Code of the Wolf (17 page)

Jacob had never hated himself as much as he did at that moment. He didn't let Serenity go until Perry and Victoria were well out of sight.

“You can't stop him now,” he said, as she wrenched herself free. “He won't let you get close enough to shoot.”

Serenity's eyes were cold, spearing him with ice instead of fire. She marched to the end of the street, where her horse still stood, rifled through her saddlebags and pulled out a sheaf of bills. She strode back to Jacob and threw the bundle at his feet.

“This is half of what I intended to pay you,” she said. “I don't require your services any longer.”

Jacob let the bundle lie there between them. “I can't take your money when I haven't done anything,” he said quietly.

“You've done plenty.” She gave the bundle a kick,
scrubbed at her cheeks and walked away again. “Cari, let's find Zora and get out of here.”

With a savage glance in Jacob's direction, Caridad followed Serenity to gather the horses. Jacob knew he still had a little time; Serenity would be going after Perry as soon as she could, but she had sense enough not to go rushing off when she knew he might be expecting pursuit.

Knowing that he couldn't just leave Serenity's money lying in the dirt where anyone could take it, Jacob picked up the bundle, tucked it inside his vest, and waited until Caridad and Serenity were on their horses. Serenity cast him one final look full of anguish, contempt and profound loss. Then she kicked her horse into a trot, and she and the other women vanished behind the dry, rolling hills to the south.

His feet as heavy as his heart, Jacob went for his own horses. It wasn't until he was in the saddle that he began to think clearly again. Head cocked, he listened to make sure that Serenity, Caridad and Zora were still heading away from town, then reined his own mount east after Perry.

It wasn't difficult to find them, though Perry had taken the precaution of choosing the most broken ground and changing direction every quarter mile. Victoria was riding with her head hung over her saddle horn. It was pretty clear she had given up.

A swell of deep anger built under Jacob's ribs. He kept on riding until Perry, human though he was, couldn't help but hear him.

The bounty hunter reined in his horse and twisted in the saddle. Victoria lifted her head.

“Constantine!” Perry said as Jacob drew near, his hand falling to his waist. “What are you doin' here?”

So much for old friendship. Perry didn't trust him, and Jacob was about to justify his doubts.

“I wondered why you let us go so easy,” Perry said when Jacob didn't answer. “You got somethin' to say, say it.”

Jacob dismounted. “Victoria,” he said, “you'd better get down.”

Perry pulled his horse around to face Jacob. “I don't know if you've gone crazy,” he said, “but you ain't interferin' with my prisoner.”

Victoria glanced from her captor to Jacob and stayed right where she was.

Jacob couldn't blame her.

“I can't let you take her, Mordecai,” he said. “I didn't want the women to get involved, but now it's just you and me.”

“But it ain't.” Perry drew his gun and aimed it at Victoria. “You make a move and she dies. I'll get the reward one way or another.”

Jacob laughed. “You scared, Mordecai? So scared of me that you'd threaten a woman to get out of facing me in a fair fight?”

The mockery worked. Perry leaped from the saddle, all his attention for Jacob. Eyes wide, Victoria dismounted, as well, keeping her horse between herself and Mordecai.

“You her lover?” Perry asked with a sneer. “Is that why you want her free?”

Jacob refused to rise to the bait. “I'm helping these women find outlaws who've done far worse than Mrs.
James could imagine. Maybe they're the ones you should be going after.”

Perry shook his head. “Never thought I'd see the day when you turned renegade, Constantine. You bring shame on the Rangers. They'll be glad when I report you dead.”

“You want to see a renegade, Mordecai?” Jacob said. “I'll show you one.” Slowly and calmly, he unbuckled his gun belt and tossed it on the ground. He removed his coat and vest, and began to unbutton his shirt, then sat on a convenient rock and pulled off his boots.

Perry stared with a complete lack of comprehension, his gun half-raised, as Jacob finished undressing. “You
are
loco,” Perry said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Someone ought to put you out of your misery.”

“You're welcome to try,” Jacob said. And then he Changed.

With a shout of astonishment and horror, Perry aimed wildly, cracking off a single shot before Victoria flung herself on his back and threw him to the ground.

Snarling, Jacob attacked from the front, closing his jaws around Perry's wrist when he tried to take a fresh grip on his gun. Victoria jumped away, but she'd done enough. Jacob shook Perry's wrist until the bounty hunter was forced to drop the pistol, then planted his forepaws on Perry's chest. He lowered his head until his breath was puffing into Perry's face and his teeth were inches from the bounty hunter's nose.

He stayed there until Perry's eyes glazed over and
his body went limp. Perry didn't move when Jacob backed away.

Jacob Changed again, fetched his trousers and pulled them on. Victoria was standing beside her horse when he turned around, staring in wonder not at him but at Perry.

“You all right, Miss Curtis?” he asked.

Her head came up. “I think so,” she said.

Few humans would have been as game as she was after what she'd seen. Jacob had an idea that she wasn't as calm as she seemed, but he would have to wait to talk to her. Right now Perry was his main concern.

He ambled over to where Perry still lay, and stood with his legs to either side of the bounty hunter's feet.

“Mordecai,” he said. “You hear me?”

The other man groaned and lifted his injured arm, cradling it against his chest. “What…what
are
you?” he gasped.

“Most people would say I'm a monster. As far as you're concerned, they're right.”

“But you…you…”

“I could have killed you, Mordecai. If I was after your life, that's what I'd have done. But there's only one thing I want from you. You need to ride back to wherever you came from and don't ever think of coming after Miss Curtis again.” He leaned over, staring into Perry's eyes. “You understand me? If you ever try to take her, or come near any of those women, I'll kill you. No matter where you go, I'll find you.”

Perry made a croaking sound.

Jacob nudged the bounty hunter's boot with his bare foot.

“Give me your word, Mordecai—your word as a Ranger—and I'll let you go.”

“I…” Perry squeezed his eyes shut. “I give my word.”

“Just one other thing. I wouldn't advise you tell anyone what you've seen here today. You'll be the one they call loco.” Jacob stepped back. “Miss Curtis, can you ride?”

Shaken as she must be, Victoria nodded.

“Then mount up.”

She did as he asked, while Jacob watched Perry struggle to his feet, still holding his arm against his chest.

“Ride out,” Jacob said. “You can take your gun.”

Crippled as he was, Perry was too good a horseman to need any help getting into the saddle. He stared at Jacob for another long moment, picked up his gun and clambered up onto his horse. Without a word or backward glance, he rode away.

T
HE SOUR TASTE
of defeat flooded Jacob's mouth. Oh, he'd won, all right. But he'd lost, too. He had succeeded in humiliating a man he'd never seen show fear before. He'd gone against the law and the Code without knowing anything about the murder except what Perry had said…or what Serenity believed.

“Mr. Constantine?” Victoria said.

He shook himself. “Perry won't come back,” he said. “Serenity and the others were riding out of town to look for Zora when I left. Let's go find them.”

He spoke quietly as he finished putting on his clothes, explaining as briefly as possible what he was and why she didn't have to be afraid of him.

“Does anyone else at Avalon know?” she asked, twining her fingers in her horse's mane.

“Serenity does. And Zora. You're the third.” He mounted, and drew his horse alongside hers. “I'd appreciate it if you'd keep it to yourself for now.”

She laughed nervously. “I would never tell anyone,” she said. “You said it yourself to Mr. Perry. They'd think I was crazy.”

He inclined his head in appreciation of her courage and reined his horse back the way he had come, Victoria just behind him. They'd gone no more than a few dozen yards when Jacob caught a scent that raised the
fine hairs on the back of his neck. He pulled up as a wolf with a pelt as dark as his own loped into view.

Zora was beautiful as a wolf, but when she Changed she was magnificent, all smooth muscle and shining dark hair. “Victoria!” she said, looking back and forth between Jacob and her friend. “Where is Perry?”

If she'd been dazed and barely conscious before, Zora was fully alert now and clearly ready to fight.

Jacob pointed his chin over his shoulder.

“Gone,” he said. “He won't be troubling us anymore.”

Zora's nostrils flared, and Jacob knew she would have liked nothing better than to give chase and teach Perry another lesson. She approached Victoria's horse on silent feet.

“I did not mean to make you afraid,” she said. “I only wanted to stop Perry.”

Victoria gave another hoarse laugh. “Are there any more werewolves I should know about?”

Zora met Jacob's gaze. “No,” she said. She touched Victoria's leg. “I am glad you are well.”

“I'm glad
you
are, too,” Victoria said, holding out her hand.

Zora took it, and they shared a private moment of relief and happiness.

Somehow Jacob wasn't much surprised when he heard three sets of hoofbeats coming from the east. A little while later, Caridad and Serenity appeared, leading a third horse behind them.

Serenity's face was flushed with an emotion much less hostile than the one she'd shown Jacob when they'd parted. After she had spoken with Victoria and Zora,
she left Caridad with the two other women and rode over to join Jacob.

“You stopped Perry,” she said.

He nodded brusquely, not trusting himself to speak.

“I misjudged you without reason,” she said hesitantly. “I should have known you would never have let him take Victoria.”

Her apology released the knot in his belly. “You couldn't have known that,” he said. “I've known Mordecai a long time. We rode together for years. I could have taken his side.”

“And you believe in the law.” She leaned over to touch his arm. “You had to compromise your principles for my friend. I owe you a debt.”

The formality of her words erased his good feelings. He reached inside his vest and pulled out the wad of bills. “You're talking about paying me, aren't you?” he said.

She didn't flinch, but he saw the hurt in her eyes. “You have every right to be angry,” she said. “I wish I could make it up to you.”

The idea of just how she could make it up to him filled Jacob's mind and sent the blood rushing to other parts of his body, but he didn't let her see what he was thinking. He was half-ashamed he'd even let such thoughts enter his head after what she'd told him about her fiance.

“Did Zora lead you here?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Serenity seemed glad to follow his lead. “Yes. We followed her when she rode out of town. It was her plan all along to go after Perry herself.” She glanced at Zora,
who had taken a blanket from a bedroll and wrapped herself in it. “She seems all right now. We still don't know why she acted so unlike herself in the saloon.”

But Jacob wondered if Zora's strange behavior had some connection to the same kind of suffering Victoria and Serenity had endured.

They rode back toward Bethel without any further words between them. Caridad had found a good spot for camp a quarter mile south of town, and Jacob suggested they settle in while he went on to question the saloon keeper. The women had called too much attention to themselves, and there might be more loose guns wandering around. He didn't want to risk getting into another fight.

To his surprise, Serenity agreed and sat down to speak to Victoria, while Caridad searched for sticks and kindling. Jacob thought that riding alone would help him get his thoughts in order, but it didn't. By the time he reached Bethel, he was ready to bite the head off anyone who crossed him.

Fortunately for the townsfolk, few as they were, no one tried to give him any trouble. On the other hand, none of them could answer any of his questions, either. While the barkeep wasn't able or willing to supply him with any more information about the Reniers, he was able to learn a fair bit more from the man he'd shot in the knee, who was lying on a cot in the saloon's back room. He was sufficiently scared to spill his guts when Jacob pressed him, refusing to admit any direct dealings with the Renier renegades but almost eager to tell Jacob the direction the outlaws had gone the last time
they'd passed through. He went as far as to hint that their base of operations was within two days' ride of town.

Jacob knew the trail wouldn't be easy to follow after so long—not even for a werewolf—and two days' ride covered a hell of a lot of territory. But it was something to go on.

But when he rode out to join the women in camp, the one problem he still hadn't solved continued to hover over him like a hungry buzzard. However earnestly Serenity might promise not to take crazy risks again—and she hadn't actually made any such promise—he knew the time had come to find another way to leave her behind. He couldn't be responsible for her anymore. He'd gotten too close to her, enjoyed their kisses too much and let lust creep into his heart, risking not only the Code but the purpose to which he had devoted his life.

There was only one way to get rid of Serenity now. He would have to tell her that he'd learned nothing in Bethel, that the trail had gone as cold as a three-day-old corpse.

He laughed at himself. That wouldn't stop her. Neither would his riding after the outlaws by himself. She would simply convince Zora to track him again, and Zora would succeed.

But Zora had never wanted Serenity to go in the first place. When they'd argued after the women's arrival in town, she'd demanded to know why he hadn't managed to send Serenity back to Avalon. He hadn't had a good explanation, but he'd had plenty to say about her stupidity in leading Caridad and Victoria to him and Serenity. They'd parted with nothing resolved.

Now they might have reason to work together as allies—for Serenity's sake.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Zora's scent came to him on the evening wind. She rode toward him slowly, looking as if someone had ripped the pride right out of her and left it lying in the dirt for the coyotes to finish off.

“Constantine,” she said, raising her hand in a brief salute.

He reined in his horse. “Zora,” he said. “Where are the others?”

“In camp. I told them I would make certain that Perry was really gone.”

“But that isn't what you rode out for,” he said.

She met his gaze. “I am ashamed.”

Jacob didn't see any point in dancing around the subject. “What happened in the saloon?” he asked.

“I was a coward.”

“You're no coward. What did those men do?”

Zora dropped her gaze. “They called me names. They tried to make me drink.”

It didn't sound like much, but Jacob had an idea it had been worse than that. “It wasn't easy for you, growing up half Indian and half white.”

She looked up again. “Life is not easy.”

“I didn't know there were werewolves among the Apache.”

“There are men and women who shift shapes, but they are not welcome in the tribes.”

Jacob knew the Navajo beliefs about “skinwalkers” and their evil nature, but he'd never heard the Apache talk about wolf-men. It didn't surprise him that they
felt the same way, just like most human beings of any color.

“Was it your mother or father?” he asked.

“My mother. She was cast out soon after she turned fifteen.” Zora's mouth twisted. “She was lucky. She found a man to protect her before she starved or had to sell her body.”

“Your father?”

“Yes. But he knew nothing of my mother's kind. He had come west three years before the war to settle in Texas. I was born a year after. When the war started, he went back to fight. My mother was not accepted by the other whites.”

“And you were cast out again.”

“Not cast out. But the time was hard on my mother. She knew no others of her own kind. She was alone. When my father returned, she died. He did not know what to do with me, but he had money to buy many things. He sent me to a white school.”

About the worst hell someone like her could endure. He didn't have to ask what she'd had to put up with, the taunting she'd faced every day, the hatred. Having to hide her true nature without the companionship of her own kind.

“I escaped when I was fourteen,” she said. “I went to my tribe. They would not have me.” She looked away again. “I learned to find peace in a bottle of whiskey. It was a long time before I found myself again. I swore I would never go back.”

But those men in the saloon had tried to make her drink. They'd humiliated her, driven her back to a time of grief and loneliness.

She hadn't been able to shed her past. But he had no more right to judge her than he did Serenity or Victoria. Not the way he judged himself.

“It is not an excuse,” she said. “I will not forget that my weakness put Serenity in danger. I only tell you this so that you will not think I will weaken again.”

“I didn't figure you would.”

They were quiet for a time, sharing an understanding that went deeper than words. Finally Jacob spoke, seeing the chance to ask a few questions that had been on his mind.

“What was in that letter you brought Serenity?” he asked.

If she was surprised by the question, she didn't show it. “Caridad said it was from her family.”

“Her family? I thought they were dead.”

“Her parents were killed. I did not read the letter, but it was sent by the husband of her mother's sister.”

Serenity had never mentioned kin other than her parents, and he'd never thought to ask her. “Where was it sent from?” he asked.

“I have not heard of it, but Caridad says it is near a place called Kerrville.”

Kerrville was only a little closer to Bethel than Fredericksburg, and the two towns were only about twenty miles apart.

“Why did you come all the way out here to give her the letter?” he asked.

“Because her mother's sister is dying, and the woman's husband has asked her to come to their home.”

So she had kin who cared enough about her to want her to be with her aunt when she passed. Serenity had
said she'd ridden west after escaping the fire. If she had close relations living so close to her parents' farm, why not ride south to Kerrville? Why had she chosen to make her own life away from those who could have sheltered and comforted her after the loss of her parents?

He was sure of one thing. Serenity had been pretty upset after she'd read the letter. An idea came into his head, one that might solve his problem.

“What did she say about this letter?” he asked.

“She has not spoken of it. But I think…” Zora looked carefully at Jacob. “Why does this concern you?”

“I've learned a few things that may help me find the outlaws we're looking for,” he said. “You asked me why I hadn't stopped Serenity from getting this far. I tried to—my plan didn't work, but I haven't changed my mind.”

She studied him thoughtfully. “I do not argue with you,” she said.

So far, so good. “Do you know anything more about these people of hers?” Jacob asked.

“I can only tell you that she comes from a place very different from most whites,” she said. “Caridad says her people do not believe in fighting. They live away from other whites and worship their God in silence instead of with shouting and singing.”

Jacob had seen plenty of “shouting and singing” in houses of worship where folks were more enthusiastic about showing off than following the Lord's Commandments. But silence…

That alone didn't really tell him anything. But the bit about not believing in fighting did.

“Quakers,” he said, hardly believing it. “Is that what you mean?”

“I think this is the word Caridad spoke,” Zora said. “You know these people?”

“A little.” He knew that not all Quakers were alike, but from what Zora was describing, Serenity's people were traditionalists who'd stuck to the old ways instead of adopting the more open customs of most Protestant churches in America. Their communities tended to be close-knit, sharing resources equally, and valuing honesty and plain speaking. The few times Jacob had run across them, they'd made it plain they preferred to keep to themselves rather than be part of the corrupt society that surrounded them.

And they meant it when they said they didn't commit violence. They lived the Lord's admonition to turn the other cheek.