Page 26 of Wolf Promise
“I am as calm as I possibly could be in this situation,” Regie muttered. Even now, the woman impressed him. Any other person would have been seriously frightened by this point. And judging from the shaking of her body that he could feel behind him, she felt afraid, and still she kept her cool.
The younger wolf shook its head, growled, and lowered its front as if ready to jump.
Regie gripped the back of his jacket, a small whimper sounding in her throat.
All of a sudden, Bolt’s wolf burst to the surface. Protect True Mate, it growled.
He tried to suppress his animal form, but the beast would not listen to his mental orders. It exploded its will through his limbs, forcing them to change at a rapid pace. The air shimmered, and before he could react, they were in lupine form.
Covered in ripped fabric from the suit he’d been wearing, the wolf pounced on Bayden. It clamped his wolf’s neck in its jaw, asserting its dominance and growling for the younger wolf to stand down.
Bolt could only imagine the swearing Justice would have shouted in his ear had the microphone still been in there. But it was as gone as keeping the secret of who he truly was from Regina, their client.
He had just created a cluster fuck beyond all cluster fucks.
CHAPTER 13
Everything had happened so fast that Regie’s mind hadn’t caught on yet. She’d been making out with her fake fiancé, almost screwing him right on the refreshment table at a public event. That would have been one for the tabloids.
Wonder if Grandfather thought she’d smiled enough in those pictures?
A hysterical giggle rose in her throat, and she took a sip of the water bottle someone had given her. Or had it been on the table when she entered the room?
As the photographers snapped away, Bolt shielded her and guided her to a secluded area. And then, right when she thought they might do delicious, dirty things to each other again, a huge injured dog showed up. It growled and was about to attack them, but then Bolt disappeared, and there were two dogs.
Or had he just stepped aside?
For one bonkers moment, she’d thought he had turned into the silver animal that saved her from the gray dog.
They were very, very big dogs.
Were they wolves?
Had Bolt turned into a wolf?
The giggle bubbled up in her throat again, and she swallowed hard. There were cameras in the corners of the small room where she now sat. Until she knew who watched, she’d try to delay a breakdown. Instead, she continued in her mind to review the events that had brought her here.
Armed men and women dressed in tactical black clothing had swarmed the area. They’d worn black caps pulled so low they’d obscured their faces. She’d been distracted by them, but she’d kept an eye on the two fighting dogs—wolves?—and at one point, it looked like the injured animal had turned into a naked man. But that must have been an illusion of some sort.
Before she could take a good look, the armed personnel had scooped her up and into a black van with no windows. And then led her into a building, down a long hallway and deposited her in a room with three chairs and a table with no windows—just the cameras. The whole operation had taken no more than ten minutes.
Regie shifted in the metal chair. She thought they’d brought her here to do an incident report, but this setting looked very much like an interrogation setup. Should she call a lawyer? Except somehow, the purse with her cell phone had disappeared while she’d been transported.
She eyed the door on the opposite side of the table. It had an electronic lock, but had it been engaged? Before she could get up and test it, the door opened, and Arek Varg entered, followed by a woman Regie didn’t recognize.
Varg wore the black technical outfit of the people who whisked her away from the Palace of Fine Arts area. The woman wore a plain white t-shirt, faded jeans, and black tennis shoes. Her shoulder-length hair had a hue somewhere between burgundy and deep plum, and she moved like an athlete. The two sat down across from Regie, and Varg put a folder on the table.
The woman held out her hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Laney Marconi. I work for Heimdall Shield.”
“Nice to meet you,” Regie said automatically and shook her hand. A small jolt of some sort of awareness—the only way she could describe it—passed from Regie’s hand to the woman. She tilted her head, her amber-golden eyes studying Regie’s face for a beat before she released the handshake.
“She doesn’t just work for Heimdall,” Varg muttered. “She’s my fiancée.”
The woman—Laney—quirked an eyebrow. “When we’re with clients, I prefer to represent my professional role.”
Varg shrugged his shoulders. “This situation is so beyond professional. And you can be my fiancée and work for the company at the same time.”
Laney sighed. “When we’re with clients, I want to represent my role in the company. I want to be defined by my function, not by what role I have in your life.”