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

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  Dylan said, “Sam Stark.”

  Cameron’s stomach would not calm down, nor could he make it. There was something so bleakly ominous in what Dylan had proposed, it took some time for him to wrap his mind around what Dylan’s theory might be.

  Good thing his own mind still worked like a steel trap.

  “A hunter raises a wolf for what reason?” he asked, and the answer he immediately came up with made him sick. “His own private pelt factory? Something to torture? Hell, Dylan, you aren’t suggesting that?”

  He was getting sicker by the second.

  Dylan held up a placating hand. “Sam Stark used Abby’s innate ability to ferret out other Weres. You don’t suppose he wondered how she could find those Weres, and why she was the only member of his team who could?”

  “If we followed that thread, we’d have to believe that he actually has known about her all along.”

  “Oh, it’s quite possible that he knew. Probable, in fact.” Dylan reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He smoothed it out on the bedside table and handed it to Cameron.

  “He has been feeding Abby silver, in small doses, for years. My mother sees things like that. It’s why Abby has been able to keep the changes at bay, though they couldn’t have been resisted much longer.”

  Cameron shifted his glance to Abby as Dylan pointed to the paper and went on.

  “Here’s an interesting fact about Abby’s mother. I thought you might like to know the story.”

  Cameron did not want to pick up that paper. He told himself not to touch it. But in the end, he had to know what the hell Dylan Landau was talking about.

  Chapter 26

  Abby heard every word of this conversation between Cameron and Dylan. The information filled in a few blanks, but she wanted more than anything in the world to rip that paper out of Cameron’s hands. He had read information that was important to her. Didn’t they realize she had been groping for clues?

  Screams never made it past her throat. Shouts would have been premature. Tonight, out there in the park, she had briefly contemplated the theory Dylan Landau had just proposed. Sam had been watching her, waiting for her wolf to make an appearance. Maybe he did so for the pelt that soon might cover her body. Maybe Sam had, in effect, been raising his own Lycan for lurid purposes. Or else he could have merely used her to ferret out werewolves for as long as she’d be able to.

  How could those ideas be proved?

  None of that helped to explain about her mother. Who Sonja Stark really was, and why a Lycan tolerated a man like Sam. That just didn’t sit right with Abby.

  Patience was no longer on her list of accessible personality traits. She had become increasingly impulsive lately. Her secret fears had been shared. She was no longer fully in control of her body because a wolf curled up inside her, getting ready for its birth. That wolf might be pissed over the transition taking so long.

  Sam had fed her silver to delay the process.

  Possibly that was why she could handle her knife.

  Go on, wolf, she refrained from shouting. Do what you need to do. I need to get on with this.

  She might not get her wish right now, though. Not yet. With her eyes shut tight, Abby knew the moon had waned and that finally the longest night in the history of time was finally coming to an end.

  “Why didn’t they charge Stark, Dylan?” Cameron broke the silence. “Who handled the case?”

  “It was before my time in office,” Dylan replied.

  “How did you find this information?”

  “It’s the digital age, Cameron. My office takes full advantage of that.”

  “Here? At this hour?”

  “Contrary to some of those jokes, attorneys do sometimes earn their paychecks by taking work home on a regular basis. I have a computer at the cottage that’s tied to my office. All it took was striking a few keys on our secure database.”

  “Abby will want to see this stuff.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  More silence before Cameron said, “Hell, I’m not certain of anything.”

  Footsteps led away from the bed. Cameron’s voice stopped them.

  “Was yours bad, Dylan? Your Blackout?”

  Seconds ticked by before Dylan said, “If I’d had a gun with me at the time, I probably wouldn’t be standing here today. You?”

  “I had a gun, but didn’t use it.”

  She heard a door open, and Cameron say, “Delmonico made it through the Blackout.”

  “Dana,” Dylan said, “is one tough cookie.”

  “Did you help her?”

  “I tried to take her mind off what loomed.”

  “How?”

  “We made love like the animals we were, on every available surface.”

  “Nice image, but not the truth?”

  “The truth is that some people are built to be tougher than others. Dana rode it out. It didn’t take her long to cross over, and she survived. Who knows why? She’s the daughter of a cop and has risen through the ranks as an officer on her own merit. She is merciless on crime, a respectable adversary to those on the wrong side of the law, and a genuinely nice person. Dana is one in a million, and thankfully all mine.”

  The door closed on Dylan Landau’s last remark. More silence followed before Abby felt the depression of the mattress and a soothing voice said, “Well, if fornicating is what it takes to ease the pain of a Blackout phase, I’m all for it. How about you, Abby?”

  When she said “Okay,” Cameron said, “I knew you were awake.”

  She opened her eyes. “Have I been drugged?”

  “Yes, by a dart in the neck from one of those hunters.”

  “Do I have you to thank for getting me out of there? You’re becoming quite the white knight.”

  “Can you move?” Cameron asked.

  “I feel like I’ve swallowed lead.”

  “You did, you know. We can’t know for how long.”

  “Why didn’t the silver kill me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What was in the dart?”

  “Don’t know that, either. Dylan’s mother gave you something to combat the drug. So, what did you hear, Abby? How much?”

  She said, “We’re in Dylan’s house?”

  “His parents’ house.”

  “And it’s an oasis for people like us?”

  “That appears to be the case.”

  Abby attempted to move her right arm, and succeeded in raising a hand to her temple, where the current ache was centered.

  “What’s on the paper?” she asked, observing how Cameron stared at it.

  “Can it wait until morning, Abby?”

  “No. It can’t.”

  The intensity of his gaze told her he was trying to gauge her state of mind.

  “I suppose you come from a happy family,” she managed to say. “With a mother and father, and a brother or two. You had dinner on the table when you got home from school, and Sunday picnics by the water.”

  He remained sober. His brow creased. “The brother you mentioned died in combat in Iraq. There was only one Mitchell sibling.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They both died in a car accident two years ago.”

  Abby took a steadying breath. “Then you understand that the hole created by loss never goes away, and that the heartache of losing someone remains long after they’re gone.”

  “I do understand that.”

  He waited for her to go on.

  “I don’t remember much about my mother,” Abby said. “It’s obvious now that I knew even less than I thought, since until tonight I believed Sa
m held the position of father.”

  “I suppose you’re relieved to have that position reopened, given that Sam Stark has proved himself a murderous bastard.”

  “Sam didn’t need one specific night to prove that to me.”

  “Did he hurt you, Abby, in the past?”

  “Besides tonight’s damn dart, he hurt me only in ways that he and I appreciated. Psychological stuff, mainly.”

  “Why did you stay there with him, around him?”

  “I stayed because of her memory. Because my mother had walked through those rooms where I walked, and because I hoped that Sam would one day tell me about her. Also, and in part, I stayed to keep tabs on Sam.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I suppose for reasons that would have seen him behind bars someday if he went too far with his games.”

  “You mean the hunting games that led him to you and to me?”

  Abby moved her hand to her neck, where tiny pulses of pain jabbed. “You were out there patrolling because you also were aware of what roamed that park. One of those creatures bit you, setting your own search in motion, so you hunted them, too. For a while I believed Sam’s hunting club had a beneficial purpose. Until...”

  “Until you met me.”

  “Yes.” Her lashes covered her eyes. “Until I met you, and my deepest fears about Sam’s lust for Were genocide was confirmed.”

  The intensity of Cameron’s gaze demanded that she look up.

  “Landau’s pack gathers here, Abby. It’s a real pack, and I wasn’t even sure what they meant until I saw them in action. You’ve met some of them and have seen what they’re like. I don’t know if they’ve lost their own good people to hunters and bad guys, or not, but they do watch what’s going on. I wasn’t alone out there. Sam isn’t alone in the hunt for criminals who can change shape. The difference is that Landau’s pack knows the difference between a good wolf and bad wolf.”

  Abby turned her head away from him, and said, “Something fierce fuels Sam’s hatred of your species. That’s what usually spurs hatred on, isn’t it?”

  “Our species,” Cameron corrected gently.

  She turned back. Her voice sounded faint. “One pelt? Sam could have done this, raised and tolerated my presence all those years, for the dollar equivalent of a fancy car?”

  “You heard everything Dylan said?”

  “I didn’t hear nearly enough to begin to fill the emptiness I have inside.”

  Cameron’s tender smile lifted her spirits, but he hadn’t answered her question about what was on that paper. His sigh told her how torn he was about giving her what she wanted, and that he planned on withholding the information for her own good.

  “What’s on that paper, Cameron? Tell me about my mother.”

  He didn’t look away. Instead, he said in a low, gravelly voice, “Sam killed her, Abby. Supposedly in self-defense.”

  * * *

  Cameron observed how Abby’s face whitened further and kept the paper out of her reach. He felt sick with worry. Abby looked like death warmed over, and he didn’t know what to do about it, or how to comfort her after a blow like the one he’d given her.

  Bad news took time to process, but this was a torment. Used to death and accidents in his day job, the death of his own parents had taken him a long time to come to terms with. Sometimes he imagined them in their cozy home, awaiting his next visit, and the sore spot caused by reality of their absence opened up all over again.

  An accident was one thing. How did anyone accept a killing so close to home? The paper Dylan had handed him stated that Sam Stark had indeed killed his wife, and that the courts had let him off with a judgment of having been justified in doing so.

  The single sheet didn’t list details of the case, though details were going to be necessary in order to balance Abby’s mental state. Looking at her now, Cameron feared what the future might bring.

  “What?” she said through bloodless lips. “What did you say?”

  “We will get answers and find out what happened. In the meantime...”

  “Screw the meantime. I need to get up.”

  She tried to sit up, but was too weak to make it past her elbows. Abby wasn’t going anywhere, and Cameron wanted to kiss Dylan’s mother for giving her a draft to help her stay put. This is exactly where he wanted her at the moment—right next to him. Safe.

  “It’s early to turn the table on that judgment,” he said.

  Abby’s big eyes were fever bright. “These Weres told me my mother was a wolf. You’ve seen what Sam does to wolves. Can you imagine him living under the same roof with one?”

  “So you’ll what? Take matters into your own hands and go after him? Do you suppose Sam will sit down and explain things to you when confronted about this information, when his message tonight was loud and clear as to what he thinks of your relationship?”

  “I’ll make him explain.”

  “Or die trying?”

  She went quiet, probably dissolving into thought.

  “It can wait until we have the facts, Abby,” Cameron said. “I will help you get them.”

  She averted her eyes.

  “In any case, you’ve been drugged by those damn hunters and won’t make it past the door in your present condition.”

  She closed her beautiful eyes. He thought he saw the gleam of a tear moisten her lashes.

  “Sleep. Rest,” he said.

  Strangely enough, those were the same instructions he had been given when he lay in that same bed. Had he taken them to heart? No. And if he had heeded outside advice, his lover might not be here with him now.

  “You’re tough,” he said. “But toughness isn’t everything. You’ll need a plan when dealing with the devil.”

  Maybe Abby resembled Dana Delmonico in some ways, he decided. She had lived side by side with her mother’s killer for years. No matter what circumstances of this case turned up, Abby wasn’t going to let them go. Neither would he have been able to in her place.

  He rested a hand on her warm, damp forehead, and stroked strands of hair away from her ashen cheeks. He wasn’t sure what he murmured to her, but kept it up until her breathing eventually changed from ragged to even.

  Desiring more closeness, and to keep her in his sight, Cameron stretched out on the bed beside her, on his side to keep her in full view. He lay with his head on one arm, and the other above her head, where her auburn hair fanned out across the pillow.

  “I will help, Abby. You’re not alone. I’ll stand beside you,” he whispered to her. “That’s a promise.”

  As the sun started to rise and the sky outside the window turned pink with the dawn of a new day, Cameron finally closed his eyes.

  When he woke up, the space next to him was empty.

  Abby was gone.

  Chapter 27

  She had no way to explain to anyone around her how bad this news had been. Sam had known all along what had gone down, and hadn’t once mentioned anything about it to her.

  But that wasn’t the only reason she’d have to kill him.

  The phrase late bloomer echoed in her mind. Someone had mentioned that in regard to her Were status. In her favor, she’d have another month until forced to contend with the claws and whatever else would come her way. Thirty days lay ahead until the rise of another full moon that might bring a phase called the Blackout. Until that time, she’d be just another...what? Girl?

  Pain had a monopoly on her system, both inside and out. She almost wished for the all-consuming trauma of her body’s first transition to have something to focus on besides the awful images of Sam facing down her mother. Of Sam pulling the trigger, or slicing through female flesh with a silver blade. The pictures kept coming, each one worse than the one before. Self-defense. Sonja versus Sam.

&nbs
p; This next meeting with him was going to be personal, and between Sam and herself. Involving anyone else was out of the question. Cameron had suffered already on her behalf. The kindness shown to her in the house she had left behind seemed extreme under the circumstances, and yet had proved to be another example of how far Sam’s understanding of the Were world had gone astray.

  From the lawn, she glanced over her shoulder at the home that had offered her its hospitality, curious about being allowed to leave. Landau’s place didn’t fit the bill of being a house at all, really, for someone used to the cramped space of a tiny studio apartment above a bar. This house looked more like a transplanted Southern plantation.

  Three stories of whitewashed wood accented with aged brick rose gracefully from a wide expanse of lawn. Numerous windows flanked by black shutters dotted every floor. Some of those windows had Weres behind them who might be looking out.

  She had to hurry.

  Skirting a long porch that spanned the side of the building, expecting a siren to go off at any moment, Abby followed the foundation toward the back of the house. Rimming the lawn, off in the distance, sat the wall delineating this compound from the public spaces beyond, marking it as private property.

  Werewolves lived here, creatures who now believed her to be one of them. They had witnessed the kind of damage Sam inflicted on his adversaries and therefore might believe she had lost her taste for humans with oversize chips on their shoulders.

  And they’d be right.

  Would she be allowed to return here, to the house with black shutters, where things seemed so calm and peaceful on the surface, if she survived her upcoming confrontation?

  Survival was paramount.

  Cameron would be waiting.

  Sam had more than proved himself lethal. He outweighed her by miles and had had years to hone his skills. Sam was hard muscle, anger and festering defiance packed into compact layers of human skin. As for her claim to fame, well, there was her moderate skill at wielding a knife, plus a full set of claws when she needed them.

  Though she had found her knife on the bureau in the room where she’d been tended, and felt its familiar weight again strapped to her leg beneath some clothes that had been left for her, it was of minor consequence against Sam’s professional arsenal. Nevertheless, her anger had to match his.