Coming Soon from GiGi DeGraham

Beholden

The Steele Pack, Book Three

 

Course synthetic carpet fibers mashed harshly into Tristan’s cheek. His eyes were locked on the black gunmetal, the large hand firmly wrapped around the grip, and the forefinger resting outside the guard but ready to curl against the trigger in an instant. Luke’s breathing was controlled and steady, in contrast to Tristan’s near-panting pace beneath the massive weight pressing him down.

“Don’t move,” Luke whispered across Tristan’s ear. His hot breath caused the fine hairs to tickle to life as goosebumps rose across his skin and joined the party.

While Luke’s breath may have been steady, his heartbeat hammered against Tristan’s shirtless back, just below his shoulder. Tristan didn’t dare move, obeying this order. A low grumbling vibrated against his skin from the beast, the man, who had him smashed onto his closet floor.

Finally, Tristan could suck in a full breath as Luke pushed himself up, planking over Tristan before shifting to the side, rising, and slipping fluidly through the closet door. Luke glanced back, eyes dark and feral, and pointed firmly down at Tristan. The message was clear, and Tristan swallowed hard. He wouldn’t dare move from where he’d been dragged so abruptly, unexpectedly from his bed into the closet, Luke’s hand over his mouth as he quietly growled into Tristan’s ear, telling him someone was inside the house.

Tristan strained to hear something, anything, as his heartbeat whooshed, rushing in his ears, the pulsing beat almost deafening, and he knew he needed to calm down.

And…he was hard.

“Fuck me,” Tristan chastised himself. Getting aroused from being scooped out of his bed by a much bigger man, manhandled, tossed around like he weighed nothing, and then having his bodyguard pin him down and hold him there while whispering in his ear—okay, it was justifiable. But this wasn’t some half-chub; no, this hadn’t happened in a good long while—and what to do about it now. Hell, burglars were in the house, and Luke was downstairs doing God-only-knew what to them. Eating them, most likely.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t take care of this little surprise. And shit, what to do when Luke came back. He’d expect him to get off the floor and go see what had transpired on the first floor. He’d need Tristan to see his crime scene and then deal with it. Tristan recalled Luke’s backlit image in the gap of the closet door. Strong, muscular, and wearing nothing but a pair of loose sleep pants. Tristan’s mouth was dry, and he shifted his hips to relieve the pressure. And it shouldn’t have felt nice as he tested out a slight rock, barely a grind, against the carpet.

Tristan rocked his forehead back and forth against the pile. What was he doing? Jesus, he needed to think about something horrifying.

Dirty diapers left in a parking lot. Yes, so foul.

This was good.

Children.

Even better.

Little spawns of Satan—every last one.

Thank God he’d never be a father.

Mayonaise, the disgusting condiment it was, Ah…yes, mayonnaise. Greasy and golden when hot, absorbing into the bread to make it damp.

Damp, the word alone, and now he was on the right track.

Excel spreadsheets and mathematics.

That was the ticket, and Tristan, regaining some control over himself, rolled over, sat up, and tried to listen to some indication of what was happening within the secure walls of his home. Apparently, not as safe as he’d thought since the alarm hadn’t even activated. And right on cue, as glass broke and it seemed as if something significant had been hurled through a window, the loud siren sounded off. The deafening blast of gunfire, a single shot, made Tristan jump, but the accompanying scream of pain confirmed his man had not made that sound.

His man.

Tristan rolled his eyes at himself, got up, and ran his fingers through his bed hair, then across the row of hanging shirts. He pulled out a dress shirt and reached below for matching dress slacks. He was just buttoning up when Luke poked his head around the door.

“Two down; security and the police are almost here,” Luke updated him.

“Very well. Are you injured?” Tristan glanced at Luke, who stepped into full view. “As I suspected,” he said when he saw no injury. “What are we dealing with?”

“It looks like they went for the office. They only got a file cabinet drawer open before I came in. And one of them smells like…” Luke paused as he tilted his head. “…chemicals.”

“Chemicals,” Tristan repeated. “Like?”

“Like things our healer would use in the infirmary.”

“Ah, hospital chemicals, or perhaps science lab chemicals.” Tristan understood what Luke was trying to convey. They had these little workarounds on occasion. It had taken Tristan some getting used to as Luke struggled to explain things he didn’t understand, commonalities in the outside world that were unknown or unfamiliar to him.

“Yes, those,” Luke confirmed and waited.

“I assume the apprehended are secure,” Tristan said as he tied his tie.

“Zip cuffed, but they will need medical attention.”

“I didn’t doubt they wouldn’t. Very well. Shall we?” Tristan stepped out of the closet behind Luke.

“I broke your office window,” Luke said regretfully.

“Call someone to fix it in the morning,” Tristan said as he followed Luke down the stairs.

Flashing blue and red strobes illuminated the formal foyer as Luke headed for the front door. He deactivated the blaring siren, then unlocked and opened the door as Tristan flipped on the light switch to the chandelier.

A fast response by the authorities. They’d already pulled up, and Tristan could already see two officers hoisting a zip-tied man up from the ground.

“Mr. Steele, are you alright?” their front gate guard on duty for the night asked.

“Yes, Merle, we are uninjured. It appears those two broke into my office,” Tristan explained as he kept an eye on Luke, who was now speaking with the officers in the circle drive near the fountain.

“They didn’t come through the gate.” The grim gray-haired security guard followed his gaze.

“Never, not on your watch. I suspect they entered my property by water. You will undoubtedly find some gear or a craft near the dock.”

Merle, having a new mission, headed off to inspect Tristan’s shoreline. Tristan stepped outside, extending a hand to the approaching officer.

“Your personal security says his weapon is on your desk,” the officer said.

“Please, come in. I have the paperwork you’ll need for Mr. Pace’s credentials,” Tristan said and headed for his office. Luke slipped past Tristan, effectively halting his progress.

“There’s one suspect in the office. Wait here,” Luke said to Tristan as his large palm pressed firmly against Tristan’s chest, guiding his back to the hallway wall. Then, Luke moved forward with the officer.

Tristan still wasn’t used to the manhandling by Luke, the constant hands-on approach, and wasn’t sure he ever would be. Luke seemed to effortlessly maneuver and guide him precisely where he wanted Tristan to be. Frequently, Tristan found himself tugged behind Luke with a firm grip on his arm or side. Tonight, twice, he’d been covered and smothered, face down onto whatever surface. Luke used more subtle maneuvers as he placed his body in front of Tristan’s to prevent anyone from getting too close or touching him. And once, he’d been roughly shoved into the car with his head pressed to the seat cushion over a loud bang mistaken for gunfire.

To say his bodyguard was efficient would be an understatement. He was so good at these highly trained security details that Tristan frequently found himself forgetting what Luke actually was. Something not completely human at all. And Tristan, through a series of disastrous events, had found himself not only Luke’s leader but Ryan and Thomas Mitchum’s as well. A grand total of three subordinates in his Wolf pack.

“It’s clear; mind your step,” Luke said upon returning to Tristan’s time-out on the wall.

“Don’t get blood on my shoes then,” Tristan assumed aloud.

“Yes, sir,” Luke confirmed.

Tristan followed a still-shirtless Luke, and they stepped back as the officer escorted a wounded subject down the hall. Luke pointed to the man’s back and then his nose. Tristan understood. This was the man who smelled wrong to Luke. Though he knew it was useless, Tristan inhaled deeply but stopped at the sound of Luke’s amused grunt.

“Yes, pointless, I know, but I can’t help feeling curious,” Tristan said and motioned to his office. “Let’s see what they were after.”

Despite the broken window and toppled items on his credenza, his office wasn’t too terribly trashed. The rug would have to go. Tristan grimaced at the large red stain that had bloomed across the ornate oriental detailing. Luke followed Tristan’s downward gaze and then glanced at him.

“Replace, not clean,” Luke assessed.

“Get out of my head,” Tristan warned.

“I assure you, sir, I can’t read your mind. It’s familiarity. When we’re around someone…in such close proximity for considerable lengths of time…”

Tristan waved a hand, having heard it before. Three months now with Luke glued to his side, and he always said the same thing. It still rankled how Luke always seemed to either have a sense of what he was thinking or come to a conclusion Tristan would have reached but hadn’t yet before Luke was looking to him with Tristan’s own answer.

“Replace it,” Tristan confirmed. He turned his attention to the file cabinet, the lock mechanism within the varnished wood had been pried out, and the cabinet drawer was slightly open. Just as he was about to ask if they’d touched any of the files, Luke spoke up.

“The one I threw through the window”—Luke looked over Tristan’s shoulder into the open file drawer, standing entirely too close—“his hand never came close to any of your papers.”

Without disturbing anything else, Tristan carefully pinched the title tab of the file he kept on Hakon Elstad’s disappearance and handed it to Luke. At this point, he was the safest option to keeping the information secure.

“This means we’re getting close,” Tristan whispered. He then turned and stepped back with his hands slightly up as two officers returned. “I didn’t touch anything. I don’t think anything is missing.”

“Do you know what they might have been looking for, Mr. Steele?” the first officer asked.

“It could be one of my mother’s unpublished manuscripts,” Tristan lied.

“Crazy fans,” the officer said as he scribbled in his pocket notebook.

Tristan could tell by his somewhat amused expression he easily believed the possibility. Tristan glanced at Luke and relaxed, getting the sense Luke seemed to agree with this story by the slight, almost imperceptible nod he gave Tristan.

“If you have a safe, you may want to consider keeping them in there,” the second officer said as he looked around the large office and at the various guild-framed pieces adorning the walls. Tristan suspected he was wondering which one had a safe behind it. The man would be disappointed. Tristan wasn’t so foolish as to put a safe behind a painting. Under one of the cars in the garage, yes. Behind a fake intake vent in the hallway, absolutely.

“Thank you for the advice. I will do that,” Tristan replied.

The officer handed Luke a business card with a report number, and Tristan half listened as he eyed Luke, who stood with his back away from the two officers as he spoke with them. Luke had concealed the file in the back of his waistband; Tristan decided he should walk the officers out.

Tristan held his hand to the open doorway. “Shall we? And would you mind letting me know their names if you’re allowed to do that?”

“They’ll be on the report once we have them positively identified. The names they gave had no return in our system,” the second officer said as he and the first stepped out. Tristan followed, looking back to see Luke heading down the hall in the opposite direction.

Tristan shook the officers’ hands just as Luke, now dressed, joined them and retrieved his firearm from the officer.

“Our crime scene technician is on her way. We’ll want her to try to get prints,” the first officer said.

“Not a problem; Mr. Pace will wait for her to arrive,” Tristan said and thanked them once more. He glanced in the backseat of the patrol car.

“They both went by ambulance,” Luke said.

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to Luke’s strange perceptions or intuition. As far as Tristan was convinced, Luke could read his mind, know his thoughts, and Jesus… Tristan rubbed at his temple. He hoped the man couldn’t also sense his reaction to him earlier in the closet.

Living so intimately with his indentured bodyguard had been such an adjustment for Tristan. He still wasn’t used to it and didn’t know if he ever would be.

“Go back to bed. I have this,” Luke said.