Her Billionaire, Her Wolf--The Novel (A Paranormal Alpha Werewolf Romance)

by Aames, Aimélie

  “In the year before he died, Brother Janos took me to a cemetery outside the monastery's grounds. It was a pitiful place, unkempt and uncared for. As if destined only for those poor souls who had no other place to rest. As if, they too, had been abandoned.

  “Among the tilted and broken headstones was a simple stone cross. It was newer than the rest and was set at the head of newly turned soil. A grave recent enough that the grass had not yet grown it over like the rest of the cemetery gone wild and forgotten.

  “'What am I supposed to see here?' I asked him. I was still far too impatient with that old man.

  “‘It was not by hazard that the man who was your father brought you to us,” he said, “And while I do not believe he ever meant it as a kindness, it seems to me that he must have thought it a logical thing to do, considering what he knew.’

  “He nodded to the unadorned grave marker and said, 'There lies a pious woman, Clement. Even if the rest of them think it wise to lay her to rest where she will be forgotten. Here where they won’t be reminded of her and her sainted life. The fools.

  “‘This was a woman who took an oath to never utter another word for the rest of her days, if God would only see fit to wash the stain from her soul. For, you see, she had been marked in terrible sin. Something dark enough that it burned her through and through the rest of her days.

  “‘Except that she loved the boy she saw through the wall. Despite the sin that created him, she loved him.

  “‘Do you understand, Clement? She loved him and knew regret, I have no doubt, that she had sworn to never tell him.

  “‘And that is piety that leaves me small in my pitiful efforts. Every monstrosity I have wiped from this world is as nothing compared to the sacrifice she made for her God and for that boy.'

  “I was impatient and did not really follow what he was getting at. Not then, anyway, but eventually, what he said that day sank in.

  “And when it did, the fire within me, the one that burns to destroy vampires, werewolves, or the undead, was ignited in a righteous bonfire that burns me even now to the bone.

  “I've gone back to the monastery just once since I left. In that time, I had vagabonded all over Europe, mostly in the east, striking at the hearts of old world blood drinkers until I could find no more.

  “Then, I turned my attention to what lay over the Atlantic, but before I left, I went back and saw to it that the little forgotten cemetery would be taken care of properly. I also replaced that poor little stone cross with one not much richer, but one that is at least inscribed with a woman's name.

  “Rose Duchamps.

  “She never spoke to me, but her sad eyes told me all I need to know.”

  Clement’s jaw bunched as he chewed over the memories that burned within him before speaking again.

  “I will kill them, Sara...anywhere I find them, I will wade through them until there is nothing left.”

  The cold in his eyes had returned and seeing it, Sara felt a chill wash over her. Clement Duchamps. As he said, he was no Abraxis and that thought terrified her beyond words.

  ~~~

  She watched him for a while.

  His chest rose and fell with the easy respiration of a man at rest. A man more at ease in that moment than she had seen him yet.

  Sara frowned as she thought about what Clement said and how it would take away Braze’s calm. She did not want to be the one to do that and wondered how she might set it aside for just a little longer.

  Beautiful, long lashes parted to let the amber of his gaze slip through and she understood that he had not really been sleeping. Only resting.

  “And why such a frown, Sara?” he asked as he lifted himself up on an elbow.

  “Oh,” she said, “It’s nothing, really. Nothing that can’t wait, anyway.”

  Braze smiled at her. Not a full smile but just a light upturning at the corners of his mouth.

  “You would spare me, darling girl,” he said, then patted the bed.

  Sara went to join him and Braze brought his face close enough to kiss then rubbed his nose across her own instead.

  “There is no need. I awoke just a short time ago, but my hearing is keener than you might guess. But, not Clement. He knows full well and his words were not destined for your ears alone.”

  She thought she would cry as he looked deeply into her eyes. On his face she read only his concern for her where there should have been anguish or mourning for what his father had done to him and his brother.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wanting to embrace him and console him for emotions he did not seem to feel.

  “Don’t be, Sara...Clement’s story needed to be told.”

  She shook her head.

  “No. I’m not sorry about that. I’m sorry that you two had such an awful man for a father. How anyone could do such a thing to his own sons...well, all I know is that he must have been a very hard hearted man.”

  Braze sat back from her and she saw that he looked past her into the blue outside one of the jet’s windows.

  “He was,” he said at last, “As for the lies he told about Clement...I require answers.”

  Sara shook her head once more.

  “But, Braze, your father’s dead,” she said and wondered again if there was not something that ran askew in this beautiful man’s mind.

  “I know. I also know that my father lied to both of us and I want to know why,” Braze reached out to take a curl of Sara’s hair and flipped his finger around it.

  “We must convince Clement to stay with us, Sara,” he said, then turned back to her and seemed to implore her with his eyes, “I want my father to stay buried. And for that, apparently I need my brother.”

  Sara wanted to reply saying that he needed to stop speaking in half phrases. His way of always talking around corners that she could not see for herself, even if it all seemed perfectly clear to him, had become worse than frustrating.

  Instead, the captain’s voice spoke over the jet’s sound system requesting that they take their seats in the passenger compartment. It was time to buckle up for the landing.

  For only the second time in her life, Sara felt an aircraft touch down and it was even smoother than the first time. Braze had held her hand during the descent, the two of them seated across and facing Clement. As for him, his grey eyes watched them calmly.

  Sara thought, even, that his regard was a cold one. Not a word was exchanged between the two brothers, yet both seemed at ease with a situation that made her uncomfortable. The years apart that lay between them seemed a chasm which neither felt moved to breach.

  Foolish, stubborn boys is what they are, Sara thought as they received word that they could unbuckle while the jet’s landing gear brakes brought them to a standstill.

  The flight attendant came to open the door and lower the folding steps down to the macadam below.

  A large black car that Sara recognized pulled up a short distance from them as they climbed down from the jet, but behind this was the sound of sirens in the distance. It was a sound that quickly grew in intensity to be nearly deafening as three police squad cars, their rooftop lights flashing, drove up and blocked their way to the black limousine.

  Braze stepped in front of Sara as the policemen got out of their cars, the siren coming to an abrupt halt while the lights continued to revolve and flash.

  “Excuse me, sir,” one of the humorless men in uniform said then while looking over Braze’s shoulder at Sara.

  “Sara Renardine? You are wanted for questioning in the investigation of the homicides of Frederick Jenkins and Mary Fresci.”

  His voice was hard. Like an automaton that had said some slight variation of the same phrase a thousand times over.

  “Wait,” Sara said, “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about those people.”

  Barely moving his lips, the officer who had spoken replied, “I’m afraid that we have information to the contrary, Miss Renardine. Mr. Jenkins was the owner and manager of the Suns
ide Hotel, your current place of residence. Mrs. Fresci was a secretary at the Carlson Temporary Employment agency.”

  Like a hammer, his next words fell hard.

  “We have hard evidence that you were involved in both crimes, Miss Renardine. Very hard evidence.”

  Braze walked forward, his index finger aimed directly at the policeman’s chest.

  “Those are strong accusations, officer. Does this mean you are arresting her?”

  The policeman slowly shook his head.

  “Not at the moment, sir. But we are taking her in for questioning. In the meantime, I suggest that you find her a good lawyer...”

  He stepped past Braze and took Sara by the arm.

  “...she’s going to need one,” he finished as he pulled her to a squad car.

  Sara barely heard him as he told her to watch her head while she got in to the backseat. From there she saw Braze and Clement divided into diamonds by the metal grill separating the front of the car from the back.

  Swiftly, Braze followed after them and shouted through the closed passenger door’s window.

  “Sara...don’t worry. I have lawyers, as many as necessary. I promise you, this will all be over in less than an hour.”

  The image of him became a distorted, blurred thing as her tears came to try and wash away what was happening. But they were powerless to truly change anything as the police car took her away.

  Braze let out a long breath then said, “Will you stay while I get to the bottom of this?”

  Clement shrugged slightly before replying.

  “No. I can’t. There is someone I need to speak to...someone who appears to have an agenda that he’s been keeping from me. As it is, I’m willing to bet that he knows more about what’s happening to Sara than anyone.”

  “This is the same person that sent you to follow her?” Braze asked.

  “Yes...but like I said, I’m starting to think there is something else going on here.”

  Braze nodded then fished a cellphone out of his pocket and began punching numbers before saying, “If you find anything out, Clement, anything at all, come back. And if you don’t, I hope you will consider coming back anyway.”

  Cold grey eyes held onto a warm amber gaze then broke away as the two men walked in opposite directions, their backs turned once more to one another.

  One was speaking rapidly into a cellphone. The other kept reaching to his thigh, touching something through the fabric of his trench coat as if looking for reassurance.

  ~~~

  Sara looked down at the black stains covering her fingers and reminded herself again not to touch her face.

  She plucked instead at the tiny balls of paper towel clinging to the ink still drying on her hands, then sighed as they caught under her fingernails. Her nose was running as much as her eyes but one of the policemen had warned her to wait until the ink dried or she would have it on her face next.

  What do they call it? Good cop, back cop...?

  The man who had taken her fingerprints had a kindly face and seemed genuinely bothered by his task as he pressed her fingers to an ink pad, then to a paper marked in a grid of lines and numbers.

  When he had finished, he held out a wad of paper towels to her. As Sara began wiping at the ink on her hands, he tucked a second wad of paper towels into her upturned shirt sleeve and said, “That’s for your eyes. But wait until the ink dries on your hands. Paper towels won’t do much good except to smear it around, so it’s better just to wait than have ink on that pretty face.”

  He had blushed, then, as if he had said something out of line, then led Sara to a room where she was told to wait.

  She was still there even though it felt as if hours had passed, but she knew that could not be so. Braze had promised he would come for her, no doubt with a whole team of lawyers on his heels. Except that he had not...so, surely it could not have been all that long since she was told to have a seat and wait.

  Just as Sara had convinced herself that the police were deliberately keeping Braze from her, a heavy metal door opened and a disheveled man stepped in to the room. Unlike the other officers, he was dressed in normal clothing. His suit was wrinkled and his choice of necktie was all wrong. Which meant that he was the perfect image of the cliché that makes an investigating detective.

  He nodded to her and before he had a chance to say anything, Sara blurted, “Look. This is all some kind of mistake. I didn’t have anything to do with murdering people.”

  She knew what she had just said was meaningless to the man in his rumpled suit, but she felt better having said it.

  “Oh, I know. A big, big mistake,” he nodded, his forehead lifted in sympathy for Sara.

  Foolish hope bloomed within her. And then the man spoke again.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” he said, then laughed quietly before his face turned hard, “That’s what they all say. Just keep repeating it as if you’re trying to convince yourself it’s the truth. But we both know better, don’t we?”

  He shrugged then looked down to examine his fingernails before continuing.

  “You know, we almost didn’t catch on to you. The prints at the Fresci crime scene didn’t match anything on record, then out of the blue some tipster calls up and convinces someone here to listen to him. Tells us to check other records for those prints....records like domestic battery complaints. And whaddya know? Bingo...Miss Sara Renardine, last known domicile, Cavanaugh County, complaint filed against a local cop for domestic violence. Charges that were dropped the very next day, right?”

  He looked back up at Sara, then nodded.

  “But, and here’s the kicker, the next known domicile of Miss Sara Renardine just so happens to be the Sunside Hotel. The same darn place where poor Frederick Jenkins was torn apart.”

  He leaned closer to her, then lowered his voice as if confiding a secret.

  “Do you know...we’re not even sure he was dead before it happened. Being torn apart, that is.

  “And all that blood. Where did it go, Sara? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  The man sighed as if he had seen it all before. As if Sara was already a convicted woman.

  “You’ve got some thinking to do, Sara. Long, hard thinking.

  “Oh, and your big shot boyfriend isn’t coming anytime soon. We’re all waiting on a judge to decide what to do with you while we confirm those fingerprints of yours...but, it’s looking like you’re gonna be charged. If not for murder, then for accessory to voluntary manslaughter and that’s only if you’re very lucky.”

  He clucked his tongue.

  “I mean, those people were butchered, Sara. Ripped apart. Who does things like that?

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you are directly responsible. But, I think you know who is...I think you know exactly who is and that maybe even it was the same guy tipping us off about you. Maybe trying to hang the whole thing on you.

  “That’s not someone I’d want to protect if I were you, Sara. Not when you have so much to lose.

  “So, take some time...take as much time as you need, in fact. If there’s one thing we’re not short of back here in the holding cells, it’s time. You can have all you need to come to the right decision.

  “When you’re ready, you let someone know and I’ll get you out of here and into my office. The armchair is way more comfortable than that hard bench there and you can have a nice, hot cup of coffee while you tell me all about it.

  “Ok?”

  Sara kept her mouth closed. What she knew and what she could tell the officer would do her no good. The Journeyman had seen to that and left her with no way out.

  The police officer lifted his shoulders then dropped them again, as if trying to say that he really thought it was a shame, her being there, but that did not stop him from turning away and slamming the heavy steel door closed again.

  She decided that the ink on her hands had dried enough and that was good because suddenly she needed the paper towels tucked in her sleeve more than
ever.

  ~~~

  He had driven over an hour to get there. It had not taken long since he had let the siren scream the whole way while the rooftop lights had cleared a path for him out on the highway.

  Of course, once in town, a lower profile was necessary, so even if he liked...no, loved...that screaming siren, he flicked the toggle switches to kill it and the lights both.

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching people from where he was parked as they climbed up the steps to the city police headquarters. It was killing him, having to wait like this, but it was necessary.

  And under his breath, he murmured in endless repetition, “Not ‘til dark, not ‘til dark, not ‘til dark...not ‘til dark.”

  Jackson knew he had to wait. Someone had told him so. Friends would come to help once the sun went down. On the other hand, the thought of the dark made him uneasy. Very uneasy.

  He glanced at his reflection in the car’s rearview mirror once again, then jerked away from what he saw there just as he had done earlier. He did not know why he kept hoping he had seen wrong.

  Mumbling the same phrase over and over, he tried hard not to think about how half his face had fallen in sunken, drawn lines. How even his lips had tipped down on that side while the pupil of one eye gaped wide and black like a snake pit.

  He wiped at the drooping corner of his mouth and his shirt sleeve came away wet. A trip to the doctor was going to be on the very near agenda, he knew.

  “But, not yet, but not yet, but not yet...but not yet,” he mumbled.

  It would have to wait. And that was because he would have lots to do soon.

  “But, not ‘til dark, not ‘til dark....”

  Despite the unease he felt as the skies slowly darkened around him, Jackson Woodard felt an erection growing behind his zippered standard issue pants.

  A very thin, a very scary man, a man for whom Jackson Woodard had no recollection of his face, had promised him he would see her again and that he could do anything he wanted to once he had her.

  He groaned as his hand went to his crotch, pushing at the ache there.