Wolves of Haven: Lone (11 page)

“It crossed my mind,” she admitted
through a yawn. “Cello, violin, harp, guitar, banjo-”

“Nice,” he said with a smile; Akia
got ridiculously endearing when exhausted. “Anything else that
stood out that will help me narrow down the search
fields?”

Again, she yawned. “There was an
exotic combination of…musk, sandalwood, tuberose, tiara flower, and
neroli,” she said. “It was faint, but I picked it up, nearly missed
it though due to her medications giving a different, yet
discernible, scent to her blood.”

“Excuse me?”

It was a statement that would get
many questions and accusatory looks if asked aloud, and since she
was exhausted she was saying aloud what should have been kept in
her head.

“The victim had the faint
scent of
Shalini
on her still;” Akia said before blowing out her breath,
causing it to make a sound that made Damian shake his head with a
smile. He could picture her in his head stretched out in bed, fresh
out of the shower with her hair in damp curls sprawled across the
pillow, the scent of her skin mixing with soft rose from her body
lotion, lips glistening in the light from the bedside lamp from
licking her lips while she struggled to connect dots of the case in
her mind, and case files covering the bed. “She wasn’t in the water
long enough to wash it completely away,” she said, pulling him back
to the present. “At over four-hundred dollars American an ounce,
you’re not looking for a call girl or runaway. Her manicure and
pedicure were top of the line, the type that you have tried to get
me to do for years, and I laugh at because you’re delusional in
every sense of the meaning if you think I’ll allow you to drop
three hundred bucks on my nails.”

Again, he shook his head and tried
to keep from laughing; she was ridiculously stubborn and low
maintenance.

“The fifth victim comes from money,
and that will indubitably cause a problem.”

Damian knew she didn’t mean to say
the latter aloud; when exhausted all filters were gone and her
defenses were lowered. “Where are you staying?” he
asked.

Akia groaned. “I miss
you.”

He smiled; her filters being absent
did have its advantages though. “You haven’t even been gone a day.
I must have really left a lasting impression the last time we
met.”

She softly moaned. “Stop trying for
compliments, it’s unbecoming.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Is there anything else
I need to look up for you?” he asked.

Her only response was a shuddered
breath that was followed by a soft purr of a snore.

Damian shook his head in
resignation. “Sleep well, Latria Mou,” he whispered before hanging
up. “What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into?” he asked
before heading to the closet to get dressed; sleep would have to
come later.

****

From the doorway he stood, looking
into his brother’s room to the bed where the broad-chested redhead
was stretched out with a woman curled up alongside him, softly
purring in her sleep. A pang of jealousy stabbed at him, but it was
unfounded. Faelan was very gay and a brother in Akia’s eyes. But,
in Varg’s mind, it should have been he that she was curling up
against and contently purring in her sleep with, not their
brother.

Looking at her now, the softness
that washes across her features when she slept, when her guard was
completely down, caused his heart to tighten in his chest. Her hair
was much longer than it was the last time he saw her, and splayed
across the white bedding and Faelan’s chest in loose curls in
varying shades of brown, a soft dusting of freckles were barely
visible with her light tawny complexion, even though her eyes were
closed in slumber her knew that she still had the most beautiful
ocean blue eyes he’d ever seen, and when gazing upon them he felt
as if he was drowning in their depths. Her lips were the softest
shade of rose he’d ever seen on a person, and they felt like velvet
against his skin; the taste of her skin haunted him, remembering
the way her breath washed across his lips always caused his cock to
twitch, and the warmth of her body on his taunted him in his
dreams.

Akia would forever be his greatest
regret and biggest weakness.

“Is something wrong?” Beowulf
whispered, joining his son.

Varg shook his head.

He looked from the hulking Viking
in the doorway to the bed, and he smiled. “It is good to have her
home,” he said.

“It isn’t her home,” was Varg’s
curt reply as he turned and headed down the hall towards his
room.

Beowulf followed. “Boston is her
home for the moment, but she knows that restrictions and time
restraints make it nothing more than a temporary stop in her life.
This will always be her home, just as it is yours and the others
home. The others are back now—Rafe because he’s broke from his
inability to manage money, Faelan’s nursing a broken heart, Lou is
overseeing Ulrik’s rearing, Seff is too damn stubborn to ever
leave, Connell felt the need to return for mental solace, and you
never left—as is Akia, even if it is only a vacation in her eyes.
She has a career and a life in Boston, you cannot tell me that you
wish for her to abandon all of that to come home and be as
miserable as you are.”

Varg pulled his shirt off then
tossed it in the corner. “She should be home!” he argued, losing
his patience. “She should have never left.”

“Do you know why she left?” Beowulf
pressed; that was the million dollar question, and yet apparently
only Akia knew the answer.

He looked to Beowulf, the man that
was like father, brother, mentor and friend to him; the man that
rescued him from himself more than once, and that had showed him
more patience than he deserved. There was warmth and compassion in
his dark brown eyes, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes
weren’t from age or stress, they were from smiling so much—Beowulf
was one of the most optimistic creatures Varg had ever met—and his
shoulder length, light brown- gray streaked hair was the only thing
that hinted that Beowulf was older than fifty. Youthful innocence
he seemingly radiated with, but he was fiercely protective of his
children and those of the family, however the one he was most
protective of was Akia, his one and only daughter, and because of
that Varg never mentioned to him, or anyone, what transpired the
night before Akia disappeared.

“You look as if the weight of the
world rests on your shoulders, Son,” Beowulf commented.

Varg nodded. “The weight of her
world always does,” he said before he could stop
himself.

Beowulf nodded his understanding.
“Akia is well. She is happy and healthy, and has grown. No longer
does she watch her feet, she looks one in the eye, and she speaks
with conviction and passion; her whispered words are no longer lost
on the wind. She’s an amazing cop, one of the best in Boston, and
that should make you unbelievably proud of her as it does
me.”

Varg nodded, but didn’t say
anything so Beowulf left him to his thoughts for the evening. The
Viking of few words was very proud of Akia, confused by the person
that she now was apparently, but was proud of what she had
accomplished.

Ten years ago the world he knew was
suddenly shattered when he woke in her bed, alone, and Akia was
nowhere to be found. He searched for her for months, they all did,
but the trail disappeared. A letter came from the States, solely
addressed to Beowulf, and whatever it said officially ended the
search. Varg felt betrayed by the woman he loved, the woman that
consumed him mind, body, and soul, and that he gave his everything
to; she took it then left. A part of him resented her for it, but
his conscience wouldn’t permit him to hate her for leaving
him.

Varg still loved her.

Now that she was home, he wanted to
demand answers, to know why she felt the need to hurt him, to break
his heart, to abandon the family as she had…

But the words eluded
him.

The moment the smell of her skin,
the sweetness of her breath, washed over him from across the room
as he watched her sleep, the questions he had asked himself over
and over in his head were gone and replaced by the memories of
her…

“You are completely insane?!” Seff
had yelled, his voice carrying throughout the eerily quiet estate.
“I warned you that you could not simply bring a Stray, a female at
that, home!”

Beowulf shook his head. “She is a
child, one that needs protection. You cannot honestly believe that
I would leave her in a cage for those monsters to abuse, do
you?”

“That isn’t the point,” Seff
argued.

“You do not have a point, my old
friend.”

The three elders of the family had
only returned a few hours ago with the tiny Stray, and for hours
the heads of household had been arguing, their voices carrying
surprisingly well. The young girl without a name simply sat on the
floor, huddled in the corner, with her arms over her head, waiting
for the yelling to stop, waiting for someone to take her, to hurt
her, to bring something out in her that was evil and dark,
something that she had no control over and was terrified
of.

She wasn’t alone in the library.
The others that called Verulfr Manor home were watching her. They
never thought it was possible, according to history it wasn’t, and
yet the impossible was cowering in fear not more than ten feet from
them.

“Should we say something?” Connell
whispered.

Louvel simply shrugged; he was too
sober to figure out what to say that would assure his nephews that
the tiny girl wasn’t going to be a problem, so he sat back and kept
an eye on her with the others.

“I’ll get her something to eat,”
Faelan said then hurried to the kitchen to whip up something that
the terrified girl might enjoy; he was on the verge of losing it
himself.

Rafe looked from the terrified
girl to everyone else and back again. “This… I thought it… Huh,
this is going to suck.”

Varg shook his head, truly
disappointed in the others, then headed over towards the shaking
girl.

When his large form eclipsed the
light, she whimpered then started clawing at the wall behind her,
trying to get away from him.

“It’s all right,” Varg whispered.
“No one will hurt you ever again,” he promised her.

She continued to claw at the wall
like a cornered animal, trying to find a means of escape. There
were too many of them, and they were bigger and much older, all
were men, and it terrified her even more than the metal dragon that
brought her to their home on the Island.

When Varg reached out to try to
console her, the moment he touched her arm she completely lost it
and spun around and attacked him.

The tiny, thin girl threw herself
at him and punched and clawed, snapped her teeth, trying to get to
his throat. Varg outweighed her by over two-hundred pounds and had
more than three-feet of height on the small girl. With simply the
flick of his wrist he could snap her neck, could throw her away
from him and into the wall, could easily subdue her with only one
hand.

But he didn’t.

Varg allowed her to attack him, to
scratch up his face and arms, to bite his neck as she tried to kill
him. He simply sat there with his hands in his lap waiting for it
to register with her that he wouldn’t hurt her, none of them
watching in horror would. She would be safe with them.

After nearly an hour, her swinging
slowed and her growling turned into soft sobs, and she collapsed
against the strong form she was trying to destroy. He wrapped her
in his strong arms and held her protectively to his broad chest as
she sobbed. Tenderly he caressed her head and ignored the searing
in his neck and face from her vicious assault.

“Shh,” he whispered, trying to be
reassuring for the first time in his young life. “You are safe, I
promise you. As long as I breathe, never will I permit another to
hurt you.”

The tiny girl started sobbing even
harder; never had she heard words so softly spoken, but the truth
behind them pushed her over the edge of reason, and she succumbed
to emotional exhaustion in his arms…

Varg rubbed his hands over his face
in frustration and struggled to keep the haunting images from his
mind, but it was a losing battle. Every time he looked in the
mirror he was reminded of Akia; his face and neck was littered with
thin, white scars from her tiny nails and teeth. He’d grown a beard
out in order to hide the visible reminder of her, but his scars ran
soul deep.

Irritated at himself for allowing
the one person he swore he’d never let under his skin again get to
him, he headed to the kitchen to grab something to eat before
making another patrol around the estate.

****

Faelan groaned as he stretched out
and instantly stopped when a soft moan came from the side of him
before nuzzling against the side of his neck. He looked down at the
face rubbing against him and smiled. “It’s the not type I usually
long to wake up next to, but you’ll do,” he whispered before
kissing the top of her head.

Last night when he returned from
the kitchen with some dessert after Akia was out of the shower, he
found her curled up in a ball with cell phone in hand and fast
asleep. Not wanting to disturb his baby sister, he crawled into bed
and tucked them in for the night. Akia was the only woman that got
the honor of sharing his bed.