Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  Abby rushed on. “Now that you know who they are and where they are, what will be done?”

  “That’s not up to me personally. Neither is it up to Mitchell.”

  “You don’t want to stop them?”

  “Didn’t you want that? You scouted for them,” Delmonico calmly tossed back.

  “Always,” Abby said. “I always wanted the violence to cease. But there are monsters, and they’re killing innocent people. Sam’s arguments were believable.”

  “And now?” Delmonico pressed.

  “Now you’re...” Abby didn’t finish the statement, probably, Cameron supposed, because she didn’t know how to. She had no idea how to process events that had unfolded so quickly in the span of a mere forty-eight hours.

  When she found her voice again, Abby said sadly, “They will continue to go after Weres, good or bad.”

  Cameron said, “We can try to keep all the good guys away until we have a case to build against your father for something people actually know about. You do see the problem, Abby? Who believes in werewolves?”

  Abby shifted her focus again to Cameron. “You patrol the park for that reason, to keep bad wolves in line?”

  “Hell,” he returned, running his fingers over his face to try to ease the ache inside his cheekbones. “I didn’t know there were any good guys.”

  Abby shook her head. “Neither does Sam.”

  “What if he did?” Cameron asked. “Would it change anything?”

  Abby had no answer for that question.

  “How’s the bar business? Prosperous enough that your father wouldn’t miss the money from a pelt or two?” Delmonico asked.

  Deathly pale now, Abby closed her eyes.

  “Maybe it’s more that hunting is a sport?” Delmonico pressed.

  “Power,” Abby said with her eyes still shut. “It’s about power, and who wields it.”

  “Guns kind of mess that theory up,” Cameron said. “As far as hunting goes.”

  “So do men who can change into beasts and purposefully sever a human artery with one swipe of a claw,” Abby said. “Beasts that can change a person’s DNA by passing along a contagion that either kills or transforms.”

  The room fell silent for several seconds.

  “There are bad guys in every corner of the planet,” Delmonico finally said as she pushed off the wall. “Which is why some of us are in law enforcement, and also why we’re having this conversation. Everyone here knows the kind of damage a bite or claw can inflict, and has vowed to prevent that whenever possible. Weres hate the ease with which a bad batch of virus can be passed along from one being to another as much as Sam Stark does. The true Lycans among us dread that contagion even more.”

  “Lycans?” Abby repeated.

  Cameron might have been imagining it, but thought he saw interest cross Abby’s peaked face.

  Wilson entered the room before Delmonico addressed Abby’s remark. Thankfully, Wilson wore pants. “You know,” he said, “that’s five more sentences than I’ve heard Dana say in as many months.”

  Abby stared at the newcomer.

  Cameron spoke up. “Abby, meet Matt Wilson, werewolf detective with the Miami PD.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, taking this in and swaying slightly. “I’ve ruined your coat.”

  “And your arm along with it,” Wilson noted. “Shall we have a look at that cut?”

  “It’s not deep.”

  “Yet I can smell the silver in it from here.” Wilson nodded to Cameron, asking for permission to close the distance. “Dylan, are you there?” he called over his shoulder.

  Delmonico stepped forward. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to expose Dylan right now, too.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” Wilson said. “Are you, Miss Stark?”

  “Actually, she probably is,” the man with the blond hair corrected from the doorway. “Miss Stark might need some space when she hears a few things that her father neglected to tell her. When that’s in the open, she can decide what she wants to do.”

  Dylan Landau turned his light eyes on Abby. “Isn’t that right, Abby? You need to understand what’s going on?”

  She took Cameron completely by surprise when, instead of answering Dylan’s question, Abby turned and fell into Cameron’s open arms.

  * * *

  Abby refused to turn her head. Although Cameron’s chest was partially covered in gauze, his skin felt as warm as she remembered, and she desperately needed warmth.

  Careful not to disturb his wound or cause him more discomfort than she’d already seen etched in the lines on his face, she kept her cheek pressed to him, comforted by the sound of Cameron’s heartbeat. The rest of the Weres gathered in the room allowed her some time without speaking, and for a while she enjoyed a false sense of being at peace. But that peace came with a hefty price tag soon to be exacted.

  Cameron spoke first. “Lycan. Can someone please explain what that word actually means?”

  Abby dreaded whatever the explanation would be.

  Dylan Landau said, “Lycan is a term for being born Were, with no artificial injection of the wolf virus.”

  “Born, as in from birth?”

  “From two pure-blooded parents,” Dylan said.

  “Are you one of those, Dylan?”

  “I am, yes.”

  Lycan. Pureblood. Rare. Fifty thousand bucks per pelt. Those facts rushed through Abby’s mind with the force of Sam’s voice behind them.

  “Are any of the rest of you Lycans?” Cameron asked.

  “No,” Wilson replied. “Dana and I were bitten, just as you were. We’re relatively new to this side of things.”

  “Does that make a difference in the Were world? Being bitten versus being born a Lycan?”

  “Oh yes,” Wilson said.

  “How?”

  “Abilities. Senses. Reactions. Strength. The ease with which problems are dealt with. An internal encoding process and the proper system for passing the original genes along to family.”

  Abby made herself look at Dylan. The handsome being standing in front of her was the elusive catch that Sam had always hoped to find. He was a myth. One in a million.

  Her stomach clenched. She swallowed a groan, lifted her head and said, “I might have been bitten when I was young, but can’t recall the incident. Wouldn’t I have changed before now if that was the case?”

  Dylan nodded. “You would have changed with the first full moon after the virus had been introduced to your system. Moonlight at full strength is the catalyst that kicks the wolf into full bloom for all of us.”

  “For all Weres, yourself included?”

  Dylan nodded. “Lycans can decide when to shape-shift after the initial wiring phase is over. After the first moon, most of us can change without moonlight.”

  Abby took this in. “You mentioned wiring.”

  “That first phase comes upon us at different times,” Dylan said. “Some Lycans shift early, at puberty. Some of us take longer. We have no say in the matter of timing, but the end result is inevitable.”

  Abby felt like laughing hysterically. All this time, Sam had watched and waited through full moon after full moon, year after year, for a pure-blooded werewolf to show up, when Lycans possessed the ability to shape-shift without the moon. It was irony strong enough to kick Sam Stark in the groin. It was the reason Lycan pelts fetched astronomical prices. With the ability to shift at will, catching one off-guard would be tough. Maybe impossible.

  She had been in the dark about so many things, and she hadn’t been the only one.

  She spoke again to Dylan. “So the fact that I haven’t changed means...what? That I didn’t have enough wolf virus inside me to process a full change in shape, yet enough to give me claws and an innate awareness of o
ther Weres around me?”

  Her heart began to pick up its pace in anticipation of more dreadful news soon to be delivered. The room seemed suddenly airless and way too small to contain both her new knowledge and her growing anxiousness. The walls closed in, as did Cameron’s strong arms.

  Dylan’s voice remained calm. He said simply, and in the manner of having explained this to more than one person in his lifetime, “Your symptoms indicate that you are coming of age, Abby. A late bloomer isn’t completely rare or all that unheard of. Maybe because of your circumstances and your fear of being the very thing you are, your body has held off on presenting your wolf to the world.”

  He had Abby’s full attention now. The back of her neck prickled. Baby-fine hairs on her arms stood up, underscored by a roller coaster of chills.

  “By circumstances, you mean living with a man who’d be willing to kill me if he found out,” she said.

  Dylan’s eyes were on her.

  No! she wanted to shout. I’m not ready for what you’re going to say. I may never be ready.

  She eyed the door and the hallway, thinking she’d run, planning her escape, but unable to move her feet.

  After watching her closely to see how she’d react to his previous statement, Dylan delivered the blow she’d been anticipating.

  “The truth, Abby,” he said, “is that Sam Stark can’t be your father. He can’t be a blood relative at all, because Sam isn’t Lycan, and you are.”

  Chapter 21

  Sam isn’t my father.

  I am Lycan.

  Growls of protest erupted from Abby’s throat. Her ears throbbed with the blond Were’s explanation for her current state.

  Sam can’t be a relative at all.

  Not a relative. Not my father.

  Her instantaneous relief over that became sidetracked by the question of how this wolf thing had happened. A quick shuffle of memories about Sam’s reluctance to speak of her mother sat on top of the list, as did the fact that he had been willing to shoot her. Sam’s finger had been on the trigger.

  She had always wondered why he treated her like a servant most of the time, with little effort in the way of showing emotion or an aptitude for caring for his progeny. This was the answer. Sam had been merely tolerating her. They didn’t share blood or genetics. She and Sam Stark had no true bond whatsoever.

  Her wish had come true.

  Reeling with the information presented to her, Abby zeroed in on the other words haunting her. Sam had told her that he’d been watching her for signs. Signs of being...just like her.

  “Like my mother,” she whispered.

  According to Dylan’s explanation, it took two Lycans to produce another one. Undiluted blood had to be passed down from one generation to the next. And that’s what Dylan had suggested she was. Lycan.

  This was earth-shattering news, and totally revealing if true. Here was an explanation for being drawn to Weres, and for all those years of feeling different.

  Yet she had to be sure.

  “There’s no way a Were can be half-Lycan?” she asked.

  “No way,” Dylan replied. “Impossible.”

  “Then my mother,” Abby said at length, “had to have married Sam after I was born. She had to have had a reason for being with Sam. What could possibly cause a werewolf hunter to take on a Were and her daughter, or vice versa? Why would my mother live with a killer with a vendetta against her race? If what you’re saying is the truth, my father has to be someone else.”

  “It’s possible that Sam didn’t know about your mother. She might have kept it from him,” Dylan said.

  Abby shook her head. “Maybe at first, though not for long. Sam told me tonight that he had watched me for signs of being like her. This had to be what he meant. He had waited to see if I’d be a werewolf.”

  She felt foolish for not having seen that, for not putting things together sooner, and on her own. It all made a terrible kind of sense now, thanks to Dylan’s explanation.

  However, was it actually true?

  Was it believable that Sam had waited for her wolf to show itself, and that possibly her mother hadn’t actually died of pneumonia, as she had briefly been told?

  “I suppose we’ll never know the answers to your questions,” Cameron said. “And after tonight, seeing Sam in person wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  Abby refused to let her legs give out, or her stomach to turn over its contents. She was surrounded by Weres and infatuated with one of them for reasons just coming to light. Both she and Cameron Mitchell were werewolves. She had been a wolf since her birth. Hell, she’d been a wolf in her mother’s womb.

  Fight, or flight? This was too much information to process at once. Shout? Argue? Run? Maybe a combination of all those options.

  And maybe not.

  Modulating her quivering voice, Abby looked up at Cameron with a confession on her lips. “This is too much. Please, can we be alone?”

  “You don’t want to hear more?” Cameron asked. “Figure things out?”

  “I need to hear everything, just not now. Not right this minute. I can’t breathe. I need to think.”

  Cameron inclined his head to her, then to the others, without releasing her from the protective, possessive circle of his arms.

  The cut on her arm had begun to sting again, as if she had just made it. Moonlight had entered her through the open gash, tugging at what lay inside. But if what Dylan said proved true, moonlight didn’t have to rule all Weres. Lycans were exempt. Why then did moonlight thrash around inside her, mercilessly trying to change everything it came into contact with?

  “If you need us,” Dylan said to Cameron, “you know where we are. If you need anything, you’re welcome behind our walls.”

  When the Weres filed out, taking their extraordinary heat with them, the room seemed empty and cold. Until Abby met Cameron’s gaze.

  Then, wounded, sick, anxious and off balance in a world that had gone insane and swept her along with it, Abby, on tiptoe, pressed her lips greedily, hungrily, terrifyingly, to his, hoping to escape from reality for a little while.

  Cameron, injured and unenlightened, returned her kiss with a groan of acceptance and a hunger of his own.

  This will hurt you, her mind cried out to him. This is my fault and I’m sorry.

  Did he hear her silent apology? Did his own wound grind him down?

  He tore the leather coat from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, his mouth never once leaving hers. She tasted the medicine he’d been treated with, as well as the fire of fever beneath it. As her hunger for him deepened, her wounded arm blazed with pain as if she had taken in some of Cameron’s hurt, temporarily allowing him freedom from the pain he had suffered on her behalf.

  This is what she needed, wanted.

  Cameron’s lips covered hers with a ferocious passion. His hands cupped her face, then slid to her bare neck, caressing, exploring, needing to touch every inch of her, reflecting her own desires to have all of him.

  Wolf to wolf.

  Their surroundings faded away, leaving only one noticeable thing: the smell of the place where they stood. She was in his house. Cameron lived here, slept here. His scent was everywhere, and she couldn’t take in enough of it, feel enough of it or give enough back to him to make up for what had happened to them.

  Going back was not an option, she reiterated, though the future looked bleak, because she had lost her hold on humanity tonight.

  I am like my mother.

  And if that were true, she’d meet Cameron body to body and cell to cell without having to worry about a bite or a scratch changing her. She’d allow herself one more transgression before any more news came that might break her.

  As Abby reached up to slip her fingers into Cameron’s hair, she thought she heard h
er mother’s voice echo in her own sultry moan of satisfaction. In reality, the sigh of pleasure came from her lips.

  * * *

  Cameron set aside his pain and reveled in having Abby in his arms. Her fingers wound through his hair before they flitted lightly across the back of his neck on the way to his bare shoulders. When she slid her hands under his arms, her fingers splayed. She clung to the muscles near the line of his spine, generating spasms of pure unadulterated greed in every corner of his body.

  He had time for only one thought:

  There were too many clothes in the way.

  With his eyes shut and his mouth locked to hers, he clasped the fringe of what was left of her jeans, tugged and felt the waistband release. His palms skated over the delicate line of her lower back before dipping to the seductive curves of her buttocks beneath. His exploration made her lift her mouth from his. She didn’t speak. Her breath was feverish.

  He wanted this more than anything. More than life itself.

  “No waiting for this?” he said, watching for a signal that she wanted it, too.

  Abby shook her head, said, “No more waiting.”

  She was perfect, naked and willing. And she was a wolf.

  Cameron growled with delight and the extremes of his pleasure. More words or questions would have been useless, meaningless, when their mouths, lips, hands and bodies said it all.

  Impatiently, he took her to the hardwood floor. Sitting upright, he pulled Abby on top of him. She knew instinctively what to do.

  She began to move her hips as though he was already inside her, rubbing him senseless with her silky, savory skin, luring him to her.

  He stretched out on his back, keeping her in his lap, where she sat with both hands on his chest. She was lean, beautiful and mesmerizing. Her slender back arched. Her breasts gleamed. The furred-up spot between her thighs that was the gateway to possessing her completely taunted him with a promise of what was to come.

  Cameron followed the soft touch of her fingers across skin made sensitive by the invasion of the silver bullet. Her hands moved lightly, deftly, over the contours of his chest, ribs and stomach. Randomly, she leaned over to kiss his skin, and to deliver a moist lick of her tongue.