by Noelle Marie
He’d left a half-hour ago to pick up the rental car. Apparently, we couldn’t show up to the meeting in my dinged-up pick-up truck – it didn’t “fit the image” we were trying to portray, according to Abram.
Frankly, I didn’t care what we drove to the house in as long as we got there.
Abram strode into the motel room, stopping to examine his reflection in the mirror nailed to the wall in the entryway. He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair before turning to me. “How do I look?” he demanded gruffly.
Even with the hair and beard – sure, it he’d had it trimmed, but it was still the definition of rugged – he managed to look more at home in a fitted suit than I did. (And he’d spent the past seventeen years roaming through the woods on all fours.)
“Almost as fucking ridiculous as me,” I answered honestly.
Abram snorted. He eyed my suit, and I fought the urge to pelt him when he waltzed forward and straightened the lapels. “Rich, I think, is the word you’re looking for.”
“Same thing,” I muttered, side-stepping him.
Abram shrugged, not disagreeing. “You ready?” he asked, gesturing at the door.
I nodded stiffly. I’d been ready for weeks.
Unfortunately, I didn’t even make it within a foot of the door before I was bombarded by Thane. (Sure, dogs weren’t technically allowed in the room, but what the staff of the Palace Inn didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Besides, as decrepit as the motel was – there was fucking water damage in the corner nearest to the bed, for Christ’s sake – a little dog hair wouldn’t make a lick of difference.)
“Move it,” I ordered, jerking my head towards the bed – it’s where Thane had been lounging since we’d gotten there – but he refused to move from where he’d plopped down in front of me.
I frowned, attempting to walk around him, but he released a discontented sort of wail before biting down on my pant leg.
“Knock it off, boy,” I snapped, more concerned that his howling would get us kicked out of the motel than the fact his teeth might tear a hole through my suit. I shook him off before kneeling and grabbing him by the snout. “You can’t do that,” I scolded, planning on releasing him and leaving a moment later.
But something about the way his big, brown eyes gleamed with anxiety stopped me.
I sighed, and feeling like a fool – What sort of softie had Wisp turned me into? – I pulled Thane into an embrace, smoothing down the short hairs on the crown of his head as I spoke into his ear. “I’m sorry, boy. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but I can’t take you with me where I’m going.”
I probably shouldn’t have even allowed him to come with me to the motel, but Thane had a mind of his own, and when he’d leapt into the back of my truck while we were loading up at the cabin, I hadn’t had the heart to stop him.
“I’ll be back soon, alright?” I added in an attempt to reassure him, certain his nervousness stemmed from the fact he was being left alone in an unfamiliar place. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped. I hesitated only a moment before adding, “And with any luck, it’ll be with her in tow – with Wisp.”
Thane recognized the name and whimpered. I tightened my arms around him one last time before reluctantly releasing him. “I’m going to get her back, boy. I promise.”
I had no intention of leaving the Radcliff residence without her.
Something about my tone must have settled him because Thane allowed me to move past him when I stood. His fur was still raised, though – a sign of his unease – so I took the time to pat it down before meeting Abram at the door.
He twisted the knob and jerked it open. “Through with your heart-to-heart?” the man quipped sarcastically. “Or do you need to kiss him good-bye yet?”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s just go.”
My stride faltered when I walked outside and saw that it was a fucking Rolls Royce sitting in front of our dilapidated motel room. Parked next to my truck, it made the beat-up red Chevy look like something from the junk yard.
I was half-surprised it hadn’t been hot-wired and stolen. (The Rolls Royce, not my piece of shit truck.) After all, the Palace Inn was located in a rough neighborhood – half the buildings on the block were falling apart, peeling paint and boarded windows a common sight.
Abram strolled past me, unlocking the vehicle with its fancy remote-controlled car keys before throwing open the driver’s side door. “Come on,” he commanded, “or we’re going to be late.”
I didn’t need to be told twice, and walking around to the passenger’s side, I copied Abram’s actions and slipped into the car.
I might have been impressed by the sleekness of the leather interior any other time, but not today. The entire drive to her father’s house, all I could think of was Wisp and the fact that I could be seeing her in fucking minutes instead of the hours, days, weeks it had taken to get this far.
Even though the Palace Inn was only ten miles from the address Cornelius had given us, it took well over a half-hour to reach it in the evening traffic of Newcastle.
Towards the end of the drive, we pulled off the main highway, turning right onto a less-traveled road, which took us a few miles out of the city before a left turn led us through a thick patch of forest… and then we were there.
We could see the house past the gate, at least five times as large as my cabin and twice as large as my parent’s house had been before it’d been burned to the ground. The thing was surrounded by rose bushes and sprawling hills of well-manicured grass. It had fucking pillars, for Christ’s sake.
As obscenely extravagant as it was, I would have been a fool not to acknowledge its beauty… and for the first time, the thought that Wisp might not want to come home with me tickled the back of my mind.
My entire body tensed at the idea of it. Maybe Wisp liked it here, surrounded by the epitome of richness. You can give her that, if she really wants, a voice pointed out. You can give her anything.
Sure, I could give her material things, but the rich life style that went along with it? We weren’t going to be attending any galas or fancy art exhibit openings in Pine Ridge.
Thankfully, before I could dwell on the errant – fucking heart-wrenching – thought, the gate surrounding the property buzzed to life before the doors opened. I frowned, sharing a glance with Abram. Were the gates fucking electric?
We pulled up the semi-circle driveway, meandering to a stop in front of a pair of glass double doors – doors that Wisp could be behind.
I made a hasty grab for the door handle at the thought, but Abram’s hand, suddenly pressing into my sternum and pinning me to the seat, stopped me. I turned to him. “What are you-?” I started to snarl, but something about his expression stopped me.
“Promise me, Derek,” he said, voice as stern as I’d ever heard it, “that no matter what you hear in there, no matter what you see, you’re not going to do anything stupid.”
The request was shrouded in ambiguity, but I knew well enough what he meant. Regardless, I couldn’t promise a fucking thing.
If we went in there and Wisp wasn’t in pristine condition…
Abram sighed at my lack of response, but also lowered his arm, like he had known all along that trying to get such a vow out of me was futile.
Before either of us could say anything more, a man dressed in a simple black suit was approaching the car. He was middle-aged with an unremarkable appearance – obviously not Cornelius Radcliff. When he stopped at the driver’s side door before opening it for Abram, it become apparent that he was a member of the man’s staff – probably his driver.
“Sir?”
Shooting me one last warning glance, Abram ducked out of the vehicle.
Refusing to allow the suit-clad man to walk around the Rolls Royce and open my door for me, I jumped out as well, slamming the door behind me.
Sometime while we were getting out of the car, Cornelius appeared on the pseudo-mansion’s front steps. He looked the same as he had in the newspaper – av
eraged-sized, with a head full of white hair plugs and matching mustache.
“Gentlemen!” he greeted warmly as we approached the double doors. “You’re right on time!” He turned to type some sort of security code into a keypad located on the side of the house before opening one of the doors and gesturing for us to walk inside.
“Come in! Come in! I’ve been looking forward to your visit all weekend.”
“We’ve been looking forward to it as well, Mr. Radcliff,” Abram assured as we stepped into the shiny entryway. He had no idea. “And let me just say,” he added, taking a moment to glance around the place, “this is a lovely home you have.”
To be fair, it was nice. The entryway was bright and airy, just unnecessarily extravagant. I stared at the needlessly expensive gleaming marble floors, wondering how anyone could justify the cost for such a thing. Wood, cut down and properly treated from the forest, made just as nice floors.
“Thank you, but I must insist you call me Cornelius. After all, I feel like we’ve known each other for years with how often we’ve been on the phone this past week.” He led us to a room left of the entryway, which turned out to be a living space. He gestured towards the fancy, patterned couch. “Please, sit and make yourselves comfortable.”
It was hard to get my body to cooperate when it sung with tension. All I wanted to do was search for Wisp. So far, there was no hide nor hair of her. Even her scent was lacking – the only smell in the air the overpowering odor of pineapple cleaning solution.
“Brandy?” Cornelius asked, lifting what I imagined was an expensive bottle of liquor already sitting on the coffee table. There was also a set of three glasses.
“Yes, please,” Abram agreed gamely, taking a glass.
Cornelius turned towards me expectantly. When I failed to answer, Abram jammed his elbow into my side. “No, thank you,” I muttered.
Cornelius shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He poured himself a tall glass of the amber liquor before taking a seat in the wingback armchair across from the couch. “So, Mr. Tracy, Mr. Crowe,” he said, addressing us by the fake names Abram had invented for us, “I know it’s atrociously bad manners to discuss such matters before partaking in a meal, but I must admit to being quite curious. I was surprised to be contacted by you out of the blue about-”
“Where’s your daughter?” I asked bluntly.
Cornelius choked on his brandy at the abrupt question. Next to me, I could feel Abram stiffen, the tension practically exuding from his form as he glared at the side of my head. (Good thing he’d warned the senator about my eccentricities.)
“Excuse me?” Cornelius demanded when he finally managed to get ahold of his sputtering.
“No, excuse us, Mr. Radcliff,” Abram insisted. “Derek just happened to see the story on the news – the one about your daughter and how she went missing. She was found alive and well several weeks ago, wasn’t she?” he added slyly. “How is she doing?”
Cornelius’s expression lightened at Abram’s explanation. “Ah, yes. I suppose that makes sense. Wonderful of you to be so concerned. Sloane-” – I winced. – “is doing quite well, considering.” Considering what? “Unfortunately, her brain was a little scrambled by the ordeal.” Cornelius let out a bark of laughter at that, the noise sending an unpleasant tingle down my spine. Who the hell chortled about something like that? “As a result, she’s staying at a hospital for the time being – a renowned facility in California.”
I stared in disbelief, a rush of panic-tinged alarm threatening to envelop me. “She’s not here?”
Cornelius frowned, a “v” forming in the wrinkles between his eyebrows. “I’m afraid not,” he answered, voice clipped as he undoubtedly grew suspicious of my preoccupation with his daughter.
But I didn’t fucking care. Because his heart had hiccupped when he’d answered. The man was lying.
My fingers curled involuntarily around the armrest of the couch, nails threatening to sharpen into claws and tear through the fancy, floral pattern of the cotton covering.
I could think of a million reasons why he would lie about Wisp’s whereabouts. Not one of them good. I glanced Abram’s way, desperately attempting to meet his gaze.
Unfortunately, at precisely that moment, a dark-haired Hispanic woman appeared in the doorway, announcing her presence by rapping her knuckles against the wall. The apron tied around her waist made her status as the hired help abundantly clear.
“Excuse me, sirs,” she said, “I hate to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know that supper is ready when you are.”
“Wonderful, Marianne,” Cornelius replied, “thank you. We’ll be along shortly.”
Nodding, the woman – Marianne, apparently – excused herself.
Cornelius downed what remained of his brandy before setting down the empty glass. He stood, clapping his hands together. “Well, it looks like it will be pleasure before business this evening, after all, gentleman. If you follow me, I’ll show you to the dining room.”
He guided us out of the living room and back through the entryway until we reached what was obviously the dining area. In the center of the space was a cherry wood table that stretched to fit at least twelve people. However, tonight, only three places were set.
Cornelius gestured at two of the seats. “Please, sit. We’re in for a treat. I have it on good authority that Marianne has been preparing lamb chops.”
I hesitantly circled around the table to the proper chair when the sound of approaching footsteps – the click-clack of polished shoes on the floor – caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I whipped around to face the door to the entryway just in time to see another person come waltzing through it.
Not just any person, a shifter.
I could smell it on him immediately – the scent undeniably feline in nature. Abram had gotten a whiff of it, too, judging by the way he stiffened at my side.
When I got over the smell long enough to take in the stranger’s features, the blood froze in my veins… for the man standing in the doorway was tall with cornstalk-yellow hair and sharp, gray eyes.
For a moment, all I could think of were Wisp’s nightmares – the ones where she had claimed to be chased through the woods by a man who looked just like this one.
There was no doubt in my mind that this was him.
When I’d found out that Wisp was actually Sloane, I had assumed that the nightmares were just that – bad dreams conjured up by an overactive imagination. But the proof that they were real was right in front of my eyes.
I had sent her to live with a man whom she had been so afraid of that she’d jumped off a fucking cliff to escape him.
The man’s eyes flashed yellow when they met mine, his nostrils flaring as he recognized Abram and I for what we were. “What’s this?” he asked, voice perfectly blasé despite the circumstances.
Cornelius, so caught up in thoughts of lamb chops that he hadn’t even notice the man enter the room, started at the interruption. “Felix!” he exclaimed, voice equal parts surprised and nervous. “What are you doing here? I thought you had business to attend to this evening.”
While the man opened his mouth to answer Cornelius’s question, his eyes didn’t stray from mine. “My plans changed. I was busy… attending to a different matter,” he decided on finally, “when I heard the sound of voices and thought I would come investigate.”
“Who are you?” I demanded briskly, hardly in the mood to sit back and let them speak in code to each other.
“I’m sorry,” Cornelius hurriedly offered. “How rude of me.” He nodded at the man. “Gentleman, this is Felix Rutherford, a friend of the family who’s been staying with us the past several weeks. Felix, this is Mr. Crowe and Mr. Tracy. We share interests in the upcoming election.”
Felix raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly unimpressed. “Of course you do.” He approached the table, reaching across the slab of cherry wood and extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I froze, ev
ery cell in my body coming alive as I stared at the hand. It – he – smelled distinctly of honey. Of Wisp. The sweet scent was as cloying as I remembered, but there was something off about it, something bitter that I’d never associated with Wisp’s scent before.
Regardless, I knew that his hand had been near her, on her… and I wanted to fucking rip his arm out of its socket.
Like he knew I was seconds away from attempting just that, Abram swooped in, quickly giving Felix’s hand a shake before releasing it, stealthily wiping his own hand on the back of his suit when he was finished.
“Cornelius,” Felix said, finally turning his attention away from me, “if you have a moment, I need to speak with you in private. It’s… urgent.”
The man in question frowned, glancing nervously between Abram and I and Felix. “Surely it’s not so pressing that it can’t wait until we’ve enjoyed the lovely meal Marianne has prepared us,” he said.
Like she’d heard her name, the woman chose that exact moment to bustle into the room, a huge platter of lamb balanced on her hands. She set it down carefully onto the table.
Felix eyed the succulent lamb. “Hmm. I suppose not,” he conceded.” Though I’m sure you won’t mind if I join you for supper.”
Cornelius grimaced, like he’d been afraid of that, but nodded. “Of course not,” he said. “Marianne, do you mind setting another place for Felix here?”
She offered him a pained smile. “Sure thing.” Then she disappeared into the kitchen to grab him a plate.
“Let’s sit,” Cornelius said, and following Abram’s lead, I forced my body to stiffly lower itself into a chair.
Felix turned his gaze back on Abram and me as soon as we were all seated, the way his eyes blatantly examined us causing him to claw to the surface. “So, Mr. Crowe, Mr. Tracy,” he said after a moment – his voice was practically dripping with sarcasm, like he somehow knew they weren’t our real names – “where did you say you were from again?”
I stared, disbelieving. “We didn’t,” I snapped.