That got her attention and as her expression opened up with curiosity, he realized he’d said too much.
“What rogue werewolf?” When instead of answering her, he glanced off at the heatwave rippling the horizon line, she asked, “Am I gonna have to agree to be turned into a werewolf myself just to get answers?”
“Yes,” he said definitively, “you are. So it’s a good thing for you that whatever happened to Delilah has nothing to do with werewolves.”
“How can you say that with such confidence?” she questioned. “You don’t know for sure.”
“My instincts are pretty strong.”
“So are mine,” she stated. “And mine are telling me that Delilah’s disappearance has everything to do with the attacks that have been happening left and right.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“No,” she countered. “Agree to let me pursue this.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he assured her.
She snorted out a laugh and informed him, “I don’t have time for this,” as she turned for her idling Jeep.
He caught her by the arm and whipped her around to face him. This time, when he wrapped his hand around her waist, she didn’t urge him off, only stared up into his eyes in a way that made him want to end this discussion with a kiss.
“You’re either in or you’re out, Whitney,” he told her. “If you want answers, then you’ll have to be one of us.”
“Then let’s talk.”
Chapter Eight
WHITNEY
The feeling of being watched slammed into Whitney as she stood in the kitchen of her cabin and waited for the coffeemaker to brew.
Shane was in the living room on the couch, but looked far from settled.
When they’d driven to her cabin, Whitney hadn’t noticed her daddy’s SUV parked in front of his own cabin, which gave her some semblance of relief that she and Shane wouldn’t be barged in on again, but she still had asked Shane to park his pickup truck around the wooded side of her cabin, out of Rick’s view, should he stop by again.
As the coffeemaker percolated and dripped down, filling the carafe with aromatic dark roast, she peered out the kitchen windows into the dark night. The floodlight over her cabin door barely penetrated the darkness and more than anything, Whitney saw her own troubled reflection in the glass pane.
Who would be watching her? Who would be out there spying?
She feared to imagine but wondered if it could be someone connected to Delilah and her disappearance. Whether it was a man or woman out there, or a werewolf, Whitney had to ponder if perhaps they’d known of Delilah’s plans to come by Whitney’s cabin the other night. Had they stopped Delilah and proceeded to then spy Whitney from outside that very night?
“Do you want it black?” she asked Shane over the island that separated her kitchen from the living room. “Or do you like cream and sugar?”
“Black is fine,” he said, which gave her the impression that he wasn’t much interested in coffee in the first place and would likely just hold the mug like a prop so that she wouldn’t have to feel like she was loading up on caffeine all by herself.
Truth be told, caffeine was probably the last thing she needed. She’d been too on edge to get a good night’s sleep last night and considering how strongly her adrenaline had been firing outside of Larry Hardcastle’s shack, she had to figure that pumping a stimulant through her veins would only drain her adrenals worse than they were already depleted.
Regardless, she filled two mugs to their brims with steaming dark roast and carried them into the living room, all the while feeling spied upon by someone lurking outside.
It unnerved her.
She handed one of the mugs to Shane and sat on the couch at a distance that would allow her to look at him without craning her neck.
Whatever was developing between them felt stranger and more exciting than anything she’d experienced in her life with a man. She was undeniably attracted to him and had learned that urging him back when he advanced sexually towards her was nearly impossible. And yet, they’d had more arguments than conversations, if she really thought about it. He was the stubborn obstacle that stood in her way of finding out where Delilah was—an adversary of sorts. Every heated argument, however, only seemed to increase her arousal in him, as though anger and feeling turned-on were getting tangled up together in some kind of rageful lust that she feared would soon take over. She didn’t want to lose control, and yet she did.
A mug of coffee in Shane’s hand seemed an odd sight. He was so rugged and masculine that the pink mug she’d given him almost looked too dainty and feminine to make sense. He took a modest sip then set the steaming mug on the coffee table as she figured he would.
Whitney wasn’t shy about gulping her own coffee. She’d brewed a full pot and had every intention of drinking all of it to sharpen her mind. Shane had many more pieces to the Delilah puzzle than she did, and she’d need to stay alert to absorb each and every one.
“Do you suspect Hardcastle had something to do with Delilah’s disappearance?” she asked him once she’d gotten enough caffeine flowing through her veins to feel poised.
“He’s certainly on my list of usual suspects in terms of the people Delilah associated with regularly.”
“But he’s her stepfather,” she ascertained, recalling what Shane had told her out on the plains. “Wouldn’t he be concerned?”
“He’s not that kind of stepfather,” he told her darkly. “They’d always had a rocky relationship and that’s putting it mildly.”
“I didn’t think she was from here,” Whitney commented before setting her mug on the coffee table. “I didn’t realize she had any family in the area.”
“She’s not from here. Apparently, Larry moved to the Fist first. They’re both from Alaska. But after some moving around on Delilah’s part, she decided to settle down here.”
“She hardly settled down,” she pointed out and by the looks of it, Shane agreed.
“True,” he allowed. “And it’s puzzling to me why she would’ve chosen Devil’s Fist if that’s where her stepdad was. She hated him.”
“Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as you think.”
“Or maybe she did, but she also needed him.”
“That’s a toxic combination,” she said.
“Delilah lives her life in a constant state of desperation for money,” he said, thinking out loud.
“Yellowstone doesn’t pay terribly,” Whitney informed him, but as she thought about it, she realized that maybe she didn’t know. She didn’t have rent to pay, thanks to living on her daddy’s land. Rick covered the majority of her utility expenses. Whitney had always felt that her paychecks were more than enough, which was why she could afford the nicer things in life, but maybe she’d been financially sheltered so greatly that it never occurred to her what working as a corral at Yellowstone really amounted to. “Maybe it wasn’t enough,” she allowed.
“Still,” he said. “Delilah was Delilah, and where someone else might have gotten a second job, at say, Libations to make ends meet. Delilah chose a much different way to acquire fast cash.”
“Is that where you came in?”
“That’s where a lot of guys came in, I imagine,” he told her. It seemed important for him to express, “I never slept with her. I wasn’t paying her for sex. If anything, I got in the habit of giving her money so that she wouldn’t have to go out and sell her body.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she said, even though she was glad he felt the urge. She knew he was attracted to her, but on the spectrum of importance, Whitney really had no idea where she stood in his heart. She’d like to think that since Shane had never pushed hard to get her into bed that maybe he respected her enough to consider her more than one-night-stand potential, but who knew. It was anyone’s guess at this point. “Is Delilah like you? A werewolf?”
“No,” he said then he refined his response, “unless she was turned without the
pack’s knowledge. But we have a strict code. We can’t turn a mortal into a werewolf without the king’s permission.”
“The king?”
“Troy.”
“Your older brother, Troy, is the werewolf king?” she asked, impressed and a bit alarmed. Troy had been a fixture around the Fist for as long as she could remember, and the whole time he’s been the royal head of a pack of werewolves? What else didn’t she know about the small, Wyoming town she’d called home her entire life?
“He is, or has been for the past few years.”
“So, you know for a fact that Troy didn’t permit that Delilah could become a werewolf,” she summarized. “Then who could’ve turned her?”
“Ah, see,” he said with a grin, “you’re angling to find out secrets that—”
“I’m not allowed to know unless I’m a werewolf,” she supplied. “Troy gave you permission then? To turn me?”
When Shane fell silent and picked up his cooling mug of untouched coffee, she knew he was avoiding the question.
“He didn’t give you permission,” she surmised, narrowing her eyes on him as if she could read his mind. She couldn’t, so she said, “If you’re trying to turn me without permission, then why would you think another of your kind isn’t off some place with Delilah right now trying to turn her?”
“I’m not trying to turn you,” he argued, dodging her pointed question.
“You’ve brought it up several times…”
“If you were willing, I’d take you to Troy to get permission.”
She didn’t quite believe him on that one, but it was neither here nor there in terms of the most pressing questions on her mind. “You mentioned a rogue werewolf.”
“Dante Alighieri,” he stated, and the name rang a crystal-clear bell in her mind.
She was privy to her father’s investigation, having gleaned certain elements and details over the weeks. She’d also overheard PO Rachel Clancy from time to time when she’d stopped in at the station. The police had connected the firearms found at the Gladstone crime scene to the name Dante Alighieri. Daddy hadn’t been able to locate him and neither had Rachel, but the last detail Whitney had heard was that there was an APB out on Alighieri. He was wanted for questioning at least.
“Dante is one of you guys?”
“In a sense. He’s my uncle in a manner of speaking, but technically, an illegitimate bastard.”
“Wow.”
“My grandmother—”
“Sasha? The one we had that huge birthday parade for?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Sasha, prior to bonding with her one true mate, had birthed a son with an unturned mortal. We still don’t know who the man was, but he’s long since dead. The son is Dante, a half-breed, a monster of sorts. When my father, Xavier, inherited the throne, Dante must have felt slighted. And when, two years ago, Troy took the position after our father passed away, that’s when Dante must have started plotting his revenge. He wants the throne. Thinks he’s entitled to it. And as far as we can tell, he’s been going outside of the code to turn the residents of Devil’s Fist.”
“Ah,” she murmured as she sipped her coffee.
“Our pack has kept the peace in the Fist for centuries,” he explained.
“I take it all the attacks around town, then, haven’t been the work of any of your pack.”
“Correct.”
“People like Pamela Davenport,” she concluded, connecting the dots, “who have disturbed the peace aren’t from your pack.”
“Right, they’re the ones who have been turned by Dante.”
“So then when Angel Mercer disappeared and resurfaced with no memory—”
“Dante had turned her.”
“Then Angel should be shot.”
“No,” he was quick to say. “We’re dealing with her. When I told you before that you have to stop shooting wolves, I meant it.”
“If Delilah’s gone missing, and if it has to do with the werewolf attacks, then it means Dante must have her,” she determined.
“It would,” he allowed. “But again, I’m not sure Dante is behind this.”
“You can’t be sure of anything, Shane.”
“You’re going to have to trust me on this,” he said.
She felt the urge to tell him that as a general rule she trusted nothing and no one, but she didn’t want this productive conversation to turn adversarial like all the others.
Despite that, however, Whitney found herself saying, “We have to tell my father.”
“What? No! Are you crazy?”
“I’m far from crazy, Shane! From what you’re telling me, both your pack and my daddy are after the same man. He’s open minded. All he cares about is keeping the Fist safe.”
“Trust me, that’s not all he cares about.”
There was that word again—trust.
“Don’t act like you know my father better than I do,” she warned.
“Don’t act like I’m unaware that Rick has been trying to run all of the Quinns out of town. He hates us. There’s absolutely no scenario where revealing to him that we’re all werewolves won’t get us hunted and killed by the entire police department.”
“You don’t know him like I do!”
“Whitney!” he barked, squaring his shoulders at her and locking eyes. “The whole reason I’ve brought up the option of turning you into one of us is to prevent you from revealing our secret. The last thing we need is for the sheriff to know about us. If he did, he’d lump us in with what Dante has been doing. All of us would be the same enemy in Rick’s eyes. It would be detrimental.”
“And you think if I’m a werewolf I’ll have a vested interest in keeping your secret? Keeping my daddy in the dark?” she questioned.
“That’s exactly what I think,” he maintained. “Christ, I’ve told you way too much as it is.”
“I’ll think about it.”
The statement surprised him.
“You’ll consider becoming a werewolf?” he asked, thrown. “Seriously?”
“I’m curious about it,” she allowed. “I’ve been going through a lot, having realized that my best friend in the world isn’t who I thought she was. I don’t know what the hell Lucy Cooper is, but she isn’t human. I learned that right quick out on Main Street that night I thought I was saving her life. Boy, was I wrong. She really didn’t need saving, that’s for darn sure.” She had a think on it for a long moment, then asked, “If Reece is with Troy—”
“She’s a werewolf, too.”
“Troy turned her?”
“He did,” he said.
Whitney could barely fathom how big this thing was. “And you say y’all have been in the Fist for centuries?”
“We have. Look, I’m trusting you with a lot here. I need you to trust me as well.”
“Trust that I’ll stay out of your way when it comes to Delilah?”
“Would you?”
“No way in hell, Shane.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose in complete exasperation.
Changing topic to avoid the swell of a real argument, she asked, “What would it take to turn me into a werewolf?”
Releasing his nose and looking at her, he said, “It could be simple or complicated.”
“Gee, thanks for that thorough answer.”
“Let me finish,” he said, annoyed. “It could be as simple as mixing blood.”
“That sounds painful,” she mentioned.
“It’s nothing compared to the bone-shattering sensation of actually shifting for the first time.”
“Lord,” she breathed, intimidated.
“Or…” He trailed off for a moment then apparently thought better of whatever he was going to add and instead simply said, “Yeah, it’s just mixing blood.”
“That doesn’t sound very complicated,” she pointed out.
“It isn’t unless you were meant to be mine,” he said, throwing her for a real loop. “And I have no reason to believe that you are.”
/> “What do you mean meant to be yours?” she asked, intrigued.
Yes, he was a virtual stranger to her, and yes, it seemed they’d done more head-butting than connecting, but there was a feeling growing inside of her chest for him. One she’d never felt before, and couldn’t ignore. There was something about Shane that made her feel one with him, like they’d bonded even though if she thought about it she knew that they hadn’t, not through conversation anyway.
“Some werewolves,” he began then quickly corrected himself, “I should say most werewolves who were born werewolf, have a destined mate, a mortal who was put on this earth to be with them, to be theirs.”
“And you think I could be—”
“I don’t know,” he interrupted as if he might not be able to bear hearing the possibility if it come out of her mouth. “If that’s the case, if there’s a mortal who is destined to be with one of us, then Troy can see it. When he does, then that form of turning the mortal is much more complicated.”
“How?” she asked.
He locked eyes with her and if she wasn’t mistaken, it looked as though Shane was trying very hard not to grin, as he answered, “The mating is much more literal.”
“Oh,” she breathed, suppressing her own blushing smile. “Sex.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sex.”
They both fell silent and Whitney felt sexual tension building between them.
“Troy would’ve told you by now if I was meant to mate with you?” she asked but it came out like a statement beckoning for confirmation.
“He would have,” he agreed, but there was something in his tone that made her wonder if he was telling her the truth or withholding something from her.
“And that’s why you’ve never had sex with me,” she added.
“What? No.”
“No?”
“No, that’s not why I haven’t had sex with you,” he told her.
“Oh,” she said again, prodding him to elaborate.
“No, I mean, I could have sex with you.”
“You could?” she asked, interested.
“I could,” he allowed. “Having sex with you wouldn’t automatically turn you into a werewolf.” He let out a little laugh, something he rarely did if ever as far as she’d noticed, and mentioned, “If that was the case, Kaleb would’ve turned half of Devil’s Fist werewolf by now.”
Quinn Security Page 61