Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  Maurice waved sparkling nails. “There wasn’t much Valois could do to me in the first place. They searched my rooms. There was nothing of interest to find.”

  “You did mention naughty schoolgirls.”

  Maurice quirked one corner of his mouth. “I plead innocent. Even I know that young lady was too young for me. Maybe she was the one who made the security bloke faint dead away. Valois was very interested in that detail.”

  A tendril of suspicion wound through Faran’s thoughts. He rummaged in Lexie’s bag for her cell phone and thumbed open the photo she’d taken of Gillon. “Is this the guard?”

  Maurice looked at the picture while Lexie snapped another barrage of shots a few seats away. The flash and whirr of the camera barely made a dent in the noisy, glittering atmosphere. “Gods. That’s him all right, but he’s not coming back to us, is he?” Maurice returned the phone, his face pale.

  “I hope not. Any idea why he passed out?” Faran asked. “Did he eat or drink anything in your room?”

  “I’ll tell you what I told Valois,” Maurice replied, still obviously shaken. “He complained about being thirsty. I was out of bottled water, so I gave him an energy drink. He must have had an allergic reaction to it.”

  An image of dissolving flesh slithered through Faran’s imagination. “Maybe.”

  Maurice shrugged. “He recovered after a few minutes and the other guards took him away.”

  “What kind of energy drink?”

  “One of those all-natural vegetable ones. Tastes like lawn clippings, but it packs a vitamin wallop. You should try it.”

  “I’m more of a carnivore.”

  A server came by with a plate for the fish course. Faran sniffed. His sense of smell and taste was far better than any human’s and he’d outstripped every other student in the chef’s academy when it came to identifying ingredients in a dish. It didn’t take much effort to identify pan-seared scallops with green beans amandine in a light sauce of seasoned oil, lemon and dill.

  Maurice waved it away. “Speaking of allergies, I don’t eat seafood.”

  After the server left, Maurice leaned close. “Why are you asking questions?”

  Faran considered. Sometimes he had to go with animal instinct. “I’m doing a little undercover security work,” he said in a low voice.

  “Ah. Does Cousin Kyle know?”

  “Yes, he knows,” Faran replied, remembering what Lexie had said about the musician being a relation to the royals.

  “Okay.” Maurice took another sip of water. No wine, Faran noticed. He took his vitamins seriously. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

  Lexie had worked her way down the table, so Faran said goodbye to Maurice and rose to follow. He glanced at the dish the other guests were eating, idly thinking the sauce too heavy on the lemon. Scallops of that quality shouldn’t be bullied on the plate—but he forgot about that the moment he caught up with Lexie. She was trying to take a picture of the Vidonese royals, which should have been easy. The high table only had seating on one side, allowing the public full view of their monarchs and Lexie a clear shot. Unfortunately, not everyone was happy about it.

  Faran had never seen King Targon of Vidon in person before. He was a stern, sturdy man with iron-gray hair and the same handsome features as his sons. “I don’t understand the need to have our dinner interrupted by photographers,” Targon grumped. “This is a serious occasion. Court protocol should be observed.”

  “It is the new way, Father,” said Prince Kyle, who sat between his father and Amelie. His tone said they’d had this conversation many times before. “The public likes their royals accessible.”

  Lexie took a cautious snap, leaving the flash off. “One more, Your Majesty, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind.” King Targon waved a dismissive hand. “Laundromats are accessible. I am a crowned head of state and I am eating my dinner. Go away. No one needs to see me chewing.”

  King Renault of Marcari, younger and quieter than his counterpart, endured the camera with more grace. From time to time, he touched his daughter’s hand, as if reassuring himself that she was safe. The king had sent the Company away as a goodwill gesture for the wedding and Faran wondered if he was regretting it now.

  “May I take a photo of Your Handsome Highnesses together?” Lexie coaxed Leo and Kyle. “For the ladies?”

  Kyle wiped his mouth with his napkin while Leo gave her an assessing look. The younger prince gave a silky smile. “It hardly seems fair that you take our picture and yet I get nothing from you. One sweet deserves another, Ms. Haven.”

  “Leo,” Kyle said in a warning tone.

  “Be careful what you ask for, Prince Leopold,” Lexie replied. “Cameras always tell the truth.”

  Leo’s eyes narrowed. “You promised to join me for dinner before you took my picture.”

  Faran bristled but Lexie stepped on his foot. She clearly wanted to handle things her own way. He folded his arms and scowled.

  “That’s not how I remember the conversation,” Lexie replied. “But here I am, at your dinner. Does that please Your Highness?”

  “You’re being tiresome, Leopold,” King Targon said, tearing a dinner roll in two. “Let her take a photograph and move on. This is unseemly.”

  “Relax, Father, I’m being accessible. I’m inviting the lovely media content provider to dine.” With a smug expression, Leo snapped his fingers. “A chair for the lady.”

  “Stop this,” said Kyle, clearly irritated.

  On alert, Faran caught Renault’s eye, and the king of Marcari gave a slight nod, telling him to let the scene play out. That seemed too much to ask, especially after what Faran had learned about Lexie’s brother. Faran guessed there were similarities between Prince Leo and her brother—a need to control, a pleasure in watching a victim squirm. Faran’s skin crawled with the need to change and sink his fangs into Leo’s throat.

  Lexie must have heard his thoughts because she gave him another quelling look. Against his better judgment, Faran remained still.

  An expressionless server arrived to place a chair across from the princes. Lexie sat, as cool as if this was nothing more than a coffee date. Faran put a hand on the back of her chair, gripping the carved wood. He couldn’t exterminate Prince Leo in public, but he could loom.

  With a slight, mocking smile, Leo cooperated. Lexie lifted her camera, the shutter whirring half a dozen times while the princes posed. Lexie seemed to understand just how to handle the royal antics. Good work, thought Faran.

  “I don’t suppose your dear husband could take one of us together?” Leo said to Lexie, pushing a glass in front of her. “Some wine?”

  But I’m still going to kill him.

  “Oh, Leo, don’t keep our poor photographers,” said Amelie. “They don’t get their own dinners until they’re done.” She frowned as several servers arrived to deposit tiny glass serving bowls on the table. She leaned over to poke the contents with her fork. “What is this? I approved the menu, and I don’t recall seeing this.”

  “It smells spicy,” said Kyle.

  “I like spicy,” Amelie said with a wicked smirk. “It’s my favorite.”

  King Renault cleared his throat.

  Faran’s nose wrinkled as the serving tray went past. Lemon, grapefruit, raw scallops, mint, peppers, shallots, a hint of garlic oil. It was a ceviche, and if the seasonings in the first dish had been badly balanced, by Faran’s standards this one qualified as a train wreck. You’d think a royal court could hire someone better than this.

  “It’s scallops done a different way,” said Leo in a bored tone. “That’s a thing, you know, doing the same food several ways. Though I think the variations are usually presented on the same plate. Would you care for a taste, Ms. Haven?”

  Something was off. Catching King Renault
’s eye once more, Faran picked up one of the little bowls to sniff.

  “Or take the whole dish,” Leo amended dryly.

  “You can have mine,” Kyle said, pushing his over, “since you’re in such a charming mood tonight.”

  “That’s hardly necessary.”

  “I insist.”

  Faran tuned out the princes, still considering the ceviche. The noise level throughout the room inched up as the guests investigated the new treat. Lexie kicked his ankle, but Faran was concentrating. Scents and tastes were a landscape of sensation, forming patterns and colors in his mind. Nuances of earth and ocean lingered in the food. He could smell the soap from the cook’s hands, the fact that the grapefruit juice hadn’t been fresh squeezed. This wasn’t top-quality work. Spicy chilies overpowered the citrus and mint, hiding the fact that the scallops weren’t as fresh as the ones in the main dish. And the timing of the service was all wrong. This item should have been an appetizer. Uneasy, Faran set the dish down and looked around for the head server. Someone in charge should have been having a fit.

  Then two things happened at once. Amelie reached for the dish of ceviche next to her. The movement of air wafted the chili scent under Faran’s nose again. But this time there was a different smell underneath it, like the bottom note of a perfume.

  At the same time, Prince Leo leaned forward with a forkful of the fish for Lexie to taste. “Come, Ms. Haven, tell us what you think.”

  “Don’t,” Faran said, the word cutting across the table like a scythe. He lunged, grabbing Leo’s wrist, but Lexie had already taken the sample from the fork and was chewing.

  “Don’t swallow it!” Faran ordered. “It’s poisoned.”

  King Renault’s hand grabbed the bowl from his daughter. The table fell silent. Lexie’s hands went to her mouth as her eyes widened in horror. Faran crouched before her chair, his heart hammering, praying she hadn’t swallowed. Sweat rolled down the small of his back. He was going to tear Prince Leo into tiny shreds.

  But his first concern was Lexie. Grabbing one of the thick linen napkins, he pressed it into her hand. Her skin had gone clammy, her eyes moist with tears. He kept his voice calm even though he wanted to bellow his rage. “Spit it out. Now.”

  “What is this nonsense?” demanded King Targon.

  A small noise came from the princess as one hand went to her throat. “What do you mean it’s poisoned?”

  Horror crawled up Faran’s limbs as he took a second look. Amelie’s portion was half-eaten.

  Chapter 13

  Faran stormed into the infirmary. This part of the palace was small, but tonight it seemed a nightmarish labyrinth of corridors and identical doors. He’d been separated from Lexie. The medics had brought her here with Amelie and the other poisoned diners while Faran had helped to secure the banquet hall. With so many guests, that had taken a while but they’d been thorough. If the poisoner was in the crowd, he wasn’t getting away—but that was Captain Valois’s concern now. Faran needed to be there for Lexie.

  He barely kept his pace to a walk. As a wolf, he could have covered the distance in seconds, but for now he had to play the human. Distracted, he dodged around a nurse pushing a medical cart and nearly ran into someone in a lab coat. He wheeled around, muttering an apology. Get yourself under control.

  Faran banged through a set of double doors and skidded to a stop. The full force of the disaster at the banquet flooded home at a glance. Not everyone’s ceviche had been poisoned, but there had been enough to cause chaos. Gurneys jammed the hall, each with a patient in evening finery and many with a friend or partner waiting helplessly by. The infirmary had been set up for a handful of patients at a time. There were too many sick and not enough beds—and even fewer answers.

  Now that Faran was forced to be still and take stock, he could smell sickness—the putrid, acid stink of sweat and stomachs gone wrong. The animal part of him sensed death waiting for a crack to steal through. His own heart thudding, he examined the faces of the patients one by one, looking for Lexie.

  He found her sitting at one end of a padded bench, her back propped against the wall. A young woman barely out of her teens lay with her head in Lexie’s lap. The girl’s skin was waxy and pale. Lexie didn’t look much better, but she was stroking the girl’s fair hair, the way a mother would comfort a child.

  Faran froze, a complicated mix of anger and yearning closing around his heart. He was at her side in an instant. “Lexie!”

  The look on her face was pure relief. His chest easing a little, he went to one knee beside the bench, needing to be close to her. “How are you?”

  “Better than the others.” Lexie sat up straighter, her brave exterior firmly in place. “Two more doctors have arrived, but it’s slow going. So many people got sick.”

  Faran didn’t like the pallor that dulled her features. “Has a doctor seen you yet?” he asked, touching her face. He’d half expected a fever, but she felt unusually cool. He pressed her hand, but it was no better.

  “No,” Lexie replied.

  The girl on the bench stirred and made a faint gasp as if she was in pain. Lexie looked up, her eyes fearful. “Can you find someone to look at her? She’s not doing so well.”

  “I’m on it.” Faran was back on his feet and searching the crowds in an instant. He didn’t want just any white coat, but the man in charge. According to the nameplate on the door marked Head Physician that was Dr. Lemieux. He began pushing his way down the hall, reading the badges the staff wore pinned to their lab coats.

  Dr. Lemieux was noting something on a clipboard when Faran cornered him. He was small and grizzled, with a receding chin and dark, penetrating gaze.

  Faran cut to the chase. “There’s a girl over there who’s getting worse.”

  “Young man,” said Lemieux testily, handing the clipboard to a nurse. “Look about you. Unless you are the princess with her private physician, everyone must wait their turn and, sadly, everyone is getting worse.”

  Frustration slammed through Faran. He wanted the Company, with its labs and experts and his vampire friend, Mark, who knew more about medicine than anyone could learn in a mortal lifetime. But rumors were already blaming the Company for the poisoning, saying it was an act of revenge for their dismissal. The most Faran could do was send them a sample, but there wasn’t enough time for that. He had to work with the tools at hand.

  Faran slid a hand around the doctor’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “I will not be—”

  “You will.” Faran marched him through the infirmary, taking advantage of his more-than-human strength. “I sincerely apologize, Doctor, but you’re needed over here.”

  The doctor began spluttering.

  Faran cut him off. “I’m sorry, but self-control is for people with more time. I don’t have any.”

  “I will not be bullied!” spat the doctor.

  “Have you identified the poison?”

  “No, and it was food poisoning.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I can tell the difference.”

  Lemieux stopped struggling and began to walk under his own power. “You’re the one who smelled it?”

  “I have a keen nose.”

  The doctor’s gaze traveled over Faran’s face with new interest. His manner grew speculative. “Are you certain? Shellfish can be tricky, and the distribution of diners who fell ill seems to be random.”

  That was hard to answer without revealing too much. The doctor was doing a little investigating of his own. “I know the difference between rot and something else,” Faran replied, “just like I’m pretty sure you already know that based on symptomology. Random victims are a good way of hiding the real target.” He didn’t bother to add that the royal couple was almost certainly the mark.

  Lemieux nodded, giving him the point. “The palace has a history of se
curity staff with exceptional talents.”

  Faran wasn’t stepping into that one, either. “What’s the poison, Doctor?”

  “I can’t release information to unauthorized persons.”

  “Rules don’t mean much if all your patients are dead.”

  Lemieux gave in. “I don’t know the answer. The toxin is an unstable compound and the acid in the food is complicating its identification. In turn, that makes it hard to find an effective antidote.”

  They’d reached Lexie. She was leaning against the wall, looking more drawn than she had even a few minutes ago. She hadn’t ingested as much of the poison, but she was still feeling the effects. She gave Faran a tired smile, but she didn’t speak.

  While the doctor examined the girl, Faran bent over Lexie, kissing her temple. A primitive need made him long to take her away to someplace safe, but there was no better help anywhere nearby. This wasn’t something strength and speed could help.

  Dr. Lemieux straightened, releasing a worried breath. The young girl’s lips were bluish.

  Anxiety made Faran’s voice sharp. “What do you need done, Dr. Lemieux?”

  The physician’s face grew pinched. “It’s up to the doctors now, young man.”

  That wasn’t good enough. Faran stepped close to Lemieux and dropped his voice low so that only the doctor could hear. “That is Lexie Haven. She’s mine. There’s nothing I won’t do for her.”

  “You have the exceptional nose.” The doctor folded his arms. “Identifying the poison would be far less difficult and faster if we had a pure sample uncontaminated by food. Can you find it for me?”

  Faran’s stomach dropped. Even if the poison was in a bottle marked with skull and crossbones, he would need to search the entire palace. It was looking for a needle in a rambling haystack. But one look at Lexie’s pale face—at all the faces in the infirmary—confirmed that he had to try.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  * * *

  Faran started with the scene of the crime, telling himself at least he knew his way around food. The servers and guests had been herded off to the same rooms where Lexie and Maurice had been questioned. He was hoping the banquet room would be quiet.