5. Connor O’Doyle

Chapter 5

Connor O’Doyle

You stole a yacht?

An hour later, I still can’t get her out of my head.

Whitley challenges me at every turn and her scent has somehow permeated every part of the bloody castle so much that I am forced to block my nostrils even in my own bathroom. If only she truly were an idiot, maybe it wouldn’t piss me off so much how she prances around the place, leaving cupcakes in her wake like a cake-making Bonaparte, but she knows exactly what she is doing to me.

Vlad cannot get back soon enough.

I sit and attempt to control my breathing, my hands clenched into fists. The woman can get under my skin faster than anyone I have ever met, and after three hundred years, I’ve gotten to know a lot of people.

The first night she came to the castle, I thought I smelled something... off. And I was right.

There is no chance she wasn’t wearing it tonight—her perfume. It makes me want to bend her over and fuck her senseless, and I don’t even like the woman. Of course, this is to be expected for what I am. Or so Jekyll says. Apparently, some perfumes can elicit a stronger response in me.

I breathe in heavily and immediately roar. My fur bristles under my skin, hands turning to claws, and my knees bend into a monstrous form. Damn her, and damn her scent. I have half a mind to spray down the study—it’s somehow worse today.

“Damn me.” I breathe her in, and my eyes roll to the back of my head as I force my baser self back. Most days are bearable, but today... today I am on the brink. From the moment she stepped foot in this castle, my senses have gone haywire.

And if I hadn’t started this business venture, she wouldn’t be here.

I grab the phone from my desk and lean back in my chair, shooting off a text to Jekyll.

Me:

How much of this shit do I have to drink?

I pick up the small vial that arrived this morning via courier and decide I would rather not know what’s in the fluorescent-green mixture glowing inside. The stuff is supposed to have calming effects, but my body burns off toxins so quickly that most substances never take hold. I can never get drunk, and no human-made drugs have an effect, which means everything is experimental.

Jekyll:

You’re going to try it?

Me:

How much?

Jekyll:

One vial should be enough. For your size and weight, I recommend eating before, though. Wolf down some food. Rawr.

I rub at my temples, already wanting to reach through the phone and choke him.

It vibrates and Vlad’s name flashes across the screen.

“Hello?” I answer, wondering what he’s calling me for now.

“Hello?” Vlad repeats. “Doyle?”

“Can you not hear me?”

“Why are you growling?” he says, his voice amused.

“I’m not growling.” I scoff into the phone, knowing he can hear me just fine and is trying to rile me up. Irritating ass.

“I can practically hear you pacing from the Maldives,” Vlad says with a snicker. “Aubrey says hello.”

“Hey, Doyle!” Aubrey shouts, near enough to the phone for me to hear her.

“I see the couple is still happy and in love then.”

“We’ve been doing lives from the yacht,” Aubrey squeals.

“The Maldives?” The hell are they doing in the Maldives? “We have a yacht?”

“I borrowed it from Frank,” he says, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Does Frank know you borrowed it?”

Vlad snorts. “I don’t really care if he does or doesn’t.”

“Dammit, Vlad, you can’t just go hijacking Frank’s things.” I inwardly groan and settle back into my chair as my head starts to thump with an oncoming headache.

“It’s just one of them.” He says this as if it’s nothing to commit grand theft yacht. “The prick has several, as you know. And what the fuck is he going to do, Doyle? Call the authorities?”

I realize he has a valid point.

I hesitate since I don’t have a response. For the most part, none of us have ever taken from one another and generally try to stay out of each other’s way since it all fell apart.

“You don’t know what he will do, Vlad.” I have no idea what Frank will do in retaliation, and that’s even worse.

“You tell that fucker I will be waiting for the day he thinks to tell me what I can’t take or borrow as I please. He wouldn’t have a pot to piss in if it weren’t for us, and furthermore, he owes me for absconding with my mate,” Vlad seethes, still upset over Frank’s most recent blunders.

I groan and drop the phone into my lap on speaker, then dig the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“You know I’m right. I’m always right,” he says, and a vein pops in my forehead.

I get to my feet to pour myself a glass of brandy, as it’s the only way I’ll get through this. “I swear on my giddy aunt, one day I am buying an island and going to live alone. To hell with the lot of you. Why the blazes are you calling me to begin with?”

Vlad tuts. “Your aunt is dead, I hate to say, and why so testy, Doyle? Is Whitley giving you problems again?”

“Hey, I like Whitley,” Aubrey chimes in.

“So do I,” I reply, my tone defensive even to my own ears. The words are shocking, even to myself, but I find they don’t ring untrue. I like her.

Aubrey squeals abruptly, making my ears ring and I’m unsure of who has the phone now.

“Don’t look at me like that—I didn’t do anything,” Vlad says, his tone of voice whiney and absurd.

“I’m hanging up now before this gets weirder than it already is,” I tell them, needing away from their bullshit.

“Aubrey wants to know what you’ve done to Whitley,” Vlad suddenly says, back on the phone.

“You realize I can have Clarence turn around, right?” I warn, knowing I can call Frank’s captain and have Vlad back here within a few short hours. It would be interesting to see his reaction at not being able to coerce the pilot.

“What have you done with Whitley?” Aubrey shouts. “Is she okay?”

“Is she okay? Why am I the one being accused of foul play? It’s not like I’ve murdered her and buried her corpse—yet—but the thought has crossed my mind,” I deadpan.

The line goes silent for a beat.

“See? It’s not a stretch of the imagination. Besides, it’s what I would do.” I can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Vlad, I have killed as many people as you this week—that is to say, none .” I pause, my body tensing at the thought of someone touching Aubrey accidentally or some equally ridiculous thing that could send him on a war path. “At least it had better be none.”

“Calm yourself, Doyle. I haven’t killed anyone,” he answers. “Yet.”

My shoulders sag with relief.

“Have you settled on the costumes?” Aubrey asks, her voice louder, and its apparent she’s taken the phone from him.

My lips lift into a small smile. “Not yet. I have a meeting with a costume designer who says he can design the lot of it, though. I’ll forward them to you when I can.” It was partly her idea anyhow.

“What? Who came up with this?” Vlad says, his tone pissy and I realize I am on speaker phone.

I chuckle. “Do you really even need to ask?”

“Aubrey,” he replies, and I nod, even though he can’t see me.

“What?” she quips and is no doubt batting her lashes at him in feigned innocence.

“Nothing,” he answers with a sigh. “Fine, Doyle. Do whatever you want for the month, but after that, we run things my way.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what I had planned in the first place.” The line goes dead, so I toss the phone on my desk and collapse back into my worn leather chair. What a fucking day. I inhale sharply and rotate my shoulders, then clasp my hands behind my head.

With a heavy sigh, I mentally go over all the things I need to attend to tomorrow.

The costumes themselves will take time, and there are only a few short weeks before the gala to prepare.