Wolf Hunter

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  “Our species,” Cameron corrected gently.

  She turned back. Her voice sounded faint. “One pelt? Sam could have done this, raised and tolerated my presence all those years, for the dollar equivalent of a fancy car?”

  “You heard everything Dylan said?”

  “I didn’t hear nearly enough to begin to fill the emptiness I have inside.”

  Cameron’s tender smile lifted her spirits, but he hadn’t answered her question about what was on that paper. His sigh told her how torn he was about giving her what she wanted, and that he planned on withholding the information for her own good.

  “What’s on that paper, Cameron? Tell me about my mother.”

  He didn’t look away. Instead, he said in a low, gravelly voice, “Sam killed her, Abby. Supposedly in self-defense.”

  * * *

  Cameron observed how Abby’s face whitened further and kept the paper out of her reach. He felt sick with worry. Abby looked like death warmed over, and he didn’t know what to do about it, or how to comfort her after a blow like the one he’d given her.

  Bad news took time to process, but this was a torment. Used to death and accidents in his day job, the death of his own parents had taken him a long time to come to terms with. Sometimes he imagined them in their cozy home, awaiting his next visit, and the sore spot caused by reality of their absence opened up all over again.

  An accident was one thing. How did anyone accept a killing so close to home? The paper Dylan had handed him stated that Sam Stark had indeed killed his wife, and that the courts had let him off with a judgment of having been justified in doing so.

  The single sheet didn’t list details of the case, though details were going to be necessary in order to balance Abby’s mental state. Looking at her now, Cameron feared what the future might bring.

  “What?” she said through bloodless lips. “What did you say?”

  “We will get answers and find out what happened. In the meantime...”

  “Screw the meantime. I need to get up.”

  She tried to sit up, but was too weak to make it past her elbows. Abby wasn’t going anywhere, and Cameron wanted to kiss Dylan’s mother for giving her a draft to help her stay put. This is exactly where he wanted her at the moment—right next to him. Safe.

  “It’s early to turn the table on that judgment,” he said.

  Abby’s big eyes were fever bright. “These Weres told me my mother was a wolf. You’ve seen what Sam does to wolves. Can you imagine him living under the same roof with one?”

  “So you’ll what? Take matters into your own hands and go after him? Do you suppose Sam will sit down and explain things to you when confronted about this information, when his message tonight was loud and clear as to what he thinks of your relationship?”

  “I’ll make him explain.”

  “Or die trying?”

  She went quiet, probably dissolving into thought.

  “It can wait until we have the facts, Abby,” Cameron said. “I will help you get them.”

  She averted her eyes.

  “In any case, you’ve been drugged by those damn hunters and won’t make it past the door in your present condition.”

  She closed her beautiful eyes. He thought he saw the gleam of a tear moisten her lashes.

  “Sleep. Rest,” he said.

  Strangely enough, those were the same instructions he had been given when he lay in that same bed. Had he taken them to heart? No. And if he had heeded outside advice, his lover might not be here with him now.

  “You’re tough,” he said. “But toughness isn’t everything. You’ll need a plan when dealing with the devil.”

  Maybe Abby resembled Dana Delmonico in some ways, he decided. She had lived side by side with her mother’s killer for years. No matter what circumstances of this case turned up, Abby wasn’t going to let them go. Neither would he have been able to in her place.

  He rested a hand on her warm, damp forehead, and stroked strands of hair away from her ashen cheeks. He wasn’t sure what he murmured to her, but kept it up until her breathing eventually changed from ragged to even.

  Desiring more closeness, and to keep her in his sight, Cameron stretched out on the bed beside her, on his side to keep her in full view. He lay with his head on one arm, and the other above her head, where her auburn hair fanned out across the pillow.

  “I will help, Abby. You’re not alone. I’ll stand beside you,” he whispered to her. “That’s a promise.”

  As the sun started to rise and the sky outside the window turned pink with the dawn of a new day, Cameron finally closed his eyes.

  When he woke up, the space next to him was empty.

  Abby was gone.

  Chapter 27

  She had no way to explain to anyone around her how bad this news had been. Sam had known all along what had gone down, and hadn’t once mentioned anything about it to her.

  But that wasn’t the only reason she’d have to kill him.

  The phrase late bloomer echoed in her mind. Someone had mentioned that in regard to her Were status. In her favor, she’d have another month until forced to contend with the claws and whatever else would come her way. Thirty days lay ahead until the rise of another full moon that might bring a phase called the Blackout. Until that time, she’d be just another...what? Girl?

  Pain had a monopoly on her system, both inside and out. She almost wished for the all-consuming trauma of her body’s first transition to have something to focus on besides the awful images of Sam facing down her mother. Of Sam pulling the trigger, or slicing through female flesh with a silver blade. The pictures kept coming, each one worse than the one before. Self-defense. Sonja versus Sam.

  This next meeting with him was going to be personal, and between Sam and herself. Involving anyone else was out of the question. Cameron had suffered already on her behalf. The kindness shown to her in the house she had left behind seemed extreme under the circumstances, and yet had proved to be another example of how far Sam’s understanding of the Were world had gone astray.

  From the lawn, she glanced over her shoulder at the home that had offered her its hospitality, curious about being allowed to leave. Landau’s place didn’t fit the bill of being a house at all, really, for someone used to the cramped space of a tiny studio apartment above a bar. This house looked more like a transplanted Southern plantation.

  Three stories of whitewashed wood accented with aged brick rose gracefully from a wide expanse of lawn. Numerous windows flanked by black shutters dotted every floor. Some of those windows had Weres behind them who might be looking out.

  She had to hurry.

  Skirting a long porch that spanned the side of the building, expecting a siren to go off at any moment, Abby followed the foundation toward the back of the house. Rimming the lawn, off in the distance, sat the wall delineating this compound from the public spaces beyond, marking it as private property.

  Werewolves lived here, creatures who now believed her to be one of them. They had witnessed the kind of damage Sam inflicted on his adversaries and therefore might believe she had lost her taste for humans with oversize chips on their shoulders.

  And they’d be right.

  Would she be allowed to return here, to the house with black shutters, where things seemed so calm and peaceful on the surface, if she survived her upcoming confrontation?

  Survival was paramount.

  Cameron would be waiting.

  Sam had more than proved himself lethal. He outweighed her by miles and had had years to hone his skills. Sam was hard muscle, anger and festering defiance packed into compact layers of human skin. As for her claim to fame, well, there was her moderate skill at wielding a knife, plus a full set of claws when she needed them.

  Though she had found her knife on the bureau in the room where she’d been tended, and felt its familiar weight again strapped to her leg beneath some clothes that had been left for her, it was of minor consequence against Sam’s professional arsenal. N
evertheless, her anger had to match his.

  “We’re not so unlike, Sam. We both have darkness inside.”

  Her darkness dictated her next move. The circumstances behind her mother’s death dictated it. Waking up next to the world’s sexiest Were went a long way toward dictating what had to be done. Sam killed randomly. Any one of the Weres she had met tonight could be next. And Sam had seen Cameron. It didn’t hurt to remember that Sam had been ready to kill her.

  All of that was of little consequence, though, when compared to the fact that Sam had killed her mother. Her Lycan mother, she’d been told by the Weres she had just left behind.

  The dichotomies of Sam’s beliefs were astounding, and filled with gaps. In those gaps lay the answers to the questions plaguing her. She had to make Sam talk about it. He’d have to confess to what he had done, in person, to Sonja Stark’s daughter. She’d never be whole until this happened. A chance at a life free of the uncertainty in her past was the dream.

  Someone had to face Sam.

  “Someone has to stop him.”

  She had a vested interest in the outcome. Cameron couldn’t help her now. No one could truly deal with another person’s demons. Those demons had to be faced, confronted and dissolved in order to live, love, grow and breathe. She had a lot of inner issues, but not enough of them to share with white werewolf knights or pure-blooded wolves.

  She reached the wall unhindered by shouts or Weres halting her progress. No guards were in evidence. She heard no growling dogs, and didn’t locate a single alarm box or length of hotwire. None of this compound’s occupants actually needed protection, and no one here was likely to want a hasty exit.

  She didn’t want to leave. Already, her heart protested by doubling its beats. Her lover was here, warm and sleepy.

  “Cameron.”

  She couldn’t look back.

  He couldn’t help her now.

  Scaling the wall wasn’t easy or without its consequences, yet she managed. On top, she had a bird’s-eye view of the park, and eyed it with distaste. Although the rising sun would have cleared away the prowling monsters and hunters alike, scents piled up, most of them from the start of a normal business day somewhere off in the land of Miami’s ignorant hordes. Inside those scents lay the ones she had left behind and longed never to lose. The smell of Cameron’s taut, golden skin and his silky, mussed hair. Those were the fragrances that had done her in.

  “Don’t you dare look back.”

  Her next thought seemed odd after all that had gone on. She was going to miss work on the part-time day job, and would probably be fired. A lot of stray dogs might he happy about that, but there was irony here, too, on so many levels. Animal control...from an animal.

  She drew in air from a pink-and-blue sky. Offering her face to the early sunrays, Abby allowed herself one last indulgence—a whisper to her soulmate that he might or might not hear.

  “I’m sorry, wolf. I know you mean well. You’ll have to believe me on that.”

  Then she jumped down from the wall.

  * * *

  “She’s gone,” Cameron said, passing Dylan on the stairs he’d decided to use this time, instead of heading for the window.

  Dylan reached out a hand that stopped Cameron’s momentum. “Maybe she has to do this on her own.”

  Cameron gave the Lycan a cursory glance. “You know where she’d be going, and what she’ll find there, given what was on that paper.”

  “I can make a wild guess about it. But what if she doesn’t want to be rescued?”

  “Screw that. What chance does she stand?”

  “She knows Sam Stark better than anyone.”

  “I’ll bet that went through her mind last night when he was about to pull the trigger.”

  “Cameron, you know how it is. You have to understand it. You’re a cop. Some things might be too personal for company or interference.”

  Cameron’s jaw tensed. His chest ached dully behind a fresh bandage. “If wolves imprint for life, what happens when one half of that duo dies? Do love, longing and hurt ever leave the half left behind?”

  “I don’t know,” Dylan admitted. “I am able to put myself in your place, and I can imagine what it would be like to worry about your lover.”

  “Then you understand why I have to find Abby and do what I can to keep her safe.”

  Dylan’s hand dropped away. “Things used to be easy,” he said, “once upon a time.”

  “Yeah,” Cameron said soberly. “I’ll second that.”

  Dylan shoved a hand in his pocket and came up with a set of keys. He tossed them to Cameron. “Garage. Silver sedan. Dana can drop me at the office.” He rummaged in another pocket and came up with a cell phone. “Take this. Make a call if you need help.”

  Cameron turned so fast he didn’t get a thank-you out.

  The stairs winding through the Landau house took him straight to the front door, which stood open as if it had felt him coming. He didn’t meet anyone else on the porch, lawn or the driveway leading to what he supposed had to be a distant gate.

  The grounds were so large he had no idea of the location of the cottage where he had first met members of the Landaus’ pack. He wondered who the hell the elder Landau and Alpha of this pack might be if his son was the DA, and a place like this was affordable. Cameron found it hard to imagine a more formidable Lycan than the one he’d already met.

  The garage doors also stood open. All four of them. Six cars occupied the space, most of them black. The silver sedan, its color a possible insider joke for those with wolf bloodlines, turned out to be a Mercedes.

  Cameron wished he had his inconspicuous Ford, and his gun. He’d be willing to bet that Sam Stark kept a weapon or two on hand at all times, and the thought of those weapons worried him.

  “Stupid move, Abby,” he shouted as he folded himself inside the car. “Sam has to have seen this coming.”

  Shouting made him feel slightly better about wearing borrowed clothes in a borrowed car after spending too much time in someone else’s house. His parents had taught their kids not to abuse a welcome, and he’d passed that point by a mile.

  “A Mercedes, for fuck’s sake.”

  The engine roared, and quickly settled to a purr. He eased the transmission into gear, stepped on the gas pedal and headed out, feeling as though eyes watched his exit from all angles, and wishing a car this expensive had the capabilities of a time machine.

  * * *

  Abby didn’t bother to hide her approach to the bar. What good would sneaking in have done?

  The stairs to the two apartments lay on the side of the building, next to a vacant lot. She climbed slowly, going over and over this meeting in her mind until she wanted to scream.

  There was a possibility Sam wouldn’t let her get one word out, and that he’d been expecting her. If he’d taken the time to really know her, he’d be assured of her visit and be waiting by the door. But then Sam had never cared to get to know her better.

  The hallway leading to the apartments was quiet. There were only two doors here—one hers, one Sam’s.

  She felt for her knife and tugged the blade from its leather sheath. The weapon felt both comfortable and foreign in her hand, but her grip was steady. The shakes had miraculously disappeared.

  Six steps. Seven. Ten, and she stood in front of Sam’s lair, waiting for, what? The door to burst open? A shotgun to blast through the wood?

  Neither thing happened as she sucked in a breath and reached for the knob.

  “I suppose you spent the night with them,” Sam said from the end of the hallway, hidden in the dark. “I can smell the wet fur from here.”

  “You know what I am,” Abby said without turning around. “So it seems I’m the only one here who was surprised.”

  Sam’s gruffness showed in his voice. “She told me you might resist the call of the moon, and that hate had powerful side effects that might keep you in line. I fed you plenty of hate.”

  “And silver. By her, you
mean my mother?”

  “The creature that birthed you.”

  “And whom you married.”

  “I didn’t have any other choice.”

  “Was that why you killed her?”

  She heard Sam grind his teeth together.

  “And yes, you fed me hate by the bushel—for Weres, and for me, and for never being good enough to earn your affection.”

  “Affection?” Sam laughed. “If you think I alone killed Sonja, think again. They did her in. Your kind did that. What she was underneath the beautiful exterior caused the problem.”

  They did her in. Your kind... The insults ate away at Abby.

  “Maybe I don’t care what you do to me,” she said. “But I have to understand what you did to her.”

  “It was self-defense.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “You don’t believe it?”

  “I’m not sure anything you say is believable, Sam.”

  “Because you’re a monster, like your new friends, and have turned against me.”

  Abby shook her head. “They didn’t make me this way, and they haven’t hurt me. You, on the other hand, aimed a gun at my chest.”

  “Just like I’m aiming one now.”

  “So who is the monster here, Sam?”

  Though she didn’t see him, she heard him take a step. She sensed his fatigue. Possibly he hadn’t slept or showered, waiting for her arrival.

  “All those years meant nothing at all to you,” she continued. “My work in the bar, my help with finding what you said were really bad guys, and my being around didn’t endear me to you in any way that served to change your mind about how this has worked out?”

  “I couldn’t afford to like you,” Sam said.

  “Was that because you planned all along to kill me if I changed?”

  “It was due to the fact that I loved Sonja more than anything on earth, and she betrayed me by pretending to be human.”

  Abby turned slowly, able to see Sam’s outline as sunlight peeked through the window high up on the wall, and not quite believing her ears. Sam had made a confession, and it rang true. He had admitted to loving her mother, and that he hadn’t been able to cope with what she was.