The Last Werewolf (The Weres of Europe) (3 page)

But I am sure that my daughter can teach you ways of our life. To be ihmissusi —I had to stop and read letter from your mother. She uses the word werewolf. Such funny word. What I mean to say is it can be difficult for child to be one. However, when you turn into your susi, your wolf, for first time, nothing can be more exciting
.

“What?” She sat stunned, her head spinning as she read that last paragraph in the letter over and over, and then when she could voice her thoughts it came out as a whisper, “My mother was a werewolf. My mother was the werewolf. The—” she stopped and read the word again slowly, enunciating it like a child sounding out a new bit of vocabulary just learned. “Ih-mis-su-si.”

Her father had rarely talked about the life of a shapeshifter, but one thing he had been clear about was that Summer was half human and half wolf shifter—a werewolf—not that there were other types of animal that a human could turn into, as that was only the stuff of stories as far as she knew. So that meant he must have been the human. No wonder he didn’t talk about being a shifter, since he couldn’t. Then something else struck her. “That means that I might not be the last werewolf. There could be others out there, in
Finland
.” Her jaw was practically on the floor in astonishment at this revelation. Her mind was a whirl of images, questions, sensations, all fighting for dominance, all threatening to overwhelm her already overladen emotions.

For several minutes she couldn’t do anything more than sit and let it wash over her. When she could compose her thoughts into some sensibility she looked again at the letter and saw that she had nearly finished reading it.

Your valokuva is by my bedside, and I kiss you every night. One day I hope to see you. But know, darling Summer, your grandmother loves you.

Annukka-mummu
.

The overriding thought that was going through her head was that she knew beyond a doubt that she had to go to
Finland
. Her grandmother, her mummu she guessed would be the translation, may no longer be alive. Summer winced as she considered this, and a pang of sorrow hit her that she may have lost her only other relative before she had even met her. But there may be others in her family she could find, and that gave her hope, excitement.

She turned to a photo of her late father, which she had laid on his pillow next to her mother’s. “Hey, Dad. You know I have to go, don’t you? This was our home,” she said, waving an arm around the room. “But without you it isn’t the same. I need to find my family. I need to find more people like me.” Knowing that part of her was using this as an excuse to get away from her immense sadness, she still felt the urge to do this, almost an impulse. Other feelings like intrigue and anticipation were dampening down the rawer emotions.

Taking a look at the new picture of her mother, on the corner of which she had attached the ribbon, Summer added more quietly, “And I need to find out what happened to my mother and why she left
Finland
, her home.”

Chapter Two

“What on earth?”

The scent that hit Rik as he walked along the concourse of the airport was overwhelming, and he staggered to a halt. It was female, but not a cloying perfume like some women wore. No, it was something else altogether. It reminded him of something. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but whatever it was it was very, very appealing. And, it was getting closer.

Lifting his head to the side, he sniffed the air to assess the fragrance more deeply, ignoring the odd looks he was getting from people trying to pass him. He had been making his way out of the airport, having seen some friends off to a rock festival in
Germany
, when he had walked straight into the path of this alluring smell.

God, it’s wonderful
. It smelled unusual, like it belonged to a foreigner, which wasn’t surprising considering where he was. Helsinki-Vantaa airport got a large throughput of people every day, although, as this was the spring, there were fewer tourists than in the late summer months.

He frowned as he started to notice changes in his body, his back tensing, getting straighter, and hairs on his body standing up. If he were a dog, he would say his hackles were rising. He snorted wryly, and closing his eyes, he fought to calm himself. He hated it when his senses unconsciously took over, demanding alterations in his body he wasn’t prepared to let happen. Not in public anyway.

But, although he dampened down the need to shift, the scent wouldn’t fade away, and with an almost compulsion-like need to find its source, he turned on his heels, and bumped immediately into a girl, her things flying everywhere as he reached out instinctively to try to stop her fall, her fingers slipping through his, and she went tumbling down on her rear end.

The electricity that went between them as he touched her was devastating, and palpable, and more overpowering than even the scent had been. He’d only experienced a similar sensation once before.

And that had been with the man who had changed his life, when he had been bitten. And that hadn’t been just any old love bite.

That wasn’t a happy memory, so he quickly dismissed the feeling and turned to the girl to apologize, when he was stunned by how lovely she was. Long blonde hair with red hues, the tresses that had fallen from where she had tied it back fell in rippling waves over her shoulders and framed her enchanting face with her strawberry locks, like a Renaissance painting. He had been a little surprised to note, before she tumbled over, that she was nearly as tall as he was which meant, at six foot, she was very tall for a woman.

Studying her lovely face, he saw that her nose was long and straight, but in proportion to her slender face, her beautiful cheekbones showing a hint of redness at the situation. Then he looked into her eyes. Green eyes, almost the color of spring leaves, so different from his own dark muddy-brown ones, were staring back at him, and a jolt went through his body. She appeared just as shocked as he did.

After a moment of silence when he had to avoid the urge to howl—
God, where had that come from?
—he swiftly bent to help the fallen woman.

“Anteeksi.”

The look of incomprehension made him realize that she hadn’t understood a word of his apology, so he tried again in English.

“Are you all right? I am sorry for bumping into you.” He held out his hand to assist her again, but she ignored him, scrambling to her feet by herself, rubbing the dust off her jeans. He sighed. He would certainly have liked to rub down that backside, firm, pert, and just the right size. He’d never been attracted to voluptuous girls, tending to go for the stream-lined, athletic women who shared his love of sports.

“Thank you. I’m quite okay. It was probably my fault anyway. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” An English accent, he recognized, and found he liked the sound of it already.

Rik was surprised, however, by the disappointment he had felt when she hadn’t taken his hand and shook his head at the curiosity of his feelings, instead helping her gather her luggage from all over the floor where it had been thrown during the fall.

When they both reached out to a paperback book their fingers did touch, and lightning shot up his arm. Her soft, inarticulate cry made him conscious that perhaps she had felt it too.

Chuckling sheepishly, he declared, “Oh God. I am so sorry. I seem to be a complete disaster around you. Static electricity or something must be in the air.”

She laughed infectiously, making him grin in return, the sound very engaging. “Hell, it could be me the way things have gone bat-shit crazy lately.” Wow, a girl who cussed like a pirate. Rik was instantly smitten.

He smiled and leaned down again to pick up the book, which was still lying on the ground.

“No,” she yelled, causing him to stop and look at her in surprise as she hurriedly retrieved the book herself, practically snatching it from his clasp.

Frowning at her response, he looked at the book to see what all the fuss was about, and groaned inwardly. It was a story about werewolves written by someone called
Denise Lane
. He asked softly, “Looks, um, exciting. Are you interested in werewolves, er, I mean the paranormal?”

Her laughter returned, but Rik could have sworn there was an edge to it. “It’s only a bit of light-hearted reading for the journey, you know, just a bit of fun.” She stuffed it into her bag as if it wasn’t of any consequence.

Rik winced and ran a hand through his short brown hair. He truly wished that it was only a bit of fun, and that being a werewolf, or wolf shifter, could be described as light-hearted, but he knew it was anything but.

As she finished gathering her things and started to step away an intense dread came over him that he wouldn’t see her again, and his inner feelings demanded that he didn’t let that happen.

“Hey,” he nearly shouted at her, stopping her in her tracks as she got startled by his abrupt call. “I’d still like to apologize for this. Can I at least offer you a cup of coffee?” he said, gesturing toward the nearby café.

He waited in trepidation while she thought about this. It was probably only half a second, but it felt like hours. “Yeah, why not?”

****

Rik brought the drinks over to the table—coffee for himself and tea for the girl. He couldn’t stand tea himself, but knew the English couldn’t live without it.

She held out her hand. He wondered at first what she wanted. “I thought we’d better introduce ourselves,” she explained. “My name is Summer. Summer Harrison.”

He laughed and held back, his hands on his hips. “Are you sure we should touch?”

Her hand wavered. “Oh. Um? Oh, let’s just go for it.” She stuck her hand out again, decisively.

Tentatively, he took it, only feeling a slight tingle go up his arm this time. It made him feel warm and content. He smiled. “I’m Rikhard Linna. Call me Rik. Nice to meet you, Summer.”

“In all the bars in all the towns.”

He looked at her, confused, and released her.

Seeing his look of perplexity, she giggled as she settled back into her seat, clearly relaxed with him. “Sorry, I’m a film buff.
Casablanca
, you know?” He must have continued to look uncertain as she waved a hand around her. “Well, we have a bar, sort of, in an airport, and a Rick.”

Finally catching on, he laughed with her, sitting in his own seat. Leaning forward he said almost furtively, “Well, as long as you don’t want me to start singing. When I try it just comes out like a dog howling, out of tune as well.”

Propping her elbows on the table, she cupped her pretty face in her palms and chuckled, her eyes glowing with merriment. “Surely not that bad?”

“Oh yes. You really don’t want to hear me.”

Tilting her head on one side, she smiled and stared inquisitively at him. He was worried. It was the sort of look where you wonder if you have some spinach lodged between your teeth.

“But I do want to know more about you. You speak very good English. Are you from
Helsinki
originally?”

That was good, that she was interested in him, and it wasn’t just a one-sided thing. He smiled, pleased with the way things were going. “Thank you for your compliment. Younger Finnish people generally do speak English well, at least those from the cities, and, yes, I am from here originally, although I have lived elsewhere too.”

Then he frowned. He wasn’t about to tell her he had lived in Ruovesi, in the north, because that would mean getting into a whole other story about being bisexual and living with Leevi, the love of his life. At least he had lived there until Leevi had betrayed him. Shaking his head to dispel these unhappy memories, Rik asked, “What about you?”

“No, I’m not from
Helsinki
.”

Startled, Rik glanced up at Summer and saw she was grinning. She had a lovely smile, full of fun and laughter. His growl was good-natured. He was beginning to realize she had quite a wicked sense of humor and found that he liked that a lot. He may have loved Leevi, but he hadn’t often had fun with him, sexual fun, yes, but sharing a joke hadn’t really been Leevi’s style, and part of that had been the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

Acceding to his unspoken demand, she replied, “Okay, okay. I’m from
England
,
London
, originally, but I live in
York
at the moment, which is in the north of the country.”

“So, why there and not
London
?”

“Ah, that would be for work.” When he raised his eyebrows in query she continued, “I am a sports coach at a university, but my dad lived in
London
, so I did go home to
London
often, although
York
is a really beautiful historical city. Now, your turn. What’s your job?”

He groaned. That was a bad question to ask him. “I work in a bank.”

Summer laughed dryly. “I guess from the dejected tone of your voice that you don’t particularly like it.”