Kiss of the Silver Wolf (3 page)

"My mother's older sister? I never met her, but Mom said she tried to get Aunt Jessie out of that place.”
Eden. The little town her mother ran away from.
“They used to be close.”
Why didn't she come to the visiting hours?

Rutler waved his hand in a sweeping gesture. “You can leave all this behind and become an apple farmer."

"Yeah. Right. Just my style. This city girl who knows zip about gardening, much less farming, is not about to set foot in Eden to grow apples.”
Besides, her mother warned her: Stay away from Eden. Nothing good happened there. Secrets within secrets within secrets, she said. Stay away.

Rutler frowned. “What do you want me to do?"

A surge of guilty relief at the prospect of paying off their bills washed over her. “Sell it. Get whatever you can. Maybe I'll be able to finish my PhD after all.” She put her hand out. “I'll take the envelope now."

He hesitated a moment, then placed it in her palm. “Think twice before you open this. There are some things you're better off not seeing—or knowing."

As he pulled away from the curb, the weight of the envelope felt heavier. She turned it over, looked at the seal of the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, and felt her resolve waver.

One foot in front of the other. Joey needed to be taken care of first.

"Okay, Joey, time for dinner, a little TV, then bedtime. And don't you worry. We're staying right here in Baltimore."

No matter what she found out, no matter what she saw in that envelope, absolutely nothing and no one would ever convince her to uproot Joey and move to Eden.

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Chapter Three

The Hunger

Zachariah Abingdon closed the book of Kipling stories and sighed.
The Mark of the Beast
had been another disappointment. Half the horror authors in the world hadn't a clue, he thought. Kipling got the bite right. But he was wrong about reversing the effect. Once bitten hard enough to draw blood, there was no going back. He laughed at the idea, stood, and growled at the stiffness in his back, an annoying reminder of his experience at the hands of drunken hunters. Breathalyzers should be required on rifles and shotguns.
Might save a few more lives than just my sorry hide. Probably would have saved Jessie, too.

No. Her death—her murder—had been different. The
Other People
had stalked her like prey, cornered her alone near the highway, close to the perimeter of the pack's territory—despite the No Trespassing signs posted all along the roads. More than one of those monsters had brutalized her. When he found what was left of her on his early morning run, he barely recognized her. The stench of the enemy's blood mixed with her clean copper scent gave him grim satisfaction that she had put up a good fight and managed to injure one or more of them. Sorrow squeezed at his chest. His friend, lost in a heinous act of revenge. Somehow, he had to right that wrong, find justice, peace, and protection from
Them
,
The Other People
. That's all the pack wanted. The Jinn's revenge came with a price too high, the loss of a good woman, a friend and his future mate's aunt. When would it end? Never, unless something was done, something
final
. Otherwise his intended wife could be the next victim.

"Charlene.” Speaking her name out loud made his skin ripple and his cock harden. He wanted—no—needed a mate. The call—strong and constant—urged him to settle down and have his own family with Charlene.

Even engulfed in grief at the loss of her parents, she'd been beautiful. The connection between them had been instantaneous, unmistakable. He'd wanted to take her right there in the middle of the funeral home, in front of everyone. She had wanted him, too. He had smelled her desire, felt the heat of her body flare when they touched. Thinking about her made every fiber of his body ache. He closed his eyes and recalled her strong female scent, discernible even through the stifling odors of the funeral home. She threw off a heady blend of roses mixed with musk and the promise of passion. Her smoky blue eyes were hollow with grief, but clearly capable of joy. He'd wanted to run his fingers through her strawberry blonde hair, kiss her crushed berry lips, then her soft white neck, and her large breasts—poorly disguised beneath a demure dress. Thinking about her made him harder. Not satisfied by memories alone, he growled in frustration.
When would he have her?

Just a few months ago, when Jessie had been alive, he'd visited the farmhouse, seen the family photos on the mantelpiece, and he knew the Old One was right. Charlene
was
The One. Jessie had been so proud of Charlene. What had she said? “She looks like Grace Kelly.” He had to agree. With that long, swan-like neck, upturned nose, and big blue eyes, she
was
a princess—and royalty in Eden. When Charlene heard the news of her aunt's death, he was confident she'd answer the call:
Come home to Eden, to your people. Assume your rightful place in the pack.
He smiled, anticipating the good news. Surely the Old One must have heard something by now. Tired of chasing his own tail, he decided to motor over to Jethro's General Store and talk to the Old One.

"What do you mean, she said no?” The hair on Zack's neck bristled and an unbidden growl roared out of his throat. He paced back and forth, and dust flew into the air.

"She told her lawyer to sell the farm. She won't take Joey out of his school."

Zack pounded his fist on the wrought iron railing. “What kind of woman does that to her pack?"

Jethro sighed. “She doesn't know."

He stopped short and faced the Old One. “Doesn't know?” He sagged against the porch in disbelief. “How could she
not
know?"

The Old One shook his head. “Her Momma was head-strong. Wouldn't stay here, ran off after—Oblis died. Didn't stay with our kind. Married—a
human
. Charlene thinks her brother has some rare genetic disorder. Her human father was working on a cure—until he died."

Zack gaped at the old man. “You never told me this before. I've been here five long years. Waiting for the perfect mate, my one and only. You told me it was her. Charlene. Now you're telling me she doesn't even know her
birthright
? How could you lie to me like this?"

"I didn't lie to you. What does it matter that she wasn't born a full-blooded werewolf?” Jethro fixed him with a hard stare.

"But—"

"What
matters
is loyalty to family, and that girl has it in spades. Not sure I can say the same for you."

"You said—"

"Who found your half-dead body when you were shot?"

Unable to maintain eye contact, Zack looked down. “You did."

"Who gave you his own blood to bring you back to life?"

"You did."

"Who gave you a family, a pack to belong to after yours was wiped out?"

A whisper. “You did."

"Who swore to do anything—anything—because I saved your life and the pack took you in?"

Zack looked up, and saw the blue eyes of the old man deepen into green glowing orbs with sparks of orange. “I did."

"She's my kin. And your destiny.” Jethro pointed at a spot on the porch. “Wait here."

Zack fumed, paced the porch, and ran his hands along the metal railing. How much
more
time was he going to waste on this mating game?

The Old One returned with a package. “You need to know about her and her upbringing. Rebekkah found this when she cleaned out Jessie's house.” Jethro handed the shoebox to the younger man and said in a gruff voice, “I'll get her here. But then it's
your
job to persuade her to choose the family. The pack."

Zack stared at the box and wondered what secrets Jessie had kept from him. Jessie. Her murder
had
to be avenged. “What of the
Other People
? You told me yourself you knew they were responsible. When will we go after
Them
?"

Jethro shook his head. “Even if we had more able-bodied males left in our pack, we can't go into the old mine. Their powers are too strong in there. We wouldn't get out. The best possibility we have against them is on
our
territory."

Zack opened his mouth to protest, but Jethro held up his left fist. The pentacle on the copper and iron signet ring flashed in the afternoon sunlight.

"You know the law. Retribution belongs to the alpha male. I may be old, but I'm not dead yet. I promise you, when the time is right, I will take my revenge on the ones who savaged my daughter. They
will
suffer."

Jethro stood at the front door of Charlene's house, and wondered if it was too late to knock. Lights burned in the back of the house.
She had to be awake.
He hesitated, took a deep breath, and tapped. No response. He knocked again, harder this time, feeling the urgency of his mission with every rap of his knuckles on the wood door.

Charlene came to the window, her strawberry blonde hair long and loose. He sucked in his breath and growled low in his throat.
Joanna, you rejected us, but she won't. She can't.

The young woman stepped away from the window and peered through the peephole. “Who is it?"

"Jethro. I need to talk to you."

She opened the door a crack. “At midnight?"

"I drove straight through. Just got here."

A pause. “Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

He bit back a snarl of frustration. “No. This is an urgent matter."

"Where's Rebekkah?"

"Home. Can I come in?
Please
?"

She opened the door and stepped back. “If you must. But keep your voice down. Joey's asleep.” She led him to the kitchen. Books with photographs of brains lay open on the wood and tile table. A mug stood half-empty next to a pad and pen. “Coffee?"

He glanced around the room. White blinds at the windows. Modern white refrigerator and matching appliances. Grief speared him. He never had the opportunity to explain, to apologize to Joanna. To beg her forgiveness. Now it was too late.

"No. But I'll take some water. It's been a long drive.” She handed him a glass, sat down, and stared at him, her pupils large. A whiff of fear hit him and made him feel sad.
His own kin, afraid of him. What had Joanna told her?
He'd have to handle her with care. He didn't want to spook her.

He emptied the glass in one long gulp and licked his lips. “I see you're wearing her bracelet."

"Yes.” Charlene ran her fingers across the engraved letters. “It makes me feel connected to my mother. I haven't taken it off since Rebekkah gave it to me."

He heaved a sigh of relief. “I'm glad it gives you a measure of comfort.”
She would need it more in the days to come.
“Did you read the letter I gave you?"

"Yes.” Her brow furrowed, and her gray blue eyes deepened a shade. “But it made no sense."

He spoke in a low voice, trying to choose his words with care. “I didn't want to ask you at the funeral—your pain was so fresh.” He paused. “Did you see your parents before they were cremated?” The look of horror that flashed across Charlene's face told Jethro she had. “We need to talk about what you saw."

She jumped up, knocked the kitchen chair into the white counter, and slid her back along the wall. She stared at him, wide-eyed, her breaths shallow and ragged. Fear poured off of her in waves.

She was going to pass out.
“Charlene, please, take some deep breaths.” He stood and took a step toward her. “I can help you."

She put her palm out. “No. Don't come any closer.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “I'm just—upset. The accident photos were worse than I ever imagined. I thought I could handle it. But, it was—it was—” She turned her back to him and fresh waves of fear mixed with grief radiated from her.

Her palpable pain seared through him.
If only she would let him help her.

His beautiful, stubborn granddaughter whirled around and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “What do you
want
from me?"

"Your brother, Joey, he has a problem seen among certain types of individuals—"

She cut him off mid-sentence. “He has a disease. A
medical
condition.” Charlene passed a hand over her red-rimmed eyes, and scrubbed her face. “A rare genetic disorder called Gorlin-Chaudry-Moss Syndrome. Passed on through the mother. Joey has it worse than most others. My father died before he could find a cure."

Jethro sighed. Her rational mind would struggle with the reality of their nature. No way he'd convince her tonight. There were no medical tests that would conclude:
Werewolf.

She sank back down into the kitchen chair and tapped the textbook. “I think there's a connection between neurochemistry and Joey's condition. If I can find a way to repair the altered brain chemistry, I could reverse some of his extreme spasms and neurological tics.” She gave him a teary smile. For a split second she looked so much like Joanna, he thought his heart would break. “At least that's what I plan to do my dissertation on."

He cleared his throat, half afraid he'd start crying, too. “Blood will tell, Charlene. We've seen a lot of this in Eden. Among our pa—people.” Jethro bit his tongue. He'd almost said pack. He put his wrinkled hand on top of hers. “Come home. We understand better than anyone else. Let us help you. We're family."

"I know you mean well.” Charlene pulled her hand away and looked him straight in the eye. “I can do this on my own. Joey is happy here. I appreciate your offer. But I have no interest in running an apple farm."

He pulled a stack of photos out of his coat pocket and spread them across her papers and books. “Take a look at what you're missing.” Trees covered in light pink blossoms filled one photo, a gray and white-trimmed farmhouse appeared in another, and in one whimsical shot, a huge red pig stared up at the camera.

Charlene smiled. “The pig's pretty cute. He looks like he's smiling."