Around him, she felt like a bitch in heat.
Feeling her face heat even at the thought, she started her car and pulled onto the street. A dark blue sedan fell in behind her.
The ten-block trip took longer than usual as she drove exactly the speed limit, hoping the delay would give her time to get herself together.
Her reaction to this man defied comprehension. True, Luc Herrick was handsome, in a dark, mysterious way, but ever since the plane crash and Eric’s departure from their marriage and her life, she hadn’t been looking. Not even for a one-night stand. Sex and she had parted on unfriendly terms, especially with her ex’s hateful assessment of her as a dried up, barren nonwoman.
The death of her mother from the crash and her own injuries—both emotional and physical—had ensured she’d never be fit to be any man’s woman or wife. Eric had made that perfectly clear. What kind of man would tie himself to a woman who couldn’t have children?
Parking in the spot reserved for her, Sam took a deep breath and climbed out of her Volkswagen. In the sky high above, a jet flew past, making her shudder in remembrance. Grabbing the car door, she concentrated on breathing, slow and steady, as she’d been taught. Yet again, though eighteen months had passed since the plane crash, she felt herself plummeting to the ground, heard the awful screams of terror, felt the bone-jarring jolt right before impact.
Beyond that, she remembered little. They’d told her she’d crawled from the burning wreckage, with two broken ribs and cuts and scrapes. Most of her fellow passengers had not survived, including the only family she had, her beloved mother.
Samantha herself should be dead. This thought came again for the hundredth time. Survivor’s guilt. Their seats had been side by side. She didn’t understand why she’d survived, while her mother had perished. And the penalty she’d paid, the loss of her marriage, the knowledge she’d never bear a child, often seemed too much to bear.
Wincing, she straightened and swung her door closed, pressing her remote once to lock it.
“Are you all right?”
His deep voice made her jump. Pressing a hand to her throat, she nodded, carefully avoiding looking at him. “Of course.”
She kept her tone professional, businesslike, even though her heart raced. “Please, follow me inside and I’ll see you have access to any materials you need.”
As they walked toward the main entrance, he took her arm. “Wait.”
Again, the sensations. She wanted to lean into his embrace and rub against him like a stray kitten hungry for his caresses. Horrified, she jerked away, breathing fast. Her physical reaction was bad enough, but for a second, she’d even seen the wolves she used to dream about. Unable to keep her stark emotions from showing in her eyes, she glanced quickly at him, then away. “What?”
“Tell me about your werewolf.”
“Not my werewolf. I’ve never seen it.” Jiggling her keys in her hand, she asked a question of her own. “How did you learn about it, way up north?”
“Your paper ran a story and the affiliates picked it up. I read the story in the Times and immediately knew I had to come and see for myself. All those missing pets combined with werewolf sightings make good fodder for one of my books, especially since I write about supernatural phenomena.”
“I know.” She resisted the urge to tap her foot in impatience. The library opened in four minutes and she needed to be inside or she’d ruin her tenyear record of never being late. “I’ve read them.”
When he didn’t respond, she again chanced a sideways glance at him. He watched her with an intensity that felt as darkly disturbing as it was thrilling.
“I’ve made a career of investigating myths. Thus far, each and every one of them has turned out to be false.”
“This one definitely is.” Nerves still on edge, she gave him a tight smile. “There are no such things as werewolves.”
“So you don’t believe in it?”
“The supposed werewolf? No.” She unlocked the door, yanking it open and stepping inside. Motioning Luc to follow, she headed down the carpeted hallway to her office. Even here, in the back hallways off-limits to the public, the hushed quality she’d always loved reigned supreme.
She lowered her voice. “Though quite a few people claim to have seen it, I think it’s probably just some high school kids playing a prank.”
“Could be.” Keeping pace with her, he didn’t sound concerned. “But then what about the missing pets?”
“Now that I can’t explain.”
“Yet you still think this werewolf is a prank?”
Hesitantly, she nodded.
“Well, I guess I won’t really know until I check it out fully.”
“You plan to prove this werewolf is false?”
“Yes.” He smiled, again delivering that flash of heat. “Of course. Everyone knows there are no such things, right?”
The way he watched her told her that for some reason, her answer was important to him. She shook her head. “There is no werewolf here. If you’re hoping to find one, you’re wasting your time.”
“Maybe. Either way, I’ll get another book out of this. This one will be the third in my series on paranormal frauds.”
“How long are you planning to stay in Anniversary?”
He shrugged. “As long as it takes.”
Something about his answer sent a shiver down her spine.
Checking her watch, she realized if she didn’t hurry and get to her office, she’d consider herself late. Increasing her pace, she made a right turn, then a left, before depositing her purse on her desk.
Nine o’clock. Whew.
Behind her, Luc cleared his throat.
“Have a seat.” Waving him to a chair, she sat at her desk and then logged on to her computer. “What were we talking about again?” She knew it hadn’t been how badly she wanted to jump his bones.
“The werewolf.”
Ah. “So you’re hoping the story is false, right?” She couldn’t help but admire him as he folded his tall body into one of her chairs.
“No, this time, I’m actually hoping it’s real. I’d love to discover a paranormal anomaly.” His wry smile made her wonder about his private joke, though she didn’t know him well enough to ask.
Dropping her purse into her desk drawer, she nodded. “I don’t think you need to worry about that possibility.”
“You definitely don’t believe in shape-shifters?” Again the intense look.
“No.”
“Interesting, with your special abilities and all.” Sam froze. “What?”
He leaned forward, pinning her with his dark gaze. “I was told you helped heal a dying wolf pup that had been mauled by the werewolf about a week ago.”
Chapter 2
Told? She could only hope her voice sounded steady. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His unwavering gaze seemed to mark her a liar. “About two weeks ago, you healed a dying wolf pup that was injured in a rusty old trap, or so I’ve heard.”
Deep breath. Forcing herself to smile normally, she shook her head. “Nope, not me. I’d say someone’s been gossiping, just like they do about that werewolf.”
“Is the gossip true?”
Crap. Surely he could see her pulse pounding in the hollow of her throat. Still, no way was she admitting anything to this handsome stranger. “True? How could it be?” She forced a laugh. “As usual with gossip, the story’s complete nonsense.”
“No wolf pup?” Was that disappointment in his face?
“Yes, there was a hurt wolf pup. He was brought in to the veterinary clinic. My best friend, Patricia Lelane, is the town vet. She saved the animal, not me. I was there, so I helped. You might want to talk to her. She’ll confirm that for you.”
“Thanks, I will.”
“Where did you hear this nonsense?” Only Patricia knew the truth. And Patricia would never tell.
“When I called the police department I had a long conversation with the dispat
cher.”
Hilda Ramos. Another one who’d claimed to have glimpsed the werewolf. “I see.”
“She said Charles Pentworth told her he found a dying wolf pup and took it to the vet’s to be euthanized.”
“Charles?” She dismissed him with a gesture, relief enabling her to catch her breath. “He also claims he’s seen this werewolf several times. Don’t put any credence in what he says.”
“He runs the bank. From what I can tell, he’s a respectable, responsible citizen.”
“He is, but—”
“Charles also told me,” Luc interrupted, “that the next thing he knew, Patricia claimed the mortally wounded wolf pup had healed—and escaped.”
Maybe Sam could distract him and gain an answer to the question that had plagued her for so long. “Was that wolf pup your pet? Are you the one who broke into the clinic and stole him?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “No. I’m sure he let himself out.”
Was this man kidding? “Let himself out? Please.”
“You said you’d help me. I need you to tell me how you healed him. What did you do? Did you touch him?” Herrick’s intent stare made her feel as if he really did know her secret. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
For the first time since meeting him, she felt an icy slice of fear. Not of him, but of what he might inadvertently learn. “People can’t heal just by touch.”
He shook his shaggy head, an odd expression on his craggy face. “If you only understood how important this is. I need to find a healer.”
The statement floored her. All she could do, all she could think, was run. Immediately.
Of course she wouldn’t.
“A healer.” She felt as though she were choking. The word felt foreign on her tongue. Strange, but oddly right, too.
“Yes. Are you?” His intent gaze seemed to plead with her to tell him the truth.
As if. “I’m not a miracle worker,” she told him quietly. “I’m just a small-town girl who works as a librarian. Look, I don’t mind helping you research this supposed werewolf, but you need to promise to leave me alone.”
“Leave you alone? In what way?”
“Bugging me about this healing stuff. Thinking I can bring animals back from the dead.”
“I never said that.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “But I’ll tell you what, Samantha Warren. If that’s what you want, I promise I won’t ask you again without justification. Agreed?”
“Yes.” She felt quite certain she wouldn’t be giving him any reasons. “And you can call me Sam. Everyone does.”
“Sam then. I’m Luc.”
The abbreviation sounded much more sensual than his full name. She didn’t even want to say it out loud, not with her emotions running so close to out of control.
Unable to look away, even though she felt desire coiling low in her belly, she asked a question she’d sworn she wouldn’t ask. “Then what? If and when you find this werewolf, what happens after?”
“I write my book.”
“And?”
“I leave town.” One dark brow rose. “Of course.”
Of course.
Pushing himself out of the chair, he prowled her small office, as if lost in thought. She watched him, admiring his lithe grace and long-legged stride.
“Tell me about what you do,” she asked.
“Do?” He glanced at her over his shoulder, making her realize again just how striking and sensual his unusual looks were. With his long dark hair and strong features, his masculine beauty tugged at her at a level far deeper than mere sexual attraction.
Want. Need. Desire. A sense of belonging.
All things she craved.
Not good.
Belatedly, she realized he waited for her to answer. “Yes, do. As in the books you write. What made you choose such an…odd profession?”
“You find writers odd?”
“Not that. What you choose to write about. How did you get into writing about such fantastical things?”
He shrugged. “The world is much more full and varied than you humans realize.”
You humans? A shiver ran down her spine and she wondered whether to let that one go, or ask.
When he saw her hesitation, one corner of his mouth quirked in a smile. “There are many species of sentient beings, more than you realize.”
Her laugh sounded uneasy, even to her own ears. “First you try to get me to believe in werewolves, and now you’re telling me there are others?”
“Of course.”
Despite the fact that they were playing—she thought—she couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Vampires? Ghosts?”
“Yes. And faeries, elves and dwarfs. In addition to what you call werewolves, there are shifters for most large animal breeds. Birds, too. And dolphins.”
Though he sounded serious, she knew there was no way he could be. Not and write nonfiction books debunking the very things they discussed.
“What about mermaids?” She’d always loved the idea of being able to breathe under the sea.
“And mermen. They call themselves mer-people.”
She waited for him to laugh, or say something to indicate he was joking. When he didn’t, she shook her head. “I don’t believe in any of that supernatural nonsense. I mean, shape-shifters and vampires defy logic. Any reasonable person would know—”
“That things exist that cannot be explained.”
She stared. “You sound as though you believe.”
“I do.”
“But you write books discrediting them.”
“There are some things I haven’t been able to disprove.”
Again, she decided it was safer to let his statement go. “Just don’t try to convince me or make me believe in your reality, okay? I’m perfectly happy in my own normal little world.”
“Are you?” The heat in his gaze seared her, making her mouth go dry. Again she could feel her heart rate increase; again she fought the baffling urge to touch him.
No way was she going down that road.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I am.”
“I see.” He studied her, making her feel as though he could see into her soul. “I think I’d better go.”
“What about the reference books?”
“I’ll take a rain check.” With another of those fast, amazing smiles, he turned and left.
Expelling breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding, Sam leaned on her desk, shaken. She felt wrung out like a wet dishrag, as if Lucaine Herrick had zapped her energy like some sort of vampire.
Great. Now even she was doing it. First a werewolf running around town and now this. Vampire? What would be next? Zombies and ghouls?
Shaking her head, she gave herself a mental slap. Whatever feelings Luc Herrick aroused in her were unwanted and unnecessary. She refused to even think about them. Not today, not ever. She’d had enough of that kind of thing to last a lifetime.
Taking a deep breath, she called Patricia and filled her in. “He asked me about healing the wolf pup.”
Patricia’s sharp intake of breath reassured her. “How did he…”
“Charles Pentworth,” they both said at once.
“It could be worse.” Patricia kept her normally brisk voice soothing. “Unless they’re squarely in the I-believe-in-werewolves camp, no one pays attention to Charles.”
“Luc Herrick did.”
“He didn’t know any better. Don’t worry about him.”
“Patricia, he’s an author. He’s here to research the town werewolf.”
“Ever since we made the newspaper…”
“I know.”
“Did he seem…I don’t know, like some sort of weirdo?”
“No,” Sam admitted. “He seemed respectable. He’s a psychologist.” And attractive as hell, in a darkly sensual, mysterious way, though Sam didn’t tell Patricia that. “He writes nonfiction books debunking myths like this. But I was shocked when he asked me about healing the wolf pup.”
>
“I don’t think he can do any damage.”
“Good, because people are already panicking about this supposed werewolf. I don’t want to freak them out any more.”
“Just keep steering him toward the werewolf believers. There are enough of them to keep him busy and out of your hair.”
“Good idea.” Sam sighed, thinking. “Werewolves. Who would believe such a thing? I don’t know what they saw or why, but some locals honestly believe there’s a genuine werewolf running around in the woods. As long as they continue to insist some man changed into a wolf, they’ll have plenty to talk about.”
“Especially Charles Pentworth.”
“And Hilda Ramos. Shawn Ferguson. Oh, and let’s not forget the Ater sisters.”
“Mass hysteria.” Patricia sighed. “Though I have to say, Charles is one of the most levelheaded people I know. If he says he saw it, I’m almost inclined to believe he did.”
Sam rubbed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you think—?”
“Of course not. There’s got to be some trick to this. Illusion or special effects. But why? Too much doesn’t add up. First various townspeople claim to have seen a werewolf. Next, a young wolf is hurt here, in Anniversary. We never get wolves out here. Coyotes, maybe. The occasional bobcat. But no wolves.”
She paused for breath. “Now, people’s pets are disappearing and turning up dead. Eaten. And the very wolf cub that was so out of place appeared to have been attacked by a larger, more powerful wolf. To top all this strange stuff off, the recuperating wolf pup escaped a closed cage and a locked building and left, closing the door after himself. There’s simply no explanation. Except…”
“Not realistic.” Stomach hurting, Sam crossed her arms.
“You know and I know,” Patricia sighed. “There are no such things as werewolves. A man becoming a wolf is not medically possible. The anatomies are too dissimilar.”
“Then how did this wolf escape?”
“Most likely the same people who, for whatever reason, are going around trying to make everyone believe they’re werewolves, are involved.”
“That’s the most likely scenario.”
“Who knows?” Patricia sounded frustrated. “Whatever happened, I don’t like it. I still want to know how that wolf pup escaped, and where he is now.”
Touch of the Wolf Page 2
