TO CATCH A WOLF

by Susan Krinard

  Then the grip relaxed, and he caught himself as he fell, scrambling out of reach while he labored to fill his lungs with precious air. His back hit the wall, and he let it hold him up until he could see clearly again.

  They stood together, not touching but close, the bastard and Niall's shameless, half-human sister. Athena's hair was half loose about her shoulders like that of a cheap Cherry Creek slut, her lips bruised with kissing. Morgan…

  Morgan stood in front of her, head lowered, shoulders hunched like a bear ready to charge. Coarse black hair fell in his eyes, giving him the look of a madman. His lip and nose bled where Niall had struck true, but he hardly seemed aware of the injuries. An almost inaudible growl rumbled from his throat.

  He was an animal. Worse than an animal. Niall thought of the rifle downstairs—his father's, hung on the wall when Walter Munroe first took up with Gwenyth Desbois, and never used again. Father had abandoned hunting for pleasure because of that woman. But the rifle was still there.

  The door was close. All he had to do was avoid provoking an attack. He took a step backward.

  "Niall," Athena said. She moved one of her feet, sliding it across the floor. "It isn't what you think. Please, listen to me!"

  He looked at her in such a way that she faltered, folding her arms across her chest as if she could ward off the contempt in his gaze.

  "I am no more blind than you are lame," he said. "You are a whore, just like your mother."

  He wasn't quite sure what happened then, or how it started. Morgan's teeth were the first to change. They began to lengthen, became more pointed, the incisors graced with a cutting edge like miniature daggers. Then the face… subtly, slowly, so gradually that Niall could not have said exactly how the transformation progressed. His stomach roiled with horror at the sight of something that God and Nature had never intended.

  Skin stubbled with a day's growth of beard darkened further, taking on the rough texture of short fur. Nose blended into upper lip. Ears shifted, lengthened. The body took on proportions that mocked the human shape, pushing and pulling at the seams of Morgan's clothing.

  And through it all, the eyes barely changed. They focused on Niall with all the single-minded purpose of a starving predator in sight of an easy meal.

  The face of Morgan Holt was no longer that of a man. Nor was it a beast, though it most closely resembled a wolf. A wolf… the Wolf-Man. A legend made to frighten children and entertain jaded audiences. A creature like Athena's mother. Like Athena.

  Morgan Holt's circus act was no act at all. And Niall understood everything.

  In such moments—as if he were in the middle of a crucial business negotiation—Niall's mind became as sharp as the Wolf-Man's fangs. He knew that Morgan had the strength to tear him apart with little effort, and that for some reason he had not done so. He saw that Athena was moving, hobbling, setting herself between the two men as if her slight body could hold them apart.

  "I will not let you hurt each other," she cried. Her voice trembled, but it did not fail. "Now you know what Morgan is. I broke my word by coming here, but I did not lie to you. I couldn't risk telling you the full truth."

  "Because I would stop you from seeing him again? From going to your… what is he? Your mate?" Niall laughed. "Have you been waiting for another like you to come along and take you away? Will you be the bitch to his dog, Athena?"

  Morgan lunged. Athena interposed herself, almost falling, and Morgan stopped to catch her. Niall noted with icy curiosity that each of Morgan's fingers was tipped by a curved black nail, and wondered if he could speak in a human tongue.

  "She has done nothing," Morgan said in a rasping voice, answering his question. "If you do not leave her alone, I will—"

  "Now isn't it just like men to grunt and squabble like pigs over slops."

  The voice was a little breathless, but Niall would have recognized it in a shout or a whisper. He spun toward the door. Caitlin stood at the entrance, with Harry French supporting her on one side and Ulysses Wakefield on the other. Lines of strain framed her eyes, but she was perfectly capable of impaling Niall with a look of utter scorn.

  "The gallant white knight, charging up to save a lady's honor," she said, looking past him at Morgan without batting an eyelash at his grotesque appearance. "You're no better, Morgan Holt." Her eyes lit with pleasure as they found Athena. "And you. Look at you!"

  "Caitlin!" Athena exclaimed. "You should not be out of bed. I… I am quite well. Everything is all right."

  Everything was clearly not all right, but Niall knew the most dangerous moment had passed. "This is none of your business," he said, addressing French. "Get out."

  Athena pulled halfway from Morgan's grip. "Harry, take her back—"

  "And miss all the fun?" Caitlin leaned forward, almost dragging the two men with her. "I think this should become one of our regular acts, don't you, Harry?"

  The old man glanced in an agony of worry from one face to another. "Oh, dear. I did not know… I did not realize that Mr. Munroe had arrived until we heard the shouting, and Caitlin insisted—"

  "It was very kind of you to come visit us," Caitlin said to Niall, smiling sweetly. "I am sorry you are so put out, Mr. Munroe, but if you insist on entering private rooms unannounced, you are bound to see things you don't like."

  Niall opened his mouth to answer and was held mute by the sparkle in Caitlin's blue eyes. Dammit, how could he be thinking of her eyes at a time like this? She had always approved of Athena's attraction to Holt. Good God, she had probably urged Athena to abandon her principles and humanity for a night of passion in this monster's arms.

  "You… you defend my sister giving herself to this…" He waved toward Morgan, sick in his gut. "You knew what he was, you and your circus freaks. And you let Athena get near him—"

  "I think you'll find she has a mind of her own. Athena has known what he is since he saved her life from a runaway horse in the big top." Caitlin cocked her head. "You didn't want her near Morgan because of his act. But you couldn't have known it wasn't an act at all. You don't look like a man who's shocked by something he's never seen before."

  "He isn't," Athena said quietly. She stepped away from Morgan's support and stood free on unsteady legs. "He isn't shocked because Morgan and I share the same nature. My mother… she was a werewolf, too."

  Caitlin's eyes widened. "Of course. It explains so much—why you reacted so calmly when you saw Morgan change, and why you have been drawn to each other." She looked at Niall. "But that means that you must also be—"

  "I am not," he snapped. "My mother was a normal woman. She was Walter Munroe's wife."

  "Ah. I see." Caitlin's stare was so bleak that Niall had difficulty in meeting it. "Athena's mother was his mistress, then."

  Her frankness should not have surprised him at this late date. "It doesn't matter. She is my sister, and I promised to protect her from harm."

  "And a fine job you make of it."

  Seldom had Niall felt such anger. It was as if his skull were an overheated boiler, blackening his vision with scalding steam. When he looked at Caitlin, he dared not loose his rage. But Athena, and Morgan, were another matter entirely.

  "I thought she needed protecting," he said, turning on his sister. "Look at her! She has been deceiving everyone, pretending helplessness to win sympathy and support for her charities… and for herself." He ignored Athena's horrified protest. "Did you think you could make me dance to your tune by playing the cripple, Athena? Has that been your game all along, just like… just like pretending you aren't exactly the same as your mother?"

  Morgan snarled. Caitlin hopped forward on one leg. "And who do you take after, Niall Munroe?" she demanded. "You've never been driven by fear for your sister, have you? It's hatred—hatred of anyone different, hatred and guilt, eating you up inside because you helped put Athena in that chair. Controlling her and calling it protection is the only way to salve your guilt and cage what you don't understand!"

  Her words echoed in
the total silence that followed. Niall heard the accusation over and over, hating Caitlin for revealing his shame, sickened by the truth.

  And she knew only half of it.

  He had to get out, before he disgraced himself further. But he'd be damned if he'd leave Athena in the hands of these people, no matter what Caitlin claimed as his motive. He had never retreated from a fight without some plan for ultimate victory.

  Caitlin provided the distraction he needed. As if she had used up all her strength in castigating him, she gave a soft moan and stumbled sideways. Niall stepped in and caught her before anyone else moved, steadied her, and handed her over to Holt. Morgan took her reflexively, leaving Niall free to grab Athena.

  She felt almost boneless as he lifted her, and he was certain when he held her in his arms that her legs were not those of a healthy woman. They were too thin, lacking the full development of muscle. She might be able to stand, even hobble, but she was by no means recovered. Perhaps her deception hadn't been quite as heinous as he had believed.

  Niall shouldered his way past Harry and the dwarf and paused in the doorway, Athena rigid in his hold. Caitlin's presence prevented Holt from following. His yellow eyes tracked Niall with an unspoken vow that the battle was far from over. The world narrowed down to the two of them, a long, red tunnel of hatred that connected them as surely as Athena bore her mother's bestial blood.

  "Listen well, Morgan Holt," Niall said. "I make you a solemn promise. If you ever touch my sister again, I will kill you."

  Almost tenderly, Morgan passed the half-conscious Caitlin to Harry French and started toward Niall. Athena pushed against Niall's chest, and her eyes locked with Holt's.

  Niall had no explanation for what followed. Woman and beast-man gazed at each other, and it was as if yet another tunnel linked them, excluding everyone else—a tunnel made of light instead of hate. Athena smiled. She held out her hand, stopping Holt with a gesture as graceful as a dancer's.

  "Please stay, Morgan," she said. "Look after Caitlin. She needs you now."

  Holt blinked slowly, and the bizarre transformation that had taken him before began to reverse itself. When it was done he was human again, though the shadows under his cheekbones seemed more pronounced and pain pinched the corners of his mouth. Niall hoped that the Change had been excruciating.

  He turned his back on Holt, on all of them, and carried his sister out of the jaws of hell.

  Chapter 16

  At times like these, Athena thought, it would have made perfect sense to weep. But her eyes remained stubbornly dry, though the twisting pain in her legs was a constant reminder that the worst was yet to come.

  Niall all but ran down the stairs, charging blindly away from the terrible danger that existed in his mind. At the foot of the stairs he paused, irresolute, and carried her down the hall to the door of Walter Munroe's study.

  The room had been closed up ever since Papa had died. It was dark inside, and smelled of mildew and old books. Athena's throat ached with the memories stacked on the shelves and in every corner.

  Niall deposited her on the dusty leather-padded chair behind Papa's desk and stood back as if she might somehow corrupt him if he touched her any longer than necessary. That hurt, too, but all the hurts had blended together so that it was difficult to tell one from another.

  If she had been able, she would have stood up and marched right back up the stairs to Morgan. But her legs had been pressed beyond their limits, the atrophied muscles seized with spasms, and they would not have carried her as far as the door.

  "Are you happy now?" Niall demanded.

  He looked drained, ill—not the vital, confident man she knew, but a stranger more terrifying than Morgan in his half-wolf shape. He had threatened to kill Morgan, and Athena believed him. He would try, at the risk of his own life, if Morgan came near her again.

  Unless she could make him understand.

  "I didn't lie to you about my legs, Niall," she began, gathering the words slowly. "I only just learned that I was able to stand. I didn't think it was possible. I believed the doctors, just as you did."

  He flung back his head and gave a harsh laugh. "A miracle, is that it? A miracle that just happens to come when you lie with Morgan Holt?"

  She let the cutting remark pass. "I know that you have felt responsible all these years. I didn't want you to. That was why I tried to make a life for myself, as much as I could, and a place in society that wasn't dependent upon you. I succeeded, Niall. But you never saw it as success."

  "Is this success, Athena?" he asked. "Choosing these… people over the life our father worked to build for the family? Animal instinct instead of the civilized behavior my mother tried to teach you? Instinct to follow after your own kind?"

  "It's what you were afraid of, wasn't it? When you learned of Morgan's act—"

  "I didn't guess what he was. I only thought he would remind you of what you should forget. I hoped and prayed that your confinement and your social activities would make you give up any idea of ever… changing again."

  "Then Caitlin was right," she said. "It was fear that made you try to protect me from the world. Fear, and guilt." She swallowed. "Did you ever love me, Niall? Or have you always hated?"

  "I hated what you were. I hated Gwenyth Desbois, because of what she did to Mother."

  Athena closed her eyes. "I always suspected, but… I tried not to believe it."

  He leaned over the desk. "Do you know what life was like before that whore seduced Father… before she convinced him that rutting with an animal was better than staying faithful to his wife?"

  "My mother… Morgan is not an animal," she whispered.

  "I hoped you would be different. I did my best to make it so." His face was the color of chalk, or the gently falling snow beyond the windows. "I was glad when you were hurt. Glad, Athena. I could have not asked for a better way to… keep you from turning into something like her. But I wasn't careful enough."

  She stared at him, filled with such anger and pity that no answer would come. He pushed away from the desk and walked about the study, aimlessly touching the spine of one book and then another without seeing the titles.

  "You can't fight what you are," he said in a dull voice. "There is too much of that animal in you, Athena. And it's because I love you that I can't let you give in to it."

  "Because you love me, or hated my mother? I know your mother was hurt, Niall. I am sorry for that. But she never loved me, either. I always sensed her resentment, even though she didn't let our father see how she felt. If Papa hadn't insisted that you and I be treated the same, I don't know what—"

  "Our father." He snorted. "He doted on you. You were always special. After the whore was gone, you reminded him of her. He would have given you anything."

  Athena fell back, remembering something Morgan had said not so long ago. "Did you envy me, Niall? Were you jealous that Papa could love me? Or was it because I could do things that no ordinary person could? Did you want to be like me?"

  He laughed. "The very idea disgusts me. I could never understand how our father could touch that woman. But I thought you should be considered innocent of her stain, because you didn't choose to be born. Now you have to choose." He faced her again, haggard and wan. "You boasted of the life you've made, all the people you have helped. Everyone in society respects you. That life must be important to you, Athena. Now you will have to decide how important it is."

  A dreadful foreboding spilled like acid into Athena's stomach. Cramps seized her thighs, and she fought down a cry. She could not be weak, not now.

  "You pride yourself on being unselfish, don't you?" he said, taunting her like the cruel stranger he had become. "Athena Munroe never thinks of herself. She is the most generous, the most noble lady in Denver. So noble that she will sacrifice what she wants for the sake of others." He sat on the edge of the desk, one leg swinging as if they were having a friendly chat. "I have a proposition for you, dear sister. I could send the circus away, as soon
as the weather clears—pay them for the one performance and nothing more. Your Caitlin seems able to walk, so there's no further need to pamper her."

  "Caitlin—"

  "Be quiet, unless you wish me to throw them all out in the snow right now." He studied his manicured fingers. "I can make them leave, and I can tell the sheriff that they've abused our hospitality and stolen property from Long Park—you can be sure I'd be believed where people like them are concerned. Just as decent folk will believe that you were seduced by the confidence games of Harry French and his followers."

  "You would lie—"

  "I'd do more than lie. I learned many tricks running our father's businesses. It would be easy to make sure the circus can never return to Colorado. They might have to travel some distance to find winter quarters, with the weather getting bad."

  Athena shook her head, but he went on relentlessly. "That's not all, Athena. I still have control of your bank accounts. Our father left it to my judgment when I should let you have charge of them. I don't think you'll ever be ready to manage your own inheritance… unless you prove to me that you can live the quiet, reasonable life of any decent woman."

  Athena saw where he was leading. "Niall, you can't punish innocent people because of what I—"

  "So many depend on your charities," he went on, ignoring her. "All those young mothers. The orphans. The unemployed men. What would they do if your contributions were suddenly cut off? Oh, you've talked plenty of others into giving, but a word in the ears of husbands and fathers would stop up that source as well. You know the women, but I know the men. They'd be glad not to have the burden of philanthropic obligations." He sighed. "And then there's your famous Winter Ball. Less than two weeks away now, isn't it? Everyone will be there, ready to compliment you on your fine work. It would be a shame if you were unable to continue with it, and someone else took the credit."

  The ball, which Athena had left in Cecily's hands, expecting to return well before the date. The ball that she had schemed and struggled to make the finest charity event of the year, the pinnacle of all her efforts, the defining element of her place in Denver society.