Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

M ax unloaded the last box of books onto his desk and strolled over to the window. He’d only been in this house for a week, but he was getting to enjoy his stay. Three stories high, the property sat on the boundary between old Motham and the elite Motham Hill area. There was enough bustle in the streets below not to feel isolated, and a nice front yard with mature trees that gave some privacy. It belonged to an academic he knew vaguely, who’d gone to work in a city to the south and had kindly offered it to him for the duration of his stay.

Yes, it was the perfect location. He was close to Motham Library, and walking distance to Motham Palace, so he could easily access their extensive archives.

Now all he needed was his research assistant to arrive and he could get started in earnest. He was expecting an eager-faced young human, the kind that liked to mix with monsters, all very woke and enthusiastic about rewriting the past. Most likely they’d be full of apologies for their ancestors’ atrocities. Charlie Sullivan, the young guy’s name was. Max had gotten the paperwork, looked at Charlie’s degree results, a high distinction in monster/human history, and decided he’d do. Truth be told, this young guy was his only human applicant. And he needed a human, it gave credence to his research in the human world.

Hopefully it would mean more humans bought his new book.

The Making of Motham , he’d decided to call it. It would be full of heroic actions, scandals, and bloodshed. Of heinous acts perpetrated on all sides. No one would come out a winner, certainly not humans. So yeah, he needed to cite this human as a contributor if there was any hope that humans would read it.

Max’s eyes strayed over to the smog above East Motham and beyond to the hazy shape of the mountains that divided the valley lands from the rest of the world. He sighed, stroked a big hand over his mane of dark hair. He guessed he should touch base with his relatives while he was here.

No, damn it, why should he?

He had only vague memories of the Hunt pack anyway, had barely seen any of them since he was ten years old, when his mom had abruptly decided they’d stop visiting Motham once and for all. Only his first cousin, Benjamin—aka Benjy—and his wife Janine had turned up to his mom’s funeral last year, and that had felt awkward; he’d really had nothing to say to them, they’d seemed more like strangers than pack.

Face it, he had nothing in common with the Motham Hunts. They all lived somewhere out there in East Motham, squashed together in ramshackle dwellings in the same compound, scratching a living running a wrecking yard and other questionable pursuits, including organizing the twice-yearly Solstice Ruts.

The Motham Hunt pack were a motley crew, not quite ferals, but living so close to the Wastelands they might as well be.

Max shuddered.

Thank the gods, his mother had the sense to get out.

Blood was most definitely not thicker than water. Not as far as he was concerned.

Max strolled back to his desk, flicked through his papers. His diary showed his work schedule for the next few weeks, with an appointment tomorrow at Motham Library, and a question mark over viewing times of the historical texts in the Motham Palace archives. Hopefully he would hear back from their curator any day now.

He was so deep in thought that the ring of the doorbell made him jump.

He checked his watch. Ah, yes, it was already 10 am. Wasn’t that when this Charlie guy had said he’d be here?

He almost sprinted to the front door, realizing he was quite eager to have someone to talk to. Someone to share his enthusiasm about his research with. Since he’d gotten here, he’d really only spoken to his agent, and the housekeeper, a bustling no-nonsense brownie who came in twice a week to clean and left cooked food in the freezer.

Max pulled open the big oak door. And blinked.

A girl with warm caramel skin, huge brown eyes, and a tumble of dark curls framing her heart-shaped face stood in front of him.

Max found his heart beating faster.

He racked his brains, trying to remember if he’d ordered anything to be delivered.

“Hi.” She flashed him a dazzling smile and shot out a small hand. “I’m Charlie.”

“Charlie?” Max parroted.

“Your research assistant, Charlie Sullivan.”

“You’re female,” Max almost spluttered. He prided himself on being non-gender biased and yet he’d gone and assumed the name Charlie belonged to a male. What a fucking knucklehead.

He looked down at the hand extended toward him, and realized he was supposed to shake it. He took it and pumped it up and down, trying to wipe the frown off his face.

His mistake suddenly dawned on her, and her brow puckered. “Oh—you thought I was a guy.”

“Um, yeah, look no problem, I—I er,—”

“I didn’t put my gender on the application form, so I guess that’s an easy mistake to make.” She gave a little laugh, and the sound shot down his spine and curled pleasurably low in his belly. “My full name is Charlotte,” she continued brightly, “but I’m only called that by my mom.” She cocked her head. “Is the fact that I’m a woman okay with you?”

“Of course. I’m not a misogynist,” Max growled. The warmth of her little hand in his made his cock stir. Hell, insta lust for his research assistant. Bad move. He dropped her hand like it was a hot coal.

She looked a little disconcerted. “I’m sorry, I—” She gave that adorable infectious laugh again. Max wished she’d stop laughing. “I guess if we’d talked on the phone beforehand my voice would have given it away.”

“I’m not one for phone chats. I prefer emails,” he said gruffly. He noticed her suitcase on the step next to her. There was nothing for it, she was here to stay. For four bloody weeks.

“Bring in your stuff,” he said.

“Oh, I just realized I left my laptop in the car. I’ll go get it.”

“Sure.”

He watched her retreating figure almost skipping down the path. She was wearing a navy-blue skirt and a lilac blouse. Very professional. Except for the way the skirt pulled over her delicious ass. And the blouse was that silky kind of material that would perfectly show off her… Max pulled himself into line.

Stop this now.

A sudden horrified thought struck him. Was this happening because he was back in Motham? Was it reminding him of his baser nature? His inner wolf?

Hell’s hounds. Maybe he should have done his research from his home in Selig. Except then he’d have had no hope of accessing the hand-written dairies of Athelrose Motham. Or the Almanac of Beasts, the famous publication detailing every species that lived within the city walls.

As Charlie trotted up to the house carrying her laptop, Max forced a smile. She was panting a little as she joined him, her full lips parted, the buttons of her silky blouse tugging over the swell of her breasts.

Silently groaning, Max turned toward the staircase. “This way.”

He could hear her heels on the parquet floor, clipping behind him as she chatted about the weather and the traffic. All inconsequential stuff, except her breathy tone was doing nothing to calm his libido. He told himself firmly that she was likely nervous, being confronted with his rather stern demeanor. He knew he hadn’t exactly been welcoming, but he was trying to come to terms with his new assistant’s gender… and her gorgeousness.

Just before they took the stairs, he remembered his manners. “Here, let me carry something.”

When he turned, she nearly bumped straight into him. This close, the velvet smoothness of her skin made him want to reach out and touch her, and when she looked up at him, something crackled almost audibly in the air between them.

Her eyes were mesmerizing. Soft as brown sugar, with little amber rings around the irises that made them glow. For a second, Max felt he was drowning in their depths, then he grabbed her bag, and their fingers touched.

Sensation zinged down his spine and into his cock.

I want to chase you.

He almost sprang backward.

What alpha shit was his mind coming up with?

He’d get it under control. He absolutely would. He’d never had a problem before with his wolf. But somehow, nothing had felt as challenging as the prospect of delectable Charlie Sullivan living in close proximity for the next four weeks.

“Follow me,” Max said, and bolted. He took the stairs at speed, trying to blot out images of their heads close together at the desk in his study, imaging those breasts, bobbing in his peripheral vision the whole fucking time. His nostrils flared, quivering and ready to scent her, and yes, he could detect the sweetness of her, a light perfume, or maybe just a floral soap mixed with a sweet femininity. And a hint of… arousal.

Arousal?

No fucking way. He must be imagining that.

At the landing, he turned left and strode along the corridor to her room.

“Gosh it’s big, isn’t it,” she said. He assumed she meant the house.

Max flung open the bedroom door.

“Oh, very nice,” she exclaimed admiringly. “What a beautiful bed.” She let out a soft sigh as her gaze rested on the ornate four-poster bed that stood in the center of the room. A sudden image of encircling her soft curves with his big arms, and literally marching her over to that bed and thrusting her down on it, had Max’s head spinning.

“Does this house belong to you?”

“No,” he said, glad to focus on light small talk while he stemmed the tide of lust. “It’s owned by an academic I know, who fortuitously is away this month.”

“It’s beautifully furnished,” she said, gazing around, wide-eyed. “It looks like early Motham Gothica.”

“Yes. I believe the furniture dates back to that era. The house is constructed of Malibar stone, built around the same time as Motham Palace.”

“Malibar stone was stolen from human-owned quarries by gargoyles, was it not?”

“The evidence certainly points to it being gargoyles. Though dragons refute that, claiming they were the main bearers of the stone. Most likely species one-upmanship.”

“I really can’t wait to get started on this research,” she said as he placed her case on the ottoman at the end of the bed. “And Professor Hunt, may I say how much I loved your first book, and how very ashamed it made me to be human.”

Max hid a lip twitch. He may have got her gender wrong, but he’d been right about the groveling. How old was she? Early to mid-twenties, at most. Part of the new generation of humans with a conscience, earnest and full of fervor, wanting to put all the wrongs of the past to rights. Unaware that plenty of monsters had perpetrated heinous crimes during the war, too. His own species included.

He forced himself to look at her. “Thank you. But really, you are not responsible for the deeds of your forebears.”

Her chin kicked up. “I beg to disagree. We modern humans need to acknowledge that the DNA of our violent past runs through our veins.” A spark lit in the depths of her eyes. “We are still capable of harming monsters, and my understanding is that we still exploit many species. We must consciously choose to stop.”

She held his gaze steadily and Max nodded. This young woman had substance, and he admired that, in among all the other more alarming feelings she engendered in him.

“Indeed. But I would have to say, er—do you prefer Charlie or Charlotte?”

“Please, call me Charlie.”

“Well, Charlie, we wolves were not exactly squeaky clean.”

“Are you referring to the wolf mutiny of 48,351?”

“Sadly yes, and the resultant colonization of wolf packs in the Wastelands, now known as the ferals. But even some of the city’s mainstream wolves are not the finest examples of Motham citizens.” His own pack among them, Max thought grimly.

He hoped she hadn’t made the link with the name. He certainly never publicized the fact that he was related to them.

He was nothing like his pack. Except… A tingle of alarm at the overpowering arousal he’d felt on seeing Charlie gave him pause. What if… what if at his core, he was just another Hunt? Debauched, uncivilized.

Max banished the thought. See, he’d already got his earlier glitch under control. He was even managing to converse quite easily with her now.

He let his shoulders relax. Yep. All good, the professor was winning out over the wolf.

Having reassured himself, he let his mouth relax into a more genuine smile, and when her pupils dilated and her lips parted, he didn’t let his thoughts waver from the professional path. Not even once…

“Come to my study when you’ve settled in and we’ll go over the workload,” he said, resurrecting his usual authoritative tone. “It’s the room next to the front door, on the left.”

“Great.” She beamed at him. “I’m absolutely raring to go.”

Max managed not to read anything into those words other than an enthusiasm for poring over dry dusty old tomes.

Until he turned, just before closing the door, and made the mistake of glancing at her ass cheeks, clearly outlined under her skirt, as she bent down to unzip her case. They were like two halves of a perfect peach.

His cock bucked.

Max slammed the door behind him and practically sprinted down the corridor.