by Terry Spear
“Copper coat? That should be easy to spot.” Darien hoped they might finally have a lead.
“I haven’t seen the guy again since the incident out back. And I don’t recall having seen him before.” She sighed.
“You figure Larissa knew him?” Darien asked.
“Yeah. I was repotting some flowers in the shed out back and heard her squeal. I peeked out the window and saw him draw close to her, and then heard them exchanging angry words. So I assumed they knew each other.”
“A red from her pack.”
“That’s what I figured. You know, this girl’s as sweet as her sister, but a mite more…” Mrs. Hastings smiled. “Spirited. More of a tigress at heart. Be careful of this one. She may look like her sister, but she’s not the same. Danger seems to follow her.”
If that wasn’t the understatement of the day. “Did Trevor search her room?”
“No. He talked to one of the twin girls staying here, but that was all. I asked if he wanted to search Lelandi’s sister’s room, but he said he had more important things to do, and he’d return later. He hasn’t come back and that was a couple of hours ago.”
Uncle Sheridan swore under his breath. Darien was going to tell his uncle to find out what Trevor’s problem was, but the stormy look on his uncle’s face told him he didn’t have to.
“If you remember anything more, let us know.”
“Sure thing.” She poured water into a pitcher. “She’s not leaving right away, is she?”
“Not until she’s well enough to travel.”
“Good.” She gave him a sugary smile and went back to watering her plants.
Darien and his uncle headed down the hall.
“So what do you think?” Uncle Sheridan asked.
“Pack member for sure giving her a hard time for entering another pack’s area without permission and getting herself into trouble. Maybe boyfriend. Doubt it’s the brother she mentioned because if he was and suspected Lelandi had been murdered, he would have come instead of Larissa.”
“Unless he is her brother and doesn’t believe Lelandi was murdered.”
Darien shook his head. “She indicated she didn’t know where he was.” The way she seemed so tearful, he believed her. “I bet the patch of fur we found in the woods was this guy’s. He’s probably hanging around near the hospital, somewhere out of sight.”
Darien stuck the key in the door lock, but a window slid open inside. “Someone’s inside.” He unlocked the door, but something blocked it, and his blood instantly heated. “Around back.”
They raced through the hallway and Mrs. Hastings scrambled out of the way, spilling the pitcher of water. Darien and his uncle dashed into the kitchen and banged the back door open. No sign of any intruder, but footprints had been left in the manicured lawn shaded by firs that edged the forest. They dashed to the back side of Larissa’s room. The window was now locked and curtains pulled closed so they couldn’t see a thing.
Uncle Sheridan grabbed a flowerpot and broke the glass with a loud crash, sending dirt, golden mums, and bits of clay pottery flying.
Mrs. Hastings would have a fit.
They cleared away enough of the glass, climbed through the window, and found the place neat as if the maid had just cleaned up, except for the dresser shoved against the door blocking it, and the mess his uncle had made.
Darien shook his head, figuring the intruder had come for the same piece of evidence he was looking for. He and Sheridan searched the lace-covered canopy bed, underneath it, the dressers, and bedside tables, the closet and the small bathroom and found nothing. Not a toothbrush, comb, bag, article of clothing, or anything else.
Then a slight elevation of the mattress on the right side of the bed caught Darien’s eye. He strode over to the bed and yanked up the coverlet. The mattress rode high in one small spot. Shoving his hand between the mattress and box spring, he felt the grip of a pistol. His heart pounded harder. Pulling the 9mm out, he checked the safety, then removed the bullets and studied them.
“Silver,” Uncle Sheridan growled as he examined them more closely. “That’s grounds for throwing her in jail. Possessing a firearm with intent to kill a lupus garou. Hell, Darien, she’s a loose cannon.”
Darien tucked the gun in his belt and shoved the bullets in his pocket. “She’s not a threat any longer.”
Uncle Sheridan groused under his breath some more.
After moving the dresser out of the door’s path, they returned to the lobby to see Mrs. Hastings, her face ashen. She scooted a mop around on the wood floor, soaking up the water she’d spilled when he and his uncle nearly ran her over.
Darien handed her the key. “Someone was in the room and had blocked the door. We had to break the window. Just charge it to my account.”
Mrs. Hastings took the key and moved around the counter. “The poor little thing really isn’t safe.” She glanced at the gun tucked in Darien’s belt, and her eyes widened. “She was packing?”
“Was there anything else you can recall about her?” he asked, not wanting to get into it with his uncle over the gun again.
Mrs. Hastings pointed to the stairs winding up to a loft. “You might check up there. One of my teenaged guests told me a woman was reading a letter and crying. When I investigated, it was Lelandi’s sister. She must have wiped away her tears, and I didn’t see any letter.”
Uncle Sheridan hurried up the stairs to the loft.
“Do you remember anything else? Nothing was in her room to indicate she’d ever been there,” Darien said.
“Emma cleaned up the rooms after the guests left for the day. She didn’t mention anything.” Mrs. Hastings looked at the gun again.
Uncle Sheridan stomped down the stairs and rejoined them. “Nothing.”
As Darien suspected. The woman was as much a mystery as her sister. “Come on, Uncle Sheridan. Let’s talk to the little lady again.”
Tension filling every pore, Darien hovered over Larissa’s hospital bed while Uncle Sheridan stood nearby, his arms folded. Sorely vexed with Trevor, Uncle Sheridan still couldn’t locate him.
With her face cloaked in sleep, Larissa looked like a sweet, innocent angel. Yet in that petite body, the heart of a warrior beat.
When she groggily opened her eyes, Darien tried to keep a grip on his temper, but his voice verged on a low, menacing growl. “Where…is…the…damned…letter?”
His shock of white hair ruffled, Doc walked into Lelandi’s hospital room. “I ordered bed rest, not constant interrogation of the young lady.”
Darien gave him a disgruntled look. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the doctor was right—but when it came to sorting out this situation with Lelandi and her sister, he needed answers and now!
If Lelandi had possessed the strength to smile, she would have. The white-haired man looked like a taller, older version of her cherished uncle. Too bad he’d left the pack when she was little and become a rogue, too much of an alpha to put up with the leader, but not strong enough to take over. Yet, Doc looked like he could stand his ground, and had a compassionate side that made him lovable like her uncle.
His eyes were the same color—dark amber. He had a manly chin and large hands. The same cheerful expression. Except when he confronted Darien. The doctor stared him down. Who would win the confrontation this time?
“You’re the boss, but if you want to be the doctor, too, have at it. Otherwise, let the woman rest.”
“I need some answers,” Darien growled.
“Get them in the morning.” Doc stood firm, his hands on his hips.
Darien motioned for Silva to leave.
Silva cast him an annoyed look, walked over to the bed, and patted Lelandi’s hand. “I’ll see you in the morning, sugar. Don’t let the big bad wolves scare ya none.”
Lelandi tried to manage a smile, but her body seemed beyond her control.
“Talk to you tomorrow, Uncle Sheridan,” Darien said, dismissing him, too.
“Get with you if
I have any late-breaking news.” The sheriff inclined his head and gave the doctor a peeved look, then headed out of the room.
Darien took the seat where Silva had been sitting.
“Your brother’s sleeping soundly. Finally got Sam to shut up. Think from the way he talks he’d been fighting World War III single-handedly. But she’s been injured the worst of the bunch and needs to rest.”
Darien glowered at her. “I hear you, Doc. But I have to know what we’re up against.”
Lelandi was sure she smiled that time, and Darien caught the look. She couldn’t help it. Who’d ever think a gray could make the leader back down?
Darien crossed his arms and this time he gave her an evil smile back.
The doctor took a deep breath. “Peter’s got guard duty. Trevor will follow him.”
“Fine. Close the door on your way out, will you?”
The doctor nodded and retired from the room.
Darien glared at Lelandi, his brown eyes filled with fury.
She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. They burned, along with her skin, and the fever created an earth-shattering pounding in her head, like the time she went to a human rock concert—too much noise for a lupus garou’s sensitive hearing.
An hour later, she woke to rustling. Darien was searching through her purse. Lipstick, hairbrush, wallet loaded with cash, no credit cards, no driver’s license, no name. She could have told him that.
He caught her eye, dumped her purse on the table and frowned, but he didn’t question her. Man of his word. Good trait for a pack leader.
She must have drifted off to sleep again, because his low voice woke her when he spoke to the deputy in the hall. The smell of strong coffee reached her, then everything faded.
Until someone screamed, something crashed on the floor, and a slew of curses followed.
Lelandi’s eyes popped open. Holy crap! Shapeshifting in her delirious state, the IV jerked out and dangling over the floor, the blasted hospital gown in between her front legs, Lelandi lay on her side in her wolf form. She hoped whoever cleaned bedsheets were lupus garous, because if not, humans would wonder why a patient shed red fur.
Darien and Trevor rushed into the room, instantly looked at the mess Ritka made on the floor, and then at Lelandi, drowsy red wolf extraordinaire.
“Odin’s wounds, she’s a royal,” Darien said under his breath.
“Hell, Darien, if the word gets out, she’ll have a whole mess of suitors. But if she’s going to shapeshift without warning, she should be at the vet’s,” Trevor said.
Silva poked her head in.
“Get in and shut the door,” Darien barked.
She scurried in, closed the door, and smiled at Lelandi. “My, my. She’s a royal. Knocked that dye job right out. Told you so, boss.”
“Shapeshift back,” Darien commanded Lelandi.
Right. Just as soon as she had the strength. She yawned, stretched her legs, closed her eyes, and fell back to sleep.
When she managed to open her eyes again, she was in her human form, dressed in the hideous hospital gown, an IV stuck in her arm. Darien was sitting in the chair, his eyes glued to her as if he was waiting for the dawn to break, or maybe to ensure she didn’t shapeshift back.
He’d grill her about the letter again, although she wondered why he hadn’t found it concealed in her jacket yet. Unless she’d lost it. A deep-seated sadness slipped through her.
She shut the sight of Darien out and slept, but the squeaking of the door woke her when Nurse Grey entered the room to check her vital signs. The woman held her finger to her smiling lips and pointed to Darien, dead to the world, sitting upright in the chair. The nurse left her alone again, and Lelandi watched the gray. Proud, angry, his stern face almost saintly. In a heartbeat, she wanted to know what being his mate would be like, to feel his impassioned kiss against her mouth again, and so much more. Her heart sank when she realized how futile that notion was.
In sleep, the woman of Darien’s dreams stood naked in a birch grove, watching him, her green eyes reflecting sadness, her hair stirred by the autumn breeze, dangling past her creamy hips.
Lelandi, his redheaded goddess.
He stalked toward her, her face lighting with desire. She twirled a red curl around her finger, tantalizing him all the more, although even without any encouragement, he was ready to take his fill of her.
Lelandi, he wanted to call out. But he had no control over the speaking part of the dream. He couldn’t hear the birds in the trees or the breeze whistling through the leaves. He couldn’t smell the pine needles or spruce or whether they were due for a shower, although the thunderous clouds building in the night sky indicated they would get a burst of rain soon. All he could do was feast his eyes on the vision before him, touch her, feel her soft as silk skin beneath his, the texture of her satiny hair, her heart beating beneath his…but he couldn’t hear it, as if more than half his wolf senses had lost touch with reality.
She melted in his arms, her head resting against his chest, her arms clinging to him as if she never wanted to let go. He sensed she needed more, too, as if the dream was the most fragile connection, the tentative bond they shared never enough. How could he still find her here in his fantasy world, when in the real one she was gone? Forever, gone. He stroked her hair, kissed her head, wished he could smell the sweet fragrance cloaking her, smell her aroused state. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, kissable, tight, rose-colored nubs.
Lelandi, he mouthed against her cheek. Her gaze turned up, focusing on him. Her eyes had grown so big and green—greener than…than Lelandi’s eyes? He combed his fingers through her hair, the strands shimmering in the moonlight. Redder than Lelandi’s?
No…no, she was Lelandi. She responded to the name. She was the one he’d mated, the one he loved. He’d prove it to her once again, even if she was no more than his fantasy lover. He bent down and kissed her mouth, gently at first—but it wasn’t enough. Touching her like this was never enough. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, wanted to claim her, wanted to be part of her forever.
His tongue swept across her lips, and she parted them, inviting him in. He took advantage, deepened the kiss, pressed his mouth harder against her soft, velvet lips, tangoed his tongue with hers. His hands held her shoulders as he felt her falling away, so caught up in the kiss. His mouth smiled against hers, loving how she melted under his simple kisses. Thumbs caressing her shoulders, he let himself go, every molecule absorbing the feel of her, the heat coursing through his veins, the sweet softness of her calling to him.
Lelandi. But how could she be this real and no longer part of his life?
She moaned, encouraging him, her body slipping down to the sweet bed of grass beneath their feet. He took control, her eyes and mouth willing him to continue. God, she was so beautiful.
Pressing her legs apart, he quickly entered her before his fantasy lover vanished. Her fingers swept over his backside, pressuring him to delve deeper. His mouth tackled hers again, and he weighed her breasts, lifting, caressing the hardened nipples, loving the way she responded so promptly to his touch.
“How could I have lost you…,” he whispered against her lips. “When all I ever wanted was to keep you safe.”
It was him, really him. Lelandi loved the way he made her feel—loved, special, his. She opened her lips to speak, but when she couldn’t say anything, he tongued her mouth again, his erection spearing her deeper and deeper. She arched her pelvis, wanting to reach the moon and back.
Why couldn’t she see his face clearly? As if the dark side of the moon cloaked it in blackness. Why couldn’t she hear his name when he knew hers so well? As if he controlled the dream—the alpha male in charge. Why couldn’t she have him in the real world when the night faded and the day renewed?
“Ahh,” she moaned, her body shuddering with climax as he filled her with his seed, and she wanted it to be real. She wanted to find him and be with him forever, not just for fleeting moments
in her dream world.
Then a horrible pain radiated through her chest, and she tried to ignore it, tried to concentrate on her lover’s lips, the only part of his face she could see. They were parted, grim, as if he recognized the pain she felt.
Lelandi, his lips mouthed.
She tried closing her eyes and pretending the pain wasn’t shrieking across every nerve ending, her head ready to explode.
Lelandi, he said again, more vehemently, and his hard body began to fade away.
She couldn’t lose him. Not now when she needed his comforting touch. But he was fading…fading…
“No!” she cried out.
Chapter 8
DARIEN HOVERED OVER LELANDI, REACHING FOR THE NURSE’S call button, his other hand on hers. No, she wouldn’t take any more pain medication and become a zombie again, despite how much the pain filtered through every nerve ending with acute clarity.
Nurse Grey walked into the room and looked from Lelandi to Darien with a questioning gaze.
“She’s hurting pretty badly,” Darien said.
“No.” Lelandi shook her head. “I can manage.”
“No sense in putting up with it.” Nurse Grey reached for the IV line. “Might as well be comfortable.”
“No.” Lelandi narrowed her eyes, giving the nurse and Darien a dagger of a look and tried to pull away from the IV. “I don’t want any more.”
Both Darien and Nurse Grey gave small smiles.
She wanted to jerk her hand out of his, and in fact she thought she’d tried, but he kept her hand hostage.
He looked down at her with such concern, a hint of confusion, even a touch of desire, she wasn’t sure what had come over him. Gone seemed to be the need to make her confess about who she was and everything about her.
She swore his hand tightened on hers even though she felt her body slipping away, the pain medication zipping through her veins. Fine. Damn it. She’d find her fantasy lover. Somewhere. Forget…the…real…worl…
Frustration filling every pore, Darien wanted his mate back. How could her sweet body torment him in his dreams still? Even now as he checked on Jake waiting to speak to him about the silver mine in the hall outside Larissa’s room, he felt distracted, ill at ease, like a part of his soul had been ripped away. She had been a drug he couldn’t get his fill of, and though six eligible females existed in his pack, only one would do—the petite woman of his dreams—and now she was dead.
