by RJ Blain
I shuddered.
When I screwed up, I had to admit I did so on epic levels. Slumping against the door, I slid down until I could hug my knees to my chest. It didn’t keep me warm. Resting my chin on my kneecaps, I watched the world be devoured by the white, sparkling snow.
Chapter Twenty Nine
The violence of an allergy-born sneeze woke me. I gasped frozen air into my lungs and choked on it. My heart drummed a rapid, painful beat in my chest. It felt a little like someone had used my ribs as a punching bag. I couldn’t remember what I’d done to make them hurt so bad, but I hoped I would soon, so I didn’t do it again—ever.
Changing from human to wolf and back to human again in quick succession was less painful.
Another sneeze ripped out of me. The cold once again bit at my throat. Either as human or wolf, I should’ve smelled something, anything. I couldn’t feel my hands—if I had hands—I couldn’t tell.
My ribs creaked, and each breath antagonized them. There was a sound, a low, pitiable groan that might have come from me.
My throat closed as every fear I’d ever had since becoming a werewolf crashed down on me. Was I a woman or a wolf? The demented, egotistical, sadistic, downright not-funny me said both. I imagined a bloodied mix of human and canine parts destined for death.
That’s what happened to werewolves caught between forms. There were no fantasized hybrid forms, not for us. There was, however, blood, protruding ribs, and exposed muscle, among other things.
I was too old to make such a mistake, wasn’t I? It couldn’t be me, writhing in pain from failing to be either wolf or woman.
It couldn’t be me, dying at long last to the plague that should’ve eradicated me along with my pack over a hundred years ago.
It couldn’t be me.
Terror froze me, cutting off my breath. Sharp pain blossomed through my ribs and chest. Warmth flooded my mouth, seeping into my throat before being forced into my lungs.
I wheezed and opened my eyes. Something pale obscured my vision, blurry despite my efforts to focus on what was in front of me. The shape moved, drawing back. Dark hair framed a pale face, but I couldn’t make out any of the figure’s features.
“Well I’ll be damned,” a male voice said. There was something familiar about the voice, but I couldn’t think. Every time I grasped for a thought, it fled from me, leaving me to stare stupidly into a face I couldn’t recognize. “Don’t move,” he said.
“That was a little too close,” another masculine voice said in a peculiar accent. “Bloody hell.”
British, I decided.
My brain chose that moment to remember how to function. British. Inquisition.
That meant James.
Devonshire had tried to kill me.
I tried to lurch upright, but a hand against my chest pinned me down. I snarled something out, but my chattering teeth rendered my words incomprehensible.
“Why didn’t you change back?” James asked, reaching over to poke my cheek. “You were about dead when we found you.”
Something clicked in my fogged brain. CPR. That explained the sore chest and hurting ribs. CPR wasn’t kind to anyone, and it didn’t even work all that often. My inhuman strength made me better at it than most, but survival chances were often all too slim.
I shuddered from more than just the cold. Even if I had an answer for him, my shivering body rebelled against me. I settled with a glare, albeit one laced with a notable amount of guilt and embarrassment.
A part of me recognized that I owed them my life. The rest of me wanted to bite their heads off.
“Easy, Victoria,” James soothed.
“Son of a bitch,” I rasped out.
“From you, I’ll accept that as a compliment, Lady Wolf.” The edge in his voice was softened by the amusement in his eyes.
“What are you talking about? Victoria? But she’s—”
“Show respect,” James snapped. “You are speaking in the presence of Victoria Hanover.”
I winced in recognition.
“Allison Ferdinan,” my would-be fiancé snapped, confirming my growing fear.
Markus Dupree, the adoptive son of the woman I had killed not even two days prior, my false fiancé, and the killer of my best friend.
I wanted to scream, cry, and tear his throat out with my hands, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.
“I thought you were dead.” Mark’s voice trembled.
Uncertain of how to handle a reunion I wasn’t convinced I wanted, I settled with ignoring the problem. “I feel too bad to be dead.” I cringed at the throb in my head and chest. Sitting up didn’t work, but I did manage to lift my head. James slipped an arm under my shoulders and hauled me upright. After several shakes of my head, I managed to bring both men into focus.
“I thought you were dead,” Mark repeated.
“That’s what you were supposed to think,” I muttered through chattering teeth. While warm air teased my skin, it didn’t warm my muscles or bones.
Mark stared at me, his expression unreadable. “You took two shots to the chest. You died.”
“Ever hear of a bulletproof vest?” I couldn’t help it, I giggled. “I play dead good. New trick I learned. Woof, woof.”
James snorted. “I think you’ll be fine. Your sense of humor survived.”
“I spent thousands trying to find your killer! You were dead.” Mark punched his leg, a blush painting his cheeks red. “Damn it, Allison!”
“Enough, you two. Now is not the time for a lover’s quarrel,” James said.
“We are not lovers!” Mark and I snapped. Our eyes met, and we both averted our gazes so we didn’t have to look each other in the eye.
“Right,” James said in a disbelieving tone. “Now is not the time to be fighting like a married couple, then.”
“We aren’t married,” I replied, unable to meet Mark’s eyes.
“Yet,” Mark said in a quiet voice.
I felt my mouth drop open, but I couldn’t force any words out. Had he truly considered his proposal serious?
Unsettled, I turned my head to look up at James. “When did you know?”
“That you were the cute little red and black wolf?” He grinned at me. “I admit. It took me a few hours. At first I wasn’t sure you were actually a werewolf until that fool of a witch pointed out the dire wolf in you. When she started listing most known breeds of wolves, I knew.”
“Dire wolves went extinct thousands of years ago.” Mark frowned.
Relieved that Mark was distracted from the fact he had proposed to me, I encouraged the conversation. “Francine knows a lot about wolves, doesn’t she?”
James nodded. “She does. It shows what you know about werewolves, Dupree. You won’t find a purebred anymore, that’s true. But certain werewolf lineages still have more than a touch of our true heritage. Don’t they, Lady Hanover?”
I bit my lip and said nothing.
At least he hadn’t used a more elaborate title. What was the appropriate title for someone of my dubious upbringing? My heritage was royal enough, but I thought I had eradicated the memory of my identity among werewolves a hundred years ago. That my efforts proved futile annoyed as much as it worried me.
I wasn’t supposed to exist, that much the Inquisition had right.
“We can talk about it later,” James offered, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “We should be safe enough in here until the storm clears. Devonshire is quite busy. Warm up. Rest. In a few hours, things are going to get hot in here.
Unable to bear the thought of lying down again, I found a spot next to the heat duct, hugging my knees to my aching chest. It was all to easy to close my eyes and fall into the grip of lethargy. I tried wishing away the looming threat of James’s awareness of my name and heritage.
It wouldn’t work. It never did, but I wished for it anyway.
~*~
Hours went by, but no one disturbed us. I rubbed at my arms to ward off the chill in the room. The lights dimmed in rolli
ng brownouts, and the vents for the central heating system no longer pumped warm air into the room. I stared out the window, reaching out, pressing a hand to the glass. If there were trees in the darkness, the snow engulfed them. A few fuzzy points of light marked the parking lot below, but like the trees, there was no sign of the cars buried under the white blankets covering everything.
“The storm’s getting worse,” Mark said. His voice startled me away from the window.
James made an annoyed noise. “It’ll die down soon enough.”
The eerie songs of the blizzard and the hurricane strengthened in my ears, their buzz reminding me of dueling violins. I rubbed my hands together in hopes of warming my aching fingers. “It’s only beginning.”
“And how would you know that, Allison?” There was nothing but scorn in Mark’s voice.
I couldn’t blame him. I had ignored his concern and his relief as though he meant nothing. Guilt battled with the grim reality that Mark was a human, no matter what sort of magic he possessed. Like witches, shaman didn’t live any longer than normal humans.
We could never become anything more than friends, if we could have even that. Encouraging him wouldn’t do either one of us any good.
Forcing a smirk, I turned back to the window. “It’s elementary.”
“Enlighten us foolish men,” James said.
“Samantha loved the snow,” I replied, pressing my nose and palms to the glass, my fingers splayed. “It hides things. It makes everything pure. It’s beautiful. It’s lethal. To those burned by fire, it’s life. She hated Georgia. Snow didn’t come in the winter. That’s why I sent her to New York.”
It didn’t become truly silent. The wind and snow hissed outside. Resting had roused my wolf enough that I could hear the rapid beat of the men’s hearts. Fear, hatred, and something wild and sweet teased my nose. “It was only a matter of time before she died, but I think she would’ve loved to see this.” I spun around to face James and Mark. “Why was Devonshire forcing the ritual on people?”
“What?” both of them exclaimed.
I blinked. “You didn’t suspect him at all?”
Mark slapped his hand against his forehead. “Oh god, no. No, of course not. He’s always been so upset over this whole thing. The necessity of it has been tearing him to pieces.” He shook his head, and the intensity of his worried expression made me wonder, yet again, if he might have been a suitable partner for me. If only he hadn’t been a human—or a shaman. “Impossible.”
“Oh bloody hell,” James muttered.
“James?” There was a twinge of doubt in Mark’s tone.
I kept quiet, watching them both as they thought it through.
“He’s insane. A mad wolf.” The weakness in James’s voice was almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, not that I felt much pity for someone who had tried to assassinate me.
“He’s been ordering you to kill his pack, member by member, since he’s failed to find a natural-born Alpha to join him. He’s been forcing the ritual, forging new packs, and leaving them without an Alpha to teach them.” I linked my hands together and stretched my arms. “You’re right, James. He’s insane. Rabid, even. Through the pack bond, he’s probably felt every last death of the wolves he’s had murdered. And he’ll keep killing until he gets who he wants.”
James and Mark exchanged troubled looks. I couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d worked together, because after a moment, they nodded to each other in agreement.
“Can you prove it?” James asked.
“No, a pack-bound Alpha might be able to, but I can’t.” I hesitated, pressing my palms together. “I suspect I know who he wants, but I have no proof. It’s just a guess.”
“A guess is better than what we have,” Mark replied bitterly.
“Victoria, you’re dominant and an Alpha. Why can’t you prove it?”
“I have no pack, James. Without the pack bond, dominance and Alpha-status mean nothing. I’m a lone wolf. A rogue. My pack died long ago. You should know that.”
James lowered his head and presented his throat.
“How long ago are we talking about here?” Mark leaned his shoulder against the window, staring at me.
“You don’t want to know, Mark,” I replied, biting back a sigh. Words alone couldn’t describe the truth.
It had taken an entire generation of watching my friends die, and then their children die, while I remained an ageless monster observing from the shadows. Shamans and witches would enjoy normal life spans, so long as they survived the Inquisition.
I envied them.
“Tell me.”
“I was born over a hundred years ago.”
“You’re lying. That’s—”
“Impossible?” I asked in a whisper, staring out into the darkness. I glanced at Mark out of the corner of my eye. His mouth hung open. “I’m old, Mark. I’m sorry. The Allison you knew was a lie, a convenience to let me move around in the world. She’s like many of the other lives I’ve led. It’s as James said. My name is Victoria Hanover, and I was born in 1851.”
“That’s insane.” Mark shoved away from the window to pace around the room. “My god, you were alive during the Victorian Era.”
I flinched. Not only had I lived through it, I was a direct product of it, a forgotten legacy erased from the history books. I had been discarded and sold, shipped off to an East Canadian werewolf pack at age six so my mother’s shame would not be known.
How could I admit that to anyone? I hadn’t been a slave. Slaves, at least, were useful to someone. They were desired. Wanted.
I’d been my mother’s secret, a shame so devastating to her that I had to be hidden away from those who wrote history, erased, thrown to the wolves, and locked away in a cellar. I’d only been permitted to see the sky when I agreed to become one of them, however unwilling.
I closed my eyes. A hundred years ago, I would’ve wept at the memory, but I had no more tears left. I’d cried them all out.
“Allison?” Mark whispered.
“Forget it, Mark.”
“You’re really that old?”
“Yes, Mark. I’m really that old.”
He made a thoughtful sound, then a faint smile pulled the corners of his mouth upwards. “Okay. Fine. You’re old. You’re not my grandmother or something, are you?”
“Preposterous,” James snarled.
I couldn’t help it, turning to the Brit, I crossed my arms over my chest and asked, “Are you some sort of fangirl or something?”
“I’m sorry, Your Hi—”
“Don’t you even dare!” A flush burned my cheeks at my high-pitched cry.
With a clack of his teeth, James shut his mouth. I stepped forward, unable to stop from trembling. I had to force my words out through my tight, aching throat. “You tried to kill me, James. You killed a lot of people trying to kill me, too.”
James paled to the white of the snow outside. “I didn’t know who you were.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I was in a coma for over a week and there are a lot of dead people now because of you and the Inquisition.”
“Most of them were uncontrolled werewolves infected with plague,” he replied in a whine.
“That’s only because their Alpha is mad and needs to be put down like the rabid cur he is.” I rammed a finger into his chest. “You better live a long time to make up for your crimes, wolf.”
James whined again, exposing his throat to me. My irritation surged, and I sank my teeth into his neck, biting as hard as I could without drawing blood. He stood statue still.
When I stepped away, I wound up and slapped him so hard his head snapped to the side. The print of my hand was a white mark on his cheek. “I should curse you for what you’ve done.”
Mark refused to look at me or James, eyes fixed on the floor. I bared my teeth.
I didn’t know the extent of Mark’s skill as a shaman, but at least he knew enough not to cross an Alpha.
“You reall
y know who is behind all of this?” he whispered.
“That encompasses a lot, Mark. The Shadow Pope of the Inquisition is the one ultimately responsible for ‘all of this.’ But Devonshire is at least the one who has started the forced rituals.”
“You’re serious. It’s really possible to force the ritual on people?” James asked with a sheepish expression. “I thought it was the hypothermia talking.”
“What?” I narrowed my eyes, scowling at the other werewolf.
Both men looked embarrassed.
“You were ranting when you were unconscious,” Mark admitted.
Great. With my luck, I had probably spilled every last secret I had without knowing about it. “I’m not hallucinating or ranting. I’d bet my life that Devonshire is the original wolf behind the forced rituals.”
“You think there might be more than one wolf changing people?” There was more than a little alarm in Mark’s tone.
“A mad wolf begets mad wolves.” I bit my lip. While I had never forced a ritual on someone, let alone participated in such a ritual other than my own, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was capable of it.
I hoped not.
Mark looked up from the floor, staring at me with a puzzled expression. “That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”
I shook my head.
“How do you know?” James asked.
“Just trust me. I know.” For a little while longer, I would cling to my secrets, all the while wondering if I would be the next one to go mad. I could see the questions in their eyes, but Mark and James remained mercifully silent.
James, especially, wouldn’t believe that one of royal blood had been sold to a werewolf pack.
They wouldn’t understand.
~*~
“We need a plan.”
Mark who broke the silence with the most obvious of statements, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything at all. He was right. Settling with a nod for an answer, I peeled myself away from the window. The storms, both behemoths in their own right, bickered in the back of my head like a pair of unruly kids fighting over a ball during recess.