and resources into the Havilland clan as a result of the poor kid’s sacrifice.”

  Anthony frowned. “Poor kid?”

  Keep your mouth shut, idiot. “Oh, the son. He sure didn’t look happy about the whole thing. Yolanda says the kid doesn’t even know Anderson. The marriage was cooked up by Gerard.”

  Anthony, by far the most volatile of the family, jumped from his chair, nearly sloshing his coffee but rescuing it with a quick napkin. “This isn’t good. First, Havilland is establishing a dangerous precedent by marrying his son to a fucking fag. God of wolves, what will the community come to if pack members start prancing around in pink sneakers?”

  Rome spat, “Oh come on, Anthony. That’s not the point.” The point might be him smashing his brother in the face if he didn’t shut up.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. The point is, if the Havillands get operating capital, they could start adding muscle to the pack.” He paced to the window and back.

  His father said, “Rome, what do you think?”

  Rome shrugged. “He could, but quite honestly, I think he’s more likely to just drink and debauch it away like he did his initial fortune.”

  Anthony leaned over the chair. “But what if Anderson takes over the pack? He could do some real damage.”

  Rome nodded slowly. “He’d have to be interested in our pack conflicts, and he certainly has other lobsters in the chowder, but it’s possible he’s interested in more than the boy’s ass.” Federico gave a little laugh, and Rome looked up. “Sorry. But I got the impression that Anderson was kind of buying the Havilland kid as his sex slave.” He sipped coffee to cover the shudders that thought produced.

  Benedetto sat back and crossed his short legs. “Anderson seldom does anything without the potential for monetary gain, but he does have a lecherous reputation.”

  Shit, that produced twice the shudders.

  “I’ve also heard conflicting reports on where his fortune comes from. It bears watching.” His father nodded at Rome. “Thank you for your observations. Anything else?”

  “The estate’s very run-down. The grounds show both a lack of care and virtually no security presence. Aside from the censure we’d receive for doing it, we could take the Havilland pack out. Not easily, since they still outnumber us and they have some vicious fighters, but if we want to do it, this would be a possible time.”

  “Hmm.” His father stroked his chin. “But as you say, the fallout would be horrendous.”

  Anthony scowled. “Given any time with Anderson’s fortune and they’re bound to get stronger, no matter how profligate Havilland might be. There will never be a better time than now to wipe the planet of Gerard Havilland and absorb his pack. It just makes sense.”

  “We didn’t work this hard for our status to throw it away on a thug’s decision,” his father snapped.

  Oooh, ouch. Anthony stepped back and sat in the chair with his proverbial if not literal tail between his legs.

  His father gazed at his own folded hands, then looked up at Rome. “How interested was the Montgomery female in you?”

  A wolf in ice boots walked up his spine. Be cool. “I think she was interested in anyone willing to risk her brother’s temper to dance with her. Of course, I had no idea who she was or I’d never have approached her. She’s clearly smart. I think she believed my going-to-school story, but if she knew who I was, I’d be a dead wolf in short order.”