AMAZON KINDLE VERSION A Siberian Werewolf In London EDITED 3 9 2012 (7 page)

When the car pulled into the formal drive at Lady Ashtown’s place in the Kensington section of London, Grigori welcomed the change and the increased awareness. He was a man of action. Dealing with having a mate kept him in his head, when he needed to be concentrating on his senses and the hunt for danger. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades. Someone was watching them. He felt the malicious intent.

As if the officers felt it as well, everyone became focused on the business of keeping Melisande safe.

When the car stopped, Kincaid went out the door and scouted the terrain. The brick walkway led up to a small flight of stairs and the front entrance, which a liveried servant now opened. Officer Hampton exited next and moved around the car. Then Grigori stepped out of the car. He reached back in for Melisande's hand and guided her out. The three men surrounded her and ushered Melisande into the foyer of the grand hall. As the servant closed the large carved double doors, Grigori turned to Kincaid.

"Get an officer to check the neighborhood around the house,” Grigori admonished. “Someone watched us. I felt it.”

"I had the same feeling myself, sir. Now with you safe inside, Hampton and I will take a look around.”

A cultured voice, pitched high enough to bring pain to the ears, came from down the hall. Grigori winced and turned to see the woman from the hotel approaching them. The statuesque brunet was not wearing her large hat, but other than that looked similar to the last time he’d seen her. She had on grey slacks and a turquoise blouse. She walked down the wooden paneled hallway with an air of supreme confidence. She was somebody, and she knew it.

Grigori moved closer to Melisande, his arm automatically encircling her waist. He wanted to show his support and felt Meli gathering her energy to deal with her client. The officers spoke quietly to the staff member who had opened the door earlier, leaving Melisande to deal with this first encounter with Lady Ashtown.

"Sandy, darling, you're finally here. Come tell me all about this danger that has befallen you, and who is this handsome gentleman?" Lady Ashtown asked.

"This is Grigori Solovyov, he is . . .”

"Her fiancé,” Grigori finished for her. He stepped forward, taking Lady Ashtown's hand. He bowed over it and placed a kiss near her knuckles.

Melisande watched in disbelief, as Lady Ashtown blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. Grigori oozed charm when he wanted to. Melisande glanced around the foyer and noted the wooden paneling, marble floors, and gilt-framed paintings. The Ashtowns’ London residence was a grand Victorian home that glittered with the ambiance of their lifestyle.

"Sandy, where ever did you find him?” Lady Ashtown asked. “So Mr. Solovyov, may I call you Grigori, will you be staying in London long?"

Grigori looked back at Melisande and winked. He allowed Lady Ashtown to take his arm and lead him deeper into the house. He delighted in the sparks in Melisande's eyes as she was forced to pick up her kit and hurry after them, her heels clicking on the hard floor.

Melisande felt a flash of jealousy. She watched Lady Ashtown drape herself over Grigori's arm as if she owned him. Then she led him down the marble-floored hall into the depths of the home. A sudden image of a spider with a fly came to mind. Melisande hurried after the pair, wondering if Grigori would need rescuing in the near future. Not that he deserved it the way he flirted with Lady Ashtown.

Grigori was her fiancé after all, even though he hadn’t asked her to marry him. He had told her his people already considered them married. How dare he charm Lady Ashtown and allow her to lead him away? Melisande was the one here to give Lady Ashtown her expertise, not Grigori. And why did
that
woman always call her Sandy?

Melisande hurried after them, thinking how irritating she found the whole experience. They turned a corner into a large room with twelve-foot-high walls, where brilliantly colored tapestries hung on every surface.

Melisande was immediately transfixed. This was why she was here. This was what she had waited for. She set her kit down and walked over to gaze at the nearest tapestry. Pictured in the woven threads was a group of knights with drawn swords, riding into battle on horseback. The work was striking, the colors bright with each figure woven in detail so fine you could almost feel the wind blowing through the horses’ tails and hear the crash of armor hitting armor.

Moving forward, Melisande approached the next piece on the wall. It showed a group of musicians playing for dinner guests seated in front of them. Melisande thought real silver and gold threads had been used for weaving the trim on the ladies' sleeves and the lords’ necklines. She leaned in closer to get a better look.

Grigori had paused and turned as Melisande entered the room. She had immediately become fixated with the tapestries on the walls. Her face was alight with pleasure, and her eyes shown with joy. Melisande loved her work.

But there appeared to be more going on. Grigori frowned. The hairs on his arms were rising, and he swore he felt eddies of psychic power flowing through the air. Was Melisande's psychic gift linked to her work? He moved closer to her but couldn't figure out what she was doing to cause his reaction.

Lady Ashtown seemed oblivious to everything and continued her speech about rescuing old textiles, and how important her work was to the future. Grigori watched as she noticed Melisande's attention was on the tapestries and not on her. He saw a slight flash of irritation cross Lady Ashtown’s features, but she recovered quickly and, calling for them to follow, led their small group out of the hall and into a library.

This room was thickly carpeted with a huge desk situated in the middle. Bookshelves filled with books of every color and size lined most of the walls. Grigori breathed deeply, enjoying the scents of ink on paper and old leather. His fingers itched to pick up one of the old tomes and discover its secrets.

"This is the piece I need you to look at, Sandy,” Lady Ashtown said.

Both Melisande and Grigori turned to look at the small tapestry hanging on the wall over the fireplace mantle shelf. Because the walls were mostly filled with books and the tapestry was small, it seemed lost in the jumble. Grigori thought the tapestry looked out of place in the library and would be better displayed on a plain white wall at eye level, but didn’t comment.

The tapestry pictured a knight receiving a favor from his lady before he rode to battle. On closer inspection, Grigori decided he liked the style of the work. The knight looked adoringly at his lady, as she offered him a shy smile while handing him the token.

"I'll need to have it brought down, Lady Ashtown. I need to be able to examine it more closely,” Melisande explained.

"Of course. I'll have Elden arrange to have it placed on the table for your assessment. Would you care for tea while we wait?" Lady Ashtown asked.

Grigori sensed the flash of irritation and impatience that Melisande felt inside. He was surprised and proud, when she gracefully accepted the invitation to tea and allowed Lady Ashtown to lead them into a small parlor. The windows showcased a scene of the gardens, and more natural light filled this room. Lady Ashtown moved toward a sitting area positioned to enjoy the view. A teacart was brought into the room almost at the moment they sat down on embroidered armchairs. Soon they held fragile cups and saucers in their hands.

Grigori wondered if he could avoid drinking the brew, while Melisande was the epitome of a gracious guest. He watched as she allowed Lady Ashtown to go on and on about her charity work and her hunt for new acquisitions for her tapestry collection. Melisande would sip daintily from her cup and occasionally ask a question that encouraged Lady Ashtown to continue. Not wanting either of the ladies to realize his discomfort, he sat quietly, balancing a teacup on his knee.

As the conversation continued, Grigori realized Lady Ashtown was focusing solely on her image. She didn't really care about the tapestries in her collection. She didn't love them as Melisande did. But he kept his observations to himself and answered Lady Ashtown's occasional question gracefully, while still not giving her any information.

Grigori was used to dealing with foreigners. Before this unfortunate business with Funenko came up and the theft of shipments, he had worked as liaison for pack-owned companies and their trading partners. He knew how to make people think he was answering their questions when in reality he was not.

Melisande kept smiling as she let Lady Ashtown serve the tea. The only reason she was able to be patient was she heard murmurings coming from the library and assumed the staff was taking the tapestry down from the wall. If only Lady Ashtown had ordered it taken down before they arrived, Melisande could be examining it already.

But even though she was impatient to get started with her work, it was funny to watch Grigori trying to handle his teacup. She noticed right away how his nostrils flared and a look of distaste crossed his eyes. At the moment, he seemed to be trying to decide whether he should continue holding the cup and saucer or return them to the tray. Smiling, Melisande took another sip of tea and glanced back toward the library.

Melisande couldn't wait to see what the threads in the tapestry would tell her. Each time she examined a textile, she seemed to enter a different world. The weft threads told the story behind the making of the tapestry, while the warp threads held everything together. The patterns of the threads and how finely they were woven together fascinated Melisande on a deep level.

She touched the threads and knew what the weaver was thinking about while he worked. She knew how old and how healthy he was. Somehow the weaver’s thoughts and feelings had become locked into the fibers. Examining a textile was like stepping back through a door in time.

Often a master weaver would set up the loom and pattern, and then a journeyman weaver would do the actual weaving under the master's careful eye. It was a huge puzzle Melisande worked to solve.

Finally, a member of the household staff came in to announce the tapestry was ready for examination. Melisande jumped up, quickly excused herself, and followed the staff member back into the library. It would take a couple of hours to do the initial analysis and collect the fiber samples for testing. She couldn't wait to begin.

Grigori watched Melisande jump up and leave the room and wanted to cry out in dismay. Now, he alone had to charm and entertain Lady Ashtown. Plus, he was still holding the teacup that looked so fragile he feared it would break in his hand. How could Melisande abandon him like this?

Grigori kept up his smiling facade and hoped it wouldn't be long before Melisande returned. In trying to find a way to leave, he had become almost desperate, when luckily a staff member entered to report a phone call for the lady. Lady Ashtown excused herself, and Grigori finally felt free to wander back into the library and watch Melisande work. He placed the cup with its untouched tea on the tray and made his way out of the room.

As soon as he stepped into the library, he felt hair rising on his skin. Energy currents floated around Melisande and the tapestry she worked on. She seemed deep in thought, as she sat at the desk and examined the backing of the tapestry and counted the threads. She was using psychic energy. Grigori felt it clearly but didn’t know what she did with it.

Grigori watched as Melisande carefully clipped pieces of lint from the threads and placed them in plastic bags. She didn't even seem to realize he was in the room with her. She was concentrating entirely on the tapestry. Her eyes seemed slightly out of focus, and he wondered if she was in a trance.

Melisande sensed the thoughts of the weaver. He worried about his family. He was ill but needed the money he would earn from this work. Then the secrecy and trepidation of a new hand was added to the first—a new weaver, a woman. Fear for her sick husband and fear of discovery permeated the threads as the women came in after hours, secretly, to finish her husband's work. Finally, the piece was done, and Melisande felt the relief of both the weaver and his wife. But now the Master examined it. He was suspicious of the couple, but the work was well done, and no one would ever know.

Melisande came awake from her trance and saw Grigori watching her with obvious concern. He would be asking her questions, and she would need to explain. But for the first time, Melisande felt no fear in sharing her ability. She blinked several times and attempted to focus. She tried to smile at him, but her thoughts were still wandering back to the woman and her ill husband.