James just smiled at Kane. “I didn’t give her bruises, if that’s what you’re asking.” He could see the thoughts spinning in the other wolf’s head. Once more, the fire receded and died down, leaving Kane’s gaze a glowing blue.
This one has control issues, James thought. But if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll agree.
“Give him the rights, Daniel.”
James pulled his gaze from Kane’s to find the source of the gravelly, heavily accented voice that had just spoken. A tall man with a head of mostly gray hair came into view. His eyes were ice blue and resembled the eyes of the raven haired alpha male in front of him. James knew who he was at once. Jonathan Kane, Daniel’s grandfather.
A muscle in Daniel’s jaw ticked. James watched him carefully.
The older man continued, “Daniel, mon petit-fils, consider it. If you are afraid to give another alpha Lily’s Guardian rights, then it will appear as if you expect your mate to run. Why would this be, grandson?”
Valentine’s smile almost broadened with those words, but he stifled the urge. Kane’s grandfather was a wise wolf. James watched his opponent with a growing sense of triumph. He knew the moment that he’d won. It was something that flashed in the younger wolf’s eyes.
Kane took a slow, deep breath and let it out through his nose. “Done,” he said, simply.
With that single word came a surge of power through Valentine’s body. It raced through his blood like quick silver and even managed to heal a few of his wounds. He sensed Lily’s existence – distantly, but solidly. He could feel her, like an exquisitely warm, soft presence, huddled preciously in the center of his time-jaded mind. It was a rush, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he nodded in acceptance. Just once.
“Now, where is she.” Daniel demanded once more. It was no longer a question – if it ever had been. The wolf wanted to know where his mate was. And now.
“Cole has most likely taken her to his private landing strip. They’ll take his jet to another landing strip in New Mexico. He has a cabin there.” As if to drive the importance of the point home, he paused before adding, “It is his territory, Kane. You will not be able to cross into it.”
“No, but I can.”
A woman’s voice. A little shaky, but laced with bravery. James recognized it, of course.
Again, he looked over Kane’s shoulder. The younger wolf turned as well, now unafraid to turn his back on the older alpha. Valentine smiled at this.
“Tabitha.” Kane seemed to come to his senses suddenly. He rushed forward and grabbed his younger sister by her upper arms, inspecting her with eyes that grazed her body with purposeful intent.
“I’m fine, Daniel,” she insisted, pushing him off of her. “But I am sore – right where you just grabbed me, actually.”
That was when James – and Kane – both truly noticed that she had a gun in her right hand. James sniffed the air. There was gunpowder on the rim of the barrel. He could almost smell its heat.
He turned to peer at the others in the room. Aside from Kane, his grandfather, and one other man, the other werewolves in the pack were police officers in uniform. Some of their uniforms had sustained damage and one man had wrapped his arm in bandages. All of the men were covered in blood, and most of it was not their own.
James turned his gaze to the bodies that littered the floor. He smelled death, but not as much as he’d expected to. His gaze fell on Thomas’s unmoving, human form. He narrowed in, refocusing his sight as only werewolves could. Thomas was breathing. James looked to where Isaac lay, also in human form. The boy’s clothing was torn, but he, too was breathing. Both men had been laid on their side and bound with handcuffs that looked normal, but were made for werewolves.
Valentine’s gaze slid from them to the last of the unmoving bodies. The red-haired witch. She was not hand cuffed. Blood coated the carpet beneath her in copious amounts.
Tabitha swallowed audibly and glanced down at the gun in her hand. Every man in the room watched her in silence. Their expressions were wary but respectful.
Finally, she spoke once more. “She won’t ever hurt anyone again.”
At that, her grandfather came forward and pulled her into a tender embrace. Daniel Kane placed his hand on her back.
James Valentine was duly impressed. The witch had been the one to hurt Tabitha when Cole had made his phone call to Lily St. Claire and delivered his ultimatum. Eva Black had taken delight in it, actually.
It would appear that Tabitha Kane was not one to shy away from justice when it was due to her. No matter what form it took.
“You can’t go wanderin’ into Cole’s territory, cher,” her grandfather told her. “Not again. We’ll figure somethin’ out.”
“This is my fault,” Tabitha said. Her tone was resolute. “She came here to save me. It’s only fitting that I should save her.”
“No way in hell,” Kane told her, flatly.
Valentine’s brow rose. Definite control issues.
Tabitha whirled on her brother. “You have no control over me, Daniel! How dare you even pretend to have power over me! It’s not enough that you flex your muscle with my best friend, handcuffin’ her to your bed and slicin’ into her with a pocket knife, is it!”
The other wolves in the room grew very still. James found his fists clenching at his sides again. So that’s where the bruises came from.
He watched the alpha wolf carefully. He was not the only one who could feel Kane’s power leaking out of him. Daniel had marked his mate and yet not changed her. He hadn’t finished claiming Lily St.Claire and that had stoked the flames of madness within him. He was a very dangerous man at the moment. Tabitha was playing with fire. But James had to admit he admired her spunk. And, at the moment, he would gladly have helped her rip her brother’s throat out.
“I did what I had to do,” Kane told her, his tone so low, his voice so soft, it was nearly a whisper. “If I hadn’t marked her, she would belong to Cole right now.” He took a step toward her. “And you would be dead.” He paced closer.
Tabitha raised her gun.
Kane smiled at his sister, flashing fangs. “You gonna shoot me little sis?” he taunted her, waves of fury lashing out of him like flailing whips. He took one last step, closing the distance between them. He held the barrel of her gun to his chest. “Would it make you feel better?”
Tabitha’s hazel gaze narrowed.
“Yes.” With that, Tabitha pulled the trigger. The gun went off and Kane jerked backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. He looked down at the wound in his chest. His blood spread across his black shirt like a dark stain, joining the other stains of blood that graced it and barely showed. The advantage of black.
Then, as the wound began to heal, leaving a hole in his shirt, he looked up at his sister. Her eyes were as wide as his. James knew that she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. The other men in the room knew it too.
“You bitch!” Kane bellowed and leapt at her. At once, both Valentine and Jonathan Kane were between him and his sister.
“Settle down, Daniel. She’s hurt and she’s angry,” Jonathan told his grandson. “She’s not thinkin’ straight.” He eyed Kane with a frank, serious expression. “And neither are you. I know you’re hurtin’ and I know you need your mate. But you won’t find her like this, mon petit-fils. You need to man up.”
Kane stared at his grandfather. And then his gaze slid to James. James waited for an attack. He tensed for it. Just in case.
But Daniel Kane surprised him by instead by taking a step back. Without looking at her, he addressed his sister. “We’re even, Tabitha,” he told her, his tone remarkably calm. “Can you live with that?”
After a brief pause, Tabitha let out a shaky breath. Then she shrugged and handed her gun to the nearest officer, who took it quickly. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I can live with that.”
Kane nodded once.
“All right, men, load up and move out!” he ordered. The men in the room mobiliz
ed with such speed that it was obvious they were grateful for a break in the tension. They lifted and carried an unconscious Thomas and Isaac to whatever vehicles were waiting outside. James wondered how many cars there were. He had not heard sirens approach earlier; Daniel Kane had been intelligent enough to keep to a quiet attack and to involve only the members of his pack.
“You’ll lead the way, Valentine,” Kane ordered. It wasn’t a request, but the younger alpha had enough respect to incline his head with some amount of deference. After all, the two of them would have to learn to get along. Even if it killed them.
James nodded back. Then he led Daniel and his family out of the house and into the stormy night beyond.
Chapter Ten: Interrogation Room
Lily St.Claire dreamed. She knew she was dreaming. She was a lucid dreamer, so she’d always been able to tell the difference between waking life and the world she entered when she slept.
There was a strange buzzing in the air. It was familiar to her and it filled her with a sense of anticipation. And of fear. She knew who the subject of this dream would be; she could remember the heated feel of his eyes on her skin and the backs of his fingers sending electricity through her blood. But the sensation was muted and she knew that she would be an observer in this dream and not a participant. She wasn’t sure whether she should be disappointed – or relieved.
The scene before her defogged and the dreamscape backdrop came into focus.
She was standing in the mud. It was raining and an acrid stench filled the air. She looked to her right and saw barbed wire reinforced fences. She took in the scene with a growing sense of despair. Of grief. It was cold here. Unnaturally so.
Her gold-flecked eyes scanned her surroundings with the slowness that comes with debilitating melancholy. Cabins waited in the mist up ahead. Their doors were barred shut with strong wooden beams. Despondency snaked through her soul at the sight of those cabins.
Time flashed and she moved forward, a blur of grayness all around her.
She was in a cabin now. It was claustrophobic and dim. Dank, wretched stink permeated the walls and matted bunks overflowed with immobile, skeletal bodies. Lily tried to breathe and found herself barely able to do so. Overwhelming sadness filled her, along with an inescapable sense of horror.
Mercifully, time flashed by again. She was standing in an office. The walls were wood. A window had been covered with long white curtains. A Nazi Germany flag hung from a tall pole topped with an eagle. Two men were in the room. One sat in a chair, his blonde hair graying at the temples, his face marked with the lines that came with the stress of war. His mouth seemed to rest in a scowl, his eyes permanently narrowed.
The other man, Lily could only see from behind. He was tall and had dark brown hair. He carried a uniform cap in one hand. With the other, he pulled one of the curtains aside and gazed out into the grayness beyond.
The man in the chair spoke quietly to him in German. The tall man replied, also speaking German. Lily recognized the voice. How could she not? It haunted her….
He turned and those green eyes flashed in the murkiness of the office. A swastika decorated the red band around his left bicep and several pins of military achievement adorned his chest. Even though she’d known it was him, seeing him standing there, in that uniform, caused Lily’s head to spin and hear heart to sink.
He looked young. In his twenties, maybe. And yet, he carried himself with an older air. War did that to people.
Malcolm Cole let go of the curtain and again spoke. Perfect German. Not a hint of a British accent.
Lily experienced a brief moment of panic as she stood there, watching Cole and this other man. She was half afraid that he would look up and see her there. A ghost in the dream works machine.
But he did not. Instead, he saluted in that horrible way that she’d seen so many Nazi soldiers salute on television – and then he put the hat on his head and strode toward the door. Lily jumped to the side, afraid he would walk right through her. He opened the door and left.
Time flashed again and Lily found herself back in a cramped cabin. The cold and claustrophobia once more assaulted her, as did the rank stench. She hugged herself, but it did no good. This was a dream cold. Nothing within the reverie could warm it.
There was a scraping sound at the door and then it swung slowly outward, allowing some small amount of faint light to enter the dusky gloom. Lily watched as Cole, tall and sinister in his uniform of death, entered the murky cabin. He stood in the doorway and scanned its grisly inhabitants with those piercing green eyes.
He seemed to zero in on the emaciated form of a woman, her age no longer discernible, her gender only obvious by the thick black curls that fanned stubbornly around her. They’d been cut at one time, it was clear, as the black locks were all the same length and fairly short. But they were distinctly feminine.
Cole strode slowly across the room toward the woman. Some of the cabin’s inhabitants stirred on their insufficient cots, their eyes wide with a wary fear as they watched the officer pass them by.
He paused by the woman’s bunk and bent, placing his fingers to her neck as if to feel for a pulse. At once, her eyes flew open, deep black and rimmed with red. At the same time, she reached up like lightning and grabbed Cole’s wrist, holding him fast.
Cole’s green eyes widened.
Lily could see a tattoo on the woman’s arm. She tried to look closer. It was swollen and black and looked like a series of numbers. But her attention was drawn back to the woman’s face as the prisoner began to speak in a raspy language that was not German and that Lily still did not understand.
Cole tried to interrupt the woman, speaking German to her. But she would not be hushed. She bucked in her cot, arching her back against what Lily recognized as agony, all the while holding fast to Cole’s wrist as she continued to hiss ancient-sounding words through clenched teeth.
And then, quite suddenly, the woman slumped back into her make-shift bed and her black eyes fluttered shut.
Malcolm Cole gazed down at the prone woman with something like shock on his handsome features. He glanced down at his wrist. His eyes widened further. Lily continued to watch, fascinated, as he hissed in pain, clutching his wrist with his other hand. And then a second painful sound was ripped from his throat as he turned both of his arms over and gazed down at his wrists.
From this distance, Lily could see that strange markings were etching themselves into his flesh. They were red and angry and intricate. In a few seconds, they were drawn and Lily could tell that Cole was no longer in pain. He still gazed down at the marks, one on each wrist, and his expression was one of bewilderment.
“Bloody hell,” he uttered, this time in that British accent that Lily recognized so well. She frowned. What in God’s name was she seeing? What was going on?
And then Cole lowered his hands with a shaky breath and leaned forward, placing his fingers to the woman’s neck once more. His head dropped, his green eyes closing as he straightened. “Christ,” he whispered, to no one and to nothing. And to Lily, who then began to recede as the image faded into warmth.
Light flooded the dreamscape, ripping it to shreds. A gentle heat touched her cheek. Softness embraced her limbs. Lily slowly opened her eyes. As she did, memories came rushing back to her.
The blurred rush through the Everglades, the private jet flight, the drive to this cabin…. She’d fallen asleep somewhere along the way, too overcome with exhaustion to deal with consciousness any longer.
She was some place in New Mexico, bordering the Gila Wilderness. But she couldn’t remember where, exactly. Lily sat up in the large bed and rubbed her eyes as she took in her surroundings. The bed looked to be a queen-sized bed, draped in the finest white and beige sheets and quilts. The ceiling was crossed in white wooden beams and across from her rested a large hearth, empty at the moment. Not far from the hearth was a graceful polished wood stand with fine crystal atop it, the bottles filled with what was most assuredly liquor. Goble
ts rested beside the decanters, ready to be filled.
The room was very well appointed, but most striking was the room-length window to Lily’s right. It stretched from wall-to-wall and beneath it rested a bookcase of the same length. Book titles in several different languages graced the spines of leather bound tomes. Lily barely gave them a glance. The view past the window was breathtaking.
She shoved her covers aside to rise and found that she was not wearing a single strip of clothing. Her eyes widened. She yanked the sheet out from beneath the quilt and hurriedly wrapped it around herself. Then she glanced nervously toward the bedroom door. It was shut. She heard no sounds on the other side.
Cautiously, she made her way to the massive window.
Once there, she stood in frank admiration at the picture it presented. She estimated that she was either on the second floor of a house built on a mountain, or she was gazing out from a window on a third floor. Beyond, a wilderness of dawning green and gold stretched to the horizon. Not another rooftop could be seen anywhere and she wondered whether this was Cole’s private property or whether she was looking at the national forest.
Either way, it was beautiful. It had been a while since she’d been in the southwest. Though it was still technically “south,” it was worlds away from the swamps.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
Lily whirled around to face him, still clutching the sheet tightly to herself. She hadn’t heard him come in, and yet he stood casually leaning against the bed post, his thick-muscled arms crossed over his broad chest. Beside him, on the divan at the foot of the bed, rested a silver tray with food and drink. He watched her with those flashing green eyes, his lips curled up into the faintest of smiles.
Lily’s gaze skirted from his eyes to the wide leather bands around his wrists. She thought of her dream. With a loud swallow and a stubborn roll of her shoulders, she fixed him with a hard stare. “How old are you, Cole?”
The Heat Page 11
