“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 r
esist 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.
“Tell me about that, Sam. It’s why I have come.” She tried to stay calm with her heart hurting so greatly.
“Then you’ve come here for nothing, and walked right into my hands,” Sam said.
“So, you’ll kill me, and that’s that? No lingering emotional ties I might not have been aware of, and no explanation to send me off with?”
“You’ve got to love it when things work out like that,” Sam replied threateningly. He stepped forward a few paces to show her the raised gun. “I would have thought that you, perhaps better than anyone else in this business, know what a Lycan is worth.”
“More than a wife, I’m guessing. But I doubt you’ll get off so easily in court after murdering your daughter, too.”
“You let me worry about that.”
“All right,” Abby said, voice cracking with shock as Sam’s insinuations about her mother kicked up horrible, lurid thoughts about what Sam might have done with her mother’s Lycan pelt, and how pelts were removed from the bodies they covered.
She opened her mouth to shout, without having time to get anything out. The hallway filled with a clicking noise, like a slide of security bolts, and a trapdoor opened beneath her.
With a protest on her lips, Abby started to fall.
Chapter 28
Fifteen minutes to reach the bar. Too long. An ungodly amount of time wasted when Abby’s life was at stake.
Cameron angled the Mercedes to the curb without bothering to parallel park, and opened the door forcefully with a crack of bolts. The street was relatively quiet at this time of day, which did nothing for his growing angst. Abby had to have gone in the building beside him.
He sniffed the air and rolled his shoulders. “She’s here, all right.”
There truly was something to this imprinting phenomenon. He felt Abby nearby. He inhaled her scent. Abby Stark had become a part of him, and he doubted if anyone knew the exact science behind such a connection.
Abby’s thoughts infiltrated his at times as if they were his thoughts, making it hard to tell which was which, though she was curiously silent now. The sinking sensation in his gut told him she was in trouble.
He tried the front door of the bar and found it locked. Anxiously, he looked the place over as he strode to the side, where a wooden staircase spanned the first floor, leading to a second. He took the steps three at a time.
The door at the top allowed him access to a narrow hallway brimming with Abby’s sweet fragrance. Fear laced that sweetness.
He pounded on the first door he came to, ready to tear Sam apart with his bare hands. But no one appeared.
He moved to the second door and repeated the series of knuckle-to-wood blows. No one opened that door, either.
Running both hands through his hair, Cameron paced the hallway. No mistake. She’d been there minutes before. Scent didn’t lie. He could almost reach out and touch her.
“Abby? Where are you?”
His voice sounded dull in the space, and angry.
“Abby?”
Nothing. But all that nothingness was a damn lie.
“Sam, you bastard. Miami PD. Show yourself.”
The air moved slightly. Cameron whirled with both hands raised, but it was the floor that had moved—old wood settling beneath his weight.
He didn’t have a warrant or a lawfully sufficient reason to kick down those two doors. Breaking and entering... Destruction of private property... Missing Lycan female...
He wasn’t in uniform and didn’t have his badge. “Shit.”
After one more deep breath that produced spasms of anger in his chest, Cameron put a boot to door one and watched it splinter. The noise was deafening in the tight corridor.
Stale air met him as he stepped across the threshold. Two windows were closed in the small studio room. His eyes methodically searched the place for signs of struggle. This was Abby’s apartment, he knew intuitively. The plain, unadorned room was well cared for. Any other time, he would have relished coming here to look around. This time, it didn’t take long to understand that Abby hadn’t been here lately.
“Next.”
Back in the hallway, he raced to door number two and repeated the force of his foot. The door went down in one piece with a jarring thud to show him a larger room. One of a couple. Lots of furniture crammed the space. A separate kitchen lay off to the right. Nothing moved. No Sam, no sleeping hunters, no Abby. Cameron’s wolf gave a whine of disappointment as he turned back to the hall with his hands fisted.
He was letting Abby down. What had Sam done to her, if, in fact, Abby had found him? Where had everybody else gone? Hunters didn’t just disappear with sunrise. They’d be sleeping the late night off. Maybe they had a hotel nearby.
It would have been useless to call this in to the department. Nothing he’d say to other cops could remotely begin to explain the turn of events that hounded him. Although he was strong, able-minded and good at his job, he hadn’t helped Abby here, and that realization hurt worse than the damn silver bullet had.
“Sam, you crazy son of a bitch. Where is she?”
Again, he ran both hands through his hair and stared at the deserted corridor. He stood motionless a few minutes more, searching with his senses, soaking in the essence of the place. Then, empty-handed and no better off than when he’d arrived, Cameron headed for the stairs.
* * *
Abby opened her
eyes to darkness made dim by the light of a single bulb in an overhead ceiling fixture. She was on her back, on a big mattress pad that lay on bare concrete. She had fallen through the floor by her apartment, but to where? Her mind appeared to be muddled. Sam’s bar took up the floor below her apartment, and the bar she knew every inch of looked nothing like this. Had she fallen into a basement or alternate storage space that she hadn’t known existed?
She had hit her head hard enough to see stars. One arm rested painfully behind her, wrenched at the shoulder. Pretty sure she hadn’t broken her back, Abby waited a few beats before attempting to sit up. When she managed, the injured shoulder hurt so severely she nearly blacked out.
Head in her hands, Abby tried to center her mental faculties, when nothing about the fall made sense. The pain shooting through her was muddying her reasoning skills.
She felt for the spot on her neck where she’d been hit by a dart the night before. Small prickles came from there that were nothing like the rest of her body’s discomfort. She looked at the forearm she had sliced open with her knife, and felt a remnant of the deep muscle ache. But the wound had begun to miraculously heal, just as Cameron’s bullet wound to the chest had, proving that as extraordinary as it seemed, it was hard to keep a werewolf down.
“Sam?” Her voice had a new edge. “What have you done?”
No reply came. Neither did an aspirin.
Hugging her arm to stabilize her shoulder, Abby looked around. The place did resemble a basement, with a workbench on one side attached to a large washbasin and a small metal counter. There were no windows. Stains marred the wide expanse of gray concrete floor. A wooden staircase stood opposite her that she couldn’t reach because there were several metal bars in the way.
Hell, she was in a cage, and trapped. As that sank in, recent events began to make a horrible kind of sense.
“I’m a prisoner,” she said out loud. “That’s unusual, isn’t it, Sam? Instead of killing me outright, you’ll keep me as a pet for a while?”
Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf Page 22
