Long Shadows: The Lycanthropy Files, Book 2 (22 page)

“Lonna, no!” A ball of electricity knocked me to the side, and I crashed into the coffee table.

I shook my head, the red now gone, and I panted.
Damn.

“I suggest you tell us what we need to know before the lady loses control,” Max told him, but he kept a wary eye on me as well.

“You can’t control her any more than I can,” the guy on the floor said. My nose twitched at the scent of the urine he now sat in a pool of.

“True, so if you want me to give you some medical attention and stop the bleeding, talk.”

“Fine, there were just three of us. The boss said that should be enough to get past you, especially with Henry, that yellow coward, being like you.”

“I see. And Henry was the one who got away?”

“Yes.”

“Lonna, did you get a good look at him?”

“I think so. Pudgy face. Blond curly hair. Nose looked like it had been broken.”

A despairing look flickered over Max’s face.

“They told us the bitch couldn’t change, that they’d taken care of her.”

“They were wrong. Where did Henry go?”

The thug shrugged. “Don’t know. They don’t tell us much in case we get captured.”

I lay on the rug by the fireplace, panting from Max’s electric attack, and glared at him. Hearing that the rogue wizard was gone meant I was out of danger, and—

Uh, oh.
I dashed out of the room. As I ran up the stairs, my paws slipped, and my legs turned rubbery. By the time I was halfway up, my paws had changed into hands and feet. I paused and found myself lying naked balanced between two steps, their edges digging into my flesh.

Crap.
I made my way back up on shaky feet. Without turning on the light, I put on some boxers and a T-shirt. I intended to go back downstairs to help him with the prisoners, but a wave of fatigue overtook me, and I barely made it to the bed, where I thought I’d fall into a deep sleep. Instead, my leaden limbs—not paralyzed, but too heavy to move—kept me still while my mind raced through what had happened. I lay and stared at the ceiling until Max came in.

“Are you awake?” he asked.

“Yes.” I rolled over to turn on the light and saw blood all over the sheets. “Shit.”

In an instant, he was at my side, checking me for injuries.

“I shouldn’t have hit you so hard, but I thought you were going to kill that guy. Taking a hit like that can confuse your nerves for a while.”

I batted his hands away. “Probably not my blood. I’m fine. Now.” I made myself look him in the eyes, afraid I’d find fear or revulsion in them, but what I found was worse. Pity.

He trapped my hands in his. “You’re my responsibility. At least let me make sure. You could be in shock.”

“Seriously, do I look like I’m in shock?” I stood, and he did as well.
 

“No,” he said with a resigned smile. “At least not nearly as much as that poor guy downstairs.”

“Which one? The electrocuted one with the eyepatch or the one who talked?”

“The one with the eyepatch. Unfortunately, they were hired muscle and didn’t give me much useful information, but you’re safe for the moment.”

“Yeah, until rogue wizard guy can get back here with reinforcements and a trank gun.” I sighed and started stripping the bed. “What did you do with them, anyway?”

“I had them picked up by some friends. They’re headed for a dungeon far away from here.”

“Oh.”

He held out his hands. “Lonna, it’s okay, I’ll take care of the sheets.”

“You do laundry?” I asked.

“If I do, will you let me make sure you’re unhurt?”

I suspected he asked out of guilt, not caring. “Fine, but you’re not seeing me naked. We’re keeping it professional, remember?”

“I’m a doctor. It’s my job to see you naked.” Now he blushed, and I crossed my arms and bit my lip to keep from laughing at him.

“Freudian slip, Doctor?”
 

“You know that’s not what I meant. Go take a shower and you can tell me if any of the blood that washes off is yours. I’ll change the bed. Where are the clean sheets?”

I directed him to the linen closet and went down the hallway to the bathroom, dropping my soiled T-shirt and boxers on the way.

Aside from a couple of minor cuts that stung when the water hit them and some bruises I knew I’d feel in the morning, I was unhurt. As promised, he changed the sheets and had the dirty ones going in the washing machine.

“Thanks,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that. It was my fault. I’ve gotten unused to changing and should have realized I had the thug’s blood on me.”

“Were you able to change back at will?” He smoothed a crease in the pillow.

I shook my head. “No, it was the same as before. As soon as I felt safe, I changed back. Halfway up the stairs.”

He grimaced. “I’m glad you didn’t fall down them.”

“Me, too. A naked woman tumbling down the stairs might have distracted you from your interrogation.”

He stood and took me in his arms. Although I’m tall, he was able to tuck my head under his chin.
 

“Why do you joke when you’re anxious?” he asked. “It’s okay to be vulnerable.”

I fought my impulse to snuggle into him and stepped back. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.
 

“Yes, and unless you’re planning on being unprofessional, don’t hug me again.”

“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt. If I’d damaged you…” The expression on his face was distressed, but I couldn’t tell why. Again, was it guilt or caring?

“You didn’t. Plus, I’m not a precious object or a piece of furniture. I’m obviously tougher than Aunt Alicia’s coffee table.”

“I’ll pay to replace that. I hope it wasn’t a family heirloom or anything.”

“Well, that was Aunt Pearl’s antique table.” I tried, but I couldn’t keep a straight face.

He looked really concerned, then raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have an Aunt Pearl, do you?”

“Not that I know of.”
And I’m not telling you about Great Aunt Lucia.

“Good. Well, good night. Thanks for your help earlier.”

“Good night, and likewise.”

We stood there looking at each other, and I wasn’t sure whether we should shake hands or what. Finally, he bowed slightly and moved past me to the door.

I sat on the bed and hugged a pillow. Finally being alone in a clean bed in a room that I had spent so many hours in as a kid, it hit me fully.
This isn’t a game. Someone’s after me, possibly to kill me, and I don’t know why.
I smacked the bed.
Max isn’t going to let me find the answers on my own, so I need to talk to someone who might—Giancarlo.

With that decision made, I once again packed my things so I could leave in the morning. I heard Max moving around and switching the sheets from the washer to the dryer. I tried not to, but I imagined his smooth muscles bunching and moving as he did the laundry.

Great, I’m fantasizing about a hot guy washing sheets.
I shrugged.
Well, what girl doesn’t? He cooks, too. Maybe he also vacuums.

Either the real or imagined activity must have worked something out because when I got back in bed, I fell asleep… or so I thought.

Chapter Eighteen

I opened my eyes to a study lined with bookshelves. Two tall windows toward the back opened to a beach, and a tropical breeze flowed through the room. The waning moon reflected in slivers on the water. I checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing that damn bikini, and when I looked down, I wasn’t really there. Seriously, I didn’t have a body. A glance at a mirror across the room showed me I was peering out from a painting of a woman with a very haughty expression and nice boobs hanging out over her ruffly bodice.
I wished I could turn and check out the back of the outfit.
Now this is an interesting dream. Who should my eyes follow across the room?

An older gentleman in a red smoking jacket and pinstriped pants came in and paused by a table in front of the windows. He had a droopy face under a shining bald dome. The ice cubes, which he handled with tongs, hit the bottom and sides of a glass with emphatic clinks. He splashed some of the amber-colored liquid from a decanter into it and took a long swig. With a satisfied grunt, he put the glass down and cocked his head like he heard something.

“Ah, good, he’s arrived,” he muttered. “About bloody time.” He fixed a second drink and topped off the first.

The door opened, and Max strode in. He wore his customary tropical outfit of ragged khaki pants and flowing white shirt open to the waist. The other man gave him a disapproving once-over.

“Maximilian, my boy, you could at least have worn shoes.”

Max took the drink and tossed it back. “I’m too worn out to manifest shoes, Carrigan.”

“What have you been doing, then? Has that wolf girl been keeping you busy?”

Max held out his glass for a refill, which came, and then walked around the sofa and lounged on it, ankle crossed over knee.

“That wolf girl, as you call her, has a name. It’s Lonna.”

Carrigan waved his hand, and if I’d had teeth in the dream, I would have bared them at him.
Jerk.

“We don’t name our charges, Maximilian. It only makes us get attached to them. And you know what happens when you get attached.” A sad expression crossed his face, so fleeting and subtle I wondered if I had truly seen it.

Oh, if only you knew.
Now I hoped they wouldn’t see if the painting shed a tear.
Is this why you won’t be with me, Max? Assholes like this?

Max looked up. “Did you hear something?”

“Just the sighing of the wind, old boy.” Carrigan took a seat on the chair beside the couch. “Now what in blazes is so important that you dragged me away from dinner?”

“There was a kidnapping attempt on the girl tonight.”

“That’s nothing new. She’s already been tranquilized and poisoned. I trust you were able to take care of the brigands.”

Yeesh, with friends like these…

Max nodded. “I took two of them prisoner. One figuratively spilled his guts after she almost literally ripped them out. The third, who was leading the operation, got away. You’ll never guess who.”

Carrigan leaned back and massaged his temples with his fingertips. “Oh, Henry.”

Max inclined his head. “There was a nature sprite at the Forest Preservation Organization today who tried to deflect us away from information we needed about an old family association. Is there something I need to know?” Max’s tone was even, but the muscles tensed in his jaw, and his turquoise eyes blazed. He looked like he was going to get all fireball on the old dude’s ass.

“We are conducting our own investigation into the girl’s history, and the more she’s in the dark, the better. Did you know she comes from a long line of
Benandanti
, but the line isn’t direct?”

“I was aware of that, at least that the last in the line was an aunt, but I thought it must be some sort of illegitimacy cover-up. The characteristics typically pass from father to son or mother to daughter.”

Carrigan grinned, which didn’t improve his looks. If anything, he looked like a smug bald Persian cat. “Blood magic.”

Max flopped back. “Blood magic? Are you sure?”

“Quite. The ancestress in the story was no common kitchen witch. She was a powerful sorceress.”

“That explains why the monks are after her descendant.”

“And others. She will be fascinating to study. Max, my boy, you must bring her here. For her own protection of course.”

Like hell I’m going to become a prisoner in your gilded cage even if it would mean a trip to the beach.

Max looked straight at the portrait, and his eyes grew wide. I looked anywhere but at him, but I knew I’d been caught.

“We need to finish this later, Carrigan. I’ll bring you the girl. Just be warned: she’s trouble.” He flicked his fingers at me, and their tips glowed blue just before I was dropped out of the dream—or whatever it was—and back into my bed. I barely had time to get my bearings before Max stormed into the room.

“How did you do that?” He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a shake. “How did you get past all the wards and the security measures so you could spy on us? You’re working for them, aren’t you?”

I shoved him away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell,” he mimicked me. “I could hear you. I thought it was interference, something having to do with the strange connection we have, but you were there. I saw you.”

“I wasn’t anywhere! Leave me alone.”

He paced the small room. “Don’t deny it, Lonna, You were there watching us from Lady Simpet’s portrait.”

“Lady who?” I asked. “What kind of name is that?”

“Lady Deirdre Simpet, and you will speak of her with respect. She has—had—brown eyes.” He looked away and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “Just tell me this. Why that portrait? There were others that would have given you a better view.”

The depth of his emotional reaction knocked me out of my defensiveness. “I had no choice. I was just there. Max, who was she?”