Heart of the Wolf

by D. B. Reynolds

  Kathryn closed the bedroom door behind her. She didn’t bother to undress, just kicked off her shoes and lay down on the big bed, pulling the silken throw up from the foot until it covered her completely. Hugging a pillow to her chest, she closed her eyes, trying not to think of Ren storming into Preston’s office, full of bristling male impatience and throwing off breeding scent like crazy. She’d forgotten how intoxicating an alpha male in his prime could be. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really appreciated it before today. She’d been so young when she left Clanhome, and after their marriage, Preston had never permitted any wolves in the house, not even her father. They made him uneasy, he’d said. More likely frightened, but she’d gone along with it because no one had given her a choice about that either.

  She pushed the troubling thoughts out of her mind and tried to relax. She was tired. There’d been so much to do after Preston died, so many people demanding her attention. Just a little rest, that’s all she needed. A little sleep.

  * * * *

  She woke in a strange bed, muscles aching, her body sore in places… She felt her skin heat with embarrassment, remembering the night before, when Preston had made love to her for the first time.

  Love? Is that what it was?

  It had felt more like rape. He had stripped her dress away from her, scattering tiny pearl buttons over the thick carpet, pushing her down and shoving himself into her again and again, finally pulling out and spraying his seed all over her naked skin. She hadn’t known exactly what to expect from her wedding night, especially with a human, but it certainly hadn’t been pain and humiliation.

  She turned over and fought not to scream as panic flooded her system, her heart pounding, her breath coming in hard gasps. She was chained, bound by a cuff on her ankle that was bolted to the floor near the same bed where Preston had taken her the night before.

  She could still smell the blood of her maidenhead, could feel the sticky wetness on the silk sheets beneath her. She tugged at the padded cuff, whimpering in confusion, while Wolf howled within, infuriated at being bound, fighting to break free. She fought the change, frightened of what would happen if she shifted while bound.

  Who had done this? Preston? Did he know she was Wolf? Is that why he’d chained her? But why marry her at all then? Thoughts swirled chaotically through her terrified mind, making no sense, bringing no understanding of what was happening to her.

  She twisted around as the door snicked open, followed by the sound of soft laughter. Preston stood just inside the room, fully dressed, his hands hidden behind him.

  “Calm, little wolf,” he said.

  She shivered at the fevered glitter of excitement in his eyes.

  “Such a pretty little thing,” he murmured. “Will you change for me, I wonder? What would it take? How much pain before the beast takes over?”

  His hand lifted from behind his back, and she screamed.

  * * * *

  “No!” Kathryn woke with a shout. She sat up quickly, scrambling off the big bed, her legs tangling in the blanket to send her stumbling against the wall before she remembered where she was.

  Preston was dead. Dead and buried. And long before that, his aging human body had lost the strength to beat her. Her initial terror had nearly been her undoing that first time, but her wolf had come raging to the surface, knowing nothing but fury at the human who’d dared attack her. She’d shifted at the first kiss of the whip on her back, slipping out of a cuff designed to hold a human ankle, not a wolf’s slender paw.

  And then it had been Preston who was screaming, desperate to get out of the room, clawing at the locked door.

  He’d tried to bind her only once more and nearly died for his efforts. He’d given up after that. And then, the cancer had struck, an enemy that not even his vast fortune could defeat, though he’d certainly tried. Eventually he’d been forced to his bed, spending the last years of his life wasting away. Ever the dutiful wife, Kathryn had visited him daily, taking her own pleasure from the fury in his icy blue eyes, a fury put there by the certain knowledge that he was trapped in a dying body while she would remain young and healthy for centuries after he was gone.

  Kathryn pushed herself away from the wall and stood up, running her hands through her short hair, tugging at it the way she’d seen Ren do so many times. It was his fault, all this excess emotion. She hadn’t thought about that first night with Preston in years, had shut off her feelings in order to survive marriage to a man she despised. But Ren’s return had brought it all back, all those feelings that should have stayed dead. She picked up the throw from the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders, wandering over to curl up on the sofa by the window. The snow was still falling. Far below, the city would be shutting down beneath a blanket of white.

  She wished Tommy had gone along with her desire to get out of the city early. It would be good to be in the country again, to run as a wolf, free of human concerns, human needs. Wolf was simple. Wolf was free. And for those few hours every month, so was Kathryn.

  Chapter Seven

  Across the city, Ren shouldered aside his front door, drew off his coat, and thought about the pretty redhead he’d just sent off in a taxi by herself. After the scene with Kathryn, he hadn’t felt like going home or being alone, so he’d stopped by the electronics store and picked up the woman who’d sold him the DVR. They’d gone to dinner, and she’d made it clear she was open for a more personal encounter, but Ren discovered he was no longer interested.

  He dropped his mail on the table, threw his keys and cell phone on top of it, and went straight to the bar. Beer wouldn’t be enough tonight. He needed to feel the burn in his gut, something to drown the anger threatening to bubble up every time he thought about Kathryn and her father. And Preston Avinger.

  He split the seal on a brand-new decanter of Glenmorangie Single Malt and poured a generous three fingers, neat. With the soothing heat of the twenty-one-year-old scotch sliding down his throat, he took both glass and bottle with him across the room and slumped down in a leather armchair that was too new to be comfortable. He sat facing the tinted expanse of glass overlooking the shorter buildings below and the bay beyond.

  Behind the heavy clouds, he could see the moon trying to poke through, its silver light a balm to the wolf within. The full moon was tomorrow, he realized. He’d shoved it to the back of his brain in the shock of seeing Kathryn again. No wonder he was so edgy. Full moon in a strange city without a single decent park. He should probably make the trip out to Clanhome, run the moon there, and pay his respects to Dom. Except he wasn’t feeling much respect for his Alpha these days, and it was a long drive. Maybe Kathryn would let him go with her to the country house she’d talked about.

  “Fat chance,” he muttered.

  Outside, the falling snow thickened gradually until it hid everything but his own reflection. Ren took a long pull on the scotch and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Eight

  There were advantages to being a wolf. Strength, long life, amazing recuperative powers and short hangovers. Ren woke the next morning still sitting in front of the window, his last glass of scotch now staining the carpet to one side of the chair, which was a crime. Every bone and muscle ached, and that included the useless muscle in his skull that was drumming with all the rhythm of a two-year-old on Christmas morning.

  A handful of aspirin and a hot shower later, he was feeling almost normal. And irritable enough for a visit to Lewis Westgate, Preston Avinger’s estate attorney. Mr. Westgate had been reluctant, until he’d found out Ren was investigating Preston’s widow. After that, Ren had become his new best friend, and they’d agreed to meet late this morning.

  Ren’s first thought on entering Westgate’s office was to wonder if the man knew his secretary was a wolf. Her eyes widened first in surprise and then mild arousal when Ren walked through the door, in spite of the wedding ring on her finger. This close to the moon, a wolf’s control over her emotions was always less certain, and Ren politely ignored the ind
iscretion. He gave her a slight nod of recognition before introducing himself and explaining his presence. As he followed her rather shapely ass into Westgate’s inner office, he decided the woman must be one of Dom’s. Not solely by affiliation, although that was obvious since she was here in the city, but literally one of Dom’s agents put in place to keep tabs on Avinger’s estate. He wondered if Dom knew Kathryn had no intention of sharing her newfound wealth with dear old Dad. Obviously not. Or not yet, anyway.

  Ren decided that imparting that bit of information to the Alpha went beyond the purview of his current assignment.

  Westgate stood up as Ren entered, walking around his desk to shake hands. Ren reciprocated, tailoring his grip to the other man’s strength. Westgate was a trim man of above-average height, with the slender build of someone who played tennis for exercise. His hair and mustache were both blond and glittered with a distinguished hint of silver beneath the too-bright artificial lights.

  “Mr. Roesner, a pleasure. Would you like anything? Coffee, tea? Something stronger?”

  “Nothing, thanks.”

  “Nothing for me,” Westgate said to the secretary. His gaze followed her out the door in a way that made Ren feel sleazy, given his own admiring assessment only a few minutes before. He felt even lower when Westgate saw him watching and gave him a conspiratorial wink.

  “Nice, huh?” the lawyer said. “Happily married, though. For now.”

  He strolled around his desk and sat down, leaning back in his chair to study Ren. “Have a seat, Mr. Roesner. So tell me, why are you investigating the lovely widow Avinger?”

  Ren sat, leaning back and crossing his legs to mimic Westgate’s casual pose. “Not investigating her precisely, Westgate. I’m working with the police to find out who wants her dead. That kind of thing usually leads back to the target somehow.”

  “What makes you think someone wants her dead?”

  Ren found himself momentarily speechless, which was not a common occurrence for him. “Someone shot at her. I’d say that means they want her dead.”

  “But they missed.”

  He shrugged. “It was a long shot on a cold, windy day.”

  “Or maybe it was never intended to hit her.”

  Ren frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Did you know Kathryn and her bodyguard are lovers? Tommy Nordan—the big gorilla who never leaves her side. He lives in that penthouse with her, never even takes a day off.”

  Ren surprised himself by feeling absolutely nothing. Maybe because he was certain it wasn’t true. “Let’s say that’s true,” he said out loud. “I still don’t see how it explains the shooter.”

  “It’s all for the press, of course. Brave bodyguard saves lonely widow. Who would question it if she falls in love with him after that? He’s an ex-con. Did time upstate for aggravated assault. Not exactly the kind of husband someone with the Avinger money brings around to charity balls. But if he saves her life, suddenly he’s a hero and his unsavory past is wiped away.”

  Ren had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. “Seems like a lot of trouble,” he commented. “I’d think that much money would buy acceptance without all the dramatics.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Westgate said thoughtfully. “Especially these days. Class isn’t what it used to be, is it?” He stood up suddenly. Ren tensed, but the lawyer only walked around his desk to the opposite wall where a small safe was recessed into a built-in shelving unit. “There is another possibility,” he said. “One that might have earned Kathryn some enemies neither you nor I would understand.”

  The safe door stood open, and Westgate pulled out a thin plastic case that he opened to extract a DVD. Turning, he held the disc up for Ren’s inspection, then slid it into a player and picked up a remote to turn on the wide-screen monitor hanging on the wall next to the book case.

  “I think you’ll find this interesting, Roesner.”

  Curious, Ren joined the other man in front of the screen as a video began to play. It was a bedroom with expensive furniture and satin sheets, or maybe silk. It was hard to tell in the dim lighting. A woman was there, pacing back and forth in obvious agitation, hands fisted at her sides, her slender figure obvious, despite the pair of loose sweats she was wearing. The woman stopped abruptly, her hands coming up as her body curled into itself, shoulders rounding, head bowed as if in pain. A low, keening sound filled the room, and she fell to her knees, her back arching so sharply Ren could hear vertebrae popping. He froze in disbelief as he registered what he was seeing. The woman was Wolf, and she was about to shift on camera.

  Clearly aware she was being filmed, the woman kept her back turned, concealing her identity as the shift took control of her body. She screamed, her voice filled with anger as well as pain, her body contorting as it took on its new shape, the loose clothing shredding and falling away.

  A full moon, Ren thought.

  It had to have been the night of a full moon. She’d never have done it otherwise. Not if she had a choice.

  “Don’t you recognize her?” Westgate said softly, his eyes glued to the video.

  Ren gave the other man a sharp look before studying the video more closely. On-screen, the female wolf spun around and snarled at the camera. Ren’s breath caught in his throat. Kathryn. It was Kathryn. He fought back the howl of rage that threatened to choke him.

  “Interesting, don’t you think?” The video froze on Kathryn’s face. “How much do you think the lovely Mrs. Avinger would pay to keep something like this private?”

  “She was trapped in that room,” Ren growled, fighting for control.

  Westgate gave him a chiding look. “Of course. Look at her, Roesner. She’s an animal. Preston had to deal with this monstrosity every full moon,” he said, lifting his chin to indicate Kathryn’s snarling visage. “Clichéd, I know, but quite true. He was terrified when he discovered what he’d married. But even then, he didn’t divorce her.”

  “Why not?” Ren demanded.

  Westgate shrugged. “A cynic would say it was the money. And there was a generous prenup, of course, but no court would have held him to it, given the circumstances. But Preston was a very vain man, and Kathryn is quite beautiful. Most of the time, anyway. He loved walking into a room with her at his side and knowing every other man there was watching with envy, wondering what it was like to tap that lovely ass anytime he wanted.”

  Ren fisted his hands to avoid strangling the man to death. “Have you shared this”—he gestured at the video—“with anyone else?”

  “Oh, no, of course not. It’s not only her reputation at stake, it’s Preston’s, too, and he was a friend. But I thought as long as you’re investigating, your client might find this interesting. I know who you are, Mr. Roesner.” Ren doubted that was true, but Westgate was still talking. “I know you’ve been brought in from out of state to pry into this whole matter, although I don’t know who’s paying you—not yet anyway. I don’t suppose you’d like to share?”

  Ren gave him a cold stare.

  “No, I didn’t think so. Goes with the job, I suppose. In any event, I’m sure whoever’s paying you is interested in dirt, and this is certainly dirty, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Are you saying this is for sale?”

  “Everything’s for sale, Roesner. Even you, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  Ren held perfectly still, afraid if he moved even the tiniest bit, he’d kill the asshole for sure. “I’ll need proof for my client,” he said, complimenting himself on his calm. “This will do nicely.” He ejected the DVD and dumped it back in the case, slipping the whole thing into his pocket. “How much?”

  “That’s a copy, of course,” Westgate said gently.

  “Of course. So how much for the original?”

  “Well, no need to be greedy, I suppose. On the other hand, Kathryn is now a very wealthy woman, and I’m sure—”

  “How much?”

  “Ten million cash.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,
Westgate, no one has that much cash. Ten million electronic.”

  “Well. It is quite the video, isn’t it? Ten million electronic, then, to a bank of my choice.” Westgate couldn’t quite conceal his glee that Ren wasn’t dickering over price. The truth was he could have demanded ten times that amount and Ren would have agreed. The little weasel was never going to enjoy a dime of it, anyway.

  Ren kept his face carefully blank. Leave the man his delusions. For now. “I’ll have to verify with my client, of course.”

  “Naturally,” Westgate murmured.

  “You understand we’re purchasing the original and all copies. I trust you’ve been discreet, that there are no copies out of your possession.”

  “I’m still being discreet, Roesner,” the lawyer said in a cold voice. “I didn’t need to go to Kathryn first. The press would have paid millions for this video.” He sniffed prissily. “But as I said, there is a matter of loyalty to Preston.”

  “Right,” Ren said shortly, feeling unclean just standing next to the scummy bastard. “I’ll be in touch.”

  * * * *

  On his way through the outer office, the secretary caught his eye. He nodded brusquely and then waited outside, forcing himself to calm down before she appeared a few minutes later.

  “Dom brought you in,” she said. It wasn’t a question, which confirmed his earlier assessment. “Listen, Avinger met with someone here right after he got really sick. Not his usual class of person—much rougher around the edges and carrying a gun. I didn’t get a name, but they signed some sort of agreement. Westgate did it up on the computer himself, which is what really made me suspicious. That asshole doesn’t hold his own dick when he pisses. Anyway, the thing is, I never saw the guy again until two days after Avinger died. And now suddenly someone’s shooting at Kathryn.”

  Ren eyed her carefully. “Do you have access to the safe in there?” He jerked his head at the office.