Master of Wolves

by Angela Knight

  Right now, though, what most concerned Jim was Faith herself. She’d taken a series of very hard blows in close succession.

  Even so, she’d handled the cops’ murderous plot with restraint and skill. Given that the Burning Moon made any new were’s temper more explosive, she could have easily killed the entire lot of them. Instead she’d controlled her anger and gotten herself and Jim to safety.

  He wasn’t surprised. Faith’s strength was one of the things that had attracted him to her from the start.

  At the moment, she was also really, really pissed off. Every time Jim took a breath, her scent communicated her stinging rage. He studied her in the moonlight as they walked, taking in the stony set of her delicate jaw, the tight line of her mouth. “Want to talk?”

  Faith stopped abruptly and turned to face him.

  He realized he’d actually underestimated her sizzling anger. Those green eyes burned with rage. Her hair had tumbled from its usual neatly braided bun, leaving silken strands hanging around her dirt-smeared face. “They played me for a fucking fool!” she exploded. “They were going to hand me to that bitch to get my heart cut out!” Both fists clenched, she whirled away to pace. “Everybody’s been playing me. Hell, my fucking dog has been lying to me for a month. My dog!”

  He winced. “Uh, Faith—”

  “What am I, the world’s biggest idiot?” She blinked hard, eyes shining with angry tears. “First Ron, banging that bitch dispatcher. But you expect that. Men are bastards. But cops…cops don’t do this to each other. Reynolds tried to eat me, Jim! And the rest of them—you saw what that witch did to Tony. But they were just going to hand us over to her, knowing—knowing—what she’d do!”

  “Ah, Faith.” He sighed and moved to take her into his arms.

  She stepped back. “Don’t touch me. I’m tired of being betrayed.”

  Jim recoiled, then gave her his best cool, expressionless stare. “I realize you’re just blowing off steam, but I’m not going to betray you. And I don’t appreciate the suggestion that I would.”

  Breathing hard, Faith glared at him for a long, angry moment before she looked away. “Okay, you’re right. That was a cheap shot. It’s just…” She started pacing again. “All my life, I’ve played by the rules when nobody else did. I was faithful while my husband screwed everything in sight. I backed up my brother officers whenever they needed it.”

  “I know,” Jim said quietly. “I’ve seen you do it.”

  Faith didn’t seem to hear. “Hell, when Reynolds was getting his ass kicked trying to arrest Shay in that bar fight, I was the first one on the pile.” she smiled bitterly. “Damn near got my nose broken for it, too. You’d think the son of a bitch would maybe hesitate half a second before trying to rip out my throat, but no. He turned me into a fucking monster, and my entire life has gone to shit.”

  “We’re not monsters, Faith.”

  “And now my own chief is plotting to deliver me to a psychotic vampire who’d cut out my heart and eat me like a Happy Meal.” Grabbing her badge, she ripped it from her shirt and whirled, arm drawn back.

  Jim caught her wrist before she could hurl it into the night. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “You’re the only one in the entire department who really deserves to wear that badge.”

  Faith curled her lip. He could smell her rage. “What difference does that make?”

  “It makes a hell of a difference to the people of Clarkston. Remember them? The ones you took a vow to protect? Who are, by the way, the same people Ayers and Celestine and Reynolds are preying on. You’re all they’ve got, Faith.”

  As he watched, some of the fury died in her eyes. “You play dirty, London.”

  “When I have to.”

  She tugged her hand from his grip and opened her fingers, looking down at her badge. Slowly, she rubbed her thumb over its engraved surface. “You’re right.” The last of the anger drained away, leaving only a weary determination. “I took an oath, and I’m going to keep it.”

  The knotted muscles in his back relaxed fractionally. “Good.”

  Faith tucked the badge into her pocket, meeting his gaze. “But I’m through being stupid. I’m not going to play by the rules anymore. And I’m going to make those assholes pay.”

  Jim ventured a tight smile. “And I’ll help you.”

  “I know you will.” She squared her shoulders. “So where’s this house of yours?”

  The safe house was located in a neighborhood of century-old Victorians and aging colonials that dated back to the heyday of the town’s textile industry, when the original owners had been company officials. Oaks towered in front yards, their thick, snaking roots cracking sections of the sidewalk. Acorns crunched underfoot, keeping the squirrels busy collecting them.

  The house Jim had rented was a charming white Victorian, its wrap-around porch festooned with gingerbread. His black Jaguar convertible looked distinctly out of place parked in the concrete driveway, acorns scattered across the hood.

  Faith stopped to look at the car, frowning. “If they do a tag search—”

  “They won’t find it registered to me,” Jim told her. “I switched tags with another were.”

  She nodded. “Good. I’d rather stay under the radar for a while.”

  They found the house fully furnished but aging, smelling of mothballs, cedar chips, and lingering Wind-song perfume. It reminded Faith of one of her elderly great-aunts.

  Standing in the living room, Jim looked as out of place as his Jag, broad-shouldered and intensely masculine against the fussy lace curtains. Unable to resist, Faith inhaled, breathing in his dark forest-after-a-rain scent. Her libido purred in approval.

  Unfortunately, the rest of her was aching and tired, and her stomach emitted a demanding growl. “I’m starving.” She eyed a door that looked as if it might lead to the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you’ve got something to eat here?”

  “As a matter of fact, I think I stashed a bunch of steaks in the freezer.” Jim circled an armchair festooned with lace doilies on his way through the door. “Changing always makes me hungry.”

  She followed and leaned a shoulder on the doorframe. The kitchen looked just as fussy and old-fashioned as the rest of the house, right down to the harvest gold appliances.

  Jim swung open the freezer door and contemplated the contents. Faith eyed his back with Burning Moon approval. The long, powerful line of his body from broad shoulders to narrow waist to tightly muscled ass was enough to make her mood lift.

  Maybe being a werewolf wasn’t so bad.

  EIGHT

  Faith watched as Jim pulled a couple of steaks out of the freezer, then popped them into the small microwave to thaw. “So,” she said, “The question I have is—I get werewolves, and I get the vampire witch, but where the hell does Merlin fit into all this? You keep mentioning him.”

  “That’s…complicated.” He raked a hand through his dark hair. Biceps flexed and rippled temptingly.

  She eyed them with muted longing. “That’s okay. We seem to have plenty of time.”

  “Good point.” He leaned a narrow hip against the counter, folding those delicious arms. “First off, about ninety percent of the legends about Merlin and Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table are bullshit.”

  “Not surprising. They seem to have gotten most of the werewolf stuff wrong, too.”

  “You noticed, huh?” Jim grinned. Faith really wanted to nibble that sensual lower lip. “The legends describe Merlin as Camelot’s resident wizard, but he was really an alien.”

  “Merlin was an alien?” The microwave dinged. As Jim popped open the microwave, Faith crouched to rattle through a cabinet full of ancient cast-iron frying pans and copper boilers. Hauling out a broiling pan, she asked, “Are we talking a little green man kind of alien?”

  “Something like that. Merlin’s people, the Fey, are a highly advanced race that originated on another planet in the Mageverse.”

  She frowned and started opening drawers, searching for
the silverware. “The Mageverse is that alternative universe we draw the magic from, right?”

  He pulled open a drawer, got a fork out, and handed it to her, then watched as she transferred the defrosted T-bones. “Right. The Fey discovered that most intelligent races destroy themselves before they ever get into space. So they decided to create guardians among each species that would work behind the scenes to keep them from committing mass suicide.”

  “That was nice of them.”

  “I thought so.” He turned and started opening cabinets. As he stretched his arms upward to lift out a couple of glasses, Faith’s gaze dropped down his broad back to his tight, muscular ass. It really was a very nice backside. “So about sixteen hundred years ago, Merlin and his lover Nimue came to Earth—”

  Focus, Weston. “How? I mean, by UFO, or what?”

  “No, they open magical dimensional gates that let you travel instantly between worlds.”

  She contemplated the concept. “Now, that would be a time-saver.”

  “Apparently.” He got out a couple of plates edged with tiny blue flowers. “Merlin and Nimue started testing warriors all over the planet. Arthur and his knights were among those who were allowed to drink from Merlin’s Grail.”

  “As in the Holy Grail?” Faith opened the oven to turn the steaks. “How did Merlin get the cup Jesus used at the Last Supper?”

  “The grail didn’t have anything to do with Jesus.” He got a couple of beers out of the refrigerator, handed her one, and popped his own open. “Medieval storytellers added that bit in later. What the grail did do was genetically alter the people who drank from it.”

  Faith lifted her brows. “Genetically? How the hell did a cup do that?”

  He grinned. “P.F.M.”

  “Which is?”

  “Pure Fucking Magic. It turned the men into vampires, and the women became witches. Actually, the politically correct term for a vamp is a Magus, while you’d call one of their witches a Maja. Collectively they’re the Magekind.”

  “Wait a minute—the chick that wants to sacrifice us is connected to King Arthur?” Faith opened her beer and took a sip.

  “Hell, no. Different bunch of vampires altogether. She’s one of the bad vamps. Arthur and his bunch are the good vamps who are trying to catch them.”

  “And we’re werewolves.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever have trouble believing all this shit?”

  He lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug. “It doesn’t matter whether we believe it or not. It’s happening, and we’ve got to deal with it.”

  Faith found a package of napkins and carried them and the silverware to the Formica-topped table. “But why create vampires and witches to begin with?”

  “Merlin figured the guardians needed magic and muscle to do the job.” Jim took a contemplative sip of his beer. “Besides, the Fey themselves were magic-using vampires. They based their champions on what they were familiar with.”

  The timer dinged. Faith stepped over to the oven to prod the steaks. Deciding they were done, she got two plates and transferred the meat to them. “How do all these lunatics hide? Why isn’t CNN camped out on their doorstep?”

  “Because the Magekind don’t live here.” Together he and Faith sat down at the table to attack the food. “After Merlin left, they built a headquarters for themselves on Mageverse Earth, where they could remain safely hidden between missions on our Earth.”

  “Let me guess—Camelot?”

  “Actually, I think they call it Avalon.” He cut himself a bite of steak and closed his eyes with a sensual purr of approval. The sound made something low in her belly tighten—and it wasn’t her stomach. “God, that’s good. Anyway, ever since then, they’ve been busy behind the scenes trying to keep human kind from exterminating itself.”

  Faith grunted. “Judging from recent events, I’m not impressed.”

  “Actually, considering we’ve survived a couple of World Wars and sixty years with an atomic bomb we’ve only used twice, I think they’re doing pretty good.”

  “Okay, I’ll grant that. So just how does this secret society operate, anyway?”

  Jim took another bite of his steak. “Mostly by working in deep secret with officials from various governments. Lots of politics, lots of playing both ends against the middle based on whatever vision some witch had.”

  “Sounds like a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream.” Faith swallowed another bite of steak and closed her eyes in sheer pleasure at the taste. The flavor seemed so much more intense than it ever had before. She swallowed and asked, “What happened to Merlin and Nimue?”

  “They created us.” He cut another bite and chewed.

  She found herself watching his mouth a bit too intently, and forced herself to look away. “What the heck for?”

  “Insurance. Apparently one group of their champions on some other world went nuts and established a magical dictatorship.”

  “Not exactly what the Fey had in mind.”

  “Not really, no. So without telling Arthur what he was doing, Merlin chose a second group of champions and gave them what we call Merlin’s Curse, making them werewolves. Super strong, resistant to magic, practically invulnerable. In short, he made sure that we could take on the Magekind and win.”

  Faith considered the idea. “Now that would be an interesting and unpleasant fight.”

  “Yeah, and we’d have the advantage. The Magekind can only increase its numbers the way other humans do—by old-fashioned reproduction.” Was it her imagination, or did he add a purr to that last word? “We, on the other hand, can create new werewolves just by biting people. In theory, if the Magekind ever go off the deep end, we could create an army to oppose them in a matter of weeks.”

  She stopped eating to stare at him, as a new and troubling thought occurred to her. “Does that mean Reynolds could create an entire army for Vampire Bitch?”

  He nodded grimly. “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But the chief was talking about becoming a vampire, right? He said something about a grail. Did they get Merlin’s, or what?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  “So what about this Celestine?” She sipped her beer.

  “From what I gather, she’s one of a new group of vampires who were created earlier this year by some kind of demon.”

  Faith stared. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “’Fraid not.” She listened with growing horror as Jim explained Geirolf’s creation of a magic-using army of evil vampires.

  “And the cops of Clarkston want to become part of that?” she said when he was finished.

  “Apparently.” He sighed. “We really need to find out about this grail of theirs. Luckily, I’ve got somebody I can call, but she doesn’t exactly have phone service.”

  “Where does she live—Tibet?”

  “No, the Mageverse.” He gave her a crooked, charming grin. “My sister is queen of the Fairies.”

  She lifted her brows. “Just how many times did they TASER you?”

  “Not that many.” He laughed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his keys. From the ring dangled a small object that looked like a tiny blond woman with wings. “Diana gave me a magical charm I can use to contact her at the palace.”

  Faith eyed it. “That’s a Tinkerbell key chain.”

  Jim looked at it. “Yeah, my brother-in-law made it. He’s got a twisted sense of humor.”

  “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  “Nope.” Jim glanced at his watch and frowned. “I need to call my boss, too, but it’s four in the morning. He’s not expecting me to phone, so he wouldn’t appreciate it.” He grimaced. “Plus, I’m not exactly looking forward to this conversation.”

  Grimly, Faith imagined a conversation or two she’d like to have with Ayers. “Yeah, there’s nothing like a boss from hell.”

  By the time they finished doing the dishes together—he was
hed, she dried—Faith was stumbling with fatigue. Even his delicious scent couldn’t get a rise out of her. “I hope there’s a bed in here somewhere,” she told him. “Or I’m just going to curl up on the floor.”

  “Not only is there a bed, there’s two.” His tired smile took on a wolfish edge. “Which, given your Burning Moon, is a good thing. Otherwise neither of us would get any rest.”

  The bedroom he led her to was small and fussy, with yellowed lace curtains and a spindly bed she was almost too tall for. Faith didn’t care. After locating a set of clean sheets in the hall linen closet, she made the bed, then stripped naked, and collapsed across it with a groan of exhaustion.

  Given the circumstances, she expected to have trouble getting to sleep, but seconds after her head hit the pillow, she was out like a blown candle flame.

  Keith Reynolds’s back was a mangled mess, blood oozing from it as he hung in his bonds, panting in shallow gasps of pain.

  Admiring his wounds, Celestine dropped her whip. Its metal-tipped lashes rattled on the marble floor. Hunger curling through her, she stepped forward and bent to lick one of the oozing welts. The taste of magical blood made her shudder in pleasure. Reynolds’s deep groan spoke of lust as much as pain, as she fastened her mouth over the wound and drank.

  “Please,” Reynolds groaned, rolling his hips against the column he was bound to. She smiled around the hot flow of his life and pressed closer, knowing it would madden him.

  The mix of lust, shame, and pain he felt was as intoxicating as his blood. He was the reason she didn’t have to kill as often as most of Geirolf’s vampires did. She could gorge herself on his blood and lust, and he only had to change form to heal any damage she chose to do.

  He’d Changed twice tonight following her feedings. Dawn pressed close, and with it the need to take cover in her lair, but Celestine was reluctant to give him up.