Black Rook (43 page)

“What is it?” he asked.

“My father sent me a package.”

They took the book-sized box into his room. She hobbled a bit, taking her time, still getting used to the walking boot Dr. Mike had strapped to her ankle. He scented the box, but found nothing unusual or potentially harmful. Inside the shipping box was a smaller wooden box with a brass clasp. Brynn opened that. A folded note card fell out onto her lap. In the box, on a bed of red velvet, was a gold necklace. Attached to the chain was a pendant the size of a nickel, a simple clear jewel on a flat gold setting.

Brynn unfolded the card, which had a message written in fancy letters. “My daughter,” she read, “Please accept this gift as my most sincere apology for the lies that I have told you. You were innocent in these lies, and yet you have taken the brunt of the consequences. Wear this necklace. It will warn you when the remaining hybrid children are near. This is all I can offer in the way of assistance, as you have clearly chosen your loyalties. I never meant to hurt you. Be well. Archimedes.”

Her hands were shaking by the time she finished reading the note. Rook pried it from her hands, put the card and box on the bed, then pulled her into his arms. She curled against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. He held her tight, rocking gently, stroking her hair.

“Do you think the necklace is legitimate?” he asked after she’d stopped trembling.

“I do. He gains no advantage by sending a fake. I think he’s as scared of the hybrids as we are. With Fiona gone, he won’t be able to control them.”

“Frankenstein has lost his monster.”

“Exactly.”

“Why would he do this? He despises the loup. Why try to help me when I’m loup myself and have chosen to live with his enemies?”

“Because you’re his daughter. Fathers love their children.”

The statement was certainly true for loup parents, but what about the Magi? Had Archimedes loved Fiona? Or the triplets? Would he be able to murder his own child to stop the monster he’d unleashed? Rook didn’t know. He was only glad that Brynn’s father didn’t seem to hate her completely. “I love you,” he said. The words popped out, startling Rook, and his pulse jumped.

Brynn pulled back so she could look at his face. Her eyes gleamed, and she was smiling like she’d just discovered the greatest secret in the world. “I love you, too,” she said. “Given our beginnings, I’d have never expected to love you so much so quickly.”

He drew a finger down her cheek, from ear to jaw. “Me too. You’re mine.”

She did the same across the rougher skin of his left cheek. “And you’re mine. Ragged ear and all.”

He laughed, and then she did, too, and together, their laughter created the most beautiful music he’d ever played.

Keep reading for a preview of the next book in the Cornerstone Run series

GRAY BISHOP

Available from InterMix October 2014

Blood and adrenaline pulsed through his veins, speeding Bishop’s blind race through the forest on the north side of town. His muscles ached with exhaustion, his tongue lolled from thirst, but he didn’t stop or slow to drink from a nearby stream. He simply ran out his rage and helplessness on four legs, uncaring of the twigs that caught in his coat or the loose branches that tried to trip him.

Running in the forest alone was an impossibly bad decision, given the four insane half-breed women terrorizing his town and his family. Short of locking himself back inside the quarterly cage and shrieking until his voice broke, Bishop had shifted and allowed his beast to roam. To rage. To run himself into exhaustion.

An hour ago, his little brother had stood up and made the bravest, most self-sacrificing decision of his entire life, and Bishop had never been more proud. Knight understood the needs of the town and their people better than any Alpha, and he’d chosen their guaranteed safety over his own freedom. He’d made an Alpha’s decision, and Bishop had to find a way to accept that after tonight he may never see Knight again.

Staying in town and facing it would have ended in a fight, or worse, bloodshed. He was wound too tight, so he ran. Ran from his responsibilities as the Alpha’s oldest son, his responsibilities as Knight and Rook’s big brother.

He had failed Knight for the second time.

He jumped over a fallen log, but didn’t quite clear it. His back left leg scraped against rough bark, and he tripped, landing in a pained heap in a pile of dead leaves. He lay there panting, his chest heaving, and a long, low whine tore from his throat as the memories of his first failure crawled over him.

Rook had been an infant, Knight only three years old. An arrogant ten, Bishop had been babysitting with help from their housekeeper Mrs. Troost. His brothers were both asleep when a man and three shifted loup broke into the house. Bishop had tried to fight the black beasts, and his chest still bore the scars of that attempt. Knight was kidnapped from his bed, and Bishop had lain helpless on the hallway floor, bleeding while his brother screamed for him to help. The kidnappers didn’t get far, but the fight was fierce, and their mother died defending her son.

No one blamed Bishop for that failure. He was a kid and badly wounded. No, Bishop blamed himself. He’d also sworn, after losing their mother, to protect his brothers by any means necessary. And in the last three days, both of his brothers had been kidnapped and tortured.

At midnight tonight, Knight would go with a woman who meant to do him harm, on the promise that she would leave the town alone forever. A town that would never be the same.

His family would never be the same.

The ache in his chest surged upward and out in a low, mournful howl that did nothing to alleviate the burden of its weight. He howled again, a sound that became a whine and a whimper. He didn’t know how to say good-bye to his brother. He and Knight had always spoken a simple language. They told the truth, in as few words as possible, and managed to understand each other. Knight would look to Bishop for acceptance and calm, and damn it, that’s what Bishop would give him. He owed Knight nothing less.

He hauled his tired body out of the leaves and shook off. He scented the air, then turned toward town, making the trip slowly. His back leg hurt a bit from strain, and he didn’t want to aggravate the injury. He passed close to where Winston Burke was patrolling, and the pair shared soft yips in greeting.

The afternoon was waning into evening by the time he loped into the backyard. He’d left his clothes behind the shed in a relatively private area, and he began to shift back almost immediately. Bones snapped and popped into place. His skin prickled as the thick gray fur receded, replaced by tanned skin. His entire face rearranged itself, the transformation more painful than usual because of his exhaustion. He needed water and dinner, or his mood would only continue to sour. A loup garou’s metabolism required frequent large meals. Starvation could lead to insanity.

A newly familiar scent of apple blossoms and honey tickled his nose before he heard her footsteps on the grass. He stood up and stretched out the muscles in his back and arms, his entire body tingling from the transformation. Jillian Reynolds turned the corner behind the shed and stopped, hands on her hips, glaring in a way that made her angular face almost scary in its ferocity.

“Did you get that out of your system?” she snapped.

Bishop snagged his boxers off the ground and pulled them on, in no mood for a reproach from her. “I needed to run.”

“Oh good. You needed to run around the woods while there are four psychopathic women out there targeting your family. Glad to hear it.”

She sounded genuinely pissed off, and that surprised him. Granted they needed every available fighting loup on their best game, and loup physiology required a resting period after shifting, so he couldn’t shift again for at least two hours, but this felt . . . personal. More than a fellow future run leader concerned about a friend. It was also the first time she’d been so sarcastic with him.

“I feel better,” he said, which was a total lie. He’d burned off some of his rage, sure, but the rest of his churning emotions lingered right below the surface where they had to stay.

“I don’t care, Bishop. Going off alone like that was irresponsible. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jillian didn’t know about Knight’s choice. She hadn’t been in the room. Only six people knew, including Knight, and it had to stay that way for everyone’s safety. He hated keeping Jillian out of the loop, because her insight had been invaluable thus far. He could not risk another person knowing the plan. A version of the truth, then. “My brother is being targeted by four insane women who want to make more insane half-breed babies with him, that’s what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry I’m not handling the stress the way you’d prefer.”

She scowled. “Look, I know this has been hard on your family—”

“Hard?” He snorted.

“But Knight is fine. Rook is fine. We are watching the perimeter of the town, and we will know if they try to attack us. We have the advantage.”

“We have the illusion of an advantage.”

“What does that mean?” She stepped forward, her apples and honey scent invading his personal space and making his beast take notice. His beast had noticed her from the moment they met, and he had worked hard to quell that pull. Father once told him that his beast would know his mate when they met, just as Father had known their mother was his. But Bishop and Jillian were an impossible match, so his beast needed to shut the hell up.

“I know Brynn went out of town, and I know she’s back,” Jillian continued. “What did she find out that has you so on edge?”

“It’s classified.”

She snarled. “Fuck you, it’s classified. I have worked side by side with you and Alpha McQueen since the Stonehill attack. Don’t keep me in the dark about this.”

“It isn’t my call, Jillian.”

“It’s your father’s?”

“Yes. And don’t even think about going to him on this. He won’t tell you.”

Her dark, flecked eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t give me orders, Bishop. I’m not a member of your run.”

“No, but you should understand the very simple concept of an Alpha’s decree.” His frustration and helplessness was coming out in the worst way possible, goading Jillian into getting angry with him. He simply wanted her to leave him alone until tomorrow, when everything could be explained.

She bristled. “What is wrong with you? Are you trying to pick a fight?”

Hell yes he was. “If I was, I’d have chosen a better equipped opponent.”

She looked genuinely offended by that, and she had every right. Jillian was a Black Wolf, born stronger and faster than his common Gray Wolf. She automatically had a higher status than him, even though they were both first born of their run’s respective Alphas. He had been deliberately patronizing with his remark, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Jillian came forward until they were almost nose to nose, her very presence a live wire with this kind of proximity. His chest heaved, breathing a bit too difficult. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands fisted by her sides. She was shorter than him by a mere handful of inches, so she didn’t have to strain to glare him right in the eyes. His beast shuddered, aroused by her anger.

He waited for a sharp retort, or even a challenge to a fight, which he’d have gladly accepted. Anything to get his mind off tonight.

“No one else has ever complained about my equipment,” Jillian said. Her voice was smoother, silkier, with a hint of a taunt there.

Was she fucking flirting with him?

Her gaze dropped to his bare torso, then flickered back up. She arched one slim eyebrow. “Can you say the same?” she asked.

Hell yes, she was flirting. He never considered it possible that she might feel the same draw to him as he felt to her. And even so, she must already have sifted through the reasons why they couldn’t be together. He would be Cornerstone’s Alpha one day. She would be the Alpha Female of Springwell’s run. Their paths had converged for a brief time, but their futures were not intertwined.

“Why don’t you try my equipment out and see for yourself?” Bishop replied.

Heat flared in her eyes, and it speared him in the gut. The tip of her tongue darted out, wetting her upper lip. He saw the battle waging inside of her, demanding she take a step back and not incite anything. The same war was happening inside of Bishop, because all he wanted to do was kiss her, and he knew it was the exact wrong thing to do. He prided himself on making good decisions. Fair decisions.

He’d made one bad decision tonight by losing himself in the forest. What was another one?

She tilted her head to the side, a clear invitation—and challenge.

Fuck it.

His mouth crashed into hers, and his beast roared with satisfaction. She opened for him with a soft growl, kissing him back with a ferocity born of need and loneliness. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, licking, tasting the sweet essence of her. He clasped the back of her neck and drew her closer, needing more. She clung to him, the growl deepening as their kiss deepened, and soon he joined her song.

He slipped his free arm around her waist and hauled her closer, her lean, toned body hot against him. His cock stirred as his beast demanded he stake his claim on this woman. This woman whose kisses woke him up in a way that no woman had before, whose very presence challenged him to be better. This woman who he could never claim as his mate.

Their positions within their runs made it impossible.

The unfairness of finding her and knowing he could never have her collided with his earlier rage, and he jerked away. Jillian stumbled backward two steps, her cheeks flushed and lips moist. Confusion flashed in her eyes and creased her brow. She was panting, her arousal a faint tang in the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” Bishop said, his voice hoarse, tight. “I can’t.”

“I’m a widow, Bishop, and you’re Gray. This isn’t a declaration for either of us.”

“This is nothing for either of us.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You felt the same thing I did.”

He felt that and more, and he hated himself for allowing a taste of her, because he wanted more. He had to make that impossible. Make her step back. “Are you sure?” he asked with a derisive sneer.