A Lion After My Own Heart (6 page)

"Your best bet is Blake. He's the alpha of a werewolf pack based out of Honeycomb Hall. He's friendly enough. Whether he'll agree to take you in, I have no idea." Helen leans forward. "Do you know what you're doing, Ms. Cole?"

I shake my head slowly. "I'm starting to think I don't. But that's why I'm going to get all the information I can before I write anything. I need to know what happened. Why Alexander is doing this. Why he's risking... so much."

Helen nods. "Let me be clear. The only reason I'm telling you this is because I know you're only the first of many reporters who are going to come sniffing around. Anybody who's been in town long enough will tell you what I just did."

I nod. "Yeah. Well, thank you. For your time, and for talking to me. I'm going to walk to this Honeycomb Hall."

Helen rises to her feet and gives me directions. It's a little ways outside of town, but only five minutes or less by car. I shake her hand, and then step back outside.

I need a moment. The fresh air helps me think. I sit down on an old bench and sip my coffee. I need to talk to this Aurion, no matter how scary he is. And then I need to talk to Mercia. Then, before I write anything, I need to talk to Alexander himself one more time. At the very least I need to warn him what's coming.

I sigh. I'm excited, nervous, and strangely guilty. I remember Alexander standing in the dark annex outside his own fundraiser. There is more to this than just his wanting power. There's some conflict at the center of his decision to run for mayor that I haven't yet glimpsed or understood.

I finish my coffee, jump in my rented car, and drive over the trestle bridge, south past Mindy's General Store and a cute little bakery, and soon I'm following a winding road through the woods. A few minutes later a pair of wide, ornate iron gates appears to my left, and I slow down and turn into the grounds of the surprisingly grandiose Honeycomb Hall. A gravel driveway leads up past a gorgeous lawn and garden to a two-story home with columns set in the front and rocking chairs on the porch.

I park and get out, impressed. I didn't expect something quite so grand and large. After locking my car, I step up onto the porch and ring the bell. Almost immediately a suspicious Asian lady opens the door and peers at me.

"Yes?" It's not the friendliest greeting.

"Hi, I'm Myra Cole. I'm here to speak to Blake?"

"Blake?" She peers at me. "Is he expecting you?"

I try my smile on her and can tell it has no effect. "Not really. But I just have one quick question. Is he in?"

She studies me, her mouth pulled into a frown of disapproval, and then nods and opens the door wider. I step into an entrance hall and try hard not to fall in love with the place. It's got a gorgeous, cute and cozy feeling despite its size, with the wood polished and dark, the rugs vibrant and colorful, a wonderful staircase right out of
Gone with the Wind
leading to the second floor, and huge rooms leading off to the left and right. A group of young men and women, all of them looking like supermodels, are lounging in what looks to be a library, hanging out on couches and armchairs by the fireplace.

"What is this place?"

The Asian lady gives me a look usually used on very silly children. "This is Honeycomb Hall. It's a bread and breakfast for shifters. What did you think?"

I blink, taken aback. This is the worst customer service I've seen in weeks. "I really had no idea. A B&B for shifters? How interesting!" Normally I'd mark this as a potential story in and of itself, but right now I've got bigger stories to write.

The lady leads me to a smaller room - a parlor, and tells me to wait. She closes the door, and I'm left alone to study the art and the books on a long shelf, and eventually move to the window where I peer out to the side of the house.

My eyes go wide. There's a man pushing a manual lawnmower outside, his shirt off, looking insanely hot. If he were in an ad, I'd buy whatever they were pushing without thinking twice. The Asian lady walks into view and calls to him, and the man straightens, releasing the mower, and turns, passing his arm over his forehead. The lady points at the house, and then the man nods. Blake, I realize. Is he the gardener? The owner? Either way, he stalks toward the back of the house, and I take a deep breath. Hot man incoming. Act professional. Act cool!

Even as my pulse begins to race, I think of Alexander. That cool, calm control of his. It's as if my mind is currently hardwired to think of him whenever I get all tingly and squirmy.

The door opens and Blake steps in. The first thing I notice is the wedding ring on his hand, and how rough and athletic he is. Where Alexander is all sophisticated cool, this man is wild and fierce. His eyes smolder as he examines me, and I almost instinctively feel my mouth go dry. These shifters. They're too much!

"Mr. Blake?" My voice is tight. I cough and try to sound more natural. "My name is Myra Cole. I'm visiting from Boston. Helen from the Gypsy Cafe gave me your name?"

"Hello, Ms. Cole." His voice is like low, rumbling thunder. Goodness. What's a girl to do? "Any friend of Helen's is welcome. How can I help you?"

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say we're friends, but she was very generous. I - well. There's no easy way to put this. Um. Can you help me have a chat with Aurion?"

His eyes go wide, and for a moment I think he's going to laugh. "Aurion? The leader of the cairn?"

I nod quickly and give him an apologetic smile. "I know he's apparently not the friendliest person in the world, but I really, really need to ask him some questions."

Blake rubs at his jaw, considering. "And why's that?"

I gulp. Here goes. "I'm a reporter from the
Boston Globe
. I'm doing a profile on a new mayoral candidate. Alexander Adams?"

"Ah," says Blake. The pieces fall into place. "And you think Aurion will talk to you?"

I nod. "He needs to. If he doesn't, then I may not get the whole picture. And what I publish may not be completely accurate. Which may in turn make things unnecessarily hard for shifters everywhere."

Blake tongues his cheek and moves to the window, crossing his arms over his chest. I stand in silence as he considers. "And if I say no?"

"Well." I try to keep my voice strong. "Then I'll buy some hiking boots, a couple of granola bars, maybe one of those nice glass water bottles encased in pink plastic, and hike toward the cairn."

Blake snorts and looks at me over his shoulder. "You'll get stopped by a patrol."

I nod. "Yeah, that's what I'm counting on. And I'll sweet-talk them like you wouldn't believe, and get them to bring me to Aurion."

Blake can't help but smile. "And you think he'll be happy to talk to you then, if you're dragged in by a patrol?"

I give him an innocent shrug. "He doesn't sound like a generally happy person to begin with. So I don't think it would really make that big a difference, would it?"

Blake laughs and shakes his head. "Well, you're clearly determined."

"I am." I take a step forward. "Look, I'm not trying to write a hit piece. I don't want to blow shit up just for the sake of drama. I want to get the real story. I want to understand what happened. Why Alexander is risking so much. And depending on what I discover, I'll write the story that fits the facts. Or - hell. Maybe I won't write a story. I don't know. But soon a horde of other journalists will be coming here to get the story if I don't. And they may be less scrupulous. Or they might be looking for a sensational tabloid feature. The very least I can promise is that I'll be respectful."

Blake's eyes are bestial. Inhuman. He stares at me as if I'm prey and he's a predator, about to leap and drag me down. There's a moment where I'm actually afraid, and then he sighs and nods.

"Very well. We can head out in half an hour. It'll take about an hour of hiking to get you to the cairn. Then? Well. You're on your own."

I sigh and almost collapse into the armchair. "Thank you! Thank you so much."

"One thing," says Blake. "You're not the first person to ask me this. A man by the name of Allan has been in town for two days, asking similar questions."

My eyes go wide. "A reporter?"

Blake nods. "Not a pleasant individual. I turned him down point blank. Just thought you should know."

Oh, crap
. I thought I was at the front of the pack. Instead, it looks like I'm trailing second. "Thanks. For telling me."

"Don't thank me," says Blake. "You might regret all this once you meet Aurion."

I gulp. "He can't be that bad, can he?"

Blake just stares at me, his eyes gleaming, and then snorts and steps out. I sit down to wait and realize my hands are trembling. I clench them and look out the window.
Alexander. Where are you? What secrets are you hiding?
I wish he was here. And with a start, I realize it's not because I want to ask him questions. It's simply because I'd like to step into his arms and have him hug me real tight.

Chapter 7

Good lord, this hike is heaven and hell. Heaven in that I get to scramble the whole way behind Blake, who oh-so-courteously refrains from turning into a wolf, meaning that I get to ogle his ass for an hour and a half as we hike into the hills. Hell, in that this body of mine has been carefully engineered to excel at watching movies and munching cookies, not trekking across the wilds. I'll be the first to admit I'm a hot mess. Sweating, gasping, pausing with a hand on a tree to sway and suck down a little more water.

Each time Blake turns around patiently to wait for me and raise an inquiring eyebrow. I make a dismissive face and give him a thumbs-up. No way am I going to try to speak right now. Then, way before I'm actually ready, I nod so as to appear tough, and he turns and on we go. Up and up, over fallen logs, across ledges, up leafy slopes, higher and higher into the hills.

Damn. The things I'll do for a story.

I don't notice any patrols, but at one point I ask Blake if they're out there, and he nods. "My pack gets patrol duty once a week. We're being watched, but that's OK. Nobody's going to mess with us as long as I'm leading you in. Just stay close and you'll be fine." His eyes gleam with humor, but I still don't want to imagine myself out here alone. Was that really my back-up plan? Bad Myra. Crazy Myra.

On we go. My breath burns in my throat. My shirt is stuck to my back. My knees ache. Do people do this for fun? They must, because there are entire stores dedicated to selling outdoor gear. No matter where I look, I fail to see a couch, a juice bar, or anything remotely civilized. Just green and brown and mulch as far as the eye can see.

Not that I hate nature. I guess I just like it in small doses. Like at the botanical garden. Or on the National Geographic channel. I feel mildly guilty that I'm not reveling in the great outdoors. And yes, the air is clear and clean and wonderful to breathe. And it's kinda nice to not hear horns and sirens. But overall, I'm sorry. I'm a city girl, born and bred.

Finally Blake raises a hand and goes still. I almost trip trying to do the same. My heart immediately begins to pound like a garbage truck reversing over and over into a cement wall. I look in every direction, but fail to see anything. We're right near the summit of a massive mountain. OK, fine, a small mountain. A big hill. But I don't see a thing.

"What is it?" I whisper.

"Shh," says Blake. "Wait."

So I do, and then, like something out of a ninja movie, suddenly there's a grizzled older man standing there to one side. One minute nothing, next minute, oh, hello.

"Blake," he says, voice almost bored.

"Grady," says my guide. His voice guarded.

"Who's this? She expected?" Grady doesn't look at me, which makes me want to grab a stone and throw it at him. Probably a bad idea.

"You know she's not. I'm bringing her to speak with Aurion. That all right with you?" From Blake's tone, it's clear he doesn't care if it is or not.

Grady nods slowly, finally turning to study me, and I suddenly wish he'd just gone right on ignoring me like before. His eyes are as cold as slate, and there's very little humanity to them. I gaze right at him, giving him my very best journalist death stare. He finally nods and steps back, and disappears into the trees.

"Let's go," says Blake quietly.

"He was nice," I say, making a bit of an effort to catch up with Blake and walk abreast with him. "The huggy type."

Blake snorts. "Grady's OK. He just doesn't like people much. Or other shifters. He's a werewolverine. They're always ornery."

"How many werecreatures are there?" It's such a basic question, I'm amazed to realize I have no idea.

Blake shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know. I hear stories of different kinds all over the world. Around here? Mostly just wolves, bears, wolverines, with some tigers and lions thrown in for good measure. There's a werejaguar in Honeycomb Falls. Jericho. Works in the library."

"A werejaguar librarian? I'll have to stop by and check out a book." Blake gives me a sidelong look, and I smile innocently at him. "What? I'm the studious type."

Blake slows and points up ahead. "See those standing stones through the trees?"

I peer ahead, and I do. Maybe five big gray stones like the fingers of a hand. The area between them - where the palm would be - is flat and empty.

"That's the cairn. Don't step between the stones unless you're explicitly invited to do so, got it? Now, let's get closer. The caves are over to the left."

Caves? I don't know what I expected, but it definitely wasn't caves. We give the standing stones a wide berth, and after another minute of walking come to an escarpment of rock in whose face a half dozen caves are located. A number of men and animals are lounging in the late afternoon sunshine - several wolves and a tiger, I realize - and then I blink and realize that obviously they're wereanimals.

We stop as heads turn lazily to regard us, but my eyes lock in on a central figure. A massive man, perhaps in his sixties but still looking tougher than anybody I've ever seen. He's bare-chested, wearing a white fur cloak held around his neck with a gold clasp. A massive scar lies white across his hard chest, as if somebody tried to dig out his scar decades ago.