That might, indeed, pose a problem. But Remy wasn't about to let Dana go her own way until she'd heard a more complete explanation of what she'd seen today.
"Nothing will happen to you," he said, setting all levity aside. "You do want to know more, don't you? About what we are?"
"And about Sally?"
"You won't know unless you come."
She tilted her head to one side, challenging him with a direct stare that should have set his hackles on end. Instead, he felt a strengthening of that attraction he'd felt since their first meeting. She wasn't loup-garou, but she might as well have been.
"All right," she said. "I'll come for a few hours. If you promise to put some clothes on."
"Je vois. Then there is some flaw in me you can fix, Doc?"
"I don't have a remedy for your current… difficulty."
Difficulty, indeed. He was aching with desire, and this particular distress manifested itself in a very public fashion.
"That's too bad, chère," he said. "Maybe one will come to mind."
"When this swamp freezes over." She smiled and tapped Tris's shoulder. "Lead on, Tristan."
Remy was tempted to run as fast as his legs would carry him on the unlikely chance that he could outdistance his lust. He broke into a trot ahead of Tris and Dana, reaching the boat in time to pull on jeans and a T-shirt before the others arrived. He sat on one of the oft-mended lawn chairs on the deck and watched Dana stride up to the ramp.
Maybe it was because she had accepted his true nature so readily, or maybe it was her unruffled courage in the face of the impossible. She looked far more beautiful to Remy now than she had at the side of the road in her pricey couture. Putting on clothing had not eased his lust in the slightest.
He stood up as she approached and extended his hand, making a bet with himself. If she walked past him without stopping, he would resolve to stay away from her, listen to his common sense and ignore this inconvenient attraction.
But if she took his hand… if she looked into his eyes…
She glanced at his hand and then at his face. Slowly she clasped his fingers in her own.
Remy didn't know whether to howl or curse.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
I 'm the captive of a naked wolfman, Dana thought, sitting at the kitchen table across from Remy while Tristan puttered around on deck. Make that formerly naked.
Not that Remy's clothed state was much comfort. He could be dressed for a jaunt in the Arctic, and she would still be painfully aware of him and what she had seen.
She could reconstruct everything in perfect detail: Her first view of the wolf; the remarkable change to human, half-hidden in a reddish veil of mist; then Remy himself, standing there, utterly shameless, in all his glorious nakedness.
She'd been thinking about Greek statues the first time she saw him. She just hadn't been imagining in quite enough detail. Certain parts of Remy were more impressive than on any statue she'd ever seen.
And while she was sitting here trying to fight off a long-unfamiliar sensation of pure sexual attraction, a part of her stood back and asked all the sensible questions her body preferred to disregard. If there really were such things as werewolves, and if Remy was one of them, could she believe his insistence that they weren't what legend and film made them out to be? Could she afford to discount the possibility that Sally might have fallen prey to men who weren't quite human?
"I had my lunch."
She started at Remy's voice. "I beg your pardon?"
"Just wanted to reassure you that I'm not going to eat you… at least, not in the way you're thinking."
A wash of heat gathered at the pit of Dana's stomach. "I thought you said that werewolves don't kill people."
"They don't. Not as a rule." He leaned his chin on his hand and stared at her with unblinking turquoise eyes. Now that she looked at them more closely, she could see that they had a feral quality, slightly tilted above his high cheekbones.
Wolfs eyes.
"Go ahead and ask," he said.
"All right. Are there more of you… how do you spell that word?"
"L-o-u-p-s-g-a-r-o-u. Plural. And yes, there are more of us. We generally don't go around announcing our presence."
Maybe they didn't need to. Maybe people sensed the truth without knowing exactly what it was. "Your parents? Family?"
"Most of my immediate family live in this or adjoining parishes. But we aren't the only loups-garou."
"In Louisiana?"
"In this country, even in San Francisco. Probably other countries, as well."
"You're serious."
"I am about this. Like I said, we make sure that not too many people know about us."
That meant that she, Dana St. Cyr, was one of a privileged few. What would happen if she couldn't persuade Remy to trust her? She wanted very badly to trust him.
"You said that you can change whenever you want to?"
"Oui. We're born with the Change, the way people are born with their eye color."
Oh, not nearly so simple as that. "You don't consider yourselves human?"
He smiled. "Depends on who you ask."
"Where did you come from?"
"We don't know the answer to either question. Our lineage goes back to Canada, and then to Europe. We know there are others." He flexed his hand on the table. "We heal quickly—you saw that with Tris. We're stronger and faster. We keep some wolf senses even when we walk as men."
"But when you change… can you still think like a man?"
"Ordinarily, yes. We keep our intelligence and all our memories." He frowned and glanced toward the door. "Tris… he's different. He—" Abruptly he rose from the table. "Let's just say that there are always exceptions."
What had he been about to reveal about Tristan? That something wasn't right with his memory?
"There's still one question you haven't asked," he said.
"Only one?" she said with a lame attempt at humor.
"You want to know why all the stories say that we're killers. What happens if we ever lose control of the wolf side of ourselves." He paced back and forth across the floor of the kitchen. "We're like anyone else—we come in all kinds, all beliefs. My family has never liked to deal with ordinary people. They keep to themselves and stay in the parish. Few of them have ever left, even for a short time."
"But you did."
"You've been asking around."
"I like to know whom I'm dealing with."
"So do I." He favored her with a lopsided smile. "Yes, I left the parish. I attended L.S.U. in Baton Rouge, got my degree. Everyone at home thought I was crazy."
"Is that why you and Tristan live out here alone? Why did you come back to Grand Marais?"
His mouth set in a hard line. "I told you I'd answer your questions about loups-garou. My personal life is off-limits."
"What about Sally Daigle?"
She knew at once he wasn't going to answer, but she couldn't let it go. Not now. "You told me that you and Tristan were prime suspects in Sally's disappearance. You tried to warn me off several times, but now you're confiding what must be your deepest secret." She breathed in slowly. "I need to know, Remy. Did you have anything to do with it?"
The silence dragged out over several excruciating minutes.
"No."
Dana closed her eyes. I knew it. "I just had to be sure. Do you know who—"
"I don't know anything. Drop it, Dana."
He was lying, but there wasn't much chance that she would get him to open up with direct tactics. Something was still very much out of whack here. Remy knew much more than he was telling.
"Well," she said, "now that you've explained what you're willing to explain, can I go?"
"Just like that?"
"I give you my word that I'll keep your secret. No one will ever hear about loups-garou from me."
"I believe you." He sauntered back to the table and pulled his chair closer to hers, the seductive cha
rm returning to his eyes and his smile. "You all done with questions?"
"For the time being."
He reached across the table and stroked the tips of her fingers with his. "You really want to go?"
"I told you that people will be looking for me."
Remy played with her fingers, rubbing them with deliberate, sensuous strokes. "What if I don't want you to?"
The most sensible thing to do would be to withdraw her hand from his, get up and retrace her path to the Lexus. There was still a chance that Remy wouldn't let her go, but that wasn't likely. He'd gone far in trusting her, and she was flattered when she ought to be wary.
Werewolves, for God's sake. Was that why she was so drawn to a man she'd met only two days ago? Was he truly the embodiment of "animal magnetism"? Or was it the very possibility of danger that made her feel as if she were willingly drowning in his turquoise eyes?
"That's right," Remy whispered, turning her hand palm up and tracing its surface with lazy circles. "Just relax, chère. No reason to hurry, is there?"
"You don't want… people coming out here again—"
"They won't." He began rubbing her arm just below the sleeve of the plain cotton shirt she'd bought at the store in town. "You figured out a cure, Doc?"
Dana was beginning to feel as if she'd downed several cocktails in a row, and she never drank. "Cure?"
"For my 'condition.'"
He wasn't talking about the werewolf condition. Oh, no. No man had looked more ready than he had when he'd confronted her after his change. Her mouth went dry. If she were to touch him beneath the table, she had a good idea what she'd find.
The idea excited her. What's gotten into you? she asked herself with a last grasp at sanity. Yet the way she felt now was hardly more bizarre than what had led her to cancel all her appointments, pack up and leave San Francisco with no idea of where she was going or what she wanted.
For the first time since her teens she was adrift, uncertain. She was prepared to throw herself headfirst into an abyss that might be filled with flames or icy water or have no bottom at all.
But what she wanted… suddenly that seemed very clear.
"Why are you so sure I have the cure?" she asked.
He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. "Instinct. That's one thing I never question."
Dana shivered. "If I followed my instincts… "
"You don't want to do that, chère. Mine'll have to work for both of us." He opened his mouth and drew his tongue along the underside of her arm. "You taste good. Too good to waste."
She tried, and failed, to shake him off. "I'm… I'm not a virgin, you know. I haven't exactly gone to waste."
"But it's been a long time, hasn't it?" He moved his chair until it bumped against hers. "Too long. And you've never known anyone like me."
"No. I've never—" She felt his lips on her neck and sucked in her breath. "I haven't met too many werewolves."
"Then you've got a real treat in store for you, chère."
"I'm… afraid to ask why."
"Don't worry." His breath feathered the corner of her mouth. "We make love like you do. We're just better at it."
"You are conceited, you know that?"
"I thought we'd established that already." He pulled back a little and grinned, giving true meaning to the word wolfish.
"My," she whispered. "What big teeth you have."
"All the better to eat you with, my dear." And he kissed her, cupping the back of her neck in his hand in a firm but gentle hold. Heat surged through her, barely contained, a savage wanting as heedless as that of any creature of the night. She opened her mouth to him, and he laced his fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss as if he intended to devour her.
Dana lost all sense of time. Awareness returned in the form of a noise she couldn't ignore, a sorrowful wailing that made Remy jerk away and leap to his feet in alarm.
Howling. There was no mistaking that cry, which seemed born out of the fragments of a broken heart.
"Damn," Remy swore. "Damn, damn, damn!"
Dana shook away the muffling haze of desire. "What is it? What's happening?"
"It's Tris." He pounded his fist on the table. "He must have seen us."
To her dismay, she realized she'd forgotten all about Remy's younger brother. "But why should that—"
He swung about, brows drawn in a scowl that she sensed was aimed more at himself than at her. "Haven't you figured it out yet? He was in love with Sally Daigle. He's never gotten over her."
Of course. That's what Aunt Gussie told me—one of the Arceneaux boys was in love with her.
And I look like Sally. Tristan called me by her name.
"There's no telling what he might do," Remy said. "I've got to go find him."
"Maybe I'd better come with you."
"Forget it. After… what we've been doing, it's going to be difficult enough for me to get him to come back." Remy headed for the door and stopped, his knuckles white as he gripped the doorjamb. "Can you find your way back?"
"I paid attention when Tristan brought me here," she said. "I still think—"
"Be careful. There's plenty of daylight, but don't stop until you get to your car." He hesitated. "And thanks for bringing Tris back. He shouldn't be going to town. He could have been hurt."
And you think he may be in trouble now. A disturbing thought struck at her heart. A danger to himself—or to others?
"You be careful," Dana said.
"I will." He flashed her that ironic grin. "Don't think we're finished, chère."
And with that, he was gone. She imagined him stripping off his clothing, becoming a wolf, racing off in pursuit of his wayward brother.
She, however, was bound to ordinary human shape. Still off balance from the day's events, Dana returned the way she and Tristan had come, ears straining for howls or other indications of Remy's passage. Only the occasional bird's song accompanied her across the field, through the cypress trees and all the way back to the Lexus.
Once behind the wheel, she had time to think. She had to admit that she was a little relieved that her liaison with Remy had ended when it did, even if she regretted the circumstances. She'd come very close to committing herself to a path she wasn't sure she wanted to take.
And what about tomorrow? Would they take up where they'd left off, as Remy had promised?
She found no answers. Aunt Gussie met her at the door with a message that Chad Lacoste had called, several times.
"He seems mighty anxious to meet with you," she said. "Kept asking where you were and when you'd be back." She shook her head. "He was always very nice to Sally. A true gentleman. But I can't help but wonder… "
She didn't complete the thought, but Dana did it for her. I wonder if it's because I look like his lost love? Maybe that's why he was so ready to help me. But I'm not Sally. And if he's still obsessed with her the way Tristan is, I'll have to make that very clear.
But not tonight. She'd had enough drama to last her a year, and she had a feeling it wasn't over.
She went to bed early, but it was no use. She worried about Tristan; she worried about Remy, who certainly didn't need her concern. The tossing and turning continued until after midnight. She was listening to Gussie's grandfather clock strike one when someone tapped on the bedroom window.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Dana's heart jumped into her throat. A pair of strong, brown hands lifted the unlocked window sash. Dana scrambled upright on the bed.
Remy stuck his head through the window, heaved himself up and tumbled into the room, landing easily on his feet like a cat.
"Remy!" Dana exclaimed, collapsing onto the bed. "You scared the hell out of me."
He didn't offer up one of his half apologetic, half challenging grins. "I haven't found Tristan."
With a strange conviction, Dana knew why he had come to her now. He was worried sick about his brother, and he trusted her enough to seek… comfort, was that the
word? A man like Remy needing comfort from an ordinary woman?
"It shouldn't be this hard," he said, plopping down into the corner rocking chair. "Tris isn't that subtle, and I'm a good tracker. The best. He can't just have disappeared."
Dana climbed off the bed, grateful that she was wearing pajamas that gave excellent coverage at such a vulnerable moment. She went to Remy's side, hesitated and finally sat on the floor next to him.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Surely he'll come back?"
He looked down at her, his expression softening. "I thought he might have come here," he said. "But you haven't seen him?"
"No." She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she folded her fingers in her lap instead. "What are you afraid of, Remy?"
Instead of taking offense, he sighed and leaned against the back of the rocking chair. "My brother… you asked why I came back from the city. It was because of Tris. He needed someone to look after him."
"And there wasn't anyone else?"
"No. Even my family… they were never at ease with him."
So things weren't so different among these loups-garou than they were with humans. "You gave up something to come back. Something that mattered to you."
"I had a career—stockbroker with a major firm. It was never as important as my brother."
How many layers in this man had she yet to uncover? A stockbroker, no less. She had a feeling he'd been good at it, too. And now he was living out in the swamp for his brother's sake.
"When I was young, I used to pretend I had a brother or sister. My relationship with my parents… wasn't the greatest."
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "It gave me the motivation to succeed."
"My only motivation was to get out of this parish. But since I've come back…" He squeezed her hand, but she sensed that his thoughts were far away. "I've learned to appreciate things I missed before. The way butterweed covers the fields with gold in spring. The cypress groves where snowy egrets nest in summer. The thunderstorms crashing around you as if the world is ending. The frogs and the warblers singing, and all the other sounds you can't hear in the city. Even the hurricanes."
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