Secret McQueen Books 5-8

By Sierra Dean

Collecting books 5-8 in the Secret McQueen series.

Grave Secret

Sometimes a secret goes to the grave. Sometimes Secret puts you there.

It’s been a hell of a year for Secret McQueen, and the last thing in the world she wants is to get caught up in werewolf drama. But when her former fiancé Lucas Rain shows up asking for her help, she knows there’s no easy way out.

After making it known she wants nothing to do with him, Secret agrees to help find Lucas’s wayward sister Kellen. After all, how much trouble could one socialite get into in the city that never sleeps?

Unless that socialite has been spirited away by fairies.

Trying to track down a missing girl in an alternate reality is just the start of Secret’s problems, though. Someone appears to be killing teenagers, and the MO looks eerily similar to something for which the half-fairy oracle, Calliope, might be responsible. Throw in a rogue wolf pack claiming allegiance to Secret’s mother, Mercy, and she’ll have miles to go before she rests.

Secret Unleashed

The darkest secrets are the hardest to unearth.

After her last mission tested the limits of her humanity and took her out of this world, Secret’s friends, determined to keep her safe from her old nemesis Alexandre Peyton, keep ushering her from one babysitter to the next.

Couch surfing would be a lot more fun if Alexandre would let up on her long enough to allow her to get in some alone time with her lovers. Including Holden, her self-appointed shadow.

As if living out of coffin isn’t bad enough, Secret literally brings down the house while hunting a rogue, causing the council to exile her from New York—for her own safety, of course.

With her list of people to trust getting shorter and shorter, Secret ends up embroiled in a mystery to find a vampire warden gone AWOL and a missing artifact. Things go from bad to worse when she falls into the hands of a man who will prove that humans can be the worst monsters of them all.

Cold Hard Secret

The Secret’s out, and heads will roll.

Ever since her near-death experience at the hands of the villainous Dr. Kesteral, Secret McQueen hasn’t been the same. As in damaged almost beyond repair. But as usual, Secret has no time to lick her wounds.

Armed to the fangs, she and Desmond embark on a whirlwind quest for revenge that takes them to the sewers of Paris to put an end to Alexandre Peyton. Instead, it’s almost the end of them, and before she can stop him, Peyton rips the veil off her deepest secret.

The devil’s not through muddling up the details, either. An eye-opening confab with Sig in the Big Apple leaves her wondering if she’s ever been in control of her own life at all. Plus, a cryptic postcard sends her racing back to her Manitoba hometown, fearing for her grandmere.

With the Council holding the power of life and death over her head, Secret’s circle of friends is shrinking, while the pool of enemies looking for payback is widening like a pool of her own blood.

A Secret to Die For

No one is safe.

Secret McQueen thought she’d seen it all, but that was before she, Desmond and Holden came home to find New York City burning and the streets overwhelmed with the walking dead. Now, in a race against time, she must find out who is responsible for unleashing hell on Earth.

For that, she’s going to need a whole new team of vampire wardens to help round up the perpetrators, who turn out to be a gang that makes Sons of Anarchy look like toddlers on tricycles.

Her quest across the city brings old friends and enemies out of the woodwork and reminds Secret once and for all why mercy and forgiveness are not always prudent. Lives will be lost, sacrifices will be made, and when the dust settles, nothing will ever be the same again.

With no time to mourn her losses, the only question remaining is if Secret can survive long enough to stop the apocalypse...or

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sierra Dean
• Release date: Apr 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781939291288

Sierra Dean

Sierra Dean is the kind of adult who forgot she was supposed to grow up. She spends most of her days making up stories, and most of her evenings watching baseball or playing video games. She lives in Winnipeg, Canada with two temperamental cats and one sweet tempered dog. When not building new worlds, she can be found making cupcakes and checking Twitter.

Book preview

Grave Secret

Sierra Dean

Dedication

To the bosses who never seemed to notice when I spent time writing at work: Chris Tencha, Jacqueline Rose and Kelly Porath. Much was accomplished simply because you understood I had a dream I needed to chase. Thank you.

To Carly Montgomery, an amazing woman I am pleased to call a friend and even happier to have killed off in this book. You did my phenomenal Secret tattoo, and if I ever get really, really rich, maybe I can convince you to do the graphic novel. And to Carly’s more beardy other half, Marc Vienneau, who is just as stellar as his lady.

To Stephanie Armstrong. I keep waiting until I write a dirty anthropologist book to put your name in print, but who says I can’t do it twice?

To Mhairi Simpson, who was gracious enough to do the Spanish translations for Sig so I didn’t make a huge mess of them.

To Carla Suel, who donated money to cancer research just to get a fictional kiss with one of my boys—you’re a rock star. And to her husband, Dave, who still holds a place in my heart for the single greatest piece of fan mail I’ve ever received.

And to every reader who patiently waited to see where the last lines in Keeping Secret were leading. As always, these books are for you.

Chapter One

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I don’t know if the fool’s errand I was on counted as good intentions, but I was pretty sure there was a chance it might take me straight to hell. Handbasket included.

It had been almost six months since Holden had made me promise I’d spend the night with him. Six months for me to pretend I’d never sworn to it and to ignore the reason for his request. Half a year for him to prod and tease and constantly remind me he was still there.

That he was still waiting.

He wanted a night to prove there was more between us than just friendship or a wildly unprofessional work relationship. Neither of us knew what that was, but he was bound and determined to find out.

I, on the other hand, wanted to keep disregarding the chemistry because I didn’t think there was room in my life for another man. Not with two werewolf soul mates. My love life had been complicated enough without throwing a vampire into the mix.

That was then.

Now I was a werewolf queen, but I no longer had any soul mates. One had stood me up at the altar on our wedding day, and the other couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.

Lucas publicly abandoning me had hurt like hell. Desmond looking at me like I’d betrayed him…that ripped my heart to shreds in a way I didn’t think I’d ever be able to heal. I’d always known I loved Desmond more than Lucas, but since Lucas was a werewolf king, he claimed to need me more. And being the sucker I was, I believed him.

He’d needed me when it was convenient.

Then I stopped being convenient, and he chose to fight over territory instead of being there for me when I needed him.

I was out two wolves and standing in the open-concept loft of a vampire who’d never been shy about letting it be known he wanted to be with me.

And I was lost.

Holden stared at me, and I took a good look at him for the first time since I’d awkwardly barged into his apartment. He wore perfectly tailored jeans and a white dress shirt with all the buttons undone, exposing a sculpted plane of pale, muscular abdomen.

I swallowed hard, and it didn’t escape my attention that his gaze drifted to my throat. He had a hard time hiding the fact he found my pulse appealing. I wondered—now that I was here—if he was planning to bite me the same way he had in countless dreams.

I… My voice trailed off as I tore my focus away from him and let myself take in the room. I hadn’t been to Holden’s apartment for a long time, and I was often impressed by the stark, minimalistic cleanliness of the place.

Hardwood covered the floors, and against the far wall was a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. I’d never asked what he covered them with during the day, or if he left them bare and hid from the light behind the Japanese paper-screen walls at the back of the apartment.

Secret. My name sounded different than it ever had before, at least from his lips. There was no exasperation, no teasing or sarcasm. The way he said it made the small hairs on my arms rise.

It proved to be harder not to look at him directly because my wandering gaze found the mostly nude Mapplethorpe portrait of Holden on the far wall, female hands strategically placed to hide the goods. I felt my cheeks flush, and when I turned away from it, he was still there, in person, more attractive than any portrait.

I don’t know what I’m doing here, I confessed.

He took a step closer, and the hunter’s instinct in me told me to back away, but I didn’t listen.

Sure you do.

Shaking my head, I added, I shouldn’t be here.

But you are. The obvious having been stated, Holden took the final step to close the space between us. A moment earlier I’d been sure there were miles of floor to keep him at a nice, safe distance. Now his hands were tentatively reaching for mine, and when his fingers twined with my own, I let out a shuddery breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

What are you doing? I whispered.

His grip tightened, and he pulled me towards him so my body was up against his. I didn’t usually run hot, and Holden was room temperature on a good day, yet somehow my skin was burning up the closer I got to him.

What do you need? he asked.

What did I need? What kind of question was that? I tugged my fingers free of his, and my focus locked on the pearl-colored buttons of his shirt. He might not be able to enthrall me with his gaze, but I still couldn’t look at him. I played with one of the buttons, rolling it between my thumb and index finger.

I could think of a dozen things I needed, none of which Holden could give to me. But I’d been drawn to him because I knew, deep down, that I might never have the things I once did. I’d made a mistake, agreeing to marry Lucas, and I was paying the price for it.

And if Desmond really was gone—which I was starting to believe he was—I needed to forget what it meant to love him. Which would be impossible. So the next best thing would be to feel something else.

Anything else.

I need a distraction, I said.

Holden placed his hand under my chin and gently lifted my face so I was looking at him. A distraction? The smirk playing on his lips did funny, wobbly things to my insides. He was almost painfully beautiful this close up. That wasn’t our deal.

You said I had to spend a night with you. Here I am.

He trailed strong fingers over my cheek and raked them through my hair, tangling himself in my curls. Should I be grateful?

The small hairs on my arms and the back of my neck bristled. The way he spoke was brusque and slightly predatory. He wasn’t exactly angry, but there was a new charge in the air that had little to do with seduction.

You wanted this.

I wanted you. I made no secret of that…no pun intended. Holden’s eyes were dark and held a hungry gleam. But hungry for what, I wasn’t sure.

If you wanted me, here I am.

"I want Secret McQueen, not some sniffling, mopey, pathetic schoolgirl who can barely get out of bed because she’s sad." The last word was heavy with insult.

My stomach clenched. What did you just say to me?

I said I don’t want you like this. His grip on my hair tightened, and he jerked my face close to his, close enough our noses touched.

I’d come here expecting to give myself to him, but now that he had me locked in his grip and was looking at me like a victim, I was having a huge change of heart.

Let me go, I demanded.

You’re the big, bad vampire hunter, he said, his gaze narrowing. Why don’t you make me?

Chapter Two

Bracing both of my palms against his chest, I tried to push Holden off me, but he wouldn’t budge. Moments like this functioned as a stark and frightening reminder that full-blooded vampires were stronger than I was. Holden had never flaunted his physical advantages before, but now he was acting like my resistance wasn’t impacting him at all.

"I command you to let me go." If he wasn’t going to yield to my strength, maybe he’d smart up and listen to my power.

The Tribunal isn’t here. The council isn’t here. It’s just you and me. He ducked his head, and his teeth grazed my throat. I convulsed.

Let me go, Holden.

Pointy fangs scratched the smooth surface of my skin. I balled my hands in his dress shirt because my knees were suddenly wobbly. I didn’t want to admit that in spite of my rage, I didn’t hate what he was doing to me.

Part of me wanted him to bite me.

A bigger part of me wanted to show him that I wasn’t going to let a goddamn sentry vampire get the best of me.

I grabbed his throat and shoved his head away from my neck, my fingers tightening as I continued to move him backwards across the room. The hungry gleam in his eyes was still there, but this time he wasn’t fighting me. I pushed him as far as the apartment’s main wall, where I shoved him hard into the brick.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I demanded.

So you are still in there.

I released him and put a few steps between us. You know, if this is how you treat the women you bring to your apartment, it’s no small wonder you’re single.

Holden smiled. I don’t usually bring such sad cases home with me.

I snorted. The girls you normally bring home are sad for entirely different reasons.

I’m sorry…what was that? Was that a joke?

At your expense, I reminded him.

I’ll take it. So long as you don’t start crying. You know how I feel about women who cry.

God, you’re charming.

And you came here to fuck me, so there’s no accounting for taste. He rubbed his throat and smiled at me.

Heaven help me, I smiled back. I was so out of practice, my cheeks hurt to make the gesture.

Do you have anything to drink? I asked.

If you’re hoping for blood, you came to the wrong place. I like—

Fresh from the tap. I know. You’ve used that line maybe eight million times since we first met.

Holden smirked unapologetically.

How about something a little harder? I regretted my choice of words immediately when he lowered his gaze and his grin broadened. Ugh, you’re incorrigible. Truly.

You love it.

He brushed past me and into the miniscule kitchen that made my own closet-sized one look downright palatial. Vampires, by and large, had no use for kitchens. If a girl was hoping for a home-cooked meal from her vampire boyfriend, she might want to reconsider her dating pool.

What he lacked in culinary trappings he made up for in a booze cupboard. Turning towards me, he held Jameson whiskey in one hand and Glenlivet scotch in the other.

My island nation sends greetings. Would you prefer the luck o’ the Irish or the kick in the teeth of Scotland?

I walked to the small counter that divided his kitchen from the main living space. Don’t kid a kidder, Chancery. We both know you’re English.

Aye. Holden had no discernible English accent in spite of spending his entire human life there. Turns out when someone spends damn near two hundred years in America, they tend to lose their accent over time. But he could switch it on as easily as twisting a faucet, and sometimes he let a Britishism slip into his speech. Right now he was doing it intentionally. And all those damned Scots and Irish are good for is booze, so take your pick. He jostled the bottles at me again.

And what if I was craving some love from Mother Russia?

He snorted. Does it look like I have a freezer?

I pointed to the scotch. Recently I’d tried to drown myself under my own weight in Jameson, and I didn’t think I’d be able to stomach the stuff for a while. Better to be safe than sorry. He pulled out two lowball glasses and plunked them on the counter, filling each with two fingers of scotch. I didn’t bother asking for ice given his recent proclamation of having no icebox. This felt like a straight-up scotch kind of night, anyway.

Thanks.

Don’t thank me. I’m just getting you drunk so I can take advantage of you.

"How do you know I’m not a weepy drunk? Wouldn’t that throw a wrench in your seduction plans."

He made a face, distorting his handsome features in an ugly and comical way.

Besides, I continued. "I came here offering myself to you on a silver platter and you got all high and mighty. You refused me. That’s a first. My ego is feeling a little bruised." I swallowed the scotch in two big gulps and slammed the glass down on the counter.

I stand by that move. Do I look like sloppy seconds to you? He indicated his toned abs and the generally unbearable hotness of himself.

The unbearable hotness of himself?

I stared into the empty glass. Did you roofie me?

Holden rolled his eyes. Again, I draw your attention to exhibit A. He pointed to his face. "Do I look like I need date-rape drugs to get women?"

No, you’re a vampire. The walking date-rape drug. I clapped my hand over my mouth, my eyes widening with horror.

Holden looked dumbfounded for a moment before he cracked a smile. Well, I’ll be damned. I know you told me before how much of a lightweight you are, but I thought you were exaggerating.

Refusing to move my hand from my mouth for fear of what might come out next, I shook my head. I was sort of pathetic when it came to alcohol. I could take a beating like nobody’s business, but give me a little booze and that was all it took. My heightened metabolism took me from sober to drunk in record time, as I was currently demonstrating to Holden. I had hoped my week of post-Desmond-break-up wallowing might have given me some heightened resistance to alcohol.

No such luck.

Holden reached across the island and pulled my hand away from my mouth. Now would be a pretty stupid time to start censoring yourself, Secret.

I might say something horrible.

That never stopped you from saying them when sober. He winked.

Damn, he had a point. I had said some wildly cruel things to him while under no influence except my own stubborn bitchiness.

Sorry, I whispered.

No you’re not. He topped off my drink and slid the refilled glass back towards me. Now drink that and tell me why you really came.

Chapter Three

I came for sex; I stayed for drunk therapy.

Nursing my second glass of scotch, I leaned against the counter and fixed Holden with a serious stare. What do you think I came for?

Honestly?

Have you ever been anything but?

He took a sip straight from the bottle and observed me with casual interest. I think you did come to get laid. But I also think you would have felt bad about it when you woke up later.

I rolled my eyes and took another sip of the drink, my head swimming. Shows what you know.

"Think about it for a second and then deny it."

I did as I was told. Was I here to sleep with Holden because I wanted to sleep with him, or was I here because there was an empty space torn out where my heart used to be, and I was willing to fill it with anything if I could just make it stop hurting?

I finished off my drink and made no attempt to tell him he was wrong.

Wanna do it anyway? I asked.

No. Holden screwed the top back on the bottle and returned it to its place in the cupboard. "But you are spending the night here."

Outside, the night was starting to fade into early dawn, and the yellow of the city lights was turning the color of a fading bruise. It was the purple-gold sign I needed to be far away from sunlight. I’d never make it home in time, and we both knew it.

Normally I’d think this was an excuse for you to get me into bed.

Secret. He took the glass out of my hand and cupped my chin. His gaze bore into mine with an intensity that made me shiver. When I get you into my bed for real, we’re going to need a lot longer than ten minutes if I’m going to make love to you the way I’ve been planning to all these years. Understand?

I swallowed hard and nodded. His words had the weight of a threat, but they had me wound tight and panting for him to follow through.

If the sunrise wasn’t a few minutes away from knocking me out completely, I was going to ask for a cold shower before going to his bedroom. As it was, I’d fall asleep next to him with my mind spinning.

I opened my eyes to find Lucas staring at me.

Oh good, I thought. I’m drinking and dreaming.

This is why you’ve been too busy to answer my calls?

Holden was still asleep, his arm wrapped around my waist a dead weight. I shoved him off me and sat up, my head clear. I rarely got hangovers in real life, so why should my dreams be any different?

The vampire’s bed was as basic as the rest of his apartment, just a mattress and box spring on a low maple bedframe with no head or footboard.

Continuing to ignore Lucas, I looked around on the rug for my socks. I was wearing the rest of my clothes from the night before, so dream-Lucas was up on his high horse for no good reason. Unless I’d started having sex fully clothed, I was innocent of whatever he was trying to imply.

Secret…

Fuck off.

Dream-Lucas crossed his arms and sighed. He was a high-and-mighty asshole even in my dreams. Maybe I should have taken that as a sign before I’d agreed to marry him.

Look, I came here—

No, Lucas, you don’t get to tell me what to do. This is my dream, and you’re not welcome here.

He skirted the bed so he was standing in front of me. I ignored him the best I could and continued to search the floor for my missing socks. Dream or no dream, my boots would be uncomfortable without them, and I needed any excuse to not look at the werewolf king.

This isn’t a dream.

"Then it’s a nightmare because you won’t fuck off."

He grabbed my arm, and for the first time I started doubting my dream theory. His grip was hard and painful and very, very real. I’d had lucid dreams before, but this had none of the strange, hazy quality of one of those.

This was happening.

I recoiled from his touch, clambering up on the bed and stumbling over Holden’s body. This finally roused the sleeping vampire who caught me just before I fell off the mattress. My attention was all for Lucas. Real, living, breathing Lucas.

"What are you doing here?" I shouted, trying to keep my voice full of anger and not hysteria.

I need your help.

Holden set me on the floor and got to his feet, standing between me and my ex-fiancé. Before I unleash the hellcat to give you a well-deserved shit-kicking, do you mind explaining why you’re in my apartment?

I need her help, Lucas repeated.

How did you know she was here?

We’re married. I can find her anywhere.

"We are not married, I screamed, a bit of the hysteria I’d hoped to avoid creeping up on me. You made damned sure of that."

Like it or not, Secret, you completed the ceremony. We’re married.

Holden caught me before I could dive across the mattress at Lucas. God knows what I would have done if I’d been allowed to get my hands on him. The vampire clamped me against his chest and held me tightly as I struggled to get at the werewolf.

"I think she’s choosing the or not option," Holden said smoothly, as if he weren’t holding my writhing body prisoner.

"Fuck you," I snarled and kicked out, making contact with Lucas’s stomach.

The attack somehow caught him by surprise, in spite of my obvious intention to do him harm. He doubled over, bracing himself against the bed while he caught his breath. I tried to kick him in the head, but Holden saw my plan before I could follow through and tugged me backwards, keeping me out of assault distance.

Not to question your methods, but perhaps you might want to stop insisting you’re married to the woman you stood up at the altar. Holden set me down but pushed me behind him, his body tensed to catch me should I attempt another attack.

The human ceremony was inconsequential. Lucas righted himself. Secret, I’ve tried to apologize for the unfortunate—

"You humiliated me. Not to mention leaving me exposed to Morgan. Desmond almost died because of you."

Lucas glared at me, the darkness of his expression evident from across the pitch-black room, which was kept safe from light by thick velvet curtains and the surprisingly dense Japanese screens. "Desmond. It’s always about Desmond. Well, before you fall off your high horse, you should acknowledge that Desmond was only there for you."

"Don’t try to blame this on me. He came to tell me you weren’t coming. Your best friend almost died, and his blood is all on your hands."

Let’s get real, here. He hasn’t been my best friend in a long time. Not since we met you.

A cold chill rocked me. Get out, I demanded, clinging to Holden’s arm to keep my composure. You have no right coming here.

You shouldn’t be here either, he said coolly.

Why? It’s not like I have anyone else in my life anymore.

Lucas moved suddenly, grabbing Holden’s nightstand and flinging it across the room where it shattered against the brick wall. "You are my wife. Don’t you forget that."

Holden stiffened, waiting for my reaction. I sucked in a breath through my nose and looked at the person I’d once loved. I tried to feel something, tried to remember what he’d meant to me. But all I saw was a villain who’d broken my heart and taken away the man I loved.

In spite of the connection through our mate bond, the one that told me he was blind with rage and desperate for me to listen to him, I felt no love. There was no sense of hatred either, though, in spite of how much I tried to will the hot, bitter taste of it up. I wanted to hate him almost as badly as I’d once wanted to truly love him.

All I felt was contempt and sadness.

What do you want? I asked, choosing not to quibble with him about our marital status. I’d have time later to find out the finer points of getting a werewolf divorce. We couldn’t be unbonded metaphysically—one of the less-fun aspects of a supernatural love match—but I’d be damned if I was going to stay his were-wife forever.

Can we speak alone?

To answer his question, I parked my ass on the rumpled sheets of Holden’s bed and pulled the vampire down next to me. "He’d hear us anyway. Not to mention it’s his apartment you broke into. He gets to stay."

The typical Lucas response would have been to insist we speak alone, but what he had to say must have been pretty important if he’d barged into a vampire’s loft at nightfall to haul me out of bed. He pretended as if Holden weren’t in the room with us.

It’s Kellen.

My blood ran cold. It was as if my whole body had been submerged in ice water, and all the sarcasm and loathing seeped out of me, replaced with sharp, urgent fear.

Did someone hurt her?

Lucas shook his head. I don’t know. The three words sounded heavy and defeated coming from his mouth. This was a man who didn’t understand what it meant to fail, and he was talking about his younger sister like he’d already lost her. My fear ratcheted up ten notches.

Obviously able to sense my discomfort, or just showing a rare sign of being a gentleman, Holden slid his hand over mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. I didn’t push him away, accepting the kindness without a word.

Looked like we were all going to pretend to be grownups for once.

I don’t understand, I said. Where is she?

I don’t know. This time the anger he’d been unable to mask before when shouting at me was more subdued, but I didn’t miss it. Have you…? Has she talked to you at all?

I took a brief mental inventory of when I’d last spoken to Kellen. She and my vampire protégée Brigit had been practically glued to my side for the week following Lucas’s…mistake. I’d seen more of Kellen than I had of my own half-sister Eugenia in that time. Not that I blamed Genie. She had responsibilities of her own to deal with in Louisiana, and Kellen’s only responsibilities were what parties she was meant to attend on any given night.

But after a week of heavy girl-bonding, I’d needed to be alone. I’d spoken to her on the phone, but not for several days.

I’m not sure, maybe Sunday? It was now Wednesday.

Lucas began to pace the small open area at the foot of the bed. I noticed for the first time how disheveled he looked. His normally tidy blond hair was a mess, and he had a good two days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. The clothes he wore were designer, but considering he was a billionaire, that was a default rather than a fashion-conscious decision. His shirt was wrinkled and buttoned improperly, and there was a coffee stain on the upper thigh of his jeans.

This wasn’t the Lucas I knew.

My Lucas was strong, levelheaded and hardly ever showed a sign of weakness. The man in front of me was frantic and letting it show. I wanted to stage a Moonstruck-style intervention and smack him across the face, hollering, Snap out of it! But he looked too far gone for that to help.

He was more than worried. He thought she was already dead.

How long has it been since someone talked to her? I asked.

If he heard me, he made no sign of acknowledging it. He continued to pace the floor until Holden finally chimed in. Hey, Fido. The lady asked you a question.

Normally Holden’s dog jokes rankled Lucas in the worst way. Tonight he merely stopped his caged-animal back-and-forthing and stared at us both as if he’d forgotten where he was. What?

How long has it been since someone spoke to Kellen? I repeated.

Jackson was with her last, and that was Monday. None of her friends have talked to her since then. No one in the pack has heard from her either. This wasn’t entirely surprising since Kellen was not a werewolf, but it was interesting she hadn’t talked to her human friends either.

I immediately shifted gears from worried-friend mode to PI mode. Where was she when Jackson saw her?

He dropped her off in Chinatown on Monday night. He was supposed to pick her up later that night, but she texted to say she wouldn’t be needing him. That was it.

Chinatown? What was Kellen doing in Chinatown? I could understand her blowing off Jackson, one of Lucas’s young werewolf lackeys, especially if she thought another plan would be more fun. Kellen was constantly in search of the better party. I was no stranger to getting a text-message blow off from her at the last minute. But text messages were also easy to fake. And if someone knew her habits, they’d know a text wouldn’t be questioned by anyone familiar with Kellen’s laissez-faire attitude when it came to polite behavior.

I pursed my lips together, mulling over what little information he’d given me.

You could have called me to ask this.

Maybe I would have if you’d answer my goddamn calls, he retorted. There was the bristling anger I was more familiar with from him. Good, I needed him angry. Just like Holden couldn’t handle me being a simpering wussy, Lucas was useless to me—and more importantly to his pack—as an unstable, worried brother.

It’s probably nothing. Once again I ignored his rage. Point two for me. Aside from the huge coolness deduction I’d lost when I kicked him, I was definitely looking like the more emotionally stable of the two of us. Perish the thought.

"She has never, never ignored my calls, Secret. Not since…not since our parents died."

So even the media-darling wild child still had a responsible side when it came to family. I loved Kellen and thought of her like a sister—before I’d known I had one of my own—but I never stopped learning things about her that surprised me. I assumed she’d be flighty and unreliable, especially with Lucas. This new tidbit was making my It’s cool, don’t worry argument harder to stand behind.

There are a dozen reasons she might not have called. You know how Kellen is. It didn’t take any wild stretches of imagination to come up with a plausible story to explain her absence. She could have gone on a last-minute vacation, probably to Cozumel or something. Her phone got wet, she hasn’t realized she’s missed any calls, so she doesn’t even know you’re worried. It’s only been forty-eight hours. It’s hardly time to send out the National Guard. I held my hands open in front of me and raised both eyebrows, trying to convey a certainty that said, See, see how easy this is to believe?

I don’t know. Hearing him say those words so often in such a short span of time was making me both nervous and annoyed. My desire to slap some sense into him made my fingers burn.

We both know her, I reminded him. She is a sweet, well-meaning girl, Lucas, but she isn’t always the most…considerate of how her actions impact others.

He nodded, and I could see I was getting somewhere. Which was good, because the sooner he accepted the wisdom of my words, the sooner I could get him the hell out of Holden’s apartment.

I’m worried, he said. I have so many enemies. And if they can’t get to me or to you… I’m worried someone might have done something to her. Something bad.

The stupid part of me that once loved him wanted to go to him. I wanted to hold him and tell him everything would be okay.

Instead I internally Moonstruck-ed myself.

Would it make you feel better if I looked into it? Keaty and I have contacts. I can ask around, make sure nothing bad has happened to her. I’ll get Mercedes to run the usual checks, and we’ll put your mind at ease. My friend Mercedes was an NYPD detective, and one of these days she was going to get sick of doing under-the-table favors for me. I wouldn’t blame her, either, considering how many times her life had been put in danger because of her friendship with me. But for now, at least, I knew running some checks wouldn’t kick me out of her good books just yet.

Another bonus of being the jilted bride was people were willing to be extra nice to you.

Being a woman scorned and almost killed at a wedding covered by the international press meant I also got a lot of cool free designer stuff mailed to me. But that was beside the point. My new Hermes bag wasn’t going to make Lucas feel better about his maybe-but-probably-not missing sister.

You’d do that for me?

Holden huffed out a disgusted grunt but said nothing.

No. I’d do it for Kellen. For you I’m going to say go take a shower and shave. Don’t let any of your pack, or God forbid my uncle’s pack, see you looking like a homeless grad student. You’re a king, for fuck’s sake. Start acting like one.

He bristled visibly. What did you just say to me?

"I said suck it up, buttercup. You can’t be worried about a human if your pack is in such a fragile state that you can’t show up to your own wedding. You have bigger fish to fry."

Secret… Ah, the familiar, impatient, warning sound. He’d loved to scold me like I was a naughty child, and not in a kinky way. But he didn’t get to talk down to me anymore.

You said we’re married, right? That I’m your wife?

He didn’t speak, but I could tell from the way his eyes narrowed he knew he wouldn’t like what I had to say next.

Then that makes me Queen of the Eastern pack. It makes all your problems my problems. And you looking like a lost, pathetic puppy is putting every single wolf in your pack at risk. Go home. Brush your hair. Put on a suit. I’ll take care of this like I always take care of the stuff you don’t know how to deal with.

I looked at Holden beside me, and his brown eyes were wide. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed with me or appalled. Admittedly, I was a bit of both. Lucas had told me he was fearful for someone he loved, and I’d basically told him not to get his royal panties in a twist.

I’d also called myself the wolf queen, so really I was on a roll as far as talking out my ass went.

Looking down at his rumpled shirt, then back to me, Lucas remained silent for a long time before he said, Okay.

When he walked out of the room, I stared with open amazement at the dark space he’d occupied a second earlier.

Holden, not wanting to let the moment go unacknowledged, said, All hail Secret, Queen of the Bitches.

Chapter Four

My apartment didn’t feel like home without Desmond in it.

It was also an ever-increasing disaster area since he wasn’t there to pick things up or guilt me into not being a slob. When I’d lived alone, the mess had never bothered me, but since living with him I saw everything through a Desmond Alvarez-hued filter.

When I stepped through my apartment door after walking home from Holden’s place, it wasn’t exactly like stepping into the streets of Beirut, but my living room would have served as an excellent before in juxtaposition to Holden’s sleek, spotless after, if a magazine wanted to showcase New York apartments.

I didn’t eat, so there were no dirty plates or food wrappers anywhere in sight. What was littered over every piece of furniture, however, was clothing. When I’m unhappy, I don’t like the way anything looks. When I’m depressed, as it turns out, it is an absolute requirement that I try on—and hate—every single item of clothing I own.

I’d been in a three-week cycle of repeating this process. It had gotten to the point where there wasn’t any clothing left in my closet. Everything was scattered throughout the apartment, waiting for the next time I would hunt it down, put it on, then hurl it somewhere else in disgust.

Desmond would have had it hung, folded and sorted by color in the span of twenty minutes. He was an architect and had a natural flair for order, whereas my only natural skill was destruction.

Rio, a wiry snake of fur and attitude, stretched out on top of the rumpled pile of T-shirts she’d been sleeping on and padded across the living room floor, plunking her bony feline ass down in front of me and casting her lime-green gaze upwards.

"Brreeeeow?" she asked.

Nope, sorry, kitten, just me. Always just me.

She butted her furry head against my shin and purred. "Mrow."

Ugh, fine. I plucked her off the floor, and the purring reached epic proportions as she bashed her tiny skull into my chin. I could pretend to hate her as much as I wanted. The damned cat knew better.

Sidestepping a tangled pair of jeans that still held the shape of my legs, I carried Rio back to my small yellow loveseat and curled up with the cat in my arms, petting her absentmindedly as I stared at the black television screen.

And Desmond’s stupid Xbox.

In three weeks the desire to play Halo had not proven stronger than his aversion to seeing me. I felt like I was keeping the damned thing hostage, waiting for him to yield and come back to the apartment because he really needed to indulge in a first-person shooter.

I didn’t want to admit a grown man with a six-figure income might go out and buy himself a new game console instead of facing the woman who’d almost gotten him killed.

Rio nipped at my finger when I stopped petting her. I gave her a scolding tap on the nose then continued to indulge her whims. At least one female in this apartment might as well be happy. I couldn’t even get laid by a vampire I had a one-night-stand pact with. Secret McQueen, spinster for life.

This was why I’d tried to be happy being single.

Men screwed everything up. And the more men I added to the equation, the messier things got. Menage-a-trois romance novels lied. There was no way to have a happily ever after with more than one partner. I’d tried to juggle too many balls—no pun intended—and I’d ended up empty-handed.

So now began the Crazy Cat Lady chapter of my life.

Fine.

I could at least be a Crazy Cat Lady who could track down wayward socialites. Kellen couldn’t have gotten far, but she could have gotten into a lot of trouble. I might have told Lucas she was fine, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it myself. I didn’t think she was kidnapped or dead. Unfortunately, her being arrested or turned into an accidental drug mule still wasn’t out of the question.

I dialed my cell.

Well, well, well, came a cheerful, teasing male voice. "I hear you’re the Big Bad Wolf now?"

Dominick Alvarez, Desmond’s younger brother and Lucas’s live-in bodyguard, was possibly the kindest, funniest, most charming man I’d ever met. If he wasn’t also the only gay werewolf I knew, I’d probably marry him, save myself a mountain of drama and live in a white-picket-fence neighborhood in suburbia.

Since he was an Alvarez, he’d probably make me clean up after myself too, though.

He made it back okay, then?

Yes. If you’re calling to see if he’s following your instructions, I’m pleased to tell you he has indeed showered and shaved. As the one person who has to spend all day in close proximity to him, I thank you profusely for mandating soap.

Clearly Dominick wasn’t too worked up over the whole Kellen situation. The Alvarez family had known the Rains their whole lives. If anyone could be cavalier about Kellen’s behavior, it would be Dominick, since he’d been exposed to it since childhood.

How long has he been like that? I asked.

Don’t hedge. Just spit out your question.

Damn him. He knew what I wanted to ask, but he’d never let me be coy about it. Did he start acting weird because of Kellen or was it…sooner? Like…after the wedding?

Sorry, kid. This is new.

I chewed on my lip briefly. It was the answer I’d expected, but at the same time I’d hoped maybe Lucas had felt at least a little bad for what he’d done to me. Apparently not.

Keep an eye on him for me, I said.

I keep both eyes on him. Always.

Then can you do me a favor?

A pause. That depends.

If he starts drifting again, let me know. I may not be with him, but as he so crassly reminded me tonight, I’m still bonded to him. And even if I weren’t, I’m still pack protector. He’s putting everyone at risk if he’s running around like a stinky vagabond.

Dominick made a sound like he was stifling a laugh. I’ll do it, on one condition.

Oh God how I hated the words on one condition.

I’m not going to have sex with you, I replied jokingly.

You say that like it’s a hard thing to manage.

"Ouch. Okay, I deserved that. What’d you have in mind?"

Go see Des.

My heart sank, feeling like a stone in my chest. Dominick, I don’t think—

That’s my condition.

He doesn’t want to see me. And who could blame him?

You don’t know that.

Has he said anything to make you think different?

A pause. Not to me.

To anyone? A glimmer of hope began to burn inside me, and hope was the most dangerous and unrepentantly naggy of all human emotions. Hope was something I didn’t have the time to deal with.

Penny.

He told Penny what exactly? Penny was Dominick and Desmond’s little sister, and considering she was thirteen years old, I didn’t know if I could put much stock in anything she was saying.

He told her he misses you.

I sighed and blinked a few times. When did this room get so dusty? Desmond would want to make it easier on her. Who wants to explain it to a teenager?

He does miss you, Secret.

Maybe, I conceded. But it doesn’t mean he wants me back.

Go see him. Say you will and I’ll tell you everything Lucas does.

Now you’re making me sound like a creepy stalker.

No, you’re being a good queen.

There it was, my royal title for the second time that night. So if you acknowledge I’m the queen, why won’t you take my orders?

Well, for starters, Your Majesty, my boss outranks you. I could practically feel Dominick wink.

Damn. I call for a favor from the one werewolf who is a royalist loyalist.

Just doing my job.

I forced a smile, which was pointless because he couldn’t see me. So am I.

Chapter Five

I didn’t call Desmond.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, because it was the only thing I wanted to do. All night long from when I woke at dusk to the repellent moment sunrise forced me out of the world, I itched to call him. To see him. I sometimes would go a mile out of my way to walk by his apartment in the off chance I might accidentally bump into him. My use of the word stalker had been a joke when I’d used it in reference to Lucas, but I was towing a line when it came to Desmond.

I knew it was wrong, but instead of calling him I was walking through the financial district towards his office. It was late, well after nine by now, but I suspected he might still be there. I had no intention of talking to him, but hearing Dominick say I should see Desmond made a need take light in me.

I had to see him.

Desmond was a fix I couldn’t make it through the rest of my night without indulging in.

The Rain Industries Tower was on Bank St. in spite of the fact it had nothing to do with banking. As I traversed the nearly empty sidewalk, watching a few late workers move towards the subway stations or waiting town cars, I started to think about what a terrible plan this was.

I shouldn’t be here, but bad ideas seemed to be the only ones I was capable of having lately.

I climbed between the metal paws of a lion statue in front of a bank on the opposite side of the street and sank into the shadowy cradle of its legs. The Rain business center looked out of sorts with its surroundings, too glossy, metallic and modern next to the old skyscrapers it was nestled between. The lobby was white, all the furniture and art—a Jackson Pollack series—were done in a variety of shades of the color.

Shades of white were something I’d never understood. Was there really a difference between linen and cotton flower? They’d tried to convince me white came in shades when I’d tried on wedding dresses, but I still had trouble accepting it.

Instead I thought about what a bitch it would be to clean up blood in that lobby.

Desmond was a stark contrast to the whiteness of the space as he walked through it. He wore a charcoal-gray suit with the blazer slung over one arm and his pale green tie loosened. With the sleeves rolled up and his top two buttons undone I could see the dark hair on his arms and chest. Desire stirred in me.

When he stopped to talk to the desk man, I was afforded a view of one of my favorite parts of Desmond’s body, his tight, firm butt, which well-tailored pants made the most of. My leather jacket was suddenly much too hot. He and the older man laughed at a joke, and my throat constricted, lust fading into the painful reminder he was no longer mine to lust after. With a final wave he left the building and jogged down the steps.

Go to him, my brain commanded.

I shifted but didn’t move from my perch.

Desmond stopped abruptly at the bottom of the steps, and his eyes widened slightly. He sniffed the air. Oh goddammit, of course he sniffed the air. Why was I constantly forgetting about the natural abilities of werewolves in their human form? I hadn’t been this close to him, hadn’t seen him in the three weeks since he’d taken a bullet meant for me.

I’d spoken to him, though.

Damn, I had spoken to him just the night before. I’d stayed on the line and listened to him breathe after he’d fallen asleep in the middle of our conversation. I had it bad.

Now he seemed to be looking right at me, but human-form werewolf vision was only good at night if the wolf had time to adjust. He’d just come out of a bright lobby, and there shouldn’t have been time for him to spot me in the shadows.

I tried to push myself farther under the lion without drawing more of his attention.

Go to him.

My brain had a one-track mind.

Secret? He was whispering, his tone uncertain like he wasn’t quite sure he could trust what he was smelling. Hearing my name from his lips was so painful I wanted to run across the street and put my arms around him.

I didn’t move.

He raked a hand through his short black hair and scratched the dark stubble on his jaw. After a final sniff and a small shake of his head, Desmond sighed and walked off down the street. When he vanished, I slipped out from my hiding place and watched the space where I’d last seen him. If I ran, I could catch him.

Instead I turned and walked the opposite way.

Chapter Six

The next night, shortly after moonrise, I slipped through the front door of a brownstone with Keats & McQueen—Private Pest Control etched on the glass. I’d lived with Keaty a mere three years, but that was all it had taken for this place to feel like home to me.

Though Keaty himself hadn’t quite felt like family.

I loved him dearly, but in the way you love a pet snake. He was important to me, and without him I’d have never learned to survive in this city, but Keaty didn’t love things. If pressed, I might admit Keaty was very likely a sociopath. Only he didn’t try to fake emotion, he was just a blank slate.

The blank slate in question called to me from the open door of his office.

The prodigal daughter has returned, he said, his tone unreadable.

As I often did in the office, I kicked my shoes off at the door and made myself comfortable. I padded barefoot into Keaty’s space and slid backwards over the arm of one of his high wingback chairs, letting my legs dangle off the side.

Oh, yes, do make yourself at home. The man himself sat in a leather chair behind his big wooden desk. He was probably north of forty, but he didn’t look it. His dark blond hair hadn’t begun to show signs of gray, but he had firm frown lines permanently etched around his mouth. Still, though, he was in excellent physical condition for a man of any age.

For the first time in years something else sat on the desk in front of him, and be still my heart it was a laptop.

You own a computer?

"In spite of your opinion of me, I am perfectly aware it is not 1943 and I am also not Phillip Marlowe."

Sam Spade, I teased.

He grunted. I always preferred Chandler to Hammett, myself.

You read books? I asked with mock surprise. In for a penny, in for a pound. If I was going to poke a sleeping bear, it might as well be a sociopath who killed monsters for fun.

Monsters like me.

"I used to have this marvelous thing known as spare time. Then I met a sassy, bothersome teenaged vampire hunter, and what do you know? My time disappeared."

You love me. I picked up a paperweight on his desk, a crystal rose, and turned it over gently in my hands. Last time I’d taken something off his desk it had supposedly contained the soul of a big bad shaman or something. Ever since then I’d been careful not to handle things, but I was feeling fidgety and it was shiny.

Unfortunately, he replied. I set the flower down and stared at him. In seven years it was the closest thing I’d ever gotten from Keaty that resembled an admission of emotional attachment.

Given some of the training methods he’d had for me as a teenager were borderline torture—psychological and physical alike—I’d never thought I’d hear him say he was proud of me, let alone that he loved me. He was the ultimate hard-to-please parent figure, and I thought the best I’d ever do was Well, you’re still alive.

Are you dying? I asked.

Don’t be stupid. As though his mortality couldn’t possibly be in question.

You always told me to rely on my natural gifts.

Only you would think stupidity was a gift.

I grinned at him. Dumb luck. I am the master of it.

To what do I owe the great, rare presence of your royal wolfish, vampire Tribunal-leading self in my office? Aren’t you otherwise occupied with running the underworld?

Ah, was that bitterness I smelled? It was hard to tell with all his subtlety.

Looked like it was also going to be call-Secret-on-her-shit day. Nice. Kick a girl when she was down.

Except in this case I sort of felt like I deserved all the kicks I was getting.

I need—

Oh yes, he interrupted me, leaning back in his chair and loosening the blood-red tie he wore. "Please tell me what you need." His tone wasn’t outright mean, but I got the point. I’d been asking a lot of favors, and a partnership was supposed to be give and take. Instead it had been take, take, take, and I’d been the one doing all the demanding.

I sucked. Thanks, everyone. Point taken.

I bit my lip and swallowed the snarky reply I wanted to make. Hard to be high and mighty about your hurt pride when people are making completely valid points. My hurt expression must have shown because Keaty softened slightly.

You understand why I’m…unhappy with you, don’t you?

Yes.

Why?

Because I’ve been a shitty partner.

Keaty nodded. I would have said ungrateful, but shitty is accurate too.

"I have been taking cases."

How marvelous. Those two extra cases every month were such a burden. Thanks for getting those off my mind. Oh good, sarcasm. Probably a sign I shouldn’t be defending myself right now.

Look, I do need your help with something.

Fancy that, because I need yours.

Well, let’s hear it.

I think I’d like to save mine until the end. What do you need?

Kellen Rain is AWOL.

Ransom demand? He slid forward in his chair, and I recognized the change in his expression. It was the same shift I’d had the previous night with Lucas when I went from bitter ex to professional private investigator in order to find Kellen.

I shook my head. I don’t think she’s been kidnapped.

What does Rain think?

I’m pretty sure he thinks she’s dead.

Keaty threaded his fingers together and rested his chin on them, looking thoughtful. No, death doesn’t seem right, does it? Does he have a reason for thinking that? Any specific enemies who might make a target of someone he loves? He arched an eyebrow at me. First I thought he was implying I might be responsible for Kellen’s disappearance, until it dawned on me he meant something else entirely.

You think I might be at risk?

If someone is targeting those close to the king, you’d be an obvious liability.

This time I snorted. "You’re getting rusty, Spade. It made the national news when Lucas stood me up. It’s a fact universally acknowledged, to quote Jane Austen, that he doesn’t give a single flying fuck about me."

"I don’t think Jane Austen ever said flying fuck."

The point. You’re missing it.

I never miss the point, Secret. You tend to ignore it.

"Keaty, I think you just put the ouch in touché."

He rolled his eyes. Where do you think the girl is?

Working on her tan and ignoring her phone. My dream holiday.

And it’s not out of the realm of possibility for a girl with her…reputation, to vanish without word. He was trying to politely say, Slutty party girls aren’t known for being bastions of responsibility.

Lucas says it’s the first time she’s run off without answering his calls.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but was she not, um, Team Secret after the wedding debacle? He made air quotes around Team Secret, and I fought the urge to laugh in his face. I was trying to build bridges here, when I was naturally predisposed to burn them down.

Yes, she was on my side.

Maybe she’s ignoring his calls to punish him.

Well, damn. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Hadn’t it been precisely what I’d done?

"She isn’t answering any calls, though."

Have you tried?

I… Of course I hadn’t yet tried the most obvious thing.

Give me your phone, please.

I obliged and handed my cell to him. He dialed Kellen’s number from my phone book and turned on the speakerphone. We stared at each other across the desk as it rang three, four, five times with no answer and then a click. Hey, bitches, you’ve reached Kellen. Leave me a message, or better yet, why aren’t you at this party? Her voicemail message ended with a girlish giggle.

Keaty and I continued to watch each other, both our faces impassive. His attention was heavy as I said, Hey, Kel, it’s Secret. Call me back, please. Your pain-in-the-ass brother is looking for you.

My partner hit the end button and slid the phone back across the desk to me. Are you worried?

No, I lied.

Then back to my first question. Does he have any enemies?

He’s a werewolf king, a billionaire and an asshole. Of course he has enemies.

Keaty turned to the laptop in front of him and deftly typed something, his fingers flying over the keyboard with an alarming speed for a man I’d thought hated all technology. I don’t see any hostile takeovers, bad business dealings or anything that would suggest this is corporate. Could it be Callum?

My uncle, Werewolf King of the South, hadn’t been a big fan of my marriage to Lucas, nor did he think the younger king could handle the territory he had. This had been made abundantly clear when he’d tried to steal some of our land and people. That territory dispute was what Lucas had been dealing with instead of showing up to our wedding.

Callum had also been the one to force our hands and push us into the werewolf marriage ceremony. My uncle wasn’t my favorite person by far, but I did believe he cared about me in his own weird, twisted way. He also wasn’t the type to mix humans up with werewolf business if he could avoid it.

Kellen isn’t a werewolf. Callum wouldn’t touch her. It would be bad for his image.

Keaty nodded, trusting my assessment of my uncle’s motivation. So there aren’t any obvious suspects, none that would make kidnapping appear likely. And without a ransom request, I think you’re correct. She’s probably on vacation.

All the same, I’d like to use some of your less seemly contacts to make sure no one has seen her around or heard anything differently about her well-being. Just so I can put Lucas at ease.

Why do you care how he feels?

I looked at my hands, rubbing my damp palms on my jeans before I spoke again. "I don’t care how Lucas feels. But I can’t change my ties to the pack. And he isn’t…right. I need him to get right so he can take care of his people. Otherwise it’s my job to make sure men like my uncle, and like Marcus Sullivan, don’t try to take advantage of a perceived weakness."

I’d killed a would-be usurper to Lucas’s throne once, over a year earlier, and it had given me the illustrious and unwanted title of pack protector. Supernatural job titles were like Pokemon to me, apparently. Gotta catch them all.

I didn’t want to be queen, but I’d earned the pack-protector position in a legitimate way, and I took the role seriously. And with only a week until the next full moon, I wanted to be on good terms with the pack. When I’d been in Louisiana, I’d shifted form for the first time in my adult life. I didn’t know if the same thing would happen this month, but my ability to resist the change had been compromised. If becoming a werewolf was going

Reviews for Secret McQueen Books 5-8

[Northern Wolf Studio · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An absolutely wonderful read, captivating characters and story that i couldnt keep away from. All the twists and turns and beautiful details that make for the best kind of stories. I loved every bit of it!