But the wolf would not be soothed. Finn felt the heat in his blood. He, the wolf, couldn’t let her go.
Even though keeping her only ensured he was putting her in danger…
He ran a hand over his face.
Anders had called. The Others were on the move. Whether they were coming his way or not, he needed to be ready.
He sent some of his security team ahead to the refuge. No point moving Jessa and Oscar there if it wasn’t secure. Brown, his security lead, checked the apartment perimeter alarm and headed out.
The Others and Cyrus, their alpha, had been toying with them for years. The bastard had made his presence known not long after Mal’s attack. Mal’s recovery confirmed that he and Finn were wolves—no human could have survived. Since then, Cyrus could be tied to every accident that had occurred. A loose fuel line on his private airplane. An assistant being mugged and another receiving a faulty prescription that led to an almost fatal poisoning. A fire in his office building. The repeated deaths of his mother’s prized show dogs. Occasionally, packets of pictures would show up—of him, the women he’d slept with, his parents, and Mal. No note, no prints, nothing traceable. But there was no denying the threat. If only Finn could understand why.
Why keep their distance from Finn? Why all the games?
Hollis theorized they were too scared to see what might happen if they killed Finn. Finn was alpha of their pack. Hollis believed their packs were genetically linked, so it was possible that Finn’s death might damage both bloodlines. Now more than ever, Finn hoped Hollis was right.
A dull ache pulsed in his temples. It would be good to return to the refuge, to turn off the noise that filled his mind and connect with his wolf. Too often, he ignored the need to run, to hunt, to indulge the animal inside his skin. If he wasn’t careful, the wolf would force its way out and Finn would lose control.
The financial report on his desk held no interest. For the time being, he’d put the best interests of the company in the hands of his Chief of Operations and Chief Executive Officer. He had to.
As far as he could tell, his press release had no impact on sales. Apparently, taking in his orphan baby son didn’t make him any less or more appealing to the consumer public, a fact he was incredibly thankful for.
Of course, Cara was being dragged through the mud. Anyone she’d ever been involved with was being tapped for potential scandal. Once or twice it had been hinted that he wasn’t Oscar’s biological father, something that would make his life ten times easier. And Oscar’s as well.
He worked steadily, answering IMs and directing incoming information as needed.
His phone rang and he answered. “Mom?”
“Finnegan, we were out of cell range or we would have called sooner. What’s this about a grandson?”
“Yes, Mom, a boy.” He glanced out the window behind his desk.
“My, Finn. Well isn’t that…nice? Will we get to meet him when he’s with you? What sort of custody arrangement have you worked out?”
“He’s mine. Here. All the time,” he answered.
“But…but where’s the mother? And who is she? Did your father and I ever meet her?” She paused. “She’s not one of your party girls, is she?”
“Cara Bennett. She was a model. She died in childbirth.” He spoke without inflection, choosing his words carefully.
“How horribly tragic. But what are you going to do with a baby?”
“I’m going to raise him, Mom. With the help of a nanny,” he added.
“Well, good luck with that, dear boy. We never had the best luck with domestic help,” she said. “Your father says hello. We’ll be back in a few weeks and will check in with you then.”
“Fine,” he said, his frustrating mounting.
“Good-bye, darling,” she said before the line went dead.
He stared at his phone.
Oscar’s cry made him jump. He hadn’t turned off the baby monitor, enjoying the tenuous connection with his son. But now, with the high-pitched wail of his newborn son echoing off the walls of his office, the wolf was on the defensive.
Finn wanted a drink. And, maybe, he’d check on Oscar.
“Hey, hey, Oscar.” Jessa’s voice came over the monitor. “Oh, yuck, Oscar. How can something so little make s
omething so nasty?”