When Darkness Falls

by Susan Krinard, Tanith Lee, Evelyn Vaughn

  "Because you warned her?" Lacoste laughed. "You think she trusts you? Oh, I know she's met with you a few times on her quest for the truth about Sally. I'm sure she's heard all the stories by now." He tapped out another cigarette and regarded it thoughtfully. "I hardly think she's the type to let her imagination run wild when the evidence so clearly points in one direction."

  "Vraiment? Then why did she kick you out of her house, chèr?"

  Chad flushed to the roots of his sandy hair. "I know who to blame for that, Arceneaux. And once I've had a few chats with the right people, Dana won't need to be concerned with your lies any longer."

  "Ah, out You'll have a word with your father's cronies and have me and Tris run out of town." Remy licked his thumb and rubbed at a smudge on the buffed silver surface of the BMW. "But you can't really be rid of me, can you? I know what I saw that day. I know who hated Sally enough to kill her."

  "You know what you saw? Your own brother, with blood on his hands, raving about Sally—your poor, crazy, dangerous brother, rejected by his secret sweetheart." Lacoste lit his cigarette. "You can't be rid of me, either, can you? It eats at you all the time, doesn't it—the possibility that Tristan killed Sally, and that I have enough evidence to put him away if you ever make one accusation against me."

  Remy kept his expression lazily indifferent, though his guts churned with sickness. The bastard was right. The fear was always there—fear for his brother, and fear of what Tristan had never been able to remember.

  "Maybe if Dr. St. Cyr hadn't come to town," Remy said, "this might have gone on for years. Stalemate." He turned his thumb so that his nail scraped the paint he had been polishing. "But you made a mistake chasing after her, Lacoste."

  "I don't have to chase anyone. They come to me, sooner or later." He studied the tiny new scratch on the hood. "I feel real sympathy for you, mon ami. For the first time in your life, you've been driven to grand acts of chivalry on a lady's behalf. Too bad the effort will be wasted."

  "It won't be wasted if I call your bluff."

  "And watch your brother go through a trial? See him lose what's left of his sanity in prison?" He blew a stream of smoke over the windshield. "You know I can make it happen. The people around here are halfway to convicting him already."

  "You can't accuse anyone if you're gone."

  "Dead, you mean?" Chad laughed. "You think you can kill me and just walk away?"

  Remy growled in his throat. Chad had always counted on his father's influence, confident that Remy would never dare touch him. All his life, Remy had preferred to avoid entanglements, combative as well as romantic. He hadn't competed for anything until he went to the city. He hadn't cared enough.

  Even what happened to Sally hadn't driven him to violence. He had too many doubts. They had held him back every time he'd seen Lacoste's smirking face.

  But Lacoste had gone one step too far. He had threatened not only Tris, and he'd made it very clear that he wasn't going to leave Dana alone. The sleeping wolf had awakened… the beast that would stop at nothing to protect its chosen mate.

  Remy's mind went blank. Chosen mate. The idea had slipped into place so quietly that he hadn't noticed it. Even as he tried to scoff it away, it remained lodged as firmly as a snapping turtle in its shell.

  Loups-garou usually mated for life. Among the Arceneaux, only a few had married humans. But mating was a serious matter for his people, one of the primal, instinctive drives that could thrust the wolf nature into dominance.

  Remy felt it rising in him. For all the legends, loups-garou were not natural killers, no more than humans. But their greater strength, speed and senses made them far more efficient at killing if the need arose.

  The Change bubbled in Remy's veins. He wanted to wipe that smile from Lacoste's face, hear him beg for mercy the way he imagined Sally Daigle had begged.

  He could finish Lacoste, here and now. When he was done, no one would suspect murder. The sheriffs department would wonder what kind of animal could tear a man apart like tissue.

  "You're not the only one who can hide a body," he whispered.

  Chad lost his nonchalance. He sat up in his seat and swallowed a lungful of smoke.

  "You're insane," he choked.

  "It isn't insane to make sure that Dana is safe from you the way Sally wasn't."

  "And what about making her safe from your brother?"

  Remy snapped his arm around the windshield and caught Lacoste by his collar. "Maudit chien."

  "You'd better find him," Lacoste wheezed. "Unless you—" He gave a rasping chuckle. "Looks like the law is heading right this way. Why don't you tell him about it?"

  Cursing his lack of resolve, Remy turned. An unmarked vehicle he recognized as Detective Landry's had just arrived at the cross-street stop sign and was turning toward them, headlights stretching like grasping fingers.

  Remy released Lacoste and backed to the rear of the convertible, putting it between him and the approaching vehicle. A part of him felt relief at the escape from bloodshed, but the other part wailed in despair and rage.

  You can't let him escape. He must be the killer. Not Tris. Never Tris. Prove it, once and for all.

  Tires squealed on pavement. Remy felt a shattering impact against his hip, and then he was falling, tumbling head over heels. The convertible roared away as he slammed up against the curb.

  I told you, the wolf howled. And then it was silent.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Remy woke with his aching head pillowed on something soft, the deliriously sweet smell of woman all around him.

  "Remy! Remy, can you hear me?"

  He opened his eyes. A face swam into focus, framed by loose blond hair. Eyes wide. Mouth pinched with fear.

  Dana. His delightful pillow was some portion of her anatomy, and he was in her room at Aunt Gussie's, lying on her bed. He had no idea how he had made his way here. His body was a knot of pain.

  "Remy?"

  "I'm… all right." Not quite true, but if he was still alive, he would recover eventually. His memory returned in patches: the argument with Chad, the internal debate over life and death, the arrival of Landry's car, and then falling… excruciating pain… darkness.

  His senses told him that it was still well before day-break. No one had observed Chad slam his car into Reverse and strike down a shadowy figure, apparently not even Landry. And why the hell was Landry patrolling in town, where the police had jurisdiction?

  He tried to sit up, clutching his middle. Dana pushed him back down again and squirmed out from under him.

  "All right, my foot," she said, adjusting the blankets. "I should have taken you to the hospital as soon as you showed up." She shook her head. "I almost did when you wouldn't wake up, but I was afraid of what they might discover if they examined you. You said your kind heal fast, but you were out for so long… Do you understand me?"

  He nodded gingerly. "You were… right not to call outside help."

  She muttered something under her breath. "Look at me." He winced as she shone a penlight in his eyes, first one and then the other. "Good. Now focus on my finger as I move it—don't turn your head. Excellent. Just a few more tests to be sure."

  "How did I get here?"

  She left him for a moment and returned with a glass of water. "You weren't gone more than twenty minutes when I heard a noise at the window. I found you lying on the lawn, bleeding and barely able to talk. I just managed to get you inside without waking Gussie. Here, drink this."

  Remy gulped down the water and made a mental examination of his body. Dana had loosened or removed most of his clothing, and he could feel the pull of bandages here and there when he shifted his weight. His back, neck and limbs still functioned, however reluctantly. He touched his forehead, bound with a thick strip of cloth, and his chest. Cracked ribs would repair themselves. The swelling at his temple was going down and would vanish in a few more hours.

  Whether Chad had acted by design or
impulse, he hadn't put Remy out of commission. What might have killed a human had only damaged him, and not permanently.

  Remy's werewolf nature had saved him, and instinct had brought him straight to Dana's arms.

  "How long have I been out?" he asked.

  "A couple of hours. As I said, if you were a normal man, I wouldn't have taken this risk. People who remain unconscious for an extended period may never wake up, and you were covered in blood. It took me a few minutes to realize that you didn't have any serious injuries other than the concussion, no fractures except in the ribs. The superficial cuts and bruises were already healing." She helped him finish the water and put the glass on the bed table. Remy noticed that her hands were shaking.

  He caught one of them and held it. "You did the right thing, Dana."

  Gradually her trembling stilled. "I hope to God I never face a situation like that again. How did it happen?"

  "Chad. He tried to run me over."

  Dana shot up from the bed and paced across the room. "He tried to kill you?"

  "He's running scared. He might do anything now."

  She turned on him, fierce as a she-wolf. "Don't you think it's about time you told me exactly what's going on? You've been hinting that Chad had something to do with Sally's disappearance, and everything that's happened suggests you're right. Why haven't you gone to the police?"

  Remy closed his eyes. Either he was going to have to trust Dana one hundred percent, or the lies would dig a chasm too deep for either of them to cross.

  "I haven't gone to the police," he said slowly, "because no matter what the truth is, it will probably destroy my brother."

  Dana sat down in the rocking chair, wondering how many more "surprises" she could take in twenty-four hours.

  "Destroy Tristan?" she repeated. "What are you saying?"

  Remy gazed at her with a grimness that came from something far more devastating than mere pain, or even what Chad had tried to do to him. "You swear to me, Dana St. Cyr—you swear that you'll never speak of what I'm about to tell you."

  "Of course. I—"

  "And you swear," he said, "that you won't go to the police, no matter what you hear."

  This was serious indeed. Dana consulted her conscience and then her heart. The two should have been in conflict. They were not. She looked into Remy's eyes and knew there would be a way to make it come out right.

  "I give my word," she said.

  He sank back on the pillows. "I warned you about Chad with reason. But I can't be sure he murdered Sally. I can't be sure of anything." His voice took on the monotone of complete detachment, as if he were telling someone else's story.

  "Five years ago," he said, "the day Sally was last seen in Grand Marais, I was out in the swamp looking for Tris. I'd seen Sally Daigle at the edge of town the day before. She was arguing with Chad—a pretty nasty fight, though Chad was careful to keep it private. I didn't think anything more of it, even when Tris told me he was taking Sally into the swamp to look for some special bird."

  Dana laced her fingers over her stomach as if she could contain the dread gathering inside her. "Go on."

  "When Tris didn't return at nightfall, I went to look for him. I found him wandering in a daze. He told me Sally was dead."

  "Oh, God."

  Remy's face showed no expression. "He couldn't tell me anything else, but I found part of his shirt a little distance away. It was soaked in blood. I could smell a storm coming. I took Tris home, and then went looking for Sally."

  "You… didn't find her."

  "I caught another scent—Chad's. He smelled like men do when they're beyond terror. I found him running out of the swamp, half-naked and caked with mud. Sally's scent was on him. I remember thinking that I didn't have to worry any longer, because Chad must have done it."

  Dana squeezed the armrests of the rocking chair. "You'd been afraid that Tristan had killed Sally."

  "Yes." Remy stared at the far wall. "I confronted Chad. He tried to give me some excuse for being in the swamp, but when he saw I wasn't going for it, he turned cold as ice. He told me that he'd followed Tris and Sally to the swamp, and he'd seen Sally's body. She was dead, all right. And maybe it didn't look good that he was out there in the swamp like that, but it would look even worse for Tristan when everyone knew he'd had an unrequited love for her, that she'd rejected him more than once."

  "But she rejected Chad—"

  "Yes. He never denied hurting Sally. But he made clear that if I ever implicated him in any way, even said I'd met him in the swamp, he'd make sure my brother was blamed for Sally's death. He had evidence to implicate Tris thoroughly. I believed him. His father used to have the whole parish in his pocket. I knew as well as he did who the police would believe."

  The urge to run to Remy and comfort him was so overpowering that Dana had to force herself to remain in the chair. Remy didn't want comfort now. This poison had lingered inside him for five long years.

  "After Chad left, I looked for the body. I never found it. By then the rain was coming down hard, and all trace of Sally was gone, washed away. No signs of violence. Nothing. So I went back to Tris. He didn't remember what had happened. When I tried to get him to talk about Sally, he… I was afraid he'd hurt himself."

  So much made sense now that hadn't before. Dana thought of Tristan's gentle face, his confusion, his reaction to her when he'd seen her for the first time.

  "It wasn't only that you were afraid what Chad would do to Tris if you went to the authorities," she said.

  "No." Anguish was naked on Remy's face. "I could never be sure. I wanted to believe Chad was guilty. But Tris—Tris had blood on his clothes."

  There wasn't a damned thing Dana could say. The full horror of Remy's dilemma caught her by the throat like a strangler's grip, silencing all hope of foolish, futile words. She got up from the rocker and knelt at Remy's side.

  "If Chad killed Sally," he whispered, "I've let a murderer go free to protect my brother. But if Tris had anything to do with it… "

  "I don't believe it," she said. "I'll never believe that Tris could kill anyone."

  He turned his head to look at her, and the veil over his eyes lifted. "Now you know why I keep him with me on the houseboat. He's my responsibility. Whatever happens to him, whatever he does, will be my doing."

  And he truly believed that, Dana realized. He blamed himself not only for failing to expose a murderer, but for being absent while his younger brother's mental state deteriorated into that of a possible killer. Remy's punishment was to abandon his career and his life in the city, and live with this terrible guilt in a place where he and Tristan were regarded with suspicion and even fear.

  "You're wrong, Remy," Dana said. "No one can take responsibility for all the actions of another person, not even someone you love."

  "And what would you do?" he asked in a whisper. "If I hadn't made you swear, would you turn him in?"

  "I don't know what I'd do," she said. "I know what you have to do if you're going to go on living with yourself and make any kind of life for you and Tristan. You need to know the truth, Remy, and deal with it. But you don't have to do it alone."

  "Are you saying you'll be with me?"

  He tried to conceal his pain with a crooked, self-mocking smile, but it didn't work. Dana's heart clenched at the yearning in his question and her own ardent response to it.

  "I may not know Tristan well, but I care for him. I care for you, Remy. I—I'll do anything to help both of you."

  "Then I ask one thing—that you stay right here until I find Tris and bring him home."

  "You just admitted that Chad tried to kill you. You can't go out in this state."

  He grimaced and pushed himself up on his elbows, tensing his lower body to rise. "All I have to do is Change, and the rest of me will heal."

  "Can you change now?"

  The muscles in his face locked in concentration. He let out a long, slow breath. "Not yet."

  "Then you've got two choices—sta
y here and recuperate until you can change, or take your own personal physician with you."

  He shook his head, jaw set, but she could see she'd already won. "If I don't take you with me, you'll probably go after Chad yourself." He shifted his legs toward the edge of the bed. "We'll go back to the houseboat first, in case Tris has returned."

  "That makes sense. Hold on, there." She bent to work her arm under Remy's shoulders and helped him sit. No one touching him now would ever believe that he'd been the victim of vehicular assault a few hours ago. She didn't quite believe what had happened in the three days since she'd arrived in Grand Marais.

  It wasn't the discovery of werewolves that most amazed her, or even getting mixed up in murder. It was the simple fact that she had, improbably and miraculously, fallen in love. And love gave her the courage to face whatever lay ahead of them.

  Checking to make sure that Gussie was still securely in her room—thank God the woman slept like the dead—Dana quickly assembled a small pack of supplies she'd prepared for further excursions into the swamp, including several energy bars and a powerful flashlight. She dashed off a brief note, informing her great-aunt that she'd gone for an early-morning walk and might not be back until afternoon.

  On her way to her room she stopped at the piano to touch the photograph of Sally's smiling image.

  If you can hear me, Sally—help me find the truth. Help me give the living peace and lay your memory to rest.

  Dana felt Sally's spirit beside her as she helped Remy dress in his stained clothes, took him to the Lexus and drove to the dock where he kept his motor-boat. By the time they cast off, Remy was moving without apparent discomfort, though she had a feeling he would conceal any lingering pain from her. He'd made himself very vulnerable in her room and now seemed bent on making up for it by remaining as distant as possible.

  She'd almost told him she loved him. What if she had? He wasn't ready to hear those words. She didn't know if he ever would be. Even if all they had together was a one-night stand, she was fully committed to her course.