Luck of the Wolf

by Susan Krinard

  Cort was ashamed of being a werewolf. It seemed a ridiculous idea, like being ashamed of having blond hair or brown eyes. In all her years of solitude, Aria had never regretted being what she was, only that there were no others like herself.

  But Cort had always known there were others. And still he was ashamed.

  That meant he must be ashamed of her, too.

  “I like Changing,” she said quietly. “You must think I’m a barbarian.”

  “Non. I didn’t mean…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken as I did.”

  “Maybe you wish you hadn’t said it,” she said, “but it’s what you believe, isn’t it?”

  “Chère, I—”

  “What about all the other werewolves in San Francisco? In America? Do they think Changing is primitive and barbaric, too?” She jumped to her feet. “Do all of our fa—all Reniers hate what they are, like you do?”

  All at once he was staring at her, his muscles as hard and tense as they had been just after he had Changed into a human again. He examined her face intently. “Have you remembered something, Aria? If you know who you are, you must tell me.”

  She lifted her chin. “Yuri told me,” she said. “He said I belonged to the Reniers of New Orleans.” She swallowed. “Did you know all the time?”

  In spite of her careful study, Aria could no longer tell what Cort was feeling. He held her gaze as if he had nothing to hide.

  “No,” he said. “It was only after I had already begun searching for your kin that I realized how closely you resembled the New Orleans Reniers and made a few inquiries.”

  “Yuri said you didn’t know who I was because you and the other Reniers are only very distant cousins,” she said.

  “That is true.”

  “But Yuri said you come from the same place, this ‘Louisiana.’ You must know them.”

  Maybe she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been watching him so carefully, but Aria saw Cort’s jaw clench and the skin twitch ever so slightly above his upper lip. “My family is…not of the same branch,” he said, looking away. “We seldom dealt with the New Orleans clan.”

  “But you have met them?” She jumped up. “What are they like, my family?”

  “We will discuss that at a later time. There are other things—”

  “But who am I?” She started toward him, almost too excited to speak. “Yuri told me I was taken away from them when I was very young, and that they have been searching for me ever since.”

  “You were kidnapped, stolen from the Reniers by a stranger.”

  It took a moment for Aria to swallow her shock. Kidnapped? Had the Carantians kidnapped her? Why would anyone want to steal her from her family?

  “Who was he?” she asked faintly.

  “No one knows.”

  She was almost too dazed to continue the conversation. “Did I have another name…before?”

  “Lucienne,” he said in a strange, sad voice.

  Lucienne. It had a pretty sound to it, but it didn’t feel right, no more than Anna did.

  “You said you didn’t want anyone else to know that your name was Aria,” Cort said, looking at her again. “Have you remembered why?”

  It would be so very easy to tell him now that she’d never lost her memory. She trusted Cort, didn’t she? He had a right to know. She would be able to tell him all her fears and hopes and dreams.

  And he’ll think you’re a liar and a cheat. He’ll believe you never trusted him at all.

  She backed away from him and sat on the couch again. “Please,” She said. “Tell me about my family.”

  The corners of his eyes squeezed together. “They are loups-garous.”

  “I know that. Yuri told me. But are they like you?”

  He rose and smoothed his coat as if there were something left of it worth tidying. “You should rest, Aria. As soon as Yuri returns, we will find new lodgings until something more permanent can be arranged. A good hotel, somewhere those men won’t dare accost you again. I’ll begin packing.” He walked toward the bedroom and turned in the doorway. “Do not stir from this room.”

  Aria sprang up, feeling as if she might jump right out of her skin even without the Change. Even though he hadn’t said much about them, the way Yuri had spoken of the New Orleans Reniers made her certain that they must be like Cort. There would be ladies in tight, fancy dresses and gentlemen in embroidered vests, speaking in soft, pleasant voices.

  Only Cort isn’t always a gentleman, she thought. He hadn’t been soft or pleasant in the alley. She wasn’t afraid of him when he was angry. In many ways, she understood him better when he lost his temper. When he was cool and calm and spoke in that easy drawl, she didn’t really know who he was. Just as she didn’t understand how any werewolf could despise the Change and the other half of himself.

  Caught between emotions she couldn’t untangle, Aria took off the dress, picked up her needle and thread, and set about repairing it all over again.

  “DAMN YOU, YURI,” Cort snapped, the accent of his birth thick in his words. “First you tell Aria she’s a Renier, and then you leave her by herself after I warned you to be vigilant. Are you mad?”

  Cort’s scowl was so grim that any human would have cowered instinctively in atavistic terror rather than face such a dreadful sight. Any human but Yuri.

  It was not Cort’s justified anger that affected Yuri now, but the realization that they had come so close to losing the girl. That was his own fault. His business had been urgent enough, it was true, but he had made a very serious mistake in believing she had sense enough to remain in the house. And in thinking that, because no one had tried to find her yet, they would be safe a little while longer.

  “Calm yourself, my friend,” Yuri said, though he was anything but calm himself. “I told the girl because you refused to do so. We could not afford to wait until you were satisfied that she was Lucienne Renier.” He glanced toward their boardinghouse across the street. “In any case, you were victorious. You have certainly increased her trust in you by rescuing her.”

  “Rescuing her?” Cort’s voice dropped to a growl. “She fights like a demon.”

  Or a wolf. Yuri rubbed his arms. The heavy late-spring fog almost made him forget how much more miserable he would be in Russia at this very moment without the resources to which he was entitled. The resources he might lose even before he gained them.

  “These men,” he said. “Did you know them?”

  “I may have seen the loup-garou in passing,” Cort said. “I didn’t know the human, but—” He broke off and glared after a man scurrying along the street as if daring the unwitting interloper to notice his ragged suit.

  But. Yuri grimaced. He thought he knew what Cort must be thinking. They had always assumed that it would be Cochrane looking for the girl. But it would take a human fully aware of the existence of werewolves to hire one for such a job, and there were very few such men in San Francisco. What if another werewolf had been behind the attempted abduction?

  An even deeper chill numbed Yuri’s body. Di Reinardus. What if di Reinardus were here in San Francisco and had known about the tournament? What if he had hired Cochrane to play for him? What if he’d been biding his time ever since, waiting for just the right time to take the girl from the man who had won her?

  If that were true, he would have made it his business to learn all about Cort. And that meant he would know that Yuri was with him.

  Yuri’s mouth was so dry he felt as if he hadn’t taken a drink in weeks. “You had no clue as to who might have sent them?” he asked Cort.

  Cort continued to scowl after the disappearing figure. “We are not the only ones who know of the missing Renier girl.”

  Yuri’s stomach heaved. “Who?” he said, choking on the word.

  Cort explained in clipped sentences what had happened at the saloon. When he had finished, Yuri was forced to lean against the nearest wall for fear that he might topple into the mud.

  “Hugo…Br
echt,” he said heavily. It wasn’t a name he knew. But it was German, like many Carantian surnames, and Cort had said the man was loup-garou. “Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I intended to,” Cort said, too preoccupied to notice Yuri’s reaction, “but I wanted to see if I could learn anything more about him first. He seems to be something of a cypher, but I’m convinced that he believes Aria is Lucienne. Whether he’s in this for himself, or working on behalf of the Reniers, he doesn’t want her identity to be made public.” He slammed his fist into the wall. “Maudit imbécile. He is more desperate than I believed.”

  Yuri worked to steady his voice. “What did he look like, this Brecht?”

  “Blue eyes, graying hair. A hard face.” Cort looked at Yuri through half-closed lids. “Why? Does he sound familiar to you?”

  Familiar, yes. Too familiar. Except for the hair. But hair color could be changed.

  “I…I am not sure,” Yuri said. “It is possible I met such a man in New Orleans.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I believe he was one of those criminals who deal in extortion, and the secrets of the rich and powerful.”

  A startled look crossed Cort’s face. “Could he be the man who kidnapped Lucienne?”

  Yuri laughed hoarsely. “Him? Impossible. Such a man would have claimed a ransom long ago. No, the man I remember would be just the sort to see the profit in—”

  “Doing exactly what we plan to do?” Cort finished, apparently satisfied with Yuri’s hasty answer. “In other words, he is not the kidnapper, and he is not likely to be an agent of the Reniers.”

  “Nyet. I cannot imagine how he could be.”

  “Then his actions were those of an opportunist who hoped for an easy win with one swift strike,” Cort said. “He didn’t achieve his goal, and he seems intelligent enough to cut his losses. Nevertheless—” He pulled out his pocket watch. “We must get Aria away within the hour.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Yuri released his breath. “What did you say to the girl?”

  “She didn’t know him, of course. I told her he was loup-garou, one of the men who wanted to win her in the game.”

  Tell him, Yuri thought. Tell him everything.

  But he couldn’t. There hadn’t been any need for it when they’d first met in New Orleans, because di Reinardus had left with Lucienne and Yuri’s part in the abduction was over. If he said anything now, Cort would never trust him again. He certainly wouldn’t go along with the plan as Yuri had conceived it.

  There is no plan. How could there be? There was no standing against di Reinardus. He was ruthless and utterly without scruples. Nor could he easily be deceived. Cort might—might—be a match for him, except for one thing. Cort did have scruples. He might pretend he didn’t, but it was all a sham. He played the cardsharp and trickster when necessary, but he had an honorable streak that Yuri had never been able to eradicate.

  And yet that honor could give way to something much less civilized. Yuri understood just what it had meant for Cort to Change and fight as a wolf. If he were to return to what he had been when Yuri met him, the situation could become very complicated.

  Yuri ground his teeth with such force that his head exploded with pain. He had a decision to make. The wisest course for him would simply be to leave San Francisco. Forget loyalties he had never expected to run so deep.

  “We can take her to a hotel for the time being,” Cort said, oblivious to the depth of Yuri’s distress. “The Palace, I think.” He lifted his head to sniff the air. “If Brecht should try to abduct her again, he’s likely to find that there are hardly unlimited numbers of loups-garous available for such employment in San Francisco.” He watched another man shuffle along the street. “Have you secured us a place outside the city?”

  “An isolated hunting lodge in the Sierra Nevada. Its owner is conveniently out of the country and will hardly notice temporary tenants.”

  “And the woman?”

  “Babette is on her way from Denver.”

  “How much have you told her?”

  “She knows the girl is Lucienne.”

  “But not that she goes by the name ‘Aria’?”

  “No. But I see no reason—”

  “I suggest that we allow Aria the decision about whether or not to tell Madame Martin.”

  Yuri shrugged. “As you please.”

  “Then finish your arrangements quickly. I’ll take Aria to the Palace. Brecht’s men won’t take me by surprise again.”

  Yuri could only hope that was the case. He might decide to abandon Cort and everything he had worked for, but he sincerely hoped the werewolf would find a way to outwit di Reinardus.

  If he were to be honest, though, he was forced to admit that was as likely as finding five aces in an honest deck.

  “You have enough money for the hotel?” he asked Cort.

  “Enough to begin. I will get more, once we know Aria is safe.” Cort lowered his head, and Yuri could sense the wolf bristling under the other man’s skin. “There can be no more mistakes, Yuri. Next time…”

  “There will be no next time,” Yuri said. “The girl is too valuable a commodity to risk.”

  For a moment Yuri was convinced that Cort was about to strike him. His eyes had gone cold, and his lips had curled back from his teeth. Something very like hatred burned in his face.

  The moment passed, but it left a sour taste in Yuri’s mouth, sourer even than the taste of his fear.

  “I will go,” he said. He set off at a brisk pace, fingering the tiny, bejeweled Derringer in his trouser pocket.

  It was too late to warn Babette off now, of course. She would arrive in San Francisco very soon, and the best Yuri could do was meet her and send her right back to Denver. Hell, he would go with her. Anything to avoid what was surely coming.

  If he had any sense, he wouldn’t wait at all. When no one came for Babette at the station…well, she was a clever and resourceful woman. She would find a way to—

  There was no sound at all, no warning. A hand closed over Yuri’s mouth before he could even think of drawing the Derringer.

  “Take care, my friend,” a familiar voice whispered. “No harm will befall you if you come quietly.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A HARD, MUSCULAR ARM locked around Yuri’s chest, pulling him off the street. Yuri let himself go limp, knowing there was no use fighting. San Francisco’s alleys were endlessly convenient for trysts, clandestine meetings—and ambushes. There was little chance anyone had seen what had just happened, or would have cared if they had.

  All he could do was pretend a confidence he was far from feeling.

  “There,” the voice said. “We shall have privacy here.” Di Reinardus removed his hand from Yuri’s mouth. “I apologize for the violence, old friend. I have urgent matters to discuss with you.”

  Yuri turned to face the duke, bile in his throat. The Carantian had hardly changed in the eight years since he had abandoned Yuri in New Orleans.

  “Gunther,” Yuri said, deliberately using the duke’s Christian name. “It has been a long time.”

  In New Orleans such familiarity would have offended di Reinardus’s dignity, though he and Yuri had already known each other in Russia for a number of years before the abduction.

  Today, the duke merely shrugged. “So it has,” he said coolly. “I confess, I did not imagine we would ever meet again.”

  I’m sure you did not, Yuri thought with an inward sneer. But he didn’t let his contempt show on his face.

  “I do regret how things turned out in New Orleans,” Gunther said, stepping back. “When the opportunity arose to take Alese, I had no time to consider anything but an immediate departure.”

  “Of course,” Yuri said, smiling icily. “You could not have been expected to send for me afterward. Your great plan was far more important. I completely understand.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  Yuri bit back his laugh, knowing the duke was quite indifferent to his feelings one way or
another.

  “We had good times together, didn’t we, Baron?” Gunther said. “You were a loyal ally, coming ahead of me to America and confirming the girl’s identity. If it had not been for you, I might never have learned that Lucienne Renier was in truth Alese di Reinardus.” He shook his head. “The queen was clever in those last hours of her life. Sending her daughter to live with distant cousins in the United States, to be raised as one of them, protected from those who might use her to win the throne.” He smiled. “Her Majesty’s plan did not go quite as expected, however.”

  Yuri’s anger made him reckless. “Yet Alese is no longer with you,” he said.

  The duke’s good humor vanished like the sun behind an eclipse. “I had her for four years, Chernikov. She was sixteen, nearly ready. But she—” He broke off, his upper lip quivering with rage.

  “She escaped,” Yuri finished, unable to forgo the dangerous pleasure of seeing di Reinardus admit failure.

  Gunther didn’t answer immediately. He struggled with his emotions as Cort had struggled, wolf contending with man.

  “Ja,” he said at last. “But I have found her again.” His arm snapped out, and his fingers snagged Yuri’s collar with vicious force. “What have you planned, Chernikov? To return her to the Reniers for a price?”

  It would do no good at all to lie and tell the duke that he had no such plan. “You spoke to Cort Renier,” he said.

  “An honorable man,” di Reinardus spat. “How did you come to be acquainted?”

  “We met in New Orleans soon after the abduction, when I found myself at loose ends.”

  “Ah. A mysterious character, this Cort Renier. What are his origins?”

  “He is not one of Alese’s close kin, as you surely know by now. It was merely coincidence that we met at all, and I did not ask about his background. It was unnecessary.” He shrugged. “I found certain of his skills to be advantageous to my future.”

  “Advantageous? He has some ability as a gambler, but you hardly appear to be enjoying a life of luxury.”