Falling Silver (Rising Bloodlines Book 1)

by Anne Maclachlan

  There was so much Simon had never told her. She tried to imagine what his lover might be like, and whether she was a Waterwolf, as he was. Or maybe there was a fourth bloodline after all, and he was nobly assisting them as well? How long might they have known one another? There would be so much he did not have to explain to this woman. That part made sense, yet she could not stop torturing herself over it.

  But these murder accusations of Adam’s didn’t add up. Hadn’t Simon protected her, and told her that the thrill was in the chase, and that he would avoid a house, like any wild thing? Like any wild thing … But being near a ranch house, with the scent of livestock around, and people outside in a tent; could it have been tempting? Maybe it had been Apex, and perhaps something had irritated the wolf in him?

  What was she thinking? Adam was right, she was making excuses for Simon, in spite of everything she now knew. Well, then; was Adam right? Really?

  Sharing her own space with two men she wasn’t overly fond of was beginning to wear, too. They were all doing their best, but the situation was awkward, and the few days it had lasted had dragged by the minute. Still, aside from Reese, Adam would not permit any of the other Hunters — not even the mother-daughter team she’d strongly requested — to remain in the house for long. They’d been an interesting pair, those two, and she’d have liked a break to chat longer than ten minutes with them.

  And now? Now Adam Hunter had the added authority of having been elected Sheriff. Insufferable.

  Reese was just as sweet as ever, and Karina felt nibbles of remorse for him, as he tried to make some sort of peace between her and Adam. She’d heard him speak his mind about Adam’s ruthless display of the crime scene photos, but Adam was unrelenting in his stance that it had been the only way to make her see sense.

  And there wasn’t much to say; all Karina had now was questions. If anyone could tell her something of the Fourth Bloodline, it would be one of the Hunters, but she dared not ask.

  For now, she’d extracted from Adam the promise of transportation to settle her two small contracts through end of the following week in the city; and in return, she’d given her word to accept the situation she was in.

  She was utterly, completely defeated.

  Through all this time, there were rumors across the woods of the Firewolves’ northward advance, and of a convening of the Bloodlines at the next moon.

  Hearing of this, the elusive band of the Fourth Bloodline was roused and on the move, steadily making its way through the territory surrounding Pigeon Creek.

  New Moon

  “Music and beer,” declared Greg in the moody and silent late afternoon, so Tyler and Simon followed along and found their way into a dive bar tucked down the side street of a borderline ghost town far off the beaten track. The place was barely more comfortable indoors than out, dank and chilly, reeking of the stale beer that stuck to the soles of their boots and crackled with each step on the filthy linoleum floor.

  A slack-jawed, sleepy-voiced young singer strummed a lament about her ex-boyfriend not being in touch with her true self, as an equally slack-jawed and sleepy clientele nursed their bottles. One of them moved dizzily toward the bare patch of wooden floor that delineated it as a tiny stage, beer in hand, and tried to sing along, his lack of consonants matching his dance skills.

  “I’d kill for a juke box,” pronounced Greg.

  “A what?” Tyler looked up from his burner cell phone.

  Greg shot him a lethal glance. “Have you ever even seen a book?”

  Simon’s eye fell on a chipped, gluey bar table by the greasy window, with a view of the bleakness outside. He settled at one of the tall stools while his companions tried to wrangle anything but a watery beer from the bar’s limited offerings.

  Simon’s attention drifted back outside, where a feral cat huddled near some soggy cardboard boxes, warily eyeing up passersby. The sight of the shaking creature drew him deep into dark memories of a time long in his past, back when it had all begun and he strolled shadowed streets, avoiding even the anonymous, sultry calls from darkened recesses.

  He’d seen that same wide-eyed, haunted look on a soul-beaten girl, a new one, shivering and stamping her sandaled feet in a doorway. He’d doubled back to a takeout window to get her some hot coffee and a sandwich, but she wouldn’t take it, nor would she accept his offer of help. Defeated, and knowing they were both being watched by her owner, Simon retreated. A shuddering addict in the next alleyway got the lukewarm meal instead. It seemed that the whole world trembled in the cold pain of a living death.

  Greg knocked him back into to the present with a cloudy glass of what smelled like cheap whisky and old memories. The cat was gone, and the sleepy-voiced singer moved offstage, watching everything intently. Inhaling deeply, she carried her guitar out the side door. Her groggy suitor staggered after her, sobering up awfully fast as she turned from the new-moon evening and stared at him with eyes ringed in the palest blue.

  First Date

  Karina moved gracefully down the porch steps towards the car where Adam stood transfixed. Gone were the paint-splattered jeans and Simon’s baggy flannel shirts. Her hair was up in an Audrey Hepburn sweep, and a long brown leather coat over her gold knit dress matched her simple heels and portfolio. Adam lost all power of speech.

  She allowed him to hold the car door for her, but her eyes could have killed him. He couldn’t muster a single smart remark and guessed that she knew it.

  This was the way he’d seen her photographed in art magazines, and in her brief TV press interviews as she tried, almost in vain, to usher the attention back to her work during this opening or that one.

  “You wore that dress at the New York gallery opening,” he blurted.

  “I didn’t realize that you were a collector,” Karina retorted, drilling her eyes into him.

  “I am, actually.” The road to Duluth blurred and sped beneath them. “Well, sculpture, not paintings. But it’s still art,” he finished lamely.

  She was silent for a moment and then relented, dancing around the edge of a civil discourse on galleries and artists that they both found they admired. The conversation lost a little of its chill over the miles, and by the time they reached the first client, at an upscale hotel in Duluth, it was almost human.

  He reminded her that he’d be back to join for dinner at her second client’s restaurant. As he drove off, Adam found himself daydreaming about his days as a 6th-grade schoolboy with a crush on his teacher. His eye was caught by a menswear store and he pulled over to kill some time.

  When he arrived at the restaurant to meet Karina a few hours later, there was almost a hush as he strolled in.

  A dozen pairs of feminine eyes followed the tall, icy-eyed man in the blue turtleneck and black suede jacket to see whether he might, possibly, be approachable at the bar. When he reached Karina’s table, the disappointment surrounding the two of them was almost audible.

  Karina concentrated on her sparkling water. A couple of sideways glances at him only made him lean in closer.

  “How did it go?”

  “They’re happy, thanks.”

  Their waiter ghosted by to fill their water glasses, and Karina addressed him in perfect Russian.

  “So,” Adam was nonplussed. “How many languages do you speak?”

  “A few,” Karina picked up her knife and frowned at it.

  “You studied in Russia?”

  “My mother was Russian.”

  “I thought you were Cherokee?”

  “My father was Ojibwe.”

  “Ah.”

  A brief silence chilled their plates. Adam tried again.

  “Have you eaten here before? You have?” There was the quiet click of a camera nearby.

  Karina nodded. “We used to come here sometimes when I was little. My mother was friends with the original owner, but his son Petrov has taken over. They wouldn’t give me a menu,” Karina added, looking around from the alcove table for the waiter, with no luck.

&nb
sp; “No, um …” Oh, this wasn’t going to go well. “I asked them to do something special for us. It’s, well … You haven’t …”

  Karina leveled burning eyes on his.

  “Ah, hell, I’m hungry. You ready to eat?”

  “This is not a date.”

  “No, but it is a nice place, and I guess you’re celebrating a couple of commissions, so …”

  Oh, let’s just get this over with, Karina thought, and must have rolled her eyes. When Adam looked at her, he seemed almost boyishly hurt; he’d been tousling his hair nervously; and he was trying so hard. For a moment he looked almost … likeable.

  “Well, I suppose it is a sort of a celebration. I guess, normally … ” she offered a white flag, “normally I just go straight home.”

  “Well now, that’s a shame,” Adam’s smile was genuine, dazzling. “And I hope you don’t mind champagne.”

  A horrible thought struck Karina’s stomach. “I have to be back home tonight.”

  Adam grinned wickedly. “No, you don’t. But on my honor as a Texan, Ma’am, I will have you home tonight, unscathed.”

  Karina really looked at him this time. “Maybe for now,” she reminded him. “But I believe I am still monster bait.”

  Adam returned her gaze. “You’re not, you know.” The champagne arrived. “You have to eat. Might as well enjoy it. Look, I know you like Reese, but this would be totally wasted on him.” Karina had to smile at that. “He’d be asking for a cheeseburger — with chili on it to make it all fay-ancy.”

  Karina laughed in spite of herself. “Stop it. He’s a sweet guy, for a Hunter.”

  “Well, they can’t all be like me. Here’s to your eyes.”

  He raised his glass and Karina had to look away.

  Petrov had outdone himself with the evening, and by the time dinner was over, Karina had managed to relax a little.

  Just after they’d finished their coffee, a little boy with a deep drawl approached the table with a pen and a napkin.

  “Ess’cuse me,” he said shyly, “are you Mr. Hunter?”

  And so ended the meal, as Adam obliged his little fan with a brief chat and an autograph. The boy’s parents nodded and waved at them as they got up to leave.

  “Sorry,” Adam said with a wink as he helped Karina with her coat. “That usually doesn’t happen in the city.”

  “Oh, he was adorable,” Karina smiled despite her aversion to the situation. “Adam? Thank you.”

  Adam briefly rested a hand on her shoulder, and they walked out the door to an explosion of flashing cameras and cell phones.

  “Sorry,” Karina smiled ruefully, speaking above the clamor, “I’m afraid this sometimes does happen to me in the city!” She waved shyly, until a brute of a papparazzo pushed a younger man aside and started yelling at them about werewolves.

  “That’s enough, thank you,” Adam was all business again, placing himself between Karina and the inquisitor, but the aggressive man stepped up and demanded to know what Adam and his group were going to do about it all.

  Stepping back, Karina tripped on her own high heel, and as Adam caught her around the waist, another dozen cameras clicked. Petrov arrived quickly and ushered them back inside with a thousand apologies. “Oh, please don’t worry, Petrov,” Karina smiled, “these things happen.”

  Shortly, Adam’s car was brought around the back exit and they were on the way home. Once again, Adam’s apologies were sincere, and Karina waved them off, saying no harm had been done.

  But of course, it had.

  The Chimerae

  The Rush was overtaking Tanis and she barely reached her favorite haunt in the deep woods before rolling into a den and clamping her jaws onto the resident bear’s hind leg. It took only moments to convince the animal to leave, and she bounced around the walls of the earthen cave, desperately trying not to howl too loudly. It was so hard.

  The exhilaration, though! Wait ’til Selena found out that she’d resisted the powerful temptation to create a new wolf. She’d just left him open-mouthed and stunned, crumpled in the alleyway trash where he belonged. And it would have been so easy, so easy, and to have her Seventh Hound would be so awesome, so cool, so, so cooooooool — the howl escaped her.

  Giggles in wolf shape always came out as snuffles, which made her laugh even more. The woods had grown mightily still; there was almost a substance to this quiet. Tanis could hold on no longer, and leaping to the mouth of the cave, produced the wildest screaming howl she could manage, losing her footing, slipping backwards and rolling into a ball as she fell, snuffling, and trying to regain control. Oh, the joy, the freedom!

  If only Selena could truly see how liberating this was. She would have to agree with Tanis’s plans. A curse? Hah! Tanis could tell the world about curses. This wasn’t close. Nowhere close. Nope. Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo …

  Tanis bounded away from the cave mouth, snapping at branches, scenting the air for a moment — was that? No, never mind. There were squirrels about, and she’d neglected to eat, spending too much time singing at the bar.

  Stupid drunk dancing guy. What had saved him in the alley? His stupid breath and his stupid pawing at her. She could have had him. He’d have been at her feet, this Seventh of hers. Stupid guy. But she didn’t want trash as her final Hound, nor to be around it for the rest of her life.

  She stopped, tasting the air. Squirrels. Come on, squirrels. Stupid stepfather. She’d hidden from him like a squirrel. Stupid drunk guy. Stupid pawing guy. He’d have been her First Hound, but for two things. She didn’t want him around forever, and in the initial fury of her early wolfhood, she’d slaughtered him. Her next raging howl escaped her. There’d been little satisfaction in the kill but he would never bother her again. And who, who would suspect a werewolf at New Moon? Whoooooooooo?

  Ah, so much for the squirrel dinner. Now that bear; where had the bear gone? The blood trail was there, distracting in its promise. She dropped low and began to scent with purpose. The heart would be good, and the liver so juicy. Quietly, now, quietly. Wow. Talk about making tracks. The bear had long gone, and there went dinner. Wait … there was a whiff of human! Two … no, three … oh, she couldn’t. One was a man, though, would he do? No … a woman and child, too. And terrified. Damn.

  Tanis flexed her jaws and retreated, slowly wandering back to the cave, scenting as she moved. Heaven help anything else that crossed her path tonight.

  But it did. It crossed from behind her, and locked its powerful jaws onto the skin at the back of her neck. Limp, whining like a puppy, Tanis allowed herself to be carried back into the cave by the Queen of the Chimerae.

  It’s On the

  Internet, So ...

  In an Internet cafe the following morning, Simon desRosiers burned his tongue while gulping a mug of coffee and staring at the Creek Run’s slightly blurry image of Adam Hunter, his arm tightly around Karina, whose face seemed hidden in his shoulder, and the photo caption “Where, Wolf?”

  She’s on the rebound already, was his first thought, but he let it go. It came back, panting like a puppy, nipping his edges and growling. But she can’t be; she’s smart, and she’s perfectly capable of looking out for herself. She has to see Adam Hunter for what he is.

  A trick of the camera. It had to be. Simon squinted at the screen, but couldn’t see her face or make out what might really be happening.

  So what if she was rebounding from her crush on him. She ought to! He insisted on it. He had never led her on and never allowed her to act on her feelings. But now she was literally in the hands of Adam Hunter. And whose fault was that?

  The hot, bitter coffee echoed his guilt. That other guilt. The one surrounding the vow he’d made to a cherished friend decades ago; the promise to protect the son, and then the granddaughter. Great. He’d managed that outcome beautifully, by delivering her right behind enemy lines.

  The puppy growled again, in a voice strikingly like Greg’s. “Well, well. That is a surprising turn,” his friend leaned in for a c
loser look at the screen. “‘Where, Wolf?’? Great. Just great.”

  Simon glanced up, “It’s the Creek Run. Who reads it, or cares?” He clicked off the page and moved off the seat to give Greg his ten minutes.

  Greg scanned through the national news pages and found the Pigeon Creek murders under “Odd News.” He sighed. “I’m almost tired of running.” He clicked the headline.

  The stock PR image of the Hunters filled the screen, a half-dozen to the rear, and Adam’s broad shoulders up front, with the ghost of a smile as his pale blue eyes drilled into the camera. The sidebar poked a little fun and suggested Roswell, New Mexico might be the next hunting ground. “Well,” Greg stroked a finger across the shot — on a full moon that would have been the living end of Adam Hunter — “nobody’s buying into it yet, anyway.”

  He rose and the two stepped into the chilly morning.

  “Greg.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I need to stick around here for a few days. They’re on the move.”

  “I know.”

  “Towards Rina’s place,” continued Simon. “I’ve got to …”

  “I know.”

  They walked a few paces together.

  “And,” Greg picked up the conversation, “this is yet another thing Karina doesn’t know a thing about.”

  “Knock it off.”

  “Quit kidding yourself.”

  “I might need you tonight, Greg. If not, I’ll see you after a few days.” Simon peeled off at a trot, and disappeared into the woods on a path that only a few could follow.

  “Yeah, and in what shape will that be,” Greg said under his breath, catching up with Tyler and hailing Carl as he and Old Jake turned a corner with bags of groceries. They looked like the tramps they’d become in the past two weeks, all of them. A filthy dog darted out of a doorway, recognized Greg for what he was, and raised his hackles. Greg shook his head and reached the rest of the group, all of them turning down a long, empty road that branched off into the pine forest.