The Wolf Princess: The Wolf PrincessOne Eye Open (The Pack)

by Karen Whiddon

  Brenna sighed. “You know, planning is all well and good.” Fighting back the need-to-change-fueled energy, she clenched the edge of the table and leaned forward. “But we can make a plan in a few minutes. Why don’t we go out to the Hell Hole now, instead of this bar? I don’t understand why we can’t simply show up and force a meeting.”

  “You are crazy,” he said, no humor in his deep voice. “That place is probably protected better than Fort Knox. They’d shoot you before they’d let you get within fifty feet of them.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “I don’t want to be such an easy target.” He spread his hands on the table. “With such an important drug buy about to happen, tension is pretty high. Anything could set off violence. Their old enemy showing up on their doorstep would rank pretty high on their list of triggers.”

  She sighed. He was right, but she had one advantage that he didn’t know about. She could change.

  “Then let me go alone. They don’t know me. They have no reason to mistrust me.”

  “You don’t know what kind of people you’re dealing with.”

  “No.” She swallowed. “Nor do I much care. All I want is to talk to my brother.”

  “Even if doing so could endanger his life?”

  Chapter 8

  That stopped her cold. “What do you mean?”

  “If Alex is still undercover and you reveal you’re his sister, what happens then, with his cover blown? Do you want to give them ammunition to use against him?”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “Do you think he is? Still undercover?”

  “Of course.” But the bitter twist of Carson’s mouth told her he didn’t really believe it. “Anything’s possible.”

  She sighed. “I want to help Alex, not hurt him.”

  “Then we stick with my original plan. We need to bring him to us, not the other way around. That allows him to choose the time and the place when things are safest for him.”

  She nodded reluctantly. What he said made sense, damn it. If she were a mere human woman. While he had a point—no sense in endangering her brother—Carson had no idea what she could do. If she could get close enough to the Hell Hole, she could signal her brother. He could change and meet her in the forest. As wolves, they would blend into the shadows. No one would see; no one would know.

  Decision made, she took another bite of the tasty liver. She would pretend to agree with Carson’s plan, wait until he slept, then sneak out under the cover of darkness. Alone.

  Glancing up to find Carson watching her, she forced a smile. “Did your informant—Jack—tell you anything else?”

  “No.” He polished off a few more of the greasy onions. “Same old stuff.”

  “Then why’d you pay him? If his information wasn’t useful, couldn’t you get your money back?”

  He laughed. “There are no ‘satisfaction guaranteed’ deals in this kind of thing. And he’s my link with Hades’ Claws, because he knows a couple of them. I want to keep him talking.”

  Confused, she shrugged. “I don’t see what else he could possibly tell you.”

  “You’d be surprised. Sometimes the most interesting information comes out when you think there’s nothing left to learn. Excuse me.” Signaling the waitress, he smiled pleasantly. “I’d like a to-go box, please. And the check.”

  At Brenna’s questioning look, he pointed to her plate. “For Phelan,” he said. “I saved some, too.”

  So he had. Between his leftovers and hers, the puppy should have enough to eat. Still, it was surprising—and touching—that Carson had cared enough to remember. He’d seemed so determined to keep even the affectionate dog at a distance. She still planned to pick up a bag of bona fide puppy food later, but decided to keep that fact to herself for now.

  After he paid the check, they headed into the now-dark night. The parking lot wasn’t well lit, and Carson winced when they rounded the corner and he saw his battered, black Tahoe.

  “What a beater,” he said, shaking his head. “That SUV is only three years old. It was in such great shape before all this.”

  Staring at his vehicle, Brenna couldn’t manage a laugh. With every minute, every hour, her sense of urgency increased. She needed to talk to Alex. Not tomorrow, not in a few days, but now.

  But how would she ever find the compound if Carson didn’t show her the location? She decided to make one more attempt to convince him of the need to act immediately.

  “No one will know if we drive out to the compound. I just want to see where it is. It’s dark, and we don’t have to stop.”

  He didn’t even look at her. “Tomorrow,” he said.

  Fine. She’d tried. Now she had to figure out a way to make him tell her what he knew. Once she had the location of the hideout, she would wait until Carson was asleep and go out there herself. This would give her a much-needed opportunity to change, as well—a wolf could lope through the forest much faster than a human.

  Phelan smelled the leftover liver the second they walked in the door. Wagging his tail, he began to drool. Brenna emptied the pungent bag on the bathroom floor, letting the eager puppy gobble his fill.

  “Hey.” Carson put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. We’ll drive out to the Hell Hole tomorrow, in broad daylight. Hiding nothing. Though we won’t—” he shot her a warning look “—go in. I want Alex to feel sufficiently threatened so he’ll arrange a private meeting, but not enough to make some crazy person start taking potshots at us.”

  “Broad daylight?” She echoed his words. “Since they’re trying to kill you, do you think that’s wise?”

  Letting his hand fall, he shrugged. “We need to check the place out thoroughly. We can’t if it’s dark. We’ll just have to be careful.”

  Brenna nodded. “I hope you’re right,” she murmured. “How far away is this place?”

  “About five miles north.”

  Five miles. A long way for a human to walk. Not so far for a long-limbed wolf. Still, she needed more specific directions. She couldn’t go wandering around town after she’d changed.

  “How far are we from the Vermont border?”

  This time her question earned a hard look. “Why do you want to know? Planning on seeing if you can make it to Canada?”

  Though the Canadian wilderness was home to many of the Pack, fleeing had never entered her mind. “Not without Alex.”

  They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking. She felt like a lone wolf unexpectedly meeting a larger wolf in the forest. Finally Carson looked away, a muscle working in his cheek.

  “How long will it take you to get ready?”

  Perplexed, she looked at him.

  “To go check out the bar.” He glanced at his watch, silver gleaming against his tanned skin. “It’s nine-thirty.”

  The biker bar. She’d forgotten about that. With a sigh, she smoothed her hands over the front of her faded jeans. “I’m ready now. I don’t have any other clothes. Besides, jeans and boots seem to fit in well in bars.”

  “Where’s your vest?”

  “Vest?”

  “The black leather one you wore in the bar where you met me.” With a wicked smile that came and went too quickly, he crossed to the door. “It looks good on you. If you can find it, put it on.”

  Was that a teasing note in his voice? Had pigs learned to fly?

  “Was that a compliment?”

  He shrugged.

  After locating the vest where she’d tossed it on a chair, she slipped it over her arms. “I need to let Phelan out first.”

  “I’ll do it.” The quickness of his gruff response brought an involuntary smile to her face.

  “He’d like that,” she said.

  “I’m only taking him so you’ll stay in here.” With a grimace, he looked at Phelan. “Come here.”

  The puppy didn’t move. Cocking his head, he looked up at Brenna, then at Carson.

  “He’s confused. You sound too angry.”

  “I’m
not.” Carson snapped his fingers and whistled. “Let’s go.” He reached for the door. “Outside.”

  Starting forward, again Phelan hesitated, studying Carson with his head cocked.

  “Go,” Brenna ordered softly. “Be a good dog.”

  Tail held high, the puppy trotted over to Carson, sitting at his feet and gazing up at him.

  “How old do you think he is?” Carson regarded both Brenna and Phelan with a frown.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Pretty young, I’d guess. Close to a year maybe.”

  He shook his head. “You stay inside.” Opening the door, he stepped out, Phelan trotting at his heels.

  For about ten seconds she resisted the urge to peek out the window at them. Then she gave in and looked. When she did, she watched Phelan romping in the shadowy field next to the parking lot. He found a stick and ran to Carson. Carson hesitated. Phelan jumped, stick still between his teeth, and pawed at Carson’s jeans. Finally Carson crouched low, ruffled the puppy’s fur and then tossed the piece of wood. The two played this game for a few moments before they started back toward the room.

  Hurriedly, she let the curtain fall. With a peculiar ache in her chest, she went into the bathroom to study herself in the small mirror.

  “Not good, Bren,” she muttered. With her hair curling around her shoulders in an untamed riot, she looked like a wild woman. Biker mama, hoochie-coochie. Not at all like the prim-and-proper librarian the people of her hometown knew. Even her own brother might not recognize her, with her tight jeans and leather vest. With a touch of bright-colored lipstick she could easily pass for a biker groupie, hunting in a biker bar for a man to take home for the night.

  She looked, she thought with a sigh, exactly as she needed to look. But part of her wondered if the vixen she saw in the mirror was the way Carson saw her.

  Though she didn’t like Carson’s plan, she was glad he’d decided to go to the bar. Action was always better than inaction, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t have much patience for waiting. Unless she was on a hunt, which meant perpetual motion, no matter how stealthy and slow, she felt restless and unfocused. Which also might help explain her unwarranted fascination with Carson himself.

  The front door opened, and Phelan bounded inside.

  “Ready?” Carson glanced at her. A slow smile spread over his rugged face. “I’ll be damned.”

  “What?”

  “You look…different.” He cocked his head. “Not sure how you did it. Maybe it’s the hair.”

  She lifted her chin. “Or the vest. Do you think I look biker-mama enough?”

  His smile faded. The appreciative glow in his dark eyes vanished. His bleak, determined expression returned.

  “Yep.” He sounded gruff, cold. The original Carson was back.

  Slowly she studied him, hating the ache behind her throat, the tightness in her chest. She’d always had a compulsion to heal wounded creatures. She had to remember he wasn’t an animal—not like her. He hadn’t asked her to heal him, wouldn’t even welcome her interference in the tight-fisted grip he had on his own suffering.

  “Let’s go.” As he reached for the doorknob, they both heard the door from the next room squeak open.

  Carson froze, then held up his hand. Silent, they listened.

  Speaking in low voices, several men walked outside.

  Brenna could only make out a few words, including Hades’ Claws. With her overdeveloped sense of smell, she detected that they all wore too much aftershave, a spicy scent often worn by teenage boys.

  “Damn,” Carson swore in a whisper. “What the hell are they doing?”

  She wrinkled her nose in a grimace. “Do you think they’re getting ready to raid the Hell Hole?”

  He swore again. Tension radiated from him. “I hope not. That’d be stupid. They must be FBI—they sure as hell can’t be DEA.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the drug deal isn’t until Thursday. Unless it’s been changed, which I doubt. I would have heard about it if it had. They’d have to wait until then if they wanted to collect the evidence and all the players.”

  The men outside continued to argue, their voices low. She heard footsteps—a single man walking away, not the entire group. A car door slammed; an engine cranked. Still the small group stayed outside the door, continuing their discussion more quietly, even as the car sputtered off. Finally they went back inside, slamming the door behind them so hard the walls shook.

  “Gotta be FBI,” Carson repeated. His teeth gleamed white in the darkness. “At least if they see me, they won’t recognize me.”

  He stayed put, his wide-legged stance still blocking the way out.

  Brenna didn’t move, either. “What just happened?”

  Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, he snorted. “Who knows? Maybe one guy went out for pizza.”

  Or maybe that one guy had gone to case the Hell Hole under the cover of night. Like she still planned to do.

  Carson’s cell phone rang. Exchanging a glance with Brenna, he answered. The conversation was brief and monosyllabic, at least on Carson’s end.

  “Yes. No, sir. I won’t. In the city. Yes, sir. That’s great. Yes.”

  As he snapped the phone closed, he grimaced. “My boss. Says someone called him, thought they saw me. He wanted to make sure I was nowhere near here.”

  “Where’d you tell him you were?”

  “New York City.”

  “Do you think he believed you?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s given instructions to the guys on the team—if they see me, they’re to arrest me, no questions asked.”

  “That’s not good.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and yawned. “Does your neck hurt?”

  “Tension.”

  Exhaustion washed through her. The near-violent urge to change that had assaulted her in the coffee shop had passed for now, leaving fatigue in its place. She needed to rest before attempting to sneak out later. Turning her head, she glanced at the bedside clock, numerals glowing red. Ten o’clock.

  “Maybe going to the bar right now isn’t a good idea. I’m tired, and you look worn-out, too. Let’s get some sleep.” She spoke before he could, muffling another yawn with her hand.

  “I’m not hiding. There’s just one more group of people we have to watch out for, that’s all. Let’s go.” His gaze bore into hers. His sharp tone indicated he thought she’d lost her mind.

  She suppressed a smile. “Leaving right now is a bad idea, with those guys so close. We can check out the bar tomorrow, after we go to the Hell Hole.”

  He stayed where he was, though he made sure the door was closed, sliding the dead bolt into place. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

  “But you said they’re FBI and won’t recognize you, so why are you so worried? Or do you think there’s some kind of bulletin out on you, too?”

  “Bulletin?”

  “You know—” she kept her voice casual “—like the fake one you showed me on Alex.”

  As she’d expected, he answered instantly. “It wasn’t fake.” Frustration showed in his clipped tone. “What is it going to take to convince you?”

  Hands on her hips, she faced him. “How easy would it be to forge one of those things?”

  He crossed his arms. “Give me a break.”

  “I want to know.”

  “Why would anyone want to forge an FBI data- sheet?”

  This time she waited for the implication to sink in.

  When it did, Carson only shook his head. “The datasheet was real. Don’t lie to yourself,” he said gently. “It’ll only hurt more in the end if you do.”

  Her heart sank. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Suit yourself.” Though he sounded as though he still intended to hit the bar, he made no move to leave. He watched her while she prepared her bed, pulling down the discolored bedspread and brushing off the sheets. She padded over to the bathroom, chin held high, and closed the door.

/>   After she emerged, Carson sat on the edge of the bed opposite hers, head down, hand pressed against his temples. He’d pulled off his boots and placed them neatly underneath the table by the window.

  “Look, I—”

  “This is not a game,” he said, interrupting her. “You need to understand that. You could be killed.”

  “So could you.”

  “Yeah, I could.” He lifted his head to look at her and the bleakness in his dark eyes nearly made her cry out. “But the difference is, I don’t care.”

  “I care.” The words slipped out, words she’d had no intention of saying—ever. Mortified, she swallowed hard.

  “Don’t.” His one-word response said it all. She should have thanked him for reminding her of the chasm between them. He didn’t want or need her pity or her friendship. She ought to be grateful that she couldn’t give him love.

  Love? Was she so foolish as to let herself care for such a wounded man? And a human, at that. Horrified, Brenna thought of her former fiancé, Jeff, and his reaction when he learned she could change. Finding out about her had cost Jeff his life.

  She climbed into bed, hating the heat she felt in her cheeks. She’d nearly hung herself out to dry, telling him she actually cared.

  Meanwhile Carson’s one-word warning hung in the stuffy air between them.

  She closed her eyes. She couldn’t think straight, not with the ever-present desire to change simmering faster in her blood again. If she got a brief nap, she would awaken in a few hours refreshed and ready to go. To think, to decide. To change.

  Carson clicked out the light, plunging the room into welcome darkness. The faint but pungent scent of their dinner hung in the air.

  “I can’t protect you, you know,” he said finally, his acrid certainty final.

  “Protect me?” She sat up. “How many times do I have to tell you? I can take care of myself.”

  He made a sound, the strangled sound of a wild animal in pain. She nearly went to him. Only by holding on to his warning was she able to keep herself immobile.

  “Get some sleep.” She rolled onto her side in an attempt to do the same. The room felt unbearably hot, and finally she struggled out of her jeans and sweatshirt, covering herself with only the sheet.