by Mae Clair
Caleb reached for her hand. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer. I promise we’ll have a nice honeymoon after…” He looked away, unable to finish. Every time he thought of his father going backward in time, his throat closed up.
Arianna frowned. “A honeymoon isn’t important to me. Shocking as it seems, I’ve grown extremely fond of Rick. I mean Richard.” She shook her head in exasperation. “I mean your father.”
He laughed, thankful to lighten the mood. “It’s complicated for me too. Here, look at this.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans for the watch Rick had given him. He owned little, but it had already become a cherished possession. “He gave me this last night.” He passed it across the table, enchanted by the care and reverence she used to hold it.
Her eyes misted over when she read the inscription. “It’s beautiful, Caleb.” She passed the watch back to him and he tucked it into his pocket.
“There’s more.” He wasn’t sure how to tell her about the money, and stalled for time, using his fork to push the remains of his breakfast around his plate. Never good with finesse, he blurted the details.
Arianna stared speechlessly. “You sound like you’re reciting an equipment list for battle.”
Disgusted, he dropped his fork onto the plate. It clattered loudly enough for an older couple seated across the room to glance sharply in his direction. “Annie, I want to be thankful for everything he’s giving me, but I’m used to earning my position in life. And all that money comes with a price. How can I be grateful when it means never seeing him again?”
“But you are going to see him.” She leaned forward. “The child you were in the past needs him as much, if not more than you do. He has to go back in time in order for you to be here now. It’s every parent’s dream to be able to leave that kind of gift for his or her child. And you’ve already earned your position. You fought for our nation during its most trying time in history. Don’t trivialize what you did because of where you are now. Rick has given you an opportunity for a new start. Did you ever stop to consider his gift is part of fate too?”
“How?”
“Look at it this way.” She retrieved her coffee cup, sipping at the weak, flavored beverage. “Because of when you were born and what you’ve experienced, you have a unique perspective. In an age that thrives on Smartphones, iPads and Facebook, the Civil War is ancient history. A lot of school-age students couldn’t even tell you when it happened or why we were fighting. And adults don’t care, too wrapped up in the latest streaming video, web download or reality TV show. You can give identity to the people who fought in that war. Were you serious about writing a book?”
“I–” He clamped his mouth shut, remembering the casual falsehood he’d tossed out for the benefit of Arianna’s parents. Wyn and Rick had suggested he have a plausible plan if questioned about his future, and it had seemed a good fit. “Perhaps.”
She smiled. “I’d love to write a book with you, Caleb. I used to write all the time when I was in college, but let myself get too busy and dropped the habit. The point is, if you want to do something like that, you can.”
He grunted, realizing he needed to be more accepting of Rick’s gift. His mother was already lost to him, consigned to the past. His brother too. He wasn’t ready to surrender the last family member he had.
Then it hit him.
He had his wife. And Wyn.
“You’re right. It is a new beginning.”
* * * *
Caleb fidgeted, signing his name to the final document Rick’s attorney shoved under his nose. He’d been scrutinized from the moment he’d walked in the door at the law office of Hiedeleman, Greenfield and Rutter. Everyone from the receptionist to the data clerk and Rick’s attorney had looked him up and down with outright or veiled interest. It wasn’t every day a law firm handled a gift transfer of funds in excess of several million dollars. Only crackpots and philanthropists gave away money indiscriminately. In the past, business-savvy Rick Rothrock hadn’t been known as either.
“He thinks you’re demented,” Caleb said when Rick’s balding attorney left the room. He couldn’t remember if the man was Greenfield or Rutter, and didn’t care. Disgusted, he tossed his pen on the large walnut conference table they’d used to conduct the transfer. Several signatures later, he was a rich man.
“You think I care?” Rick flashed a breezy smile. His blond hair was highlighted with sugary streaks of white where sunlight slanted through the windows and glimmered among the gold. He didn’t look old enough to be a successful millionaire, much less the father of a thirty-three-year-old newlywed. “You’re the one I care about. Why do you think I’m doing this?”
Before he could continue, the door opened and a chicly-dressed receptionist escorted Wyn inside. “Gentlemen. Dr. DeCardian to join you.”
“Hey, am I late?” Wyn asked, the moment she’d left.
Caleb frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“You mean your old man didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Wyn slid into the room, parting with a low whistle at the size of the conference table. “Will you look at this thing?” He scuffed his fingers across the top. “You could feed a friggin’ army on this.”
“Winston, you didn’t answer me.”
“Shit. He’s calling me Winston.” His eyes tracked to Rick. “Do you want to tell him?”
“Nothing doing. It’s your turn to butt heads with him. I’m going to go find some coffee.”
Caleb waited until his father had left before standing to confront Wyn. Five full days had passed since his wedding. Earlier in the week, he’d told his nephew about the transfer of funds, relaying how he planned to reimburse Wyn for the expenses he’d incurred over the last three years. Wyn had told him to keep his money, but Caleb had every intention of sharing his wealth. What he didn’t understand was Wyn’s sly communication with Rick, as if the two had planned something without his consent.
“What are you doing here, Wyn?”
His nephew shrugged. “I have a few documents to sign. So do you.”
Suspicious, Caleb narrowed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was command-crisp. “Explain that.”
“Yes, Sir!” Wyn snapped off a salute. “You see, Sir, it’s like this, Colonel, Sir–”
“Confound it, man, you are as annoying as salt on a wound!”
Wyn grinned, satisfied to have scored a minor victory. Dropping into a chair, he hooked his ankle over his knee. “It’s not complicated, Caleb. Rick and I made a deal. I know you’ve seen his house.”
Caleb gave a grunt, not certain he could call his father’s home a house. Or maybe it was the reverse. He couldn’t call it a home. Large and sprawling, it was tucked high in the hills overlooking the city, approximately fifteen minutes north of Weathering Rock. Rick had packed it with every amenity imaginable, but it lacked the character and warmth Caleb thought necessary to make a house a home.
“What does my father’s house have to do with anything?”
“He’s not going to need it, given he’s got a pre-set appointment with the eighteen hundreds.”
“Wyn,” Caleb warned.
“All right.” The time for play had passed. “It’s like this–he and I both know Weathering Rock is where you belong. It’s your home, your heritage. I bought it on a whim, but I was only meant as an interim resident. Like the Keeper of the Key until the real owner came along. It doesn’t suit me. There’s no central air, the closet space sucks, and there’s all that acreage to maintain. I’d rather have the tennis courts, in-ground pool, cabana bar and game room. Have you seen the size of the TV your dad had installed?”
Caleb stared, not sure he followed. “You’re not making sense.”
“Then let me spell it out for you.” Wyn leaned forward, bracing one arm on the tabletop. “His place is worth a heck of a lot more than Weathering Rock, but he’s selling it to me for one dollar. I’m doing the same with my place, selling it to you for the same amount. Ric
k’s attorneys have already drafted up the deeds. All we have to do is sign off to make it legal and transfer title. Weathering Rock is yours, Caleb, the way it was always meant to be.”
Struck speechless, Caleb stood ramrod straight as the impact of what Wyn proposed crashed over him. Weathering Rock was his. The house he’d grown up in, known all of his life and loved. It was too damn convenient. How could he let Wyn sacrifice so much? “It isn’t right. Arianna and I are fine in her townhouse.”
He cringed as he said it. She’d made it comfortable and homey, but he couldn’t adjust to the boxy size. Still, as long as he had her by his side, he’d be satisfied no matter what their accommodations. He could and would adjust. Hadn’t his father done the same in the past?
Wyn grunted. “You’re busted, Colonel. You’re forgetting I lived with you for three years. You need space. Lots of it. And acreage.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Caleb’s throat grew tight.
“Don’t make this into a big deal.” Wyn slouched in his chair, casual again. “Trust me, I’m coming out on top. Rick’s place is worth three times the value of Weathering Rock. The taxes are out of my league, but he’s bankrolled those for the next several years, along with a sizable fund for utilities and upkeep. The man’s thought of everything. He’s like a freaking fairy godfather. I’d love to come across as self-sacrificing and noble, but the truth is I’m the one walking away with the brass ring. All you have to do is break the news to Arianna.”
“Annie.” Would she be as eager as he to return to Weathering Rock? During the time she’d spent there, he’d sensed she’d fallen in love with the old house, but would she be willing to live there permanently?
“Wyn, I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems inadequate.”
His nephew smiled. “Consider it a wedding gift. You and that relic of a house belong together. All I ever did was hold it in trust for its rightful owner. You won’t be so quick to thank me once you inherit the oil bill.”
Caleb laughed. “I’m glad you’ll only be fifteen minutes away. I’m not sure I could make it through the day without your usual dose of sarcasm.”
“Hey, everything okay in here?” Rick opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Rutter has two deeds in need of signatures. Are we good to go?”
Wyn gave him a thumbs-up. “Break out the change of address cards, Gramps. Your kid just bought Weathering Rock for a buck.”
* * * *
Arianna was nervous. She tried to concentrate on the boxes of linens she’d had Caleb haul into their bedroom at Weathering Rock, but her mind kept wandering. Tomorrow night, the moon would rise, full and bloated as a yellow balloon.
“You’ll stay at your townhouse,” Caleb had told her only moments before, using that annoying tone of command she was certain he’d reserved for green subordinates.
“I’m your wife, Caleb. If you think I’m going to hide while you suffer through hell, you need to have your head examined. I’ll be on the other side of the basement door with Wyn.”
“I won’t allow it.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Their argument had ended when he took his truck and left in an effort to cool down. He’d driven solo enough times that she no longer worried about him behind the wheel, but she wished he’d taken Ranger and gone for a ride instead. He was probably headed to Rick’s, needing to vent to someone who understood his nineteenth century mindset about opinionated, modern-day females.
“Nice job sticking to your guns.” Wyn popped his head inside the door and gave her thumbs up.
“You heard?”
“He was yelling loud enough to rattle the walls of my den. You do know all that bluster is because he’s worried about you.”
“Thanks, Wyn.”
She returned to unpacking when he left. Her parents had departed several days earlier, extending an invitation for her and Caleb to visit Richmond in the fall. It was hard to think that far ahead when she’d yet to settle into Weathering Rock, a house she loved every bit as much as Caleb. She’d been shocked by what Rick and Wyn had done, but was thankful, knowing it was where her husband belonged.
She’d have to catalog her furniture, decide what to keep for Weathering Rock and what to sell. Wyn was facing the same dilemma with his new property. For the moment he was still living at the house, uncomfortable displacing Rick. Caleb’s daily injections gave him the perfect excuse to linger, all the while packing boxes and sorting through collected junk. Rick had told him to start moving in, but Arianna sensed he was taking his time. They all knew Rick’s remaining days in the present were drawing to an end.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door downstairs. Knowing Wyn would answer, she continued sorting through linens and towels. Seconds later, a loud crash echoed through the house.
“Wyn?” She hurried to the staircase, ducking over the banister to look into the center hall below. Wyn was slumped against the wall, his head lolling forward on his chest. The door hung partially open, but there was no sign of anyone else. Fearing he’d had some type of seizure, she darted down the steps.
“Wyn?” A thin trail of blood oozed from under his hairline. She crouched in front of him and gingerly touched his cheek. “Wyn, are you all right?”
“He’s out cold,” a man said behind her. “Cracked his head when he fell. Man can’t take a punch.”
Arianna whirled, recognizing the insolently smug voice that had washed over her at Lauren’s party. “Stay away!” She backed against the door, but even if she could outrun Seth Reilly, she’d never leave Wyn defenseless. “You’re not welcome here. I want you to get out.”
He gave a throaty chuckle. “Hell, woman, do you think I’m looking for an invitation? I’ve been waiting for that insipid husband of yours to leave.” He raked his eyes over her body. “I’ve seen you naked and panting, rutting outside with that blond mongrel. I could have taken you then, but it would have been too quick.”
Arianna felt a wave fear. She fumbled behind her, pressing against the door. He smelled of sex, heat and primal male. Oh Wyn, Wyn, please wake up!
Seth stepped closer, eating up the distance between them. Her knees grew weak and a sensual lick of heat corkscrewed through her belly. He invaded her mind with darkness and lust, a plague of sensation that left her trembling, consumed by revulsion and desire. She knew he was using pheromones, and steeled herself against the crass seduction.
“Did he tell you about me?” Seth hooked her by the arm and plunged his free hand into her hair, knotting his fingers in a ruthless fist.
She was terrified he would smell her fear, but couldn’t turn her head. “I know what you are.”
“Then you know what I want. Caleb DeCardian dead.” His mouth crushed over hers, punishing and hard. His tongue slid between her lips, wet and invasive as he dragged her against him. Gagging, she slammed her knee into his groin.
“You bitch!” Seth howled in pain, releasing his grip long enough for her to dance free. Arianna tasted freedom and hope, a fleeting now-or-never chance for escape. She tried to bolt around him, but he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back.
“You’ll pay for that.”
His fist descended, cracking her hard across the face. Stars exploded behind her eyes and a shockwave of pain forked into her temple and jaw. She sagged in his grip, her knees too weak to support her. Then the world went abruptly black and swallowed her whole.
Chapter 33
“You’re not listening.” Caleb paced the length of the breakfast bar in Rick’s kitchen, annoyed that his father was more interested in the type-printed sheets he’d spread over the granite surface. “I don’t want her in the house when it happens.”
“She’s your wife.” Rick flipped through several pages, pausing to scratch something on a tablet with an elegant silver pen. “From what you’ve told me about your transformation, I understand why you don’t want her there. What you can’t seem to get through your head is that’s why Ari
anna wants to be there. She’s worried about the man she loves.”
“She’s being headstrong and foolish. She should respect my wishes and spend the night at her townhouse.”
Rick grinned. “Respect your wishes? You really do have your work cut out for you in this century, son.”
Caleb frowned. His mood had been on a steady decline all day. He’d hoped to find an ally in his father, but Rick was too immersed in reading through the papers.
“Are you listening to me?” Caleb yanked the pen from his hand, surprised when hot pain knifed into his fingertips. Spitting a curse, he dropped it instantly.
“Damn it, Caleb, it’s sterling silver. Let me see your hand.”
Caleb ground his teeth. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he would have sensed the taint of bright metal immediately. This close to changing, not even Wyn’s injections could ward off the poison. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Rick rummaged a towel from the nearest drawer and doused it with water at the sink.
“That won’t help. It’s not that kind of burn.” The poison had already invaded his bloodstream. He swallowed hard, waiting for the pain to recede. “I’m getting careless,” he muttered.
Rick discarded the towel, his expression grim. “This isn’t right. All my money and I can’t cure you of this. I didn’t want to leave without knowing the curse was broken.”
“You make it sound like you’re leaving today.”
Rick was silent.
“Father?” Caleb’s gut twisted in a fist. “Are you saying–”
“I’m not saying anything. You’re intelligent enough to figure it out.”
“No.” Caleb shook his head. “I-I’m not ready. I need more time. You can’t just vanish from my life.”
“I’ll never vanish from your life.” Rick gripped his shoulder. “Come here, I want to show you something.” He steered him toward the bar and indicated the mound of papers scattered across the top. “This is what money buys. Papers, not answers. When I learned of your curse, I hired a private investigator to track down the three leading authorities on werewolf folklore in the world. I wanted all the information they had on lycanthropy. I’ve spent weeks going over the details, hoping for some miracle, but it doesn’t exist. Your only hope is to destroy Seth.”