Inquisitor (Witch & Wolf Book 1) (38 page)

“What a bizarre teaching.”

“It’s older than you are, Mr. Devonshire.”

“What does this teaching have to do with anything? So what? It’s old. How does it apply to our little talk?”

“No one is born an Alpha.”

“I disagree.”

“Teach your wolves to become human. Find your Submissives, and fast,” I warned.

“Or what?” Devonshire’s lip curled up to reveal his perfect white teeth.

“You’ll become a lone wolf. You either control your pack or you lose it. Making more wolves isn’t going to keep your pack alive.”

Devonshire stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”

“It’s not a threat,” I murmured.

“Then what, pray tell, is it?” The stench of the werewolf’s rage seared my nose.

My smile was sad. “History repeating itself.”

At that, Devonshire’s eyes widened, and I could smell his fear. I pretended not to notice, suffering through the silence.

~*~

I should have known better than to prod a crazed wolf. It shouldn’t have surprised me when he pulled a gun on me.

The stench of silver burned my nose. I grimaced, but said nothing.

“We will have to talk more later,” Devonshire said, gesturing towards the door with the tip of the gun. “On your feet, Lady Wolf. Quietly, of course. Unless you want to take a silver bullet?”

I rose, my eyes focused on the weapon. Blaming my nose for not detecting his madness wouldn’t change anything. He marched me all the way to the fifth floor with the barrel of the gun pressed against the small of my back.

After shoving me into the tree-wrecked room Francine had given to me before, Devonshire closed and locked the door from the outside. With the storm drawing all of my strength, I doubted I could change back into a wolf. I stared at the reinforced door before turning to the broken window.

Witch and woman couldn’t survive turning to ice, not even with the iron constitution of the wolf bolstering me. Even if I did manage to transform, past experience warned me of how well the Inquisition built their cages. The fallen tree might have let me get to the ground, but I wouldn’t last long in the snow.

“Damn you,” I snarled through clenched teeth. The wind blasted right through the flimsy protection of the trench coat. A tremor started in my belly and spread through the rest of me. My breath emerged as clouds. It didn’t take long for the gusting storm to cake my skin and hair with snow.

I had to give Devonshire credit. To watchful eyes, he played the courteous host. One wrong word, though, and he would’ve shot me.

It would have been a mercy.

My teeth chattered. The cold bit at my fingers and toes. Numbness spread through my chest with each freezing breath. Survival depended on the wolf within me, but like my allergy to all things canine, she slept. My powers as a witch wouldn’t do me any good, either. I’d never gotten along well with flame.

While the storm sang to me, its voice clear through the breached window, all I could hear was a requiem for those who would die due to its strength. The wind blasted through the room, carrying with it snow. There was no fury or violence. If anything, its melody was a hissed lullaby, poised to usher me into my final slumber.

I shuddered.

When I screwed up, I had to admit I did so on epic levels. Slumping against the door, I slid down until I could hug my knees to my chest. It didn’t keep me warm. Resting my chin on my kneecaps, I watched the world be devoured by the white, sparkling snow.

The violence of an allergy-born sneeze woke me. I gasped frozen air into my lungs and choked on it. My heart drummed a rapid, painful beat in my chest. It felt a little like someone had used my ribs as a punching bag. I couldn’t remember what I’d done to make them hurt so bad, but I hoped I would soon, so I didn’t do it again—ever.

Changi
ng from human to wolf and back to human again in quick succession was less painful.

Another sneeze ripped out of me. The cold once again bit at my throat. Either as human or wolf, I should’ve smelled something, anything. I couldn’t feel my hands—if I had hands—I couldn’t tell.

My ribs creaked, and each breath antagonized them. There was a sound, a low, pitiable groan that might have come from me.

My throat closed as every fear I’d ever had since becoming a werewolf crashed down on me. Was I a woman or a wolf? The demented, egotistical, sadistic, downright not-funny me said both. I imagined a bloodied mix of human and canine parts destined for death.

That’s what happened to werewolves caught between forms. There were no fantasized hybrid forms, not for us. There was, however, blood, protruding ribs, and exposed muscle, among other things.

I was too old to make such a mistake, wasn’t I? It couldn’t be me, writhing in pain from failing to be either wolf or woman.

It couldn’t be me, dying at long last to the plague that should’ve eradicated me along with my pack over a hundred years ago.

It couldn’t be me.

Terror froze me, cutting off my breath. Sharp pain blossomed through my ribs and chest. Warmth flooded my mouth, seeping into my throat before being forced into my lungs.

I wheezed and opened my eyes. Something pale obscured my vision, blurry despite my efforts to focus on what was in front of me. The shape moved, drawing back. Dark hair framed a pale face, but I couldn’t make out any of the figure’s features.

“Well I’ll be damned,” a male voice said. There was something familiar about the voice, but I couldn’t think. Every time I grasped for a thought, it fled from me, leaving me to stare stupidly into a face I couldn’t recognize. “Don’t move,” he said.

“That was a little too close,” another masculine voice said in a peculiar accent. “Bloody hell.”

British, I decided.

My brain chose that moment to remember how to function. British. Inquisition.

That meant James.

Devonshire had tried to kill me.

I tried to lurch upright, but a hand against my chest pinned me down. I snarled something out, but my chattering teeth rendered my words incomprehensible.

“Why didn’t you change back?” James asked, reaching over to poke my cheek. “You were about dead when we found you.”

Something clicked in my fogged brain. CPR. That explained the sore chest and hurting ribs. CPR wasn’t kind to anyone, and it didn’t even work all that often. My inhuman strength made me better at it than most, but survival chances were often all too slim.

I shuddered from more than just the cold. Even if I had an answer for him, my shivering body rebelled against me. I settled with a glare, albeit one laced with a notable amount of guilt and embarrassment.

A part of me recognized that I owed them my life. The rest of me wanted to bite their heads off.

“Easy, Victoria,” James soothed.

“Son of a bitch,” I rasped out.

“From you, I’ll accept that as a compliment, Lady Wolf.” The edge in his voice was softened by the amusement in his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Victoria? But she’s—”

“Show respect,” James snapped. “You are speaking in the presence of Victoria Hanover.”

I winced in recognition.

“Allison Ferdinan,” my would-be fiancé snapped, confirming my growing fear.

Markus Dupree, the adoptive son of the woman I had killed not even two days prior, my false fiancé, and the killer of my best friend.

I wanted to scream, cry, and tear his throat out with my hands, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.

“I thought you were dead.” Mark’s voice trembled.

Uncertain of how to handle a reunion I wasn’t convinced I wanted, I settled with ignoring the problem. “I feel too bad to be dead.” I cringed at the throb in my head and chest. Sitting up didn’t work, but I did manage to lift my head. James slipped an arm under my shoulders and hauled me upright. After several shakes of my head, I managed to bring both men into focus.

“I thought you were dead,” Mark repeated.

“That’s what you were supposed to think,” I muttered through chattering teeth. While warm air teased my skin, it didn’t warm my muscles or bones.

Mark stared at me, his expression unreadable. “You took two shots to the chest. You died.”

“Ever hear of a bulletproof vest?” I couldn’t help it, I giggled. “I play dead good. New trick I learned. Woof, woof.”

James snorted. “I think you’ll be fine. Your sense of humor survived.”

“I spent thousands trying to find your killer! You were
dead.
” Mark punched his leg, a blush painting his cheeks red. “Damn it, Allison!”

“Enough, you two. Now is not the time for a lover’s quarrel,” James said.

“We are not lovers!” Mark and I snapped. Our eyes met, and we both averted our gazes so we didn’t have to look each other in the eye.

“Right,” James said in a disbelieving tone. “Now is not the time to be fighting like a married couple, then.”

“We aren’t married,” I replied, unable to meet Mark’s eyes.

“Yet,” Mark said in a quiet voice.

I felt my mouth drop open, but I couldn’t force any words out. Had he truly considered his proposal serious?

Unsettled, I turned my head to look up at James. “When did you know?”

“That you were the cute little red and black wolf?” He grinned at me. “I admit. It took me a few hours. At first I wasn’t sure you were actually a werewolf until that fool of a witch pointed out the dire wolf in you. When she started listing most known breeds of wolves, I knew.”

“Dire wolves went extinct thousands of years ago.” Mark frowned.

Relieved that Mark was distracted from the fact he had proposed to me, I encouraged the conversation. “Francine knows a lot about wolves, doesn’t she?”

James nodded. “She does. It shows what you know about werewolves, Dupree. You won’t find a purebred anymore, that’s true. But certain werewolf lineages still have more than a touch of our true heritage. Don’t they, Lady Hanover?”

I bit my lip and said nothing.

At least he hadn’t used a more elaborate title. What was the appropriate title for someone of my dubious upbringing? My heritage was royal enough, but I thought I had eradicated the memory of my identity among werewolves a hundred years ago. That my efforts proved futile annoyed as much as it worried me.

I wasn’t supposed to exist, that much the Inquisition had right.

“We can talk about it later,” James offered, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “We should be safe enough in here until the storm clears. Devonshire is quite busy. Warm up. Rest. In a few hours, things are going to get hot in here.

Unable to bear the thought of lying down again, I found a spot next to the heat duct, hugging my knees to my aching chest. It was all to easy to close my eyes and fall into the grip of lethargy. I tried wishing away the looming threat of James’s awareness of my name and heritage.

It wouldn’t work. It never did, but I wished for it anyway.

~*~

Hours went by, but no one disturbed us. I rubbed at my arms to ward off the chill in the room. The lights dimmed in rolling brownouts, and the vents for the central heating system no longer pumped warm air into the room. I stared out the window, reaching
out, pressing a hand to the glass. If there were trees in the darkness, the snow engulfed them. A few fuzzy points of light marked the parking lot below, but like the trees, there was no sign of the cars buried under the white blankets covering everything.

“The storm’s getting worse,” Mark said. His voice startled me away from the window.

James made an annoyed noise. “It’ll die down soon enough.”

The eerie songs of the blizzard and the hurricane strengthened in my ears, their buzz reminding me of dueling violins. I rubbed my hands together in hopes of warming my aching fingers. “It’s only beginning.”

“And how would you know that, Allison?” There was nothing but scorn in Mark’s voice.

I couldn’t blame him. I had ignored his concern and his relief as though he meant nothing. Guilt battled with the grim reality that Mark was a human, no matter what sort of magic he possessed. Like witches, shaman didn’t live any longer than normal humans.

We could never become anything more than friends, if we could have even that. Encouraging him wouldn’t do either one of us any good.

Forcing a smirk, I turned back to the window. “It’s elementary.”

“Enlighten us foolish men,” James said.

“Samantha loved the snow,” I replied, pressing my nose and palms to the glass, my fingers splayed. “It hides things. It makes everything pure. It’s beautiful. It’s lethal. To those burned by fire, it’s life. She hated Georgia. Snow didn’t come in the winter. That’s why I sent her to New York.”

It didn’t become truly silent. The wind and snow hissed outside. Resting had roused my wolf enough that I could hear the rapid beat of the men’s hearts. Fear, hatred, and something wild and sweet teased my nose. “It was only a matter of time before she died, but I think she would’ve loved to see this.” I spun around to face James and Mark. “Why was Devonshire forcing the ritual on people?”