What a Wolf Desires (Lux Catena Series Book 1)

by Amy Pennza

  Remy kept his voice just as low. “He wants to talk to you himself.”

  “He could have picked up the phone.” She swallowed against the urge to raise her voice. Whisper-shouting was the most unsatisfying form of communication ever. She jabbed a finger toward the living room. “He didn’t have to send a small army as escort.”

  “Maybe he was worried about you running away. You do have a history of doing that.”

  Lizette felt like she’d been slapped. She lowered her gaze so he wouldn’t see how much his statement hurt.

  But Remy was too observant to miss it. He pushed away from the door and pulled her into a hug. His scent washed over her—peppermint and a hint of something clear and sharp that made her think of fresh snow. Wolves were nose-blind to their own scent, but she knew she carried notes of it, too—a legacy from her mother, who’d been born on the Hudson Bay in Quebec.

  “Liz,” he whispered in her ear, so soft only she could hear. “I’m a dick.”

  She shook her head, but he hugged her tighter.

  “Yes, I am. I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean it that way. I know you don’t like to talk about your foster family.”

  “It’s all right.” She struggled against his grip. “Remy. Can’t…breathe.”

  He released her and stepped back. “Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression sheepish. “I’m still a hugger.”

  She smiled. “It’s okay.”

  “I mean it, though. I’m sorry about—”

  “I promise it’s okay. And it’s not that I don’t like talking about them…” She groped for an explanation he’d understand. Unlike her, Remy was raised by werewolves—had spent his entire life surrounded by people just like him. “That part of my life feels like it happened to someone else, you know? I can’t really go back and visit, and I don’t think they’d even want me to.”

  “Did they abuse you?” His expression darkened. In a heartbeat, he looked ready to tear someone apart limb by limb.

  “No! Nothing like that.” She sighed inwardly. For the first time, she realized she’d been wrong to be so tight-lipped about her childhood. Apparently, he and the rest of the pack interpreted her silence to mean she’d been mistreated. The humans who raised her after her parents died had been decent, if somewhat strict. Aside from some uncomfortable ogling from their oldest son, she’d never been abused or neglected.

  She leaned around Remy and glanced at the door, choosing not to whisper—the more wolves who heard her story, the better. “I didn’t run away because they were cruel. I mean, being a foster kid isn’t the greatest. They had five kids of their own, and they didn’t have a lot of money. I didn’t realize it until I was older, but they took me in because they needed the money from the state. But they weren’t bad people.” She took a deep breath, grateful to Remy for his willingness to listen without interrupting. “Things were fine until I turned thirteen. I started…changing. Not like the change, although I guess that was part of it. I started to hit puberty, and I got these…urges.” She couldn’t describe it.

  “You felt like crawling out of your skin,” he murmured.

  Yes. He knew. Of course he knew. “I thought I was going crazy.” She’d wanted to climb the walls. Some nights, she’d woken to the sound of a low, menacing growl only to realize it was coming from her.

  At first, she thought it was something every girl experienced—some strange passage from childhood to womanhood. But when she tried talking to her foster mother about it, the woman took her to the family’s minister for a “spiritual cleansing.” A few weeks later Lizette started getting unusual cravings, and her foster father caught her sneaking bites of raw hamburger from the fridge.

  And then the other cravings started…

  She avoided Remy’s open, earnest gaze. He didn’t need to hear about her foster parents’ frantic phone calls to the church, or the surprise exorcism in the family’s shag-carpeted living room. She settled on an abbreviated version of the truth. “I ran away because I knew I’d never fit in. I thought something was wrong with me, and I didn’t want to be a burden.”

  He ducked his head until he caught her gaze. “Nothing is wrong with you. Everyone goes through a weird stage before they make their first Turn. I just can’t believe your parents—your real parents—didn’t tell you the truth about what you are.”

  “They might have…eventually. Remember, I was only seven when they died.”

  “Seven is old enough to keep our secrets.” He hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “They didn’t die at the same time, Lizette. Your dad must have had a month or two—”

  “Three weeks.” At least that’s what she’d been told. Her memories were vague. Werewolves mated for life—literally. When one mate died, the other followed. A werewolf who lost a mate might linger for a year, maybe two, but most passed within a few months. The weeks after her mother’s death were fuzzy, but she remembered her father’s hair turning gray overnight. One morning he rinsed Lizette’s cereal bowl in the sink, placed it in the top rack of the dishwasher, and walked out the back door. She never saw him again.

  “He should have told you,” Remy insisted.

  “They weren’t connected to a pack. Maybe he tried and ran out of time.”

  “Maybe.” Remy bumped her shoulder with his. “I’m just sorry it took us so long to find you, Liz. But we’re here now. You’re with your family. Your real family.”

  She looked away so he wouldn’t see her stupid tears. He might be the pack’s class clown, but his meathead exterior hid a sensitive core. Somehow he sensed how brittle her confession made her feel. If he’d tsked and gathered her into his arms, she might have shattered. And because he knew her better than she liked to admit, he also knew she hated feeling vulnerable.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face and shoved her hair behind her shoulders. With the threat of an emotional breakdown off the table, she could move on to the more immediate crisis in her life. She lowered her voice again. “Are you going to tell me what he wants?”

  “Can’t.” Remy plopped on her bed, the springs squealing under his weight. He leaned on his hands behind him and bounced a few times. “This mattress sucks.”

  “Remy.”

  He sighed. “Max wants to talk to you himself. Even if I knew what he wanted...which, by the way, I do not admit to...I couldn’t tell you.”

  He was rapidly losing his status as her favorite cousin—never mind that he was the only one she had.

  Annoyed, she whirled to her dresser, where she caught a glimpse of her face in the framed mirror propped against the wall. She was pale, which was a bad look for someone with ivory-colored skin. Fine lines bracketed her mouth and lined her forehead. At twenty-four, she was a little young for wrinkles. She puffed out her cheeks and raised her eyebrows. Then she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips a few times to give them some color. After a couple of seconds, she smiled. Her dark blue eyes looked a little less haunted, and her cheeks were fuller—or at least less corpselike.

  “Is this what women do when they’re alone? Make weird faces at themselves?”

  She looked down at the assortment of bottles and makeup scattered across the top of her dresser. After a moment’s debate, she grabbed the cherry red train case sitting to one side and popped it open, then swept the whole mess into the case with an outstretched arm. “Not entirely,” she said, setting the train case on the bed next to her duffel. “We also think of ways to torment the annoying people in our lives.”

  “Easy, killer.” He closed his eyes, and a frown puckered the smooth skin between his brows. He cocked his head like he was listening to a far-off sound. “Dom says hurry it up.”

  She paused in the act of choosing which pajamas to pack. “He could have just talked through the door.”

  Remy shrugged, as if telepathy was no big deal.

  It reality, it was a very big deal. Although all wolves were blessed with certain abilities, more often referred to as Gifts, the ab
ility to speak mind-to-mind was rare. Dom and Remy were the only telepaths she knew. Most wolves inherited common Gifts like enhanced vision or accelerated speed—tools useful in battle or the hunt. Wolves with an advanced sense of smell were called Trackers for their ability to detect emotions and lies. Healers could mend wounds faster than any human doctor.

  Lizette had heard it theorized that plenty of wolves were born with so-called rare Gifts. They were just vulnerable to wolves who were superior fighters and thus less likely to live long enough to pass on their genes. Some wolves with mental Gifts took great pains to hide their abilities for that reason.

  Remy tapped the side of his head. “Besides, I need the practice.”

  “For what?”

  “Most of the time, I can only talk mind-to-mind with other telepaths, but lately I’ve been able to send to anyone.” He narrowed his eyes. “Pretty cool, huh?” His voice flooded her mind as if he’d shouted into her ear with a megaphone.

  “Whoa.” She put a knee against the dresser to steady herself. “Warn me before you do that again, okay?” It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her brain, even though she’d learned in freshman psychology class that the brain actually lacks nerve endings. Tell that to someone with chronic migraines.

  “Sorry.” He didn’t look the least bit guilty. “I’m still learning to control the volume.”

  “No worries.” She moved into the en suite bathroom to gather some toiletries. She crouched in front of her vanity and plucked a shampoo bottle off the bottom shelf.

  “Ready?” Remy’s voice floated from the bedroom.

  No. Never.

  She stood and caught her reflection in the antique mirror above the vanity. White with scrolling green vines, the mirror was one of the first things she bought for the apartment when she moved in five years ago. I’m coming back, she told herself as she opened a drawer and grabbed her headache medication. She clutched the orange bottle as her heart started to pound.

  She and Max had a deal. Five years ago, he sent her away.

  And in doing so, he gave Lizette her freedom.

  If he’d forgotten about their agreement, she’d just have to remind him.

  “Lizette?”

  In the mirror, her eyes lightened to wolf blue. She put her shoulders back. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  2

  Lizette rolled her eyes when she saw the black Infiniti QX80 in the apartment complex parking lot. It was wedged between a Prius and an early model Accord.

  “You guys really know how to blend in,” she muttered as she followed Dom down the stairs. Remy had insisted on carrying her duffel, which should have looked ridiculous, but somehow emphasized his imposing size and rugged masculinity. The other three males brought up the rear, their footfalls barely registering, even to her sensitive ears.

  When they reached the massive vehicle, Remy opened the rear passenger door and gestured for her to get in.

  She’d put one foot on the running board when a sudden thought hit her. “Gimme a second!” She jogged back to the building and rolled her eyes again when pounding footsteps followed her. Dom and the one called Aiden hovered on either side of her as she removed a piece of paper from her pocket and thrust it inside one of the shiny black mailboxes bolted to the front of the brick building. She’d scribbled the note in her kitchen right before Remy hefted her overstuffed duffel like it was a teacup and gestured for them to leave.

  Aiden sniffed the air around the mailbox. “That one smells like a human.” He glowered at her. “A male,” he added, making male sound like serial killer.

  She raised her chin. “He’s my landlord. He’ll wonder where I’ve gone.” Anger made her cheeks flood with heat. She shouldn’t have to explain anything to anyone, let alone a man she’d just met. What right did he have to question her?

  “Back off, Aiden,” Dom said. “Go ahead,” he told her in a gentler voice.

  She met his gaze with a glare. “I don’t need anyone’s permission to communicate with my friends.”

  Tension rose around them. Across the parking lot, Remy’s head shot up. Lizette wanted to snatch the words out of the air. She’d lived on her own too long, and she’d forgotten all the rules. Wolves didn’t need labels or name tags to know who was in charge. A well-trained wolf could walk into a crowded room and know the rank of every person within seconds. Dom was the highest ranking wolf on this mission, and she just challenged him.

  If they’d been alone, he might have let it go, but the others’ presence complicated things. If he ignored her insubordination, he risked looking weak. It opened a door—however narrow—for future challenges.

  She held her breath and waited for all hell to break loose, but Dom just stood there. The muscle ticking in his jaw was the only sign of his displeasure.

  She dropped her gaze to the cracked asphalt. “My apologies,” she said, her tone formal. “I meant no disrespect.” A human listening to their conversation would have found it strange. Why would a grown woman need anyone’s consent to leave a message for another adult, and her landlord at that? But in their world, respect and obedience were everything. Without these things, people died.

  The awful tension dissipated. Lizette let out a shaky breath.

  Dom touched her cheek briefly. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

  Over by the SUV, Remy cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. “You three trading recipes, or what? Let’s go!”

  Dom smiled at her. “I hope you brought headphones.”

  She followed him back to the SUV, where Remy and the others stood with their arms folded, muscles on full display. They were about as unobtrusive as secret service agents at a bake sale. She glanced over her shoulder at the apartments to see if any faces were peeking out from behind the curtains.

  The most excitement her tiny college town saw was the occasional DUI or bonfire gone wild. The presence of five huge men in an expensive car was bound to attract notice. Dom climbed in the driver’s seat, while Remy jumped in the passenger side. To her intense relief, Aiden sat in the third row, all the way in the back where she wouldn’t have to look at him or risk having her thigh touch his. She’d gotten a better sample of his scent by the mailbox, but she couldn’t place him. As far as she knew they’d never met, but something about him unsettled her.

  The other two wolves, whose names she hadn’t bothered to learn, sat on either side of her in the SUV’s middle row bucket seat. She decided to refer to them as Thug One and Thug Two in her mind.

  Dom’s blue eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, then dipped to the loose seatbelt next to her. “Buckle up.”

  She sighed and put in her earbuds. It was going to be a long ride.

  The drive from Albany to Champlain took about three hours, with a little extra time thrown in for a bathroom break and a fast food stop—at least for Lizette. The others ate lunch on the way down.

  Remy twisted around and rested his chin on the back of his seat. “You don’t eat clean anymore?”

  She lowered the french fry she’d been about to stuff in her mouth. “You realize that’s annoying, right?

  “What is?”

  Dom snorted. “Being a self-righteous prick about what other people eat.”

  “I’m not a self-righteous prick! Chris, am I a self-righteous prick?”

  The male on Lizette’s right had spent most of the trip dozing with his arms folded over his chest. He replied without opening his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Remy mumbled.

  Lizette laughed. “You’re not self-righteous, Rem. No comment on the other part, though.”

  “He’s got a Tinder profile,” Dom said dryly. “He’s definitely a prick.”

  “You don’t even know what Tinder is.” Remy leaned over the seat and snagged one of Lizette’s fries. “Seriously, Liz, he still doesn’t have a cell phone.”

  Dom’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I have a phone.”

  “Only because Max forced one on y
ou. Ugh, Lizette, this tastes like vomit.”

  She tossed her fry back in the red container and threw it in the white paper bag at her feet. “Thank you very much, Remy. I didn’t need to eat today, anyway.”

  “You can eat at home,” Dom said. “We’re here.”

  She didn’t need him to tell her that. She’d sensed Penitentiary Gorge more than an hour ago. A tingling awareness had crept up her spine, and her heart pounded. As they turned down the narrow dirt road leading to the Lodge, the awareness felt like a thousand soft touches on her skin.

  Her stomach clenched, and a wave of anxiety washed over her. She had to control her emotions—especially fear. She closed her eyes and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. It was the most basic form of meditation, but it worked well enough in a pinch—anything to keep her human side more dominant than her wolf side.

  If she walked into the Lodge stinking of fear, she’d have a hard time standing up for herself. In the wild, humans were usually prey. Wolves, on the other hand, were natural predators. They were always looking for a weakness or subtle vulnerability. Werewolves combined the cunning of a predator with the higher reasoning capabilities of the human mind—making them a sort of super-predator.

  And the biggest, baddest predator of all was waiting at the end of her journey.

  She opened her eyes as they approached the gates. Dom must have used his Gift to tell someone inside they were here, because the black metal panels swung open, seemingly of their own accord. Not creepy at all.

  It had been five years since she laid eyes on the forest surrounding the Lodge. It was so far from civilization it didn’t even have cell service or cable—something that had scandalized her fifteen-year-old self. Fresh off the plane from California, she’d lobbied hard for a satellite dish. After months of her nagging, Max had finally given in, and she spent a solid month in her room watching Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel.

  When Lizette left at nineteen, she’d been hell-bent on putting as much distance as possible between her and the rural, isolated community that had felt like a prison.