A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing

by Deborah MacGillivray

  Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  Raven’s breath caught and held as the man started to turn. Everything else receded to a shimmering blur. He was close to six feet tall, with shoulders strong and square, if not a bulky, muscular frame. He had an elegant grace, a power about his carriage, the casual arrogance of a man who knew his worth and position in the world. His hair was black—not dark brown but a true blueblack. The style was short on the sides and the top, but rebelliously long in back, brushing the collar of the tux, so thick and wavy that her fingers itched to touch the locks and stroke them.

  An odd image suddenly flashed bright as lightning within her mind: a darkened bedroom, rain pounding on the roof, rumpled sheets around her from making love. In this wakening dream she leaned over a man, could almost see his face in the grayish half-light. Handsome—nay, beautiful—he had a blue-black lock of hair that fell rakishly over his forehead. With a poignant smile Raven reached out and twirled it around her finger, staring into his pale green eyes as in slow motion her mouth formed the words, “I love you.” She couldn’t breathe as she waited for the words to be returned, to finally hear them. They didn’t come. Instead, the man reached up and took a strand of her hair and used it like a tether to pull her down for a kiss. She closed her eyes against the pain, kissing him with all her passion, allowing it to speak to him and praying she could reach this man and make him understand before it was too late.

  Too late?

  So intense was the vision, so memory-like, it nearly blotted out the party around her. But then thunder boomed, rattling the glass panes and breaking the strange enchantment, and the image in her mind shattered. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Everything inside her coiled, waiting for the stranger across the room to turn. Willing him to turn, waiting to see if his face was the same.

  “Old girl, you’re slipping a cog,” she whispered.

  Still, Raven continued to stare, couldn’t look away if her life depended upon it. She was compelled to watch as the man slowly rotated and then lifted his glass to his sensual mouth. And, oh boy, did that mouth conjure the vision back, provoke scenes in her mind! Long deep kisses, those lips on her neck, her breasts…A surge of pure, unadulterated lust punched through her body and hit her womb with a hard contraction; her desire was so strong she felt light-headed.

  Then he lifted his eyes to focus on her.

  I’ll cross these waters now,

  I need to cross this ocean of time,

  to be with you…

  The words from the band’s song wrapped around her, increasing her dizziness. From this distance, and under the muted amber lights, it was hard to be sure of the man’s eye color: not blue, but gray or green maybe. Their force rocked her. Adrenaline buzzed through Raven’s blood, leaving her unable to breathe.

  The stranger paused before taking a drink, the corner of his too sensual mouth lifting faintly, smugly. The vexing man was clearly aware of her regard, was cognizant of his effect upon her. His look said she was his for the taking. Irritated, Raven was seized by the sudden urge to march over, snatch that glass from his hand and toss its contents into that maddeningly perfect face.

  “Strigoi,” Brishen growled at her side, breaking her thrall. Until he’d spoken, Raven hadn’t been aware the music ended and he’d returned with Paganne in tow.

  “Where? Who’s a vampire?” her little sister enquired, squinting around at the people. “I took my contacts out. They were itching my eyes. I suppose I need a new prescription again.”

  “Strigoi,” Brishen repeated in a hiss, adding nothing more.

  “Vampire?” Raven took her eyes away from the handsome stranger for an instant, wondering who Brishen meant.

  Her stranger? Yes, Brishen stared directly at him.

  “Have mercy, what’s he doing here?” Paganne paled, as champagne sloshed in her glass. “Quick, we have to do something. Make him go away, Brishen.”

  Raven felt as if she’d come in for the middle of a play. “Do you know him?”

  “Of course I do!” She squinted again. “At least, I think it’s him. He’s paler than the last time I saw him, but yep, that’s him. Brishen, sic him! Vampire or no, you have leave to drive a stake through his heart.”

  Raven’s head spun with confusion, maybe even with sour disappointment that her little sister knew the stranger. Paganne was so heartbreakingly beautiful that men constantly fell for her, though her dear sister remained blithely unaware of that effect. If Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy had met Paganne, you could bet he was hot on her trail. And from the looks of him, her sister didn’t stand a chance. No woman would.

  Lightning flared, frighteningly close, followed by thunder that shook the whole building. Lights flickered and nearly winked out before the power came back up, throwing the room into shadow. Then a second starburst exploded against the inky sky. In that heartbeat of eerie illumination, Raven’s eyes once more locked with the stranger’s across the room.

  Her heart raced as they remained frozen, spellbound in a splinter of time. Regret pierced Raven that this man wanted her sister. Despite that, her rising hunger for him was undiminished. She was mesmerized by the glittering force of his stare and shocked by the peculiarity of experiencing such violent emotions over someone she’d never seen before.

  Never seen before…? Some ghostly hand touched her soul, plucking a faint chord of remembrance. Had their paths crossed at some point? Or was this simply one of those touches of déjà vu?

  “I stake him for you, my lovely Paganne,” Brishen vowed, full-throttle in his vampire hunter mode. “I stuff garlic down his vile throat, sprinkle him with holy water, and then stake him like the mulo he is.”

  “Mule?” Strolling up and catching the tail end of the conversation, Cian selected a canapé from the refreshment table and popped it into his mouth.

  Brishen shook his head. “A mulo. A dead person unclean with vampirism.”

  Cian chuckled. “Sorry, stalwart Gypsy, you shan’t stake any of my guests, unclean or not, until after the auction. If a vampire has the blunt for any of the antiques up for bid tonight, he may buy. After he pays”—he grinned—“then you may stake him. How’s that?”

  “You shouldn’t risk this evil menace to walk amongst us, perhaps touch your beautiful sisters with his dead hands,” Brishen argued.

  Cian snagged a glass of champagne to wash down a second hors d’oeuvre, and gave a chuckle. “Oh, my sisters are more than a match for a mere vampire.”

  “Dead cert,” Paganne agreed. “However, I want that particular mule-thing exorcised from this party. Now. Britt’s not here yet, is she? I don’t want her running into him.”

  Raven glanced back to the stranger, fretting now that Britt had gotten entangled. What, had the guy tried to work his way through all her sisters? Feeling mixed emotions, she watched him give a slow sexy smile. All the people and their senseless chatter melted into mist. Dropdead megawatt smiles like his should be illegal. Females were just not equipped to handle how it shorted out their systems. Who was he? How was he involved with her siblings?

  Feeling like an idiot for staring, Raven still couldn’t break the contact. No man had ever caused this strong reaction within her, this deep yearning for intimacy, this craving of a primitive, elemental nature. Long ago, however, she’d made it a rule never to date anyone who was involved with any of her sisters. The one time she’d allowed an exception, she’d married him—and lived to regret it. Boy, had she regretted that mistake.

  “How do you know him?” Raven couldn’t stop the question from popping out.

  Cian looked at her with concern, and touched the back of his hand to her forehead. “Are you all right? You’re flushed, a bit glassy-eyed. Perhaps all the preparations for the gala were a bit much?”

  Melissa strode up, standing by Cian’s side as though she were his wife. She shrugged. “I offered to help, but your sister would have none of it.”

  Cian arched a brow. “She did a beautiful job, as usual. I love ho
w unique you make it every year, Raven.” His tone held a clear rebuff.

  “Kill him, Brishen! He’s coming this way,” Paganne interrupted, inviting a scene before hundreds of people, which was wholly unlike her.

  It was upsetting for Raven to think her handsome stranger provoked such aggression. She blinked, even more puzzled: Her sexy stranger hadn’t stirred. Instead, a man was moving past him, brushing shoulders as he did. A bit taller, he had a lion’s mane of pale blond hair. And he was prideful as a lion, too, Raven knew. He was Lucien Delacroix, the movie director. He had been involved with Britt several years ago, was the director of two of her last films—her best, actually—and they’d been involved in a torrid off-screen affair. Then something had happened, Lucien had dumped Britt, and Britt had attempted suicide. To this day, Raven’s sister refused to speak about him.

  “Bloody hell. Can anything else go wrong tonight?” Raven wondered aloud.

  Her eyes shifted back to look for her stranger, and she was surprised to find him gone. A quick search of the room failed to locate him, either. Swallowing her sadness, she forced her mind back to Delacroix. Why was he here? Would Britt have to face him again?

  Cian tapped Brishen’s upper arm. “Come, mighty vampire hunter. We have an unclean person to eject. How the bloody hell did he receive an invitation? They’re stopping anyone without one. I specifically said no gatecrashers. I heard a rumor the regulars down at The Naughty Parrot planned on sneaking in for the free booze, and I wanted none of their antics.”

  “Evidently, you were not specific enough,” Paganne sniffed.

  Raven’s eyes went to Melissa, observing her for a moment. The little voice in her head was speaking again, and it said Cian’s secretary had sent the invitation, despite her contrived look of innocence. Trying not to growl, she glared until the irritating female finally blushed and looked away, guilty.

  But, why? Raven could see Melissa doing something to cause her a problem, but why attack Britt? She doubted Britt and Melissa had exchanged more than passing words. Why set up such a confrontation tonight, knowing how important it was for Cian to have everything run smoothly?

  “So how did he get an invitation?” Paganne asked, her eyes tracking Brishen and Cian in their attempt to head off Delacroix. In a deft maneuver, each man took an elbow, wheeled Lucien about and gently escorted him toward the doors.

  “Great minds work alike. I’m wondering the same thing,” Raven commented drolly, picking up a champagne glass and itching to toss the contents in Melissa’s smug face. One of these days—it’s coming, she promised.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Raven spotted the black-haired man walking across the opposite side of the room to examine the fortune-teller’s booth. Her stomach muscles tightened as his hand reached out to deftly insert a coin, his beautiful face reflected in the glass while he studied the mannequin’s lifelike gestures. Then, placing his hands on either side of the booth, he leaned close, nearly pressing his nose against the glass and staring. Finally, when the mannequin stopped moving, the stranger leaned back.

  Beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing?

  “Surely not,” Raven said to herself. He couldn’t have drawn the same fortune.

  The stranger turned, his eyes coming straight to her as if he’d been aware she was watching the whole time. Then Raven realized that, while she saw the reflection of his face in the glass, he could see her bright red dress behind him as well. Slowly he lifted the card and turned it until the tarot face showed. Even across the room there was no mistaking The Lovers.

  A slight lift of his black brows spoke volumes. But was it a question? A threat? A promise…? Raven shivered, scared also of what the cards signified.

  Someone jostled her arm, spilling her drink. “Oh, I am sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” a blonde woman apologized as she snatched up an Irish linen napkin off the end of a table and offered it for Raven to dab at her dress. “Oh, I really am sorry. I’m so clumsy of late. Guess it comes with the territory. I haven’t seen my feet in a couple months. Hope this doesn’t ruin your lovely dress. I’ll pay for the cleaners.”

  The voice finally broke through Raven’s haze. She knew that voice. Her whole body flinched, suddenly awash in painful memories of a time in her life that held nothing but black sorrow.

  “Ellen,” she said—not harshly, not warmly, just with a flat neutrality as far from her emotional state as Raven could possibly get.

  The wife of her ex-husband blinked owlishly at her. “My word! Raven, I didn’t recognize you. I say! Why, you’re…you’re stunning! I guess I’ve never seen you done up to the nines.”

  Raven bit her tongue to keep from blurting that the last time they saw each other Ellen had been on a desk, on her back, getting screwed by Alec, and that it was hard to have a clear view from such an upside-down position. But sheathing her claws, she didn’t give the woman the satisfaction.

  To be honest, Raven couldn’t blame Ellen for wrecking her marriage, because by that point there hadn’t been much left. She’d already endured too much of Alec Beechcroft’s subtle mental abuse and finally realized he’d married her because she was Sean Montgomerie’s granddaughter. When the bastard saw that wouldn’t help him professionally, he’d set out to punish her for not giving him what he coveted: power within Montgomerie Enterprises. It had taken Raven only a few months after the wedding to realize what was happening.

  No, whatever fleeting emotions she’d felt were already dead by the time Raven caught Alec boffing his secretary, Ellen Lister. But complicating matters, Raven had found she was four months pregnant. That was why she’d gone to the office: to tell him he was going to be a father. She hadn’t wanted Alec, but she had wanted the baby. Her baby.

  Alec had proved a blackguard. After she filed for divorce, he countersued, actually having the gall to seek alimony, hoping to cause her so much grief that Cian would pay him to vanish. Raven’s brother had indeed entertained half a notion of doing precisely that, but Alec demanded a big chunk of ME stock. Raven just wanted him to get to Hell and be gone from from her life, to leave her in peace to build a new future for herself and her child, and giving him stock would have only bound them tighter together.

  Alec, of course, saw how much she wanted the baby. He had seized upon her need as a tool, saying he planned on pushing for joint custody. Blackmail, plain and simple. The stress too much for her, Raven suffered a miscarriage. And while Alec showed up in her hospital room, feigning concern, she’d never forget how quickly the scene disintegrated into him yet again berating her into tears and admitting that, while the child would’ve been an advantage to use against Cian, losing the baby was ultimately for the best—he wasn’t cut out to play father to some snot-nosed brat.

  Some snot-nosed brat? Their baby? Her baby? She had lain there sobbing for a long time after he left; then the family heard her screaming. It had just seemed to come out in one long agonizing wail of pain, and she hadn’t been able to stop.

  Raven’s hands trembled as she went through the motions of drying her gown. She was losing it again. So damn pathetic. After the breakdown, her mind had buried all the ugliness from that period, put it away in a shoebox where she hadn’t had to deal. Now, however, the shoebox was dumped and the ugly contents spilled out. Everything seemed to be closing in on her, to where she wanted to open her mouth and let loose with another ear-piercing scream. She told herself to breathe, that she was stronger now…but then she absentmindedly glanced at Ellen and spotted her very round belly.

  How utterly obscene! Ellen was expecting, was maybe seven or eight months along. Raven swallowed the bubble of hysterical laughter rising in her throat, so wanting to ask Ellen if Alec was looking forward to being a father to her snot-nosed brat. It took all her willpower to keep from wrapping her arms across her stomach, cosseting echoes of the phantom presence that once had lived inside her.

  As if things couldn’t get any worse, Alec strolled up behind his wife. Sensing him, Ellen turned and fla
shed a radiant smile. Raven told herself to hang on, swallowing hard. Paganne was close by her side, and Brishen would return any minute. He could stake Alec through the heart for practice, then all would be right with the world.

  Alec smiled that damn jackal smile of his. Oh, how Raven hated that expression—a reflection of glee at seeing someone weaker than himself to torture. He was five years older now, his sandy brown hair starting to thin. Knowing how vain he was, that brought a smirk. Likely, he spent a bloody fortune on hair regrowth solutions. Leaner, his face was etched with the ugliness in his soul. As Raven stared at him, it almost felt as if she looked at a stranger. No emotions rose within her other than hatred for him…and anger at herself for being so stupid to have ever trusted the worm.

  “Ah, Raven and little Paganne. Such adorable names your mother gave you,” he said, meaning just the opposite. He touched his wife’s arm in reassurance, and she offered him another sappy grin, oblivious to the undercurrent of emotion rippling around her.

  “Poor deluded woman,” Paganne muttered under her breath. “She must have an IQ of a turnip.”

  Alec’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that you say?”

  Paganne offered him a wide smile. “I said, ‘Surprising to see you two turn up.’ I don’t recall seeing your names on the guest list.”

  Alec shrugged, but his face hardened a trace; he fought against it, but couldn’t prevent the expression from manifesting. “What? You think I’m not good enough to attend this quaint little Montgomerie to-do?”

  Lifting her glass, Paganne gave a chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”

  Confused, Ellen glanced at Paganne and then back to Alec. The silly woman obviously hadn’t expected a chilly reception. “Now see here—”

  “Don’t upset yourself, my dear. The Montgomeries aren’t happy unless they’re letting the world know how important they are, and how the rest of us aren’t good enough to clean up after them.” He glanced exaggeratedly to either side of Raven and then lifted his eyebrows. “What, no date? Don’t tell me you’re still pining away for me. Really, Raven, that’s so pathetic. After all this time—”