First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series)

by Dani Harper

  Eddie told me about it. He’d been bartending on the third-floor balcony during a party, and he noticed that it opens out over a roof. He thought perhaps a person could jump down onto it, then follow the roof sideways, to the left, until you could jump down to the next, and the next. There are three.

  Nathan piped up then. We were the first ones to try it, and it works. But on the last roof, it’s still a long way to the ground. I jumped into the pool instead.

  I wish I had thought of doing that, Sonje said, holding up her lame paw.

  Neva was relieved that she hadn’t been responsible for one injury, at least. If you Change back to human, most of your wounds should be healed. Do you know how?

  Both white wolves nodded, and Sonje added, Yes, and we hope it will work if we get far enough away from the control of that evil woman. But you—why are you dressed like her? You even look like her. She narrowed her eyes. Are you the sister?

  Neva figured that was exactly what she had been all her life: “the sister.” Unknown, generic, and completely irrelevant next to her twin. She wasn’t family in any sense of the word as far as Meredith was concerned, just a handy scapegoat.

  Luckily, Baker fielded Sonje’s question. We escaped, too. Now we’re trying to get back in and rescue our friends.

  Ik wens u nog veel sterkte, Sonje replied solemnly. That is Dutch. I wish you much strength. Much courage. You will need it. But as for me and my son, we are going now before we are missed.

  Neva watched the pair until they disappeared among the giant trees. Baker was still suspicious, and he decided to follow them at a distance until he was certain they weren’t going to return to the mansion and raise the alarm. It gave her a chance to shift form and assess the damage.

  She was relieved that she was able to retrieve her five-digit clothing and accessories from whatever cosmic closet they’d gone to. And she was ecstatic that they were not only undamaged but still clean! Her face hadn’t been so lucky, however. Peering into a mirrored compact from the handbag, the deep claw marks across her muzzle had translated to red scratches across her nose and cheek. Healed but not invisible yet. She found a place to sit down and apply some makeup, trying to hide the thin red lines as best as she could. A little time, perhaps a few hours or so, and the marks would disappear. Hopefully they’d be gone by the time she was in the mansion. If not, then she hoped Meredith’s minions would be too afraid to stare at her face. Because Neva couldn’t wait around until her complexion was perfect.

  Sonje was right to take her son and get the hell out of here. For Neva, however, Sonje’s timing couldn’t be worse. Her twin tended to take escapes personally. If word of the head chef’s disappearance reached her, she was likely to take out her anger on whoever was available.

  And Travis was likely to top her list.

  Travis was surprised that the elevator went up instead of down. He probably should be surprised that the elevator went anywhere, what with all ten of his guards crammed in with him. He figured it amounted to about a ton and a half of solidly packed werewolf, but the mechanism operated as smoothly as if they’d all been canaries.

  The first floor went by, and not only could he not move, but all the advantages of a transparent elevator were moot—he couldn’t see a damn thing for all the bruisers around him. So he made it up. Lingerie, housewares, handcuffs, mace…Hell, anything to keep his mind off the diminishing oxygen. Same with the second floor. Leather goods, rocket fuel, guns and ammunition.

  The elevator came to a stop on the third floor, and he was hustled out as if he was the president being evacuated by bodyguards. Only if a bullet came for him, none of them were going to throw themselves in front of it.

  Hiding just inside the tree line, Neva looked over the broad expanse of ground-hugging ivy that encircled the stone walls and grounds of the mansion like a rippling green moat, a buffer between carefully landscaped order and towering primeval forest. Intruders or escapees walking across it would be spotted immediately. The main entrance could be seen from here, boasting tall white iron gates covered with elegant scrollwork. She estimated she’d have to walk about a hundred yards, without a sliver of cover, in order to reach it.

  The big gray wolf at Neva’s side hesitated, and Baker’s voice popped into her head for the first time in an hour. Can’t we be more subtle? You know, go through the side gate where the deliveries come in?

  “Not a chance. Meredith wouldn’t be caught dead using the servants’ entrance.” Unfortunately. Neva wasn’t keen on walking in the front door, either, but either her disguise would work or it wouldn’t. And it could all depend on how well she could sell it. Be bold. Be bold.

  In her mind she held fast to the last time she’d seen Travis—when they’d made love in the forest bower. She would never forget the expression on his face (who knew that he even frowned during sex?). Nor would she forget the phantom image of the golden wolf that she had seen in his eyes at one point. Her own inner wolf was a hair’s breadth from the surface now, like a racehorse at the gate, as determined as she was to get to Travis. Maybe more so. Neva also planned to do her utmost to stop Meredith once and for all. For her wolf, however, saving Travis was the only thing that mattered.

  “Try to look a little more subservient,” she said to Baker. And she stepped forward, leaving the relative safety of the rugged forest for the unprotected danger of the delicate ivy.

  High above everything, a pair of dark eyes snapped open like a predator’s. Red satin sheets rippled serenely across Meredith’s naked skin, stirred by the soft sea breeze from an open window. Her body was as flawless as an alabaster statue and just as unmoving—her physical being was still deeply asleep. Her mind had been, too, until someone ventured into the charmed ivy surrounding the walls of the estate and triggered her sudden awareness.

  Geneva is here.

  A soft sighing laugh escaped Meredith’s red lips. Just as she’d predicted, the little bitch would be trying to return to her precious mate. Of course, he was no longer where Geneva would expect him to be. And Meredith would have such fun with both of them.

  But not now, not now…Effort versus reward.

  She knew from the sun in the sky how much time had passed since she’d given herself to sleep. Knew it wasn’t enough—after all, she wanted to be at her very best. Slowly, her dark eyes closed again. She would sleep until the night came again.

  And then she would play.

  Travis didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this definitely wasn’t it. No dungeon, no torture chamber, not even punching practice for the guards. Instead, he’d been dragged into an expansive bedroom with plush carpets and elegant draperies. Glass walls overlooked the estate and the forest beyond. He hadn’t been able to enjoy the view for more than a moment, however, before being tossed on a bed the size of a small country and tied down.

  He stared at the ceiling, where an antique map of the constellations had been painted, and tried to make sense of the situation. At least he wasn’t in Meredith’s room, thank the goddess. But a guard had called this “the guest room,” in a tone that implied it had all the hospitality of the Bates Motel.

  The shackles and chains were gone, replaced by a red silken cord that didn’t look like it was tough enough to restrain a butterfly, never mind a full-grown Changeling. Yet despite its delicate appearance, it might as well have been steel cable from the Golden Gate Bridge. Try as he might, Travis couldn’t budge it in the slightest. Magic was obviously in play here. The strange scarlet cord was all one piece, looping back and forth under the bed so it could tie his feet and hands to carved wooden bedposts as thick as power poles.

  One of the guards had tucked a pillow behind his head, not to be kind, but to be funny. “There,” he’d said. “You’re to be made comfortable while you’re waiting.”

  “Yeah? Waiting for what?”

  They’d all laughed then and left the room without answering his question. Bastards.

  Magic or no magic, Travis set to work trying to loosen
each one of his hands and feet in turn. Christ, if he could reach the cord with his human teeth, he’d chew the damn thing. But there was no stretch in the strange material, no give at all. The act of shape-shifting alone might have torn the cord to pieces…but some strange spell still divided him from his wolf. He hadn’t grown up hating magic, but he was sure hating it now. The way that Meredith used it, it was more like cheating. Stacking the deck in her favor. If there was any way of getting the crazed woman’s magic off the table, Travis would welcome a fair fight.

  He’d heard once that evil had to be resisted, even if you couldn’t win. At the time he’d thought that was a pretty dumb saying, one guaranteed to get you killed. Right now, however, he was in the mood to resist plenty. Travis reassessed the situation. He couldn’t do a damn thing physically. His wolf was out of the picture. The cavalry wasn’t coming. All he had was whatever was in his head. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and thought of his grandfather. In his hands magic had been used to heal, to teach, to enhance and uplift. Make your thoughts quiet, said his grandfather. See. Hear. Feel. Travis saw the big quartz crystal again, plain as a chunk of glass and about as fascinating. Brows furrowing, he tried again to think of what his grandfather had said about it. Amplifies…it amplifies something or other…

  A Latino woman in a white lab coat came in, her black hair braided back into a long tail that hung to her hips.

  What the hell. He gave his best Goldfinger impersonation. “So, we meet again, Dr. Zarita.”

  “Zarita Arandas,” she corrected, apparently not noticing his lame attempt at humor. She rummaged in a red plastic tote and began assembling a syringe, rubber tubing, a number of empty rubber-stoppered vials, and more. “And what about your name, sir?”

  “Trouble.”

  “Ah, yes. Ms. Meredith said you were not very cooperative.” She wrapped the tubing around his upper arm and began tapping the vein inside his elbow. “I hope you will not give me any trouble today.” She was surprisingly gentle as she skillfully inserted a double-ended needle.

  “I don’t seem to be in a position to give anyone much of a problem today.”

  He watched as she filled vial after vial, and finally hooked up a tube to a vacuum-sealed bag. His blood dribbled into it as slowly and fitfully as fresh brew from a coffeemaker. “Hey, I need that stuff. Exactly how much do you plan on taking?”

  “A little over a liter. Ms. Meredith has found it to be an excellent restorative.”

  “I find it pretty damn restorative myself—what the hell is she doing, drinking it?”

  “Of course. It will be chilled and waiting for her when she awakens.”

  He stopped asking questions at that point. Of course someone who had mastered such dark magic would drink blood by the carton. Christ.

  “Be sure to eat everything you are given, so you can replace what I’ve taken today and what I will be taking tomorrow,” the doctor said as she gathered her equipment. She paused before she left the room. “I’m sorry to tell you that it will likely be a daily procedure, Mr. Trouble.”

  Every frickin’ day? He felt drained—literally—and dizzy. Weren’t you supposed to get goddamn cookies or something if you gave blood? He slid into a dreamless sleep.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  As Neva walked, she loosened her hips and lengthened her step, seeking that fluid runway gait that was so characteristic of her twin. Meredith never, ever failed to make an entrance, even when she was simply crossing a room. She was always on. And she was always in charge. There was an air of absolute authority that clung to her, as palpable and intoxicating as her Clive Christian perfume. Neva approached the gate at full stride and didn’t slow down a bit. Nor did she say anything—Meredith certainly wouldn’t bother to speak to whoever was behind the security camera. At most, she’d give a very slight but regal wave of her hand, and that’s what Neva did. This is going to look really stupid if I walk face-first into the—

  The gate parted before her immediately, with plenty of time to spare. Neva had to struggle to keep the surprise from appearing on her face. Instead she wore the patented Meredith mask—the look-at-me-I’m-beautiful blended seamlessly with the look-away-I’m-powerful. To anyone else, it would have been impossible to mimic such a one-of-a-kind expression, but Neva had witnessed it all of her life. She might not have the temperament for it, but nature had given her the same facial features as her twin. Neva now turned The Look on everyone, two-legged or four-legged, and they all responded the same way—with lowered eyes and utter deference. With her Changeling senses, she could smell the acrid tang of fear radiating from each and every one of them. No one dared speak to her; they just hurried to get out of the way. So this was what it was like to be Meredith? She probably loved it, but Neva was sickened.

  Right now, though, she had no choice but to keep up the scary-bitch act. Baker played his role perfectly, walking at her left side and slightly behind her like a heeled dog. They’d decided to leave his bloody wounds as they were—it created the illusion that Meredith had either beaten or bitten him. He’d managed to appear afraid of her, too, even as he glared threateningly at everyone else. Maybe it was because he was experiencing as much déjà vu as she was. The first and last time she’d passed through the front gates, she’d been wholly human.

  The front door was opened as rapidly as the gate had been, and she passed through without slackening her purposeful pace in the slightest. This could all come to an abrupt halt if Meredith happened to be anywhere on the ground floor, but unless her sister was going somewhere, Neva thought it unlikely. There was a grand foyer and an opulent reception area the size of a small department store on the first floor—but the rest was devoted to vast kitchens and staff accommodations. Like a cruise ship, the best rooms were all upstairs, and that’s where guests were entertained.

  Which meant that any kind of prison would be in the opposite direction.

  Neva bypassed the main glass elevator and headed confidently down the high-arched hallway. Three people and two wolves fled from the area at her approach.

  Baker was clearly puzzled. We aren’t taking the stairs, are we? ’Cause I’m sure your sister wouldn’t do that.

  You’re right, but she also doesn’t take the main elevator very often. Neva rounded the corner and ducked behind a thriving group of tall potted palms, and voilà—another elevator. She’d been in it many times over the three or four weeks she’d been held here. It was large and bright, more like a room than an elevator, with mirrored walls set in such a way that she and Meredith had been reflected into infinity. And still Neva had felt claustrophobic, as if her twin sucked all the air and the energy out of the confined space.

  Ow! Baker hadn’t gotten clear before she punched the down button, and he left a handful of hair from the tip of his tail in the door. You could have waited a fucking second.

  She shook her head. She had to stay in character. Meredith wouldn’t wait. Her twin wouldn’t spare a thought for anybody or anything. Her underlings had to fend for themselves—and if they weren’t fast enough to get out of the way of a door, a car, or an oncoming train, that was simply too bad. So if someone happened to see her pause even a fraction of a second to allow Baker’s tail to get clear of the elevator, it would be shocking enough to be memorable. Neva didn’t need the staff to start comparing notes on Ms. Meredith’s behavior.

  Not until she found Travis and got the hell out of this place.

  Baker slapped the stop button with his paw when they were just two floors down. I think this is where it is. Us newbies were kept one floor belowground. But anyone who got out of line was taken down to the next level for a while. Solitary confinement. Riley went there twice.

  What about the rest of the floors? She had no idea how deep the mansion actually went. It was like Bruce Wayne’s house, dwarfed by the Batcave beneath it. Because holy crap, there were at least three more levels below this one. Maybe even more, because there were two keyholes directly below the row of buttons. She hoped fervently they didn�
��t have to search them all.

  The big gray wolf shook his head. All I know is that anyone who went to the bottom floors didn’t come back. Ever.

  Thanks for that perky little thought. I feel much better.

  Sorry.

  The sumptuous elevator opened onto what looked more like a subway station than a floor in a luxury home. Floor, ceiling, and walls were lined in glaring-white tile that looked both antiseptic and cold under the fluorescent lights. Neva’s gaze fastened at once on two small red spots that marred the otherwise snowy tile grout. The color told her the stains were fresh—and although she didn’t know the source of the blood, she was chilled to the marrow just the same. Meredith had dragged her to many courtyard, and even poolside, demonstrations of power. Plus she’d killed casually in whatever room she happened to be in at the time. But her twin had never brought her to any of the floors belowground. Why?

  Corridors stretched away in two directions, lined with white metal doors. Cells. Each door was plain, boasting only a keypad above the handle and a metal grating on a six-inch window that was five feet above the floor.

  Mimicking her sister’s runway gait on the tiled floor made a horrendous noise that echoed and reechoed throughout the entire story. She’d much rather have tiptoed, but it was too much out of character. Her twin never, ever tiptoed anywhere—and making noise that called attention to herself would simply be a bonus. Neva was just thankful she’d chosen the riding boots over the stilettos.