by Rebecca York
"Ross, I liked you from the start. I never understood why you were so closemouthed about your investigative methods. Now I understand better—but it doesn't change my opinion of you. You're a good, solid PI. The information you've given me has always panned out. And I've never had any reason to question your motivation. You're not trying to get even with anybody. Or score points. Or rip anybody off. You're not the Lone Ranger."
Marshall listened, then spoke quietly, almost to himself. "After Crawford, I swore I'd never indulge in vigilante justice again. Never bring myself down to the level of one of the bastards I was tracking."
"But Arnott was pointing a gun at Megan, ready to pull the trigger—you didn't have a choice. Then he went for his knife. Plus you keep forgetting that I would have killed him if I'd been close enough. Now my advice is: stop beating up on yourself."
"Easier said than done."
"Yeah," Jack agreed. After ten years in law enforcement, he had his own burden to lug around.
Marshall got down two mugs, added tea bags and boiling water. "It has to steep awhile."
"Okay."
"Tell me about Walter Galveston. Did you go after him?"
"Megan told him she wouldn't press charges—if he'd agree to psychiatric counseling."
"So you're dead in the water?"
"I'll give you the legal mumbo jumbo on that. The state's attorney could, by law, go ahead with the prosecution, using Megan as a hostile victim. But with the court system so clogged, I'm pretty sure he's decided to nol-pros the case."
"Which means in English?"
"Well, a nol-pros isn't a dismissal. It just means the state's attorney chooses not to prosecute, and the case kind of lies there in legal limbo—unless Walter gets back into criminal activity. Then the state can drag this case out of the archives as an added benefit."
Ross was leaning forward, hanging on the details.
"You haven't talked to Megan about it?" Jack asked, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer to the question. He'd seen her a week ago, and she hadn't mentioned getting in touch with Ross.
"I haven't seen her."
"I'm sorry. I could tell you two care about each other."
He grimaced. "Well, her seeing the wolf take Arnott down had to be a shock even if it was justified. And she'd been treated to a preview of my undesirable qualities."
"It's something genetic? That's why you went to Bio Gen Labs?"
"Yeah. I have a twenty-fourth chromosome. At Arnott's you got a graphic demonstration of the effect it has."
"Your parents had a lot of children who died."
"You did dig into my background."
"I interviewed a neighbor, Rosa Lantana."
Ross gave a bark of a laugh. "Is that old bat still alive? I'll bet she gave you an earful."
"Yeah."
Marshall looked down into the mugs, stirred the contents with a spoon. "You want sugar?"
"I'll take it straight."
"Let's go sit where it's comfortable."
They each took a mug and settled themselves into leather chairs in the great room.
When Marshal spoke again, his voice was flat and hard. "To give you the rest of the genetic picture—the girl babies die at birth. The boys hang around until their teens. Then they either turn out like me, or they…" He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's a stroke that kills them. It causes a hell of a headache in those who survive, anyway." His hand gripped the mug so tightly that the knuckles whitened.
"I'm glad you trust me enough to talk about it."
"I figure if you tried to tell this to anyone, they'd catch you with a butterfly net and cart you off."
It was Jack's turn to laugh. "Right."
"So you see that any woman who got mixed up with me would be in for a lot of grief." Marshall spoke matter-of-factly, but it was obvious the subject was painful—and one that had been on his mind for a long time.
Jack wanted to tell him that he'd talked to Megan—that she might not make the right decision on her own. He wanted to say that if Ross loved her, he should go after her. Then he reminded himself that things weren't so simple for the man he'd always thought of as the Lone Wolf.
Ross shrugged. "I've been keeping tabs on her, though. I had a chat with Galveston. He's selling her the lab equipment at a very reasonable price. I know she's got financing for her own company and is moving to another location, and that Galveston isn't exercising any claim over research she did while working for him."
Jack already knew those details. He said only, "She deserves that victory—after what she went through."
"Yeah."
When the silence stretched again, Marshall asked, "So what are you working on?"
"Mostly routine stuff. But a few cases you'll appreciate." Over the mugs of berry tea, Jack gave him the details. "Well, call me if you have anything I can use," he finally said, rising from his chair.
Marshall stood, too, facing him.
Jack held out his hand, and they shook, their clasps warm and firm. "Take care of yourself."
"You, too."
He wanted to say more. But he was in danger of embarrassing himself or Marshall with half-baked philosophy about friendship and loyalty. So he turned and left.
THE next time Megan braved the road to Ross Marshall's house was almost three months after she had first come here. It was late in the day, as the last fading rays of the sun kissed the landscape.
Once more, she cut the engine and stepped nervously out of her car. The trees had leafed out, the canopy of their foliage luxurious against the navy blue of the sky.
She looked at the flower beds near the house, making out the shapes of ferns and hostas interspersed with brightly colored impatiens, the arrangement as natural as if it had simply sprung up. But she knew that an artful gardener had placed the plants to suit his own aesthetic sense.
She took several steps closer, breathing in clean country air—then stopped short when she saw a gray shape moving toward her.
The wolf.
Her heart skipped a beat, then started hammering so hard her chest hurt. But she'd done a lot of thinking since they'd parted, and now she stood her ground as he approached, his head up, his gait majestic.
This was the first time she'd gotten a good look at him when fear wasn't slashing through her.
She looked her fill now, feeling her heart turn over. He was beautiful, a wild creature—totally uncaged, totally at home in the forest. Yet his yellow eyes glowed with the intelligence she'd seen that first time—intelligence far beyond that of a mere animal.
Tangled emotions surged through her as he came forward across the meadow, a challenge in his gaze and his posture. The first night she'd seen the gray wolf, she'd turned and run. Now she went down on her knees in the springy grass, bringing herself to his eye level as he stopped within a few feet of her.
"I missed you," she said, holding out her arms. "Come here."
For several heartbeats, she wasn't sure he was going to accept the invitation. Then he moved toward her with maddening slowness, as if he were giving her a final chance to change her mind.
She stayed where she was. And finally, finally he was close enough so that she could reach out, circling his neck with her arms and laying her cheek against his thick coat.
The contact sent a surge of relief flowing through her. She drank in his woodsy scent. Turning her face, she rubbed her lips against the side of his muzzle.
His tongue flicked out, and delicately licked her cheek, and she felt a shiver go through him.
"Mmm. I'm glad to see you, too." She stroked the silky fur behind his ears, pressed herself more tightly to his side.
"What do you think it means when a woman is turned on by a wolf?" she asked. "Well—not just any wolf. Her mate, actually."
He eased away so that the bright yellow eyes could meet hers.
"I guess you're wondering where I've been. I've had some stuff to straighten out. About the lab and my project. And other things." She swallo
wed, her fingers playing with the fabric of her cloak. "My research on Myer's disease is going to bring in quite a bit of money. Enough to finance my new project."
The wolf cocked his head questioningly to one side.
"Saving girl babies with the twenty-fourth chromosome. And figuring out what to do for the boys when they get old enough to change."
The turbulent look on his face made her shake her head. "You're not going to frighten me away this time."
The wolf stepped back twenty yards, stood looking at her, and she knew what he was going to do. Despite her bold words, a bolt of fear shot through her. But she stayed where she was, her breath fast and shallow.
She had known she must face this. Known it was the ultimate test—for both of them. Wide-eyed, she watched the shape of his body begin to flow the way it had that first night when fever had almost driven him to change. Then he had stopped himself in time. Tonight, he didn't. Seeing the transformation froze the breath in her lungs, and she felt her face contort.
ROSS stood in front of her, a naked man, watching the horror that twisted her perfect features into something that shattered his heart. The sorrow of it was almost too much for any living being to bear.
He had lain awake at night aching for her, yet he hadn't dared to hope for his heart's desire. Then he had seen her get out of the car—and all the longing had coalesced into one terrible driving need to claim his mate.
He had held back his joy when she put her arms around his neck, telling him she accepted the wolf, because he knew there was one crucial test that the wolf's mate must pass.
And now—
Now he felt as if his body and his soul had been torn to shreds and scattered to the winds.
"No. Please. No." She pushed herself off the ground, and he braced himself for unbearable pain. She had come here and given him hope. Then snatched it away.
But she didn't turn her back. Incredibly, she was coming toward him, her loose cloak flowing around her in the wind.
"Ross. Oh, God, Ross," she cried as she hurtled forward, wrapped her arms around him, holding him as though she never meant to let him go. "It's all right. It's all right," she added, the tears in her voice burning his skin.
"Your face. I saw the look of horror on your face," he managed to get out before his clogged throat made speech impossible.
"No. Not horror," she gasped, tipping her head back so that her eyes could meet his. "I watched you, and I thought how much it must hurt—muscle and bone contorting, internal organs changing shape. And I remembered how you'd done it twice—to save me. From Walter and from Arnott. That's what you saw."
It took several charged moments before the words sank in. Yet he still couldn't quite accept that happiness was within his grasp. "Don't you have the sense to be afraid of me? Of us?"
"I'm not afraid. I love you. That makes all the difference."
He sucked in a breath and let it out before it scalded his lungs. "You saw me kill a man."
"To save my life." She repeated what Jack Thornton had said.
"Arnott never would have come after you, if it wasn't for me. He probably saw us together at the mall."
"Ross, stop! That wasn't your fault. And if I were afraid of you, I wouldn't be here. Don't you know that every man and woman struggles with doubts? Regrets? Fears? You don't have to be a werewolf to doubt yourself."
He stared down into her eyes, trying to absorb the words. "God, what am I going to do with you?"
"Love me, I hope."
His head dropped to her shoulder. For long moments he stood listening to the sound of his own labored breathing as her fingers tangled in his hair, stroked across his broad back, drifted downward to caress his naked hips. Somehow it was that contact—the possessive way her fingers glided over his body—that allowed the miracle of their reunion to sink in.
Lifting his head, he looked down at her in wonder. She gave him a brilliant smile. "We had one unforgettable night together. I want a lot more."
Slinging her arms around his neck, she breached the distance between her mouth and his.
His response came in a flood of physical sensation and emotion, like a dam bursting. His mouth opened, devoured hers with all the hunger that had built inside him over the past lonely days and nights.
She tasted wonderful, and he feasted on her. She felt wonderful, and he gathered her close. Her scent was richer, fuller than he remembered. He might have puzzled over that, but she didn't give him time to think.
She spoke against his lips, nibbling the words, "It's a little too cold to make love out here. At least it is for me. Can we go inside?"
Too overwhelmed to voice an answer, he turned and led her to the house. He'd pictured her there, with him. But he'd thought it was simply a fantasy built from his own aching loneliness.
Now she had come to him, and the reality humbled him.
They made it through the front door, but not much farther. The sight of her eyes bright with need and her lips red and moist from his kiss made his knees go weak.
He laid her down on the rug in front of the fireplace, gathered her to him, rocking with her as they kissed and stroked each other, each touch, each kiss fueling the astonishing sensual pleasure building between them.
"I'm overdressed, I think," she murmured.
"Yes." His hands shook as they worked to pull off her cloak and open the buttons on the simple shift she wore. As they had that first time in her kitchen, two sets of hands tangled.
This time, she laughed, the sound pure joy in his ears.
"We could rip it off," she suggested.
"I'm trying to show you I can be civilized," he answered, his voice rough with barely leashed passion.
Finally, after an eternity, she was as naked as he. On a sigh of gratitude, he bent to press his face against her breasts.
She combed her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. He turned his head to find a hardened nipple with his mouth, teasing her with his tongue and teeth, wringing one glad cry from her and then another as his thumb and finger tightened on her other nipple.
In the dark hours of the night, he'd wondered if he'd made it up, if anything could have been as good as the memory of making love with her.
Incredibly, this was better. The taste of her was exquisite, the feel of her overwhelming.
His free hand slid along the curve of her hip, then traveled inward to the thatch of blond hair at the vee of her legs. His fingers dipped lower, finding her hot and wet and ready for him.
A low hum of pleasure vibrated in her throat as her body arched into the caress. Then he felt her hand close around the hard, distended shaft of his penis, and a jolt of incredible animal sensation surged through him.
"I want this inside me again."
Her words and enticing clasp drove him to the edge of madness. Now. It had to be now! He covered her body with his, his eyes never leaving hers as he plunged inside her, feeling some dark, hidden core deep within him shatter.
"Oh, Ross," she breathed, her arms circling his shoulders, and he sensed that she had felt it, too.
She was his mate.
More than his mate. His love. The other half of his being. And he understood now that his soul would have died if she hadn't come back to him.
He began to move inside her, feeling her match his rhythm. He wanted the incredible pleasure to last an eternity, but nothing so intense could endure for more than moments. He felt her inner muscles contract, heard her call out his name once more. And then he was shaking with the force of his own release, his head thrown back as ecstasy washed over him.
Afterward he held her in his arms, watching the satisfied expression on her face, gently touching the faint scar that ran down her cheek.
She turned her face, closed her eyes as she kissed his fingers.
His hand moved lower, stroking possessively over her flushed skin. When his fingers skimmed over the slight swell of her abdomen, he stopped a tremor going through him.
"Megan?" he asked, his
voice hoarse.
She opened her eyes, met his questioning gaze, and gave him a small nod.
"Oh, Christ."
When he tried to wrench away from her, she circled his shoulders, held him beside her. "It's okay."
"You don't know that!"
"Yes, I do. It's a boy. I found out this morning. There's a new technique that gives you the sex early. That's why I waited so long to come back here. I wanted to find out before I saw you."
"And if it had been a girl?"
Her face turned very serious. "I… would have tried to save her, although I'm not sure I could do anything at this point. With in vitro fertilization, there's a much better chance. If it's a girl, you can remove the extra chromosome before implanting the fertilized egg."
"And with a boy?"
Her features lightened again. "We've got fifteen years to figure out what happens at puberty. I need to do some tests on you. And on your brother, if he'll let me. I'm betting that the key to survival is hormonal."
He stared down at her in wonder. "You'd do all that for me?"
"For us. I'd do anything for us. The question is: Can you accept the idea of 'us'?"
He bent, pressed his forehead to hers. "God, I want to." His voice turned low and urgent as he went on rapidly. "But… you didn't choose me, the way any other woman would choose a man. The extra genes I have forced me to find a mate. You came here and touched me, took care of me. That was how the bond formed between us. Neither one of us could control what was happening."
She let him talk, waited until he was finished. "I don't think it's so different from the way other women choose a man," she murmured. "They meet. Maybe by chance, the way we met. And some mysterious chemistry draws them together. But they know they've found the one person for them—in all the sea of humanity."
He hadn't thought about it in those terms. Never. The revelation shook him.
She lifted her face, looked into his eyes. "The important thing is, do you love me?"
"You know I do."
"Then stop worrying about the rest of it. Just let yourself take the leap off the cliff. I'll be leaping with you."
She made it sound so easy. And maybe with her beside him it could be. Maybe she was what he needed to rise above the genes that ruled his life. Perhaps he had found the anchor to his humanity in her—this woman who had come back to him against all odds.