Page 2 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

“Who?” I demanded, outrage building as I met Arlo’s gaze. “Who’s the dead man who sent these photos?”

“Orson Ward,” Arlo said. He hesitated. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

“No. Should it?”

“He’s an investigative journalist. I’d never heard of him, either, but the internet says he’s well-known in journalistic circles. His late wife was a respected food critic, and his family founded the oldest newspaper in Seattle. Generations of Ward family members have worked in journalism. They’re like a”—Arlo groped for a word—“reporting dynasty or something.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they’re the British royal family,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. I stabbed a finger at the topmost photo. “These are threats. What does Ward want? Money?”

Arlo stared at my finger on the photo. “Sir,” he said quietly.

I looked down. My finger had shifted into a claw, which now pinned the photo to the desk. With a muttered curse, I wrenched my claw from the wood and shoved the photo away. A tiny divot scarred the desk’s surface. Dozens more scattered across the wood. Reminders of the other times I’d lost control and shifted unexpectedly.

“Ward wants an interview,” Arlo said. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a second manila envelope—which most definitely hadn’t been visible before. Arlo withdrew a single sheet of paper and placed it before me. “Forgive me, sir. I kept the letter from you so you’d have a chance to absorb the photos.” Arlo avoided looking at the claw marks on the desk.

I opened my top drawer and withdrew a flask. “Probably a good idea.”

Arlo’s expression was neutral as he nodded toward the letter. “Ward claims he has a video of your shift, as well as footage of you killing Rex Addington. He demands that you meet him in person at his home in Seattle. If you refuse, he says he’ll release the video to the media. He gives you twenty-four hours to decide.”

Rage pumped hot in my veins. I uncorked the flask and took a healthy swig of its contents. The liquid burned hotter than my anger, which was exactly the point. When the fire—and the urges it brought—subsided, I set the flask aside and ran my gaze down Ward’s neat, black handwriting. “He seeks to blackmail me.”

“Yes, sir,” Arlo murmured. “That appears to be the gist of it.”

I kept reading. “He’s going to release the video regardless. He claims he’s being generous by allowing me to control the narrative before the rest of the world discovers werewolves are real.” I huffed a humorless laugh as I met Arlo’s dark stare. “Not a very good investigative journalist, is he? Cocky fucker doesn’t even know the difference between werewolves and lycans.”

“That’s another thing,” Arlo said. “Orson Ward used to be an acclaimed journalist. He won two Pulitzers for his reporting work. Now, he’s a pariah.”

“Why?” Hope fluttered at the edges of my anger. If Ward had skeletons, he was probably desperate. And desperate people were often sloppy. I could work with that.

“Three years ago,” Arlo said, “someone discovered major discrepancies in a story Ward reported. Once people started digging into his work, they realized he’d faked facts in two separate reports. When he couldn’t get a scoop, Ward invented one. Then he did it again.”

So I was right. Ward was desperate. On the other hand, he had photos and a video of me shifting, and he was prepared to go public. Photos were damaging enough, but a video was the sort of bite-sized content the internet loved. It would quickly go viral, racking up millions of views and, eventually, leading humans to my doorstep. Under no circumstances could I allow that to happen. The consequences were unthinkable—and deadly.

My anger stirred anew, urging me to my feet and propelling me around the desk. I stalked to the hearth and braced a hand on the stone mantel carved with snarling lycans. The fire licked higher, its heat searing my face. Orson Ward thought to blackmail me? Two could play that game.

I turned from the hearth to find Arlo standing next to his chair. His gaze was steady, his posture relaxed. Anyone meeting him for the first time would see a slight, timid-looking young man with dark hair and eyes. If they were like most people, they’d assume he was harmless. And they would be wrong.

“Tell Ward I’ll meet him three days from now. He can have his interview. In the meantime, get me all the information you can find on him. I want to know everything. His family. His favorite food. Affairs. Girlfriends from high school. Assets and debts. The names of his pets. If he cares about something, I want to know about it. And then I want to talk to him face-to-face.”

Arlo’s gaze went to the flask on the corner of my desk. “Are you certain that’s wise, sir?”

“It would be unwise to try to stop me.”

He inclined his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Highness.”

“Glad to hear it. And you’ll see to Ward?”

“I’ll make sure you have all the information you require.” The slightest smile touched Arlo’s lips. “This won’t go well for Ward, will it, sir?”

Grim anticipation spread through me. “No, old friend. It will not.”

Chapter

Two

HARPER

Three days later

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