Wolf huffed through his nose. His clearance was definitely still active, or reactivated. Glancing around the spacious elevator, he wondered if Loti would be okay in here or was it just the tightness of the antique-style elevator. Kill her. His jaw flexed. I should have snapped his neck right there.
No, you shouldn’t have.
Wolf jerked his eyes to the ceiling at Loti’s voice in his head.
Do you think he knows I was listening in?
No, he doesn’t have a clue. None of them have a clue how fast our bond has developed. You saw Lily. She was quite surprised that your sleep cycle was synced with mine.
The elevator slid smoothly to a stop with only the subtlest heave and the doors parted. Wolf trotted across one of many period sitting rooms on the third floor. Curious, he glanced back at the elevator doors, but they were gone. The marble fireplace occupied the space, now. He zipped down the hallway, almost invisible in his speed and into their suite, the Virginia Room. Loti sat on the blue loveseat, pretending to read a novel, something about choices. She dropped the book and took the Modore file Wolf held out to her. She flipped through the first few pages, eyes widening at the images and snippets she gleaned with a cursory glance.
“This is about me!” She flipped faster, “Sort of. At least some of it.”
“What?” Wolf leaned over her shoulder and snatched it out of her hand. “It’s about Modore.” An image of a young girl climbing an old oak tree greeted his befuddled gaze. He untangled it from a paperclip and held it up, peering at it.
Loti climbed onto her knees and held onto the back of the couch, craning her neck to see the picture. “That isn’t me.” Wolf handed it to her without looking at her and shuffled through papers in the file.
She took it, studied it, and gave it back. “Nope. Not me.”
“Not in this cycle,” he spoke absently as he stalked around the couch and spread the papers over the table as he sat down.
“This cycle?” Loti repeated as she scrambled around and sat next to Wolf, who was tucking the photo back in place. “Okay, so you think this is a previous life?” The picture was in full color and on standard quality photo paper. “It can’t be. It can’t be that old. I was born in—“
“Maybe she died young.” The bone-chilling tone of his words ran through them both.
“What?” Loti ran a finger over the glossy photo. “Do you think—” but she couldn’t finish the thought. It scared her too much.
“That someone killed her? Yes.” And he squeezed the edge of the coffee table hard enough for the wood to creak.
“Who? Why?” He said more to himself than to Loti. He reluctantly let go of the table.
“Would the Ring do something so vile? Murder a child?” Loti shot up from the couch and paced the room in long, graceful strides.
“You heard what Roger said.” Wolf’s eyes followed her every movement.
“That he wanted us to work with this organization to find Modore?”
His chin bobbed up and down as he returned to sorting through the file. “Or they would kill you.”
Loti dismissed his comment with a fluttering hand. “But they wouldn’t.”
“Loti.” She halted and stared at Wolf. He held her gaze with a grimness that made her sick to her stomach. “They already tried to.” Wolf held out some documents. “The shape shifter on the mountain.”
With hesitant fingers, Loti grasped the flimsy stack.
“You were listening in. Think about it. Why would Modore want you dead? That thing was trying to kill you, not bring you in.”
Loti’s mouth fell open as she scanned the top sheet and riffled through the rest. While her name didn’t appear anywhere in the documents, they referred to “the subject” and “the LW”, describing her house, the yoga studio and what time she got home on a particular night. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought it through, really. Just assumed.” She finally looked up at Wolf and held the papers up, pointing at them. “This is a report. About watching me.”
Wolf raked both hands through his long hair. He was wide open to her at the moment as his thoughts and emotions churned like flood waters. Wolf jumped up off the couch and put a finger to his lips. He strode around the room, pausing now and then over random places—the fireplace, a lamp, the bookshelf.
That’s not the file Roger told me it was. He said it was the latest data on Modore.
Loti lowered the papers to her side and bit her lip. “Then—”
A panic was boiling high in her stomach, but a sudden and clear thought quelled the roiling. A calm peace shuddered through her and she let out a long exhale. She made up her mind.
“We’re going to help them, Wolf, but for our own reasons.” She slapped the papers down on the coffee table. Wolf opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “No. I’ve decided. There’s no other way. We’re already looking over our shoulder for Modore. I’m not going to start doing the same thing for this Culper Ring.” Loti stood with hands on hips, and a look on her face that dared him to argue with her.
Roger gave us information he didn’t have to provide. They’re watching us. Okay. We can play that game best from the inside, right?
A predatory grin revealed Wolf’s wet fangs. “Right.”
* * *
Katie Brown replaced the phone in the cradle and folded her hands together on her desk. Her fingers drummed. Her brow pinched.
“Nan? Who was that?” Rachel’s worried voice drifted in from the living room. She appeared in the doorway seconds later. Katie stared off into space, fingers thudding on the desk. “Nan?” Rachel stepped lightly around the desk and rested her hand on her grandmother’s shoulder. Katie instinctively covered her granddaughter’s hand with her own and the drumming ceased.
“I’m puzzling through something, darling. That’s all.”
“Who were you talking to?” But the phone rang before Katie could answer.
“Hello?” Her eyes lit up. “Why hello, Eva. I was just about to call—” Her eyes darkened. “Oh. Go on.” She motioned for Rachel to leave. Rachel narrowed her eyes, but Katie shooed her out with a fluttering hand and reproachful frown. Rachel sulked, but shut the door behind her.
When Katie hadn’t emerged from the study after thirty minutes, Rachel tapped on the door.
“Come in.” Katie’s voice was too quiet.
Rachel gripped the doorknob as if she were afraid to venture in. “What did Eva want?”
“To warn me.” Katie rubbed her face with both hands.
“About what?” Rachel made her way cautiously to her grand-mother’s desk.
“The AWA. They are opening a new investigation.” Her hands fell to her lap and she lifted tired eyes to Rachel.
Rachel bunched up her forehead. “What? Why? About Patrick?” She turned to sit on the edge of Katie’s desk, her fingers already in her mouth. “You sent them your report and so did I and Calisto and the council at the ashram. I don’t understand.”
Katie shook her head. “Not Patrick. Me. They’re investigating me.” Rachel’s mouth hung open as Katie continued, “Apparently, they received another report. They wouldn’t tell me from whom, but it has given them reason to investigate further.” She tossed her hands up in the air helplessly. “There’s not much we can do. Once the American Witches Association starts one of these hunts, there’s no stopping it.” She stood up in a tired way, her shoulders uncharacteristically slumped. “We’ll just have to ride it out.”
“Nan.” Rachel’s voice was sharp. “This is so unjust. After all we’ve been through.”
Katie patted her shoulder. “Don’t fret about it, darling. What is—is. There’s nothing we can do and no amount of crying or fuming is going to change anything.”
Katie left Rachel in the office tapping her front tooth with a fingernail, pondering the implications. She wandered through the living room straightening perfectly straight photos and fluffing already fluffy pillows. In the pristine kitchen she pulled out a spray bottle and a rag. Sh
e sprayed the immaculate counters, filling the room with the smell of lemon oil and vinegar. She scrubbed at imaginary grime, her head and heart whirling in an unsettling vortex.
The investigating officer had implied to Eva that Katie knew something was wrong with Patrick before the recent events. Had she known something? Had she suspected? It was hard to sort it out. Before Patrick assisted Modore in trying to kill Wolf and bind Loti to the crazy vampire, Katie would have sworn up and down that he was a kind soul, that she had no reason to suspect him of such treachery. She would have slapped the person who made such accusations about her life-long friend.
Her hand paused mid-swipe and her heart raced. Friend. Patrick had been more than a friend all those years, but she never admitted to herself how she felt about him while he was alive, but she felt it all the same, starting in college where they met. She and Joe were already dating by the time Joe introduced her to Patrick. She shook herself. I’m too old to weigh myself down with such regrets. Rachel’s quiet footsteps on the tile floor interrupted Katie’s thoughts. She glanced up at Rachel who stood with her hands clasped in front of her.
“Can I help?” Rachel’s fingers twisted together.
“I’ve got this, darling. Go take care of your finals prep. I’m sure you have too much to do as always.” Katie forced her smile.
“No, I mean with the investigation.” Rachel ran her fingers over the freshly cleaned counter top.
Katie put the rag and cleaner down, and hugged Rachel to her. Her grip was firm and fragile at the same time—filled with a grandmother’s fierce love and devotion. But she was getting on in years. Seventy-five was just too old to be dealing with investigations and grieving for a friend who should have been her lover.
“Don’t you worry about all of this.” She patted Rachel’s arms, conjuring her grandmotherly smile. “The truth will come out. I did nothing wrong. No one did anything wrong.” But Katie’s voice quavered. There were so many wrongs buried in all the rights over a lifetime, but she had done the best anyone could do…right?
“Nan, you believe that, right?” Rachel pulled back, her hands resting on her Nan’s shoulders, her eyes searching Katie’s in a frantic plea. “There’s no way you could have known what Patrick was up to.” Rachel narrowed her eyes. “You know that, right?”
Katie barely nodded and turned away before Rachel could see the tears in her eyes.
Rachel paused in the middle of the kitchen, unsure whether she should leave Nan alone. She flashed on a memory of Katie and Patrick helping her get her jeans free from her bike chain. She hiccupped after a panicked crying jag as she watched the two people she loved more than her own parents carefully work the blue material free, their hands covered in grease. The clang of the dishwasher opening brought Rachel back to the moment.
“I’m going to stay here tonight, Nan.”
Katie paused with a clean plate in her hands. “Oh, dear, you don’t have to do that, sweetie.” She braved a smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
Rachel shook her head. “But I’m not.”
* * *
Heather fluffed her hair, studying her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She jerked back, a pang of sadness shooting through her chest. For a second, she had seen her mother peering back at her, then the image blurred and her own wide blue eyes stared back. She swallowed and shook herself. I don’t have time for this crap.
There was only an hour until the welcome dinner with the coven members and their families. She grimaced, resenting the whole purpose of it. She felt self-conscious as it was. Why did she have to endure the silliness of a welcome dinner? Christian’s reflection in the mirror clenched her chest and brought a smile to her face.
His smile was affectionate as he moved in close behind her and ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms.
“Stop worrying.” He kissed the dip in her shoulder. “You look amazing, as always.”
She turned into his arms and he kissed her. It was the kind of kiss that softened the muscles and made her pliable, made her melt into him and he held her closer. When they pulled apart, he winked and she laughed. This, she thought, is why. As she glided around him on a euphoric high, he swatted her on the ass and she yelped.
“This is all so unnecessary,” she called over her shoulder from the bedroom. “I still don’t get this coven thing.”
“I’m not going to have this conversation, again.” Christian shot back from the bathroom. “It’s what needs to be done.” She listened to the splash of water running in the basin and the tell-tale scrubbing of a toothbrush. Heather stuck her tongue out playfully and then stepped into an emerald green sheath, shimmying it over her hips. Adjusting and fussing with the bodice, she examined herself in the full-length bedroom mirror. Christian emerged from the bathroom bare-chested. He stepped up behind her and his fingers grazed over her back.
Heather shivered and grinned back at his playful reflection. His deft fingers inched the zipper all the way up, and then his hands brushed over her bare shoulders and down to cup her satin-covered breasts. She closed her eyes, her lips parting slightly as he kissed her neck, then ran his hands down her stomach and over her hips, squeezing.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he whispered into her throat. “Just do what they want you to do. Learn. Get stronger.” He ran his tongue over the pulse in her neck, then backed away to look for the white shirt he laid out earlier.
Heather opened her eyes and swallowed, licking her lips. Her heart thumped a little unsteady as she noticed the crooked water-color painting to the right of the mirror. She ran her finger down the glass and over the Antebellum-style front porch. It was all she had left of her mother. Lena had painted it from memory one summer afternoon at the beach. They rented a little bungalow in Duck, North Carolina during one of the happier times. Heather remembered it so well because, for once, it was just the two of them, no boyfriend—or girlfriend.
When eight year old Heather asked, “Whose house is that, Momma” Lena frowned, dabbing at the painting.
“Your grandparents’,” she said. Maybe it was a child’s misinterpretation, but Heather had thought at the time that her mother sounded sad.
“Where’s the Punjab shirt I laid out?” Christian’s angry tone snapped her back to the present. His mouth hardened. Heather cringed and glanced around the room, trying to find the source of Christian’s mood swing.
“Oh, I put it back. I thought the silk grey would be—“
Christian zipped to her side, grabbed her hair and yanked Heather’s head back.
“Ow,” she yelped. Her eyes bulged with confusion and fear.
“Don’t. Do. That.” Christian snarled in her ear.
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water before she managed, “Do what?” She trembled and hated herself for it. Things had been different ever since the visit to the ashram and Heather had relaxed her guard. She knew she shouldn’t have messed with his outfit, but he was so calm, lately.
“Don’t make decisions for me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He still gripped her red curls, pulling painfully down. Then he suddenly let go and she stumbled forward and away from him as fast as she could. She edged backwards toward the bedroom door, one hand trailing the wall. Christian’s eyes widened in horror and he stretched out his arms.
“Heather, I…” he stumbled over his words.
So unlike him, she thought, squinting her eyes. He was trying to control himself, she knew, by the way he clenched his hands into fists and the way his face contorted.
“Stay there. Give me a second.” He held up a hand and closed his eyes.
She took the opportunity to escape and ran out of the room. She leaned on the wet bar in the living room with one hand, the other held over her stuttering heart. She took a couple deep breaths, closed her eyes
“Baby, I’m sorry,” Christian whispered in her ear. She startled and whipped around. “Hey, I lost my temper for a moment. I’m okay now.” Heather tried to p
ush him away, but he used his vampire strength to keep her still. “I’m not going to hurt you, ever again. I promise.” He leaned in to kiss her and she fought the urge to smack him. Instead, she let her lips soften to his.
“Calisto said the vampire nature is a tough master.” She immediately regretted her words as he bared his teeth and he dug his fingers into her arms.
Christian growled. “Nothing masters me.” And he bit her lip. She cried out, but didn’t struggle. She knew better. “I am my own master.” His voice was low and husky as he licked the blood trickling down her chin. She moaned as he crushed her mouth with his.
Chapter Twelve
An hour later they arrived at the restaurant. Christian tucked her hand inside his elbow and escorted her to the private banquet room where the rest of the coven was already gathered. When they stepped through the doors, all heads turned.
They were a striking couple and tonight they were dressed to showcase that fact. Heather’s strapless emerald dress came to just above her knees, showing off shapely legs. Christian’s tailored suit from Hong Kong did exactly what a tailored suit was supposed to do—skim and highlight his athletic body.
“Heather, Christian.” Katie walked in graceful strides across the tasteful banquet room to greet the guests of honor. “You look absolutely stunning.” And she kissed Heather’s cheek.
“You’re sweet, Katie.” Heather’s smile trembled. The elderly woman’s brow furrowed briefly, but her face softened as she turned to Christian.
“And you are the perfect complement.” Her eyes held Christian’s as he took Katie’s hand and kissed the back of it. Katie’s laugh was soft and sweet. “Not many men do that these days.”
He grinned like a school boy. Young by vampire standards, he was still over one-hundred-twenty-five years old. He came from a different era and although he enjoyed the habits and culture of the new age, he maintained the genteel ones of his original one—most of the time.
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