Billionaire Wolf (The Pack 17) (Nocturne)

by Karen Whiddon

  Beyond that, she felt a profound sense of relief that all the particulars had been handled by Kathleen and Timothy. Instead of stressing over the wedding, she could focus on what was important—her love for her husband-to-be.

  On the private jet out of Austin—Private. Jet. Maria couldn’t believe it—Ryan broke out a bottle of expensive champagne for the women, leaving them to go have a word with his pilot. Kathleen sidled over to her, holding a delicate flute. “Timothy did ask me what we’d set up in Galveston,” she said. “He’s promised to try and keep things as close to that as he can.”

  Running her finger down the rosewood armrest, Maria nodded. “At this point, all that I care about is actually getting married. As long as I have my groom and my dress, I’m good to go.”

  Kathleen nodded, taking a sip of her champagne. “What are you going to do with the wedding chapel after you’re married? Are you planning on selling it?”

  “No, of course not.” Horrified that Kathleen would even think such a thing, Maria reached for her own champagne flute. “That’s why I promoted you and gave you a raise. I want you to run it for me. And if the hurricane takes it out, we’ll just rebuild. That business was a dream of mine. I’m not about to let it go just because I’m getting married.”

  “To one of the richest men in the world,” Kathleen added, her voice wistful as she glanced up at the door to the cockpit where Ryan stood, his back to them as he talked to the pilot.

  “And the handsomest, too,” Rhonda chimed in, raising her glass in a salute.

  “He’s just Ryan to me.” Maria touched her glass to Rhonda’s and then Kathleen’s. “I’d love him even if he were an unemployed beach bum.”

  Rhonda sniffed, swiping at her eyes with her cocktail napkin. “I know. That’s what makes it so perfect.”

  After they arrived in Seattle, where it was actually sunny and warm, contrary to what Maria expected, two limousines waited to whisk them away, Kathleen and Rhonda to their hotel, and Ryan and Maria to the ferry, for the trip out to Bainbridge Island.

  “I think I should stay with Rhonda,” Maria said, panicking a teeny bit for the first time since they’d left Galveston. “You know what they say about the groom seeing the bride right before the wedding.”

  “I’d rather you come with me.” Ryan kept hold of her arm. “I don’t want to take a chance that, for whatever reason, you don’t make it to Bainbridge tomorrow for the wedding. I promise, you can stay locked in your room, or I can stay in mine, and that way you don’t have to worry about me seeing you.”

  Exhausted, she nodded. “They both need to be there in the morning. I need their help to get ready.”

  “They will be,” Ryan promised.

  Waving goodbye to the other women, she let Ryan help her into the limo. She dug her phone out of her purse and she checked to see if there were any stories about the hurricane online.

  “It’s still a ways out yet,” Ryan said softly, his breath tickling her ear. “Notice they’re now predicting it will veer south. Hopefully, when it does make landfall, it won’t be anywhere near Galveston.”

  She nodded, leaning into his strong chest, her fears and tension melting away.

  “I promise you we’ll have a beautiful wedding,” he continued. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have it in Galveston, but—”

  She kissed him, cutting off his words. When they finally came up for air, aroused and giddy, she smiled. “None of that matters, my love, as long as you are there with me.”

  Though doing so was more difficult than she would ever have anticipated, she and Ryan spent the night apart. Despite her exhaustion, she slept fitfully, throwing back her sheets and getting out of bed as soon as the sky began to lighten. Her wedding day! A day she’d dreamed of since she’d been a little girl.

  Hurrying to the bathroom, dizziness made her grab the edge of the counter to keep from falling. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Too-bright eyes, flushed complexion...more than just the ever-present fatigue she’d been noticing. Great. She groaned. All she needed was to be getting sick. “Not today,” she said out loud, determined to will this away.

  She took another step, and a second wave of dizziness hit. As she struggled to recover from this, her eyes widened in horror and she rushed toward the commode, barely lifting the lid in time before the entire contents of her stomach came back up.

  Gross. Since she’d been a toddler, she’d done everything and anything to keep from throwing up. The fact that this had happened so rapidly, and the way she’d had absolutely no control over it, frightened and appalled her.

  This, too, shall pass. A hurricane hadn’t been able to stop her wedding. A little queasiness in the morning wouldn’t, either.

  Rinsing out her mouth, she brushed her teeth. Mouthwash helped, though even the minty taste made her feel queasy again.

  And then it dawned on her. Could this be morning sickness? Could it be possible that she might be pregnant?

  Closing her eyes, she thought of all the times she and Ryan had made love. She didn’t use birth control; she’d never had a need. And though in the beginning Ryan had used protection, there’d been a few occurrences of impetuous passion, and he hadn’t.

  If she’d ever needed proof he loved her—which she didn’t—getting pregnant would confirm it without a doubt.

  To her stunned disbelief, her eyes filled with tears. Tears? And then she decided. Even though she never, ever cried, this time she’d make an exception. Letting them flow, she allowed herself to become a blubbering mess, because this time the tears were from joy rather than sorrow.

  Finally, she blew her nose and dashed at her eyes with tissue. She looked a fright, but she knew time and makeup would take care of that.

  A baby! She and Ryan were going to have a baby! She’d fulfilled her destiny, after all. Now all she had to do was make it through the wedding. She’d tell Ryan and Javier later.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the shower, determined to hang in there until the queasiness faded. She’d call Timothy and have him bring up some fruit and crackers. Maybe some ginger ale, if they had it.

  The light repast did the trick. Wearing a white robe, Maria smiled and nodded as a hairdresser tried to tame her wild black hair into some sort of updo. Rhonda and Kathleen would be there soon to help her with her makeup.

  A soft tap on her door made the hairdresser freeze.

  “Go ahead and see who it is,” Maria directed. “If it’s the groom, send him away. If it’s my maid of honor and my friend, let them in.”

  “It’s not either,” a familiar voice said. Micah. “I need a moment with you. May I come in?”

  “Sure.” When he stepped into the room, wearing a fitted gray suit, she almost didn’t recognize him. He’d even trimmed his white beard, which made him look even more distinguished and dapper.

  “I just need a moment of privacy,” he continued.

  The hairdresser took the hint. “I’m going to take a five-minute break. I’ll be back.”

  Micah waited until she’d left before he cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about my prediction.”

  “No.” Maria held up her hand. “This is my wedding day. I refuse to allow you ruin it. I’m sorry you don’t feel Ryan and I belong together, but we do. We’re getting married, whether you like it or not.”

  He nodded, covering his mouth to hide a slight smile. “I was wrong,” he said. “I never saw any vision or prophecy about the two of you. I told you that in a moment of peevishness, after you bested me. I wanted to let you know I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Blinking, she stared at him. “Do you have any idea how much damage you almost caused?”

  “Did I really?” When she opened her mouth, he held up his hand. “Sometimes we work harder for things we consider forbidden.”

  Narrow-eyed she considered his words. “Maybe so,” she allowed. Finally, she realized that this, too, she needed to let go. “Either way, I forgive you. I don’t want anything to cloud this
day.”

  His gaze dropped to her belly, as if he already knew the spark of new life resided there. She held her breath, praying he didn’t ask. No matter what, she knew she had to tell Ryan first.

  To her relief, Micah dipped his chin. “Thank you,” he said. “I wish you many blessings and much happiness.”

  And he left the room.

  Staring after him, Maria wondered at the weight she felt lift off her shoulders. She hadn’t even been aware of it, but Micah’s prophecy had sat festering in her mind ever since he’d told her.

  Now, with that gone, she had nothing to cloud her happiness.

  Three hours later, hair and makeup done, Rhonda helped her into her dress. Eating had done wonders to settle her stomach, and she vowed to focus on her wedding and Ryan on this most special of all days. There’d be plenty of opportunities later to run out and buy a pregnancy test.

  “It’s time,” Kathleen said softly. “Oh, and Ryan said to tell you another friend of yours—Tracey Beauchamp—was well enough to attend, as well. He thought you might like to know.”

  Smiling, Maria thanked her. “I’m so glad. She’s been in the hospital. I know Ryan’s friend Colton is very interested in her. I hope Timothy seated them near each other.”

  Rhonda peeked out around the curtains. “I can’t tell. For a small and intimate wedding, there sure are a lot of people.”

  When Timothy had told Maria the wedding would be outside near the waterfront, she’d been thrilled. It helped knowing that if she couldn’t get married in Galveston, she’d still be near the sea. Before going to bed, she’d watched the news and had been elated to see the hurricane had not only been downgraded to a Category 3, but it had come ashore south of Galveston, in an unpopulated area where it had done little harm.

  Part of her had wanted to rush back home and have her wedding there. But Timothy had worked his behind off, and guests had begun arriving the day before. She’d be married in Washington State. The location didn’t matter. The man—and possible baby—did.

  A soft knock sounded on her door. Kathleen opened it to let Javier in. “Are you ready?” he asked, his gaze searching his daughter’s face. “You look ready. You’re actually glowing.”

  Smiling up at him, Maria nodded. “Thank you. And, yes, I am ready.” She took his arm and let him lead her down the long hallway, toward a door leading to the outside.

  Rhonda and Kathleen hurried on ahead, to take their places as part of the wedding party, while Maria and her father hesitated, waiting for the music to start and cue them.

  And here it was.

  The instant they stepped through the door, Maria smiled with joy. Everything, from the bright blue, cloudless sky—which she’d heard was something of a rarity in this area—to the calm, mysterious ocean, glinting in the sun, was perfect.

  Tiny white lights adorned the trees, winking magically so the shaded areas turned into a wonderland. There were flowers—oh, the flowers—tulips and daisies and carnations and more. So many she wondered if Ryan had bought out a flower shop.

  Chairs had been set up facing the water, with a beautiful wooden pavilion at the end. The hushed guests all turned to watch her as she approached, their faces lit up with awe.

  Music continued to play softly while wind chimes gently tinkled in the breeze as she made her way up the stone pathway to where her groom waited, devilishly handsome in his cream-colored suit. Tall and confident, his dark hair glinting in the sun, his craggy features full of love as he watched her move closer.

  She was his. And he...he was all hers. Now they would make it official.

  Her heart was hammering in her chest as she approached, but her nervousness vanished when her gaze met Ryan’s. He smiled, his eyes glowing, alight with happiness.

  Feeling as if she floated toward him in a dream, she took her place across from the man she loved, waiting impatiently while the preacher said the vows.

  “I do,” she responded, when her time to do so came.

  “I do,” Ryan said, his fierce gaze never leaving her face.

  “I now pronounce you, Ryan Howard and Maria Miranda, husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

  So he did. Or she kissed him. Years later, when they told the story of their wedding to their beautiful daughter, born exactly eight months and three weeks from that day, each would say with a grin that they’d been the one to initiate this kiss. And then they’d laugh and kiss each other again.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from TAMING THE SHIFTER by Lisa Childs.

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  Taming the Shifter

  by Lisa Childs

  Prologue

  The sweet, metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, and chimes rang out from the clock tower in the town square. Warrick James didn’t need to know what time it was. He was already too late. He was always too late.

  He pushed open the door and stepped into his father’s den. He had known what he would find; he’d been warned. But still the scene struck him like a body blow.

  His father lay back in his chair, blood gushed from a hole blown in his chest. Even with the bullet—that special bullet—in it, his heart continued to pump.

  And his father’s eyes stared—not up at the man who had taken his life. But at the man who had failed to save him. Warrick was used to the disappointment in his father’s pale brown gaze. For thirty years, he had seen it every time the man had looked at him.

  The chimes continued to ring out. Was that the eighth or the ninth? Just a few more chimes before midnight arrived...

  Warrick reeled; his heart feeling as if a shot had been fired into it, as well. Maybe a bullet would pierce it next. Reagan—the man he’d known he would find standing over the body—held the gun yet, his finger against the trigger. And the barrel of that gun was pointed at Warrick.

  “What kind of monster are you?” Warrick asked even as he felt his own body beginning to turn from man to beast. “How could you do this?”

  “You don’t understand,” Reagan replied. “Let me explain...”

  Warrick shook his head. He was beyond listening. He didn’t even care that that gun—loaded with those special bullets—was pointed directly at his heart. Just as the clock chimed for the twelfth time, he launched himself at his father’s killer.

  * * *

  Detective Kate Wever intimately knew the city she protected. Before being promoted to the major case squad, she had patrolled these streets. She knew the metropolis of Zantrax, Michigan, as well as she knew herself. As she knew her friends...

  Or so she’d once believed. Now she wasn’t certain what, or who, to believe. Except for Bernie...

  She knew not to believe the vagrant. Yet she followed him into the dead-end alley between some of the tallest buildings in the city. The sun hadn’t set, but it was dark in the alley. The air hung still and putrid above the asphalt.

  Kate, following too close to Bernie, held her breath—unwilling to breathe for fear of gagging. The man should have gone to the shelter instead of the police station. He could have used a shower. And probably a meal. Or at least some coffee. She held out a cup to him and pulled a sandwich from her pocket. “Here,” she said. “You need to eat.”

  He needed to sober up. The stench wasn’t just because he hadn’t showered for weeks—maybe months. He also smelled strongly of alcohol. Or of strong alcohol...

  She hadn
’t brought enough coffee. He reached for it, his hand shaking. The cover came off and the hot liquid spilled over the rim and splashed onto the front of his long trench coat. “Bernie, are you all right?”

  His gray-haired head jerked up and down in quick, nervous nods. His dark eyes were wild. With fear or drunkenness?

  “It’s this place,” he said with a shudder of revulsion.

  “We didn’t have to come here.” She wasn’t sure why he had insisted on her following him from the station to the alley. With no sun between the buildings, the air wasn’t just still—it was cold.

  She shivered. But not just from the cold.

  One of those buildings had a bar in its basement—Club Underground. A bar where strange things happened...like Bernie had claimed happened here. Too bad her friend owned the place...

  “This was my home first,” he said, gesturing toward a Dumpster shoved against one of the buildings. “Then all of them started coming around—making trouble.”

  “All of them?” she asked. “Who are you talking about?”

  “What,” he corrected her, the word sharp. “They’re not human. They can fly.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. And exactly how much had he had to drink?

  “Those things,” he said. “I’ve seen ’em fly out of the alley—straight up in the night sky like big, human-looking bats.”

  He had definitely gotten into some strong alcohol, but his words weren’t slurred. So maybe he’d just been drinking so long that the alcohol had damaged his brain. Over her years on the streets, she had seen a lot of vagrants develop alcohol dementia. She wouldn’t be able to reason with him; he was probably beyond that.

  So she simply asked, “What do you want me to do about them, Bernie? Flying isn’t a crime.”

  “They’re killers,” he said. “They kill humans and each other. If you’re not careful, Detective Wever, they might kill you.”

  Kate smiled and opened her mouth to assure him that she would be fine. But the alley suddenly grew darker and colder. Along with a chill, a sense of foreboding rushed through her, and for a moment she believed Bernie. There was something out there—something not quite human—and it was coming.