Why not shoot, damn you!
What are you waiting for?
“I prefer shooting monsters in the back,” Sam said. “It’s less personal that way. Any time you want to run, I’ll do the honors. You can’t possibly want to live like that. Look at you, Abby. You are a beast. You’re one of them. Now that you’ve changed, you’ll always be a freak.”
One claw pulled back into a fingertip with a painful sting. A second claw followed. At that rate, a reversal might take all damn night, and she had only seconds before Sam’s patience gave out and his madness took over.
“Run,” he advised. “I can’t stand the sight of you. Never could actually.”
At last, more confession. Sam had despised her from the start.
A whiff of heat-filled air reached her as Abby stood her ground. The earth moved beneath her feet. She didn’t dare turn her head or turn around to see who was coming. Weres. She didn’t have to guess who.
Waves of adrenaline coursed, drawn from the stagnant pool of her motionlessness. The oncoming Weres were nearing, fast. In another minute they’d find her.
Must. Change. Back.
No matter how close that silver bullet was, Abby closed her eyes and reissued the demand.
Change back.
A third claw retreated, then three more. Her face began to feel soft and gummy, as if the bones had started to melt.
“Haven’t I said enough?” Sam asked. “Run, Sonja. I command you to run. I can’t look at you. I can’t stand the sight. You tricked me, and that happens only once to a Stark.”
Sonja.
Sam’s madness had prevailed, maybe so that he didn’t have to face murdering another family member that had disappointed him to the point of desperation. In Sam’s crazy mind, he might imagine himself to be reliving what had gone down before.
Abby’s chin shifted without sound. Bones at the base of her neck began to realign. Pain echoed internally with a series of metallic sounds. Patches of red-brown fur sucked back into her pores.
She refused to double over or shut her eyes again. She watched Sam, counting the seconds. Three...four...
Leaves overhead rustled. She heard the sounds of running feet, mixed with the crackle of her rib cage decompressing.
“Sam Stark?” someone shouted. But his aim remained locked to Abby.
Figures moved, running as fast as anything Abby had ever seen. But they wouldn’t be protected without a full moon overhead.
Please. Not Cameron, Abby thought before Cameron appeared, calling her name. He didn’t reach her in time. Dana Delmonico moved like lightning to stand in front of her...just as Sam fired.
Chapter 33
Dana didn’t fall back. Her arms were spread wide to cover Abby, but she couldn’t have taken the bullet.
A roar filled the night that shook the trees and everyone still standing. The sound came from the furred-up beast that had raced to protect Dana.
Sam’s bullet had pierced that werewolf’s hide, but the werewolf lunged forward to rip the rifle from Sam’s hands before Sam knew what hit him. And Cameron pushed Sam face-first to the ground, with a knee on Sam’s writhing back.
It happened so fast. In a moment removed from time, and without the carnage that could have resulted from Sam’s demented rampage—a rampage Abby had not expected to survive—it was over. Truly over.
Abby looked down at herself as Delmonico tossed her cuffs to Cameron. She also found herself buck naked, without one hint of a wolf showing.
She shook so hard her teeth hurt.
Then she was running.
She moved toward where Sam lay hog-tied with his hands behind his back. Her knife, drawn from its leather sheath, was in her right hand.
She straddled Sam’s body, holding the knife high, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “You bastard!” she cried. “Did she run, as you asked her to? Did my mother give you the satisfaction of shooting her in the back? Is she a pelt on some other bastard’s wall? A trophy?”
“No,” Sam said. “Her pelt hangs above my bed.”
Her knife never came down to sever Sam’s murderous flesh. It remained suspended, motionless, frozen, until Cameron took it from her and tossed the blade to the grass.
Cameron pulled her to her feet and spun her around. “It’s over,” he said. Then he called over his shoulder, “Dylan? What do you need?”
“A new chest,” Dylan, in man form, replied, getting to his feet with Dana Delmonico’s help. “Good thing I know where to get one.”
“He wore a vest,” Delmonico said. “And it was the strangest-looking duo I have ever seen. Sort of like a high-fashion runway featuring fur and Kevlar. However, the combination seems to have worked its magic.”
“Vest?” Cameron said.
“Just so happens I know a cop who had a spare,” Dylan said with hardly a disturbed breath.
The moment of levity that should have seemed out of place, didn’t. After what felt like a lifetime of holding her breath, Abby finally exhaled and found her voice. “I didn’t kill him.”
“No.” Cameron tightened an arm around her, crushing her to him while he tore off yet another borrowed shirt. “You didn’t. No one thought you could.”
“I shifted.”
“One of many more, by the looks of things,” he said gently. “Next time, though, can you give me a sign?”
“They’ll take him away?” She loathed saying Sam’s name.
“Yes. It really is over.”
“Not quite,” she countered, pulling away from Cameron, ignoring her nakedness.
She went to where Sam still lay. “You loved her,” Abby said. “You loved my mother. You knew there were decent Weres among the bad, and yet you murdered a beautiful soul.”
She didn’t actually expect Sam to address that, with his face in the dirt and the monsters he hated standing guard.
“It isn’t over,” Sam said, contradicting Cameron. “It will never be over, whether I’m loose or not.”
“Oh, you won’t be loose,” Cameron confirmed. “And we’ll take another look at that self-defense judgment in your past, to see how you managed it.”
“Too late,” Sam said smugly. “And if you go for my business in trafficking rare-animal pelts, I’d like to see you explain what those pelts are, and where they came from.”
A chill wafted over Abby. Sam couldn’t be freed. Ever. Because he was the monster.
“I believe the secret floor and the cage it holds might take some explaining on your part,” Cameron said.
“As will the blood staining it,” Dylan tossed in. “Also the stockpile of weapons in three storerooms behind the bar.”
Cameron nodded his head. “Forensics teams are going to tear up the floor in that secret room, and they’re going through your apartment right now. What will they find, Stark, in light of those things? Enough to hold you for a very long time, I’m thinking.”
Sam became uncharacteristically silent.
“Where is she?” Abby said to Sam. “What did you do with my mother’s body?”
He did not reply. But he had confessed to her about her mother’s pelt—an awful confession she’d never forget.
“Did you keep it because you loved her?” Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her. “Just answer that.”
Sam said nothing. Of course, he’d know not to speak of those things here, with cops standing over him.
Abby couldn’t think about her mother’s pelt being among Sam’s things. She would never be able to see it.
Detective Wilson and another Were stood him on his feet. “Time to go, Stark,” Wilson said.
“I’ll tell them about you,” Sam hissed. “I’ll sic them on all of you.”
Dana Delmonico shook her head. “Going for the insanity plea, hu
h? We’ll see how far that gets.”
Abby again felt Cameron’s arms enfold her. She desired more than anything to give in to his heat and his nearness and his unconditional support. She fought back tears of anger and regret. But she had one more thing to say, and had to say it. “Thank you. All of you. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
“That depends,” Dylan replied.
Abby turned her head.
“On what?” Cameron asked.
“On both of you agreeing to join the pack, so that we can keep an eye on you.”
Abby sensed Cameron’s relief. She heard him draw in a long breath. “Abby?” he said.
But she was beyond speech. One more word and the tears would fall. She had lost nothing in this fiasco, and had gained a new family. She had a mate she loved more than life itself. The puzzle of her mother’s death had been solved—as much as she wanted to hear about, anyway, wanting to forget the nightmares that had plagued her all this time.
“I think they need some alone time,” Wilson said, eyeing the pair.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Delmonico agreed.
“Shall we book this sucker, Dana?” Wilson asked.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Delmonico said.
Without another word, they hustled Sam off, leaving Abby wrapped in Cameron’s arms. They stood entwined for several minutes more as silence returned and Abby’s shaking eased a little.
Then Cameron spoke. “You’re naked,” he said, a comment so unexpected Abby nearly laughed in disbelief. The smile felt so damn good.
“Completely naked,” he added.
“Is that the only thing you have to say to me after all of this?” Abby asked.
“No. But it’s a start.” He took a moment to go on. “The pack will be expecting us at the Landaus’, I suspect. But I’d rather wait awhile. How’s that for a confession? From now on, I’d prefer you wore no clothes every night, even in a public park. And when you do get dressed, I’d prefer my clothes next to your bare skin, in lieu of not having that skin pressed to mine.”
Tilting her head back, Abby looked up at him. When her eyes met his, he gave her the dazzling smile that captured her on that first night and haunted her still.
“Furthermore,” he said, “you might be a werewolf princess, or some such thing, but just so you know, I wear the pants in this family.”
“I see that you’re wearing them now,” Abby said.
He smiled a devastatingly gorgeous and revealing smile...
And Abby, satisfied, but still hurting on a level that only the Were beside her could take care of, smiled back as she reached for his zipper.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from POSSESSED BY A WOLF by Sharon Ashwood.
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Chapter 1
Something cracked, a snapping sound that shot up Lexie Haven’s spine with an icy, instinctive foreboding.
She looked up from her Nikon, still absorbed in photographing the wedding ring on its black velvet pillow. Her concentration had been absolute, and it took a moment to come back to reality and wonder what had disturbed her. Curious, she glanced around the room, but the portable lights she’d rigged up sank everything and everyone else into darkness. The night outside turned the floor-to-ceiling windows into mirrors. She was far away, but could see herself move—a figure in an emerald silk tunic and slacks, her pale face framed by a hip-length tumble of fiery hair. And then someone moved, blotting out her reflection.
“What was that?” she said to no one in particular. No one replied. She looked around, almost ready to dismiss the noise from her mind. She had work to do.
The dim room crowded with party guests made it next to impossible to take good photographs, but royalty paid well. In return, Lexie took plenty of shots of the attendees and their bling, and that included the celebrated wedding band. Although not every palace official wanted a photographer at the party, Lexie was the compromise choice between no coverage and a tabloid free-for-all. Hers would be the first photographs to hit the press. The royal couple had unveiled the ring only half an hour ago.
Which was why Lexie was standing beside the marble fountain, camera pointed at the display case where the ring was being shown. For Lexie’s convenience, the case’s glass top had been removed and the security alarms switched off. Nevertheless, security guards stood to either side of the case. Until that moment they’d been polite yet bored, but at the cracking sound they stiffened like dogs catching a scent.
Other people must have heard the noise, as well. Voices rose above the splashing of the central fountain, no longer the polite murmur of ambassadors and celebrities deemed worthy to visit the Palace of Marcari. The hundred-odd A-list guests were now just ordinary people, shrill and afraid. Only the classical pianist carried on as usual from his Steinway in the corner, but then musicians were trained to keep going no matter what.
Another cracking noise came, sharper this time. A woman screamed—a short, horrified yelp of surprise. Lexie switched off the portable lights, bringing the rest of the room into better view, and stopped cold. The three south walls of the octagonal room were almost all glass, giving a view of the gardens. A spiderweb of fractures radiated across the center pane, leading away from a tiny hole. Gunshots. That’s what they’d heard. Fear came like a crashing wave, and Lexie’s whole body turned cold. Who was out there in the darkness, looking—shooting—in?
Both the guards drew their guns and joined the scatter of security bolting toward the prince and princess, who stood just in front of the fountain. Lexie’s hands had gone slippery with fear, and she set the Nikon down, some part of her still sane enough to worry about dropping it. She grabbed the edge of the display case to steady herself.
The crowd was scattering—or trying to. The west doors that led to the rest of the palace were flung open, but rather than offering escape, more gunshots rang outside the open door. Someone shut the doors again, and the noise of the crowd escalated.
“What’s going on?” Lexie’s friend, Chloe Anderson, appeared at her elbow. She was dressed in a silk suit with her fine hair swept up in a twist. Her normally fair coloring had turned ghostly pale.
“Someone is shooting. We need to get people out of here.” Lexie’s voice shook. The room suddenly felt smaller than it had a minute ago, as if the walls were being sucked inward.
“There’s got to be another exit.” Chloe’s eyes were wide with shock. And no wonder—she was the princess’s wedding planner, responsible for making sure the event went off without a hitch. Whatever was going on definitely wasn’t part of Chloe’s plans.
“I think we’re trapped,” was all Lexie could say.
The room was packed, making it hotter than it should have been. Lexie swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. A jittering edge of panic danced at the edges of her self-control. She slammed it down. She needed her wits sharp. Lexie passed a hand over her forehead, trying to ignore her clammy skin. Get it together. She made herself stand straighter. “How are we going to keep these people calm?”
She was just a photographer, but job titles didn’t count at moments like this. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one t
hinking ahead. Right then, the knot of security around the prince and princess broke apart. Princess Amelie of Marcari had one hand on her future bridegroom’s arm. Kyle Alphonse Adraio, Crown Prince of Vidon and future king of both countries, was waving a hand as if insisting the guards leave his side and help deal with the shooters. The guards, who wore the green uniforms of Vidon, didn’t look happy. Nor did Prince Kyle’s younger brother, Leo, who had gone the pale gray of moldy cheese.
Another shot punched through the window and smashed one of the crystal chandeliers, making Lexie jump. In the next moment, the central window shattered into tiny fragments. Cries of fright and pain tore the air as shards smashed to the marble tiles, sending up a dazzling shower of glass. Lexie grabbed Chloe and ducked behind the display case. Needle-sharp glass fragments left a stinging kiss against her skin.
The crash still echoed as an enormous wolf leaped through the gaping window frame. The beast cleared most of the fallen glass in one graceful bound, landing a dozen yards away from Lexie, its claws skidding as it turned to face the broken window with a savage snarl. The creature had pale gold eyes, its coat shading from white fur at the muzzle to black at the tips of its ears. It was huge, at least four feet at the shoulder.
There were wolves in Marcari’s mountains—they were on the crest of the royal family—but this one’s size gave him away as something more. The beast was not just a wolf, but a werewolf, and she knew his markings. More than that, she inexplicably knew it was Faran Kenyon as clearly as if he had called her name.
Faran. Her ex-boyfriend really was the big bad wolf.
The room—even the piano—fell into a horrified, fixed silence. Lexie’s heart, already speeding, nearly pounded through her ribs. Memory speared her, adding old terror to new. She’d seen those razor-sharp fangs tear a limb off.
The silence ended as every one of the prince’s guards drew their weapons and pointed them at the beast. Lexie leaped to her feet and thrust out a hand. “Stop!”
Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf Page 26