Once A Wolf (45 page)

reject the animal nature in myself, just as you do. I quite agree that to become a filthy beast

and run on all fours is a grotesque debasement of what we are. What we are is so much

greater."

Sickness rose in her throat. "I don't understand."

"I think you do." His gaze grew distant. "When I was young, my father showed us that our kind

has certain powers—the very powers Randall used on you, my dear. He believed that it was

foolish to deny them. He believed in the fundamental right of the strong to rule the weak." He

laughed softly. "Ah, yes, he taught us well. And I learned. Even the most powerful humans

proved to be weak compared to him. He made his empire by controlling or removing anyone

who stood in his way." Cole kissed the tips of her hair. "My father was a great man, but even he

made mistakes. His ambitions were too limited and his methods crude, at best. When I went

east to be educated, I saw how much more of the world there was than Texas and New Mexico

Territory. I knew that New York was the true center of influence, a fitting seat for our kind. And

so it has proved to be."

Sim Kavanagh's warnings, dismissed as falsehoods, filled Rowena's mind: "From the time the

MacLeans came to New Mexico, they used their power to trample anyone weaker and less

ruthless than they were. Frank MacLean wasn't human, and he didn't see humans as threats."

Cole was saying that he agreed with his father, that he followed Frank MacLean's ways—and

deliberately employed his werewolf abilities to rise to wealth and preeminence by any means.

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Loup-garou senses alone provided a huge advantage over ordinary men. When you added the

deliberate misuse of a werewolf's mental influence…

"You seem shocked, my dear," he said. "I did not wish to deceive you, but it did seem a

sensitive topic at the time. You were too adamant about forgetting one entire half of your

nature."

"Then—you never did intend to live as fully human," she whispered. "Even if you didn't

Change—"

" I've done only what it is my right to do. My duty, as one who is of a superior breed. It is the

very nature of evolution that the weak perish while the strong survive. Your brother

understood that, did he not? He would tell you that it is really quite simple for those like us to

make even the most eminent and influential men and women believe that we are whatever

they wish to see. Simple to gain their confidence and learn secrets they'd never share with one

another. Manipulate, intimidate—separate lies from truth, sweep aside the obstacles and take

all we have coming."

Rowena listened with numb understanding. She'd always assumed that Cole's great successes

had come from his natural wit, intelligence and commanding personality. He had been utterly

convincing in his desire to live, like her, as human: honest, upright, charitable toward the weak

and destitute. She had seen what she wanted to see, believed in an ideal because it seemed to

offer her a way to have the life she wanted without fearing exposure of her werewolf heritage.

It was not merely the rich and powerful old families whom Cole had deceived into supporting

his rise to the top of New York society. Rowena herself had broken down the last barriers to

final acceptance of the charming arriviste by allowing him to escort her, by accepting his

proposal of marriage. He'd gained the perfect platform from which to play puppet-master to

unsuspecting humans.

In a single conversation he had removed the blinders from her eyes and revealed himself to be

exactly what Tomás and Kavanagh had warned her he was. Ethics would not trouble this Cole

MacLean. He could ruin his rivals and steal whatever he chose. It would even amuse him to

topple those who aspired to the greatness he thought only he deserved.

There was no limit to what he might achieve—in business, politics, the highest echelons of

power in the United States. And beyond…

"We both take what we want, and we don't give a damn about anyone else," Kavanagh had told

her. "He makes people like you believe he's a fine, upstanding gentleman while he steals

everything they have."

And he'd said something else, of Frank MacLean: "Only the Randalls had the power to stand up

to him, because they were hombres-lobo. He had to get rid of them. The feud and the War gave

him a reason."

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That was just as true of Frank MacLean's son. But she didn't dare reveal the depths of her

horror and disgust.

"You knew how I felt about the werewolf blood from the beginning," she said, striving to speak

calmly. "You knew why I left England. Was it all deception from the moment we met?"

"It breaks my heart that you should ask such a question," he said. "Haven't I told you that I love

you?"

She looked into his eyes, searching for even a sliver of truth. "Do you, Cole?"

"I've wanted you since the moment I saw you. You were meant to be mine. I knew you would

be the perfect ornament to my career." He laid his hand on top of her head. "Your family has

great influence, my dear, in your own country. And wealth—your own and your brother's. You

have beauty, grace, natural presence, and rank to add luster to my reputation. All this is why I

will still take you, though you have been lying to me since the minute you entered this room."

Nineteen

Cole took great pleasure in watching Rowena try to cover her dismay. He focused on that dark

satisfaction rather than the rage that tore at his body—and the stink of Tomás Randall on her

clothing and in her hair.

Anger could be controlled. The real punishment could also wait. For now it was enough to let

Rowena begin to understand what her fate would be.

"Oh, yes," he said. "I know. I know that you betrayed me of your own free will, not by Randall's.

And I know you lay with him like a bitch in heat." He tilted her head back, baring her throat.

"You're a hopeless liar, my dear. No talent for it at all. I wanted to see how far you'd go to

deceive me—and protect him."

He waited for her to refute his accusation, the feigned outrage that surely must come. He was

surprised when she simply gazed at him, her skin very white, especially along the exposed curve

of her throat. Rapid breaths flared her delicate nostrils.

"I confess I am more than a trifle shocked that you, of all women, should discard your honor

and succumb to your most primitive instincts," he said. "It's fortunate that I discovered what

you are now, instead of later. There will be no more pretenses between us. I will call you what

you truly are, and you'll answer to me as your master." He bent to kiss the pulse in her neck.

"You will do so because you wish to save your lover, who is very much alive."

She swallowed. It was all the confirmation he needed. He was briefly tempted to bite into that

white flesh, but he'd spoken the truth when he said he'd discarded the outward bestiality of the

werewolf blood. He'd not give way to it now.

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"I see you do understand," he said.

"Understand what?" she whispered. "That you'll let Tomás go if I obey you?"

"How sweetly you speak his name. I wonder how long it took you to forget your vow to me." He

ran his finger along her jaw. "No matter. I'm curious to know what he taught you of bed-sports,

my little whore. I'll certainly test your knowledge as often as possible. It will be a pleasure to

drive the memory of him out of your body."

It was a measure of her corruption that she didn't even shudder. "You can have everything,"

she said. "My body, my wealth, my position, everything. Only let us return to New York, and

forget about Tomás—"

"Forget?" He released her hair with a jerk. "I don't forget. But I may bargain."

She remained very still, as if she feared any movement might cause him to attack. "What do

you want?"

"All I can take. And you'll help me." He looked out the window and noted that Vasquez was

keeping the curious townsfolk at bay. "Where is Randall?"

"I don't know. He left me before dawn—"

"Don't lie to me. He let you go. He was after revenge when he took you. Does he think he has it

because he marked you with his seed?"

His crude words brought a hectic flush to her cheeks. So it was still possible to shame her. He'd

counted on that. Shame could be an exquisite form of torture.

"He wanted revenge," she said, her voice shaking. "He thought he had ruined me, and so he let

me go."

Randall was capable of that, but Cole sensed the lie. Lies upon lies. "So he does not love you,"

he said, going along. "But you love him. You will always love him."

She turned her head as if to shake it and stopped. No sound emerged from her lips.

"Very well," he said. He poured himself a whiskey from the sideboard. "We will return to New

York. I won't hunt Randall down and kill him. But there will be rules, Lady Slut. And the moment

you break a single one, I'll have Tomás hanged."

She closed her eyes and opened them again. "Yes."

"When we are married, you will not speak his name. You will not think of him. It will be as if he

never existed."

"Yes."

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"You will make all your assets and inheritance available to me and never question my use of

them. You'll be my perfect hostess and do everything within your power to smooth my

investments and contacts here and abroad, even among your own family. You will not reveal

anything of my life to anyone." Yes.

"You will strive to please me and obey my slightest wish. You will come to my bed when I ask,

and do whatever I ask. "No' will be a word forbidden to you. If it pleases me to have you serve

me at table naked, you'll do it. If I choose to put a collar around that lovely throat—" He smiled

at the image the thought presented. "A collar for my little bitch, gold, studded with diamonds.

What do you think of that?"

She made a faint choking sound. "I will… obey you."

"So you say now. But when you're far from this place…" He left the window and stood behind

her. "If you hadn't betrayed me, you would have done what I wanted in any case. But it would

have been much more pleasant for you. I'd have treated you as a lady, Rowena. I thought you

were worth preserving, like an expensive and fragile piece of art." He smiled. "I'm grateful now

that you've shown me more interesting possibilities." He touched the fly of his trousers and

stroked the growing hardness there. "I'd like to see what experience I'm buying in exchange for

my mercy."

Still she did not break, though she was close. Power was his greatest aphrodisiac, and he

couldn't remember the last time he'd been so aroused. He worked loose the buttons of his

trousers. "You've had a taste of the outlaw life, Rowena. I'll give you a taste of your future. Get

down on your knees."

She hesitated only an instant. There were no corsets to creak or heavy skirts to rustle as she slid

from the settee to the floor. Her loose hair fell forward like a screen behind which she could

hide. She did not look up as he moved to stand before her.

"I've always wondered if a lady could do this as well as a whore," he said. "I don't even have to

choose between them. Look up, sweet harlot. Look up and open your mouth."

The door to the parlor banged as it rebounded against the wall. Cole jumped back, his hands

splayed over his erection. Rowena scooted around on her knees.

A girl, not a gunman, stood in the doorway, a silver tray balanced on her hands. Her eyes were

wide and stupid.

If Cole had been within reach of her, his blow would have sent her flying across the room. He

buttoned his trousers and pulled Rowena to her feet as if she'd merely stumbled.

"I see the water and wine have finally arrived," he said. He glanced at the girl and realized she

must be a new servant to replace one of the recent deserters. One looked exactly like the next.

"You took your time. Put it down over there," he ordered.

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She bobbed a very clumsy curtsey and mumbled something in Spanish. By the time she reached

the sideboard she'd managed to spill water from the crystal pitcher and nearly toppled the

wine bottle. Then she stood waiting, gaping at Rowena as if she'd never seen a woman not of

her own kind.

"Get out," Cole snapped.

She fled. Cole strode after her to see that the door was shut and locked. But the moment was

ruined. Rowena had had just enough time to recover herself, and she sat on the couch with her

dignity restored, calm and indifferent.

But not for long. He took a handful of her hair, drew it out to its full length, and wound it