White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul (29 page)

“I’ll invite Doc G. for dinner. He’ll have to take a break to eat tonight. Easiest way to get his DNA. Pincer comes in for a thermos of coffee before his evening shift and always has a wedge of peach pie.” Virgil captured Lucinda’s hand. “I’m not leaving here without some cuddling time, honey. Stay away from the front porch, young ’uns, for at least the next ten minutes.”

Drake threw his hands in the air. “That’s it. I’m out of here. This kissy-kissy stuff’s not dignified.”

After a pink-cheeked Lucinda and a foxy Virgil left the room, Mike said, “Mom needs lots of touching, Drake. She’s done without it enough. Not another word from you. And no rolling your eyes. Get used to it.”

“Mates are for life.” Drake narrowed his eyes.

“That’s just it. Mom isn’t a wolf. Dad had the love of his life, Raine. He married Lucy for us. It’s time she had some happiness.”

The stun-gunned hurt in Drake’s blue eyes made Melanie flinch. He hadn’t considered the sacrifice or the pain that his mother’d had to bear, knowing Hank was still in love with Raine even though they were the ones who had married.

Susie cleared her throat. “I think I’ll let the two mothers plan the wedding alone. I’m coming with you two.”

“Let’s go out the back. I’ll show you the pool.” Drake strode past them with Gray and Susie in his wake.

Mama had already left with an armful of dishes.

“Alone at last. The moon’s going to be full tonight. I can smell you creaming. Getting ready for me. Where can we get baby oil?”

“Baby oil?” Her voice squeaked at the end. “Mike Dorland, what
are
you thinking of?”

He wrapped her palm around the erection threatening to rip the seams of his jeans. “Not thinking at all, mate. If it weren’t for the fact that I know I’d never get you back down without you blushing to your toes, I’d go upstairs and christen the bedroom Mom insisted on calling mine even though she knew we’d never sleep here.”

“Maybe our daughters will.” She laughed aloud at the horrified look on Mike’s face.

“We’re having cubs. No girls. I forbid you to kill off my Y chromosomes.” He literally shuddered under her hands.

“Mama had two daughters before she finally presented Papa with Gray.” Melanie giggled when Mike’s brows pinched into a scowl.

“Definitely no girls. If any pup thinks he’s going to do to my daughter what I’m going to do to you tonight. Two? Oh hell. What if she has Susie’s sass? Or”—he gulped—“your sex drive?”

“Oops.” Mama did a double take in the doorway to the kitchen. “What happened to you, Mike? You’re positively green. Melanie, what’s wrong with you, child? Pat him on the back. He looks like he’s going to swallow his tongue.”

“Oh I can tell you why my son’s green.” Lucinda lounged in the other doorway. She studied her fingernails. “He’s just realized babies come in two genders. Don’t look so gloomy. The genetics are on your side. As far as I know, there’s only been one Dorland daughter since the family settled in Chabegawn.”

“Thank you.” Mike addressed his remark to the ceiling. “I’m holding you to that one.”

“I don’t have a clue as to why you’re worrying. I haven’t had a proposal as yet. And I’m not getting married without one. A romantic one. Flowers, dinner, a ring three times the size of Valérie de Verteuil’s.” Melanie didn’t wear rings, couldn’t stand anything on her fingers, but Mike didn’t need to know that right now.

“What a perfectly delicious idea. A ring, earrings to match, a pendant, and let’s see, a charm bracelet, so you can add a birthstone for every baby Melanie presents you with. When I host that blasted dinner next Friday, we’ll grind Valérie’s face in it.” Lucinda’s hazel eyes had taken on an emerald hue. She looked radiant.

“I thought you liked her. You threw us together at every opportunity.” Mike stared at his mother, brow arched high to his hairline.

“Of course I did. She’s exactly the type of woman I didn’t want you to marry. Why do you think I’m throwing Drake to the wolves? Oops. I mean the Havelocks.”

“What happened to my quiet, socially correct mother?”

Melanie burst out laughing.

“She had a nervous breakdown but survived. And decided life was worth living. And that she’s not going to be cheated out of a large, noisy, quarrelsome family.”

In that moment Melanie realized it was possible to fall in love with your mother-in-law-to-be. And that the future would not only make up for the past, but wash away the pain.

Mike still wore that world-turned-upside-down expression when he buckled her into the passenger seat. He set his large palms on either side of her face. “I’m never going to have to worry about Mom’s mental state again, am I?”

“Not for a nanosecond.”

“Shit. I feel like I’ve been in a stampede. How could I’ve been so blind about everyone: Pincer, Mom, Virgil? Virgil and Mom?”

Right then the blackness blinded her vision.

She clutched the lapels of his shirt as the world receded and the images bombarded her mind.

Chapter Sixteen

One minute. It had taken exactly sixty seconds for Melanie to become catatonic.

Panic lit through Mike. Another kill. Who? Where?

He got her out of the car and back into the house.

“What happened?” his mother asked as she opened the door. “Forget—oh my goodness. What’s wrong with Melanie?”

Mike shook his head and stared at his mother. “The last call of a soul. It has her in a grip. I don’t know what to do.”

Lucinda whipped around and yelled, “Kitchi, come quickly.”

The sound of glass shattering preceded pounding footsteps.

Kitchi rushed into the living room and screeched to a stop at Mike’s side. “How did this happen so fast? Set her down now. Get her walking.”

He couldn’t let go of her, shook his head, and took a step forward. “Can’t. Let. Go.”

Lucinda slammed the door shut.

“Help me, Lucy.” Kitchi wound up and slapped Mike full in the face even though she had to jump to deliver the blow. “Snap out of it, Mike. Melanie can’t go into a trance. That’s how her grandmother died. Are you listening to me?”

Mike jumped into motion. He set Melanie on her feet and held her under her shoulders. Propelled her forward in a tight circle.

“I’ll get a damp cloth.”

“I know that look. It’s the same one her grandmother had that very last time.” Kitchi turned him around. “The pool. Jump with her into the pool. March.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

Kitchi shoved him in the back. “Damn it. If you can’t do it, give her to me.”

“Open the back door.” Mike let his wolf free. His body weight broke the screen, and he leaped the six feet to the deep end in one go. An ice crust had formed on the water’s surface, and they plunged through it right to the diamond-bright bottom. The force of the impact sent him right back to the top. He cradled Melanie’s head tight to his chest. Adrenaline-flooded terror focused his night vision and fueled his speed, the water pressure no resistance to the two jumps it took to get back to the porch.

Rivulets streamed to the floor, water splatting fat drops off as he raced down the corridor. Melanie hadn’t flinched, not even a stir. He stared at her colorless face, the rapid-fire movement beneath her closed lids, and squealed to a halt in the kitchen.

“What now?” But neither woman was there.

What the fuck?

A surge of panic coursed through his veins.

Mike sprinted down the hallway to the living room.

Kitchi lay on the floor bleeding from the temple, her eyes open but unfocused.

Movement captured his attention, and he glanced to the right.

“Get out, son!” A man he didn’t recognize had his struggling mother by the waist.

A prickling at the back of Mike’s neck warned him. He spun around and faced another assailant.

One armed with a gun.

Mike tensed every muscle.

Pushed off the floor.

Leaped to the second story.

Made it over the railing at the top of the stairs and onto the narrow landing.

But the gun-toting dude could leap too, and he appeared at the top of the stairs not three seconds later.

The black wolf.

Mike still carried Melanie and had no choice but retreat. He jumped a good ten feet backward along the narrow passageway.

Suddenly Drake loomed behind the black wolf.

Drake hooked his elbow around the wolf’s neck. Karate-chopped the gun from the wolf’s grip.

That gave Mike the needed escape. He glimpsed an open doorway, ducked into a bedroom, set Melanie down on the covers, and bounded back to the stair’s railing to find that Drake had knocked the black wolf unconscious and was trussing him with what looked like drape pulls.

“Downstairs. One more,” Mike growled. He was about to hurdle over the railing to the ground floor when Drake snapped, “Gray has it handled. He whistled an all clear a minute ago.”

“We need cuffs. That rope won’t hold him when he regains consciousness.”

“Not sure if he will. I used my knife on him. I can hear his blood hissing into his lungs.” Drake finished hog-tying the wolf and stood. “Who the fuck is he?”

“Dunno. Why did you and Gray come back?”

“Susie forgot her purse.”

“Susie’s downstairs?”

“In the pickup. Gray and I scented him right away.”

“Keep an eye on Melanie while I check on Gray, Mom, and Kitchi.”

“Will do. I have his gun.”

Loath to leave the black wolf on the same floor as his brother and mate, but needing to ensure the situation was under control, Mike sprang to the bottom floor.

He found Gray in the dining room standing over what looked to be a body. “Dead?”

“No pulse that I can find.” Gray’s voice was gruff. “It’s Lance Douglas.”

Mike shook his head. “Cherise Bookman’s semihusband?”

“Yeah. Look—my mother’s hurt. I need to take her to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital.” Kitchi’s statement rang in the silence.

Mike spun around.

Susie had her arm around her mother’s waist. “Gray’s right, Mama. You’re going to the hospital.”

Mike didn’t even have to ask; Susie volunteered. “Your mom’s shook up, but she’s okay. I made her sit down. She’s in the kitchen.
Some
mothers listen to reason.”

Mike scooped Kitchi off her feet and headed to the kitchen.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kitchi demanded.

“Taking care of my family.” Relief washed over him when he found his mother huddled over a glass at the kitchen table. “Mom?”

“Mike.” She made to rise.

“Don’t get up.” Mike set Kitchi down in the chair next to his mother.

Gray stalked into the room a second later, followed by Susie. “I called 911. They’re sending an ambulance. For both of you.”

Susie asked, “Where’s Melanie?”

“Upstairs. I need to get back to her.”

“Go. We’ll handle the situation downstairs.” Susie waved at him. “Hot sweet tea. Where do you keep medical supplies?”

“There’s an emergency kit in the cabinet above the washing machine.” Lucinda pointed to the left.

“That cut on Mama’s temple needs astringent. Gray, put on the kettle.”

Mike left them arguing and checked Lance Douglas’s pulse in the living room before taking the stairs five at a time. The man was dead, all right.

Neither Drake nor the black wolf were on the landing. A trail of blood led the way to one of the other bedrooms. Mike bumped into Drake in the doorway.

“Dead. Didn’t want to chance Melanie or any of the women coming across him.” Drake looked worse for wear.

“What happened?” Mike noticed the bruise on Drake’s jaw.

“He revived. Briefly. Strong motherfucker.”

“Pincer’s going to have fits about the crime scene rearrangement.”

“Fuck if I care.” Drake touched his chin and winced.

“I need to go to Melanie. Gray called 911. The shit will hit the fan soon.”

“I’ll go down and stay with him and the women.”

“Later.” It took five long strides to reach Melanie. Her eyelids fluttered as if she were in full REM, but he couldn’t take the chance that it was a normal sleep. Her skin was icy from the pool, and she had soaked the covers completely. He hauled her up, and made his way to the bathroom. Not bothering to shed his clothes, he turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature to a tad under hot, set the control to a pummeling massage, and stepped into the stall.

Her whole body bunched when the spray hammered her flesh.

She stirred. Licked her lips. Turned her face into his chest.

“Melanie.” He jiggled her. “Open your eyes.”

Her mouth moved on his soaked shirt. “Hot.”

He could’ve howled in relief. Felt her temple, cradled her head, and stepped out of the shower stall. “Let’s get you dry and into some clothes.”

Afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand, he grabbed two bath sheets, swaddled her in one, and headed for the divan opposite the bed. He set her down and used the spare towel to turban her dripping hair, stripped the soggy clothes from her body, and rubbed her dry and warm. A hint of color stained her cheeks. Her eyes were open, but the dark, dilated pupils held that slight glaze he’d come to recognize. He cradled her face. “Talk to me, babe.”

She flinched. The distant taint to her gaze disappeared, and she met his glance. “He came for me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” The anguish in her eyes made his chest ache.

A discordant cacophony of alarms mushroomed. He had to get her dressed and prepped. Mike took in the room. The one Mom had set aside for him. Severe, masculine, clean lines with touches of warmth in a tartan throw over the back of the divan. He switched out the damp towel for the throw, hurried to the walk-in cupboard, found a bathrobe that would dwarf Melanie but keep her warm and help with the shock that was sure to follow. Glimpsing a shelf with a stack of T-shirts, and another with sweats in different shades of blue, he grabbed two pairs of each and reached her side in one stride.

The deep foghorn of a fire rescue truck sounded, and the piercing, high-pitched police sirens receded. “The police are here. Fire rescue will be here any minute. Gray requested an ambulance—”

“Ambulance?” She clutched his wet shirt with both hands.