A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (21 page)

Raven’s eyes flew wide as her nails scored his back,
but she didn’t stop. She wanted more. With a needy moan, her hips moved against him, urging his increasingly aggressive thrusts. There was no civilized man left in him. This was the wolf.

He took her mouth, kissed her with a hunger that was violent. Unable to stop himself, he flexed his hips, plunging deeper into her. Her body tightened, once more her internal contractions fisting about him. The sensations skittered along his shaft, across his skin and to explode white-hot in his mind. He closed his eyes as he surrendered to the dark sea of emotions, the overwhelming passion that fused them together. He gritted his teeth, in near agony as the full force of this mating hit him, his scalding seed empting into her body, pulling her into the swirling vortex with him.

A wolf mates for life.
The words thundered in his head as he nearly passed out from his release; their intensity blotted out the soft whisper from his heart that spoke of this bond in an entirely different way.

No! Please, no!

Trevelyn jerked upright in bed, sitting there, trying to breathe. His heart ached, and once again he was covered in sweat. This happened too frequently of late. He glanced over at Raven to see if he’d awakened her, afraid he had actually screamed the words aloud. Evidently not. She rested on her stomach with a cat curled in the middle of her back. Pyewacket watched him with solemn eyes that almost glowed in the moonlight.

Trev moved his foot to dislodge the fat tub of lard named Chester. The orange tabby had taken out adoption papers on him. Fortunately, the allergy situation was minimal, helped because Paganne found an ionic petgrooming brush. Trev had once suggested taking a vacuum to the furry beasts as a solution, and both cats and Raven had glared at him like he was the Abominable Snowman. He reached out and stroked the sleep-grumpy Chester. He’d found comfort in the cats. They were small friends in fur suits.

He sat quietly in the predawn, trying to shake off the panic that seemed to be an ever-present companion the past two weeks. At a loss to explain it, a dark apparition followed him everywhere. Even in his happiest moments with Raven, the shade hovered nearby. And these stupid dreams weren’t helping—dreams of Tashian and Annie. Dreams of him losing her.

Magda had talked of Auld Souls, doomed to return to correct past mistakes. Before, Trev would have chuckled and said, “Bah, humbug.” After three weeks of being
haunted by the same dream, he wasn’t quite so skeptical. Was it possible? Did such things really happen?

Trev groaned as Chester dragged his fat feline body across his lap and up his chest. The kitty bounced on his paws and crawled to give him a head-butt to the chin. Raven kept saying the cat was expressing love when he did that, something about a scent gland in the forehead and marking Trev as his. “I think she might be having me on. It feels more like two rams butting heads during mating season,” Trev whispered to the cat, patting him.

Sliding from the bed, he tugged on jogging pants and headed down to the landing bathroom, Chester right on his heels. Leaning over the sink, Trev filled the basin with cold water and splashed it onto his face. His lingering unease seemed stronger than on previous occasions. Usually when he’d awoken from the dream, he’d come down to cool off or shower and gradually the nightmare faded away, replaced with logic and reality. This time was different. Instead of vanishing like mist, the sense stayed with him.

He’d been busy buying stocks all week. Already, Mershan International—through its front Trident Ventures—owned close to a third of all Montgomerie Enterprises’ stock. Cian was aware of some of the sales, but not all. They couldn’t keep him in the dark much longer. The clock was ticking.

“Yeah, a time bomb, and it’s going to blow up in all our faces,” Trev said, suddenly feeling sick. “What to do, Chester, what to do?”

“Would you do it, even if the silly animal told you?” the voice behind him asked, clearly doubting.

Trev jerked up, looking into the mirror. “Ah! What the hell…?” He put a hand to his heart as the face, nothing more than a trick of shadows, seemed to gain color and force, resolving into clarity. Trev blinked his eyes, not
believing what he saw. The Gypsy from the fortune-teller’s booth stood behind him.

“Bloody, bleeding hell! I know it’s All Hallows Eve, but this is a bit much!”

Wondering if Skylar and Phelan weren’t playing a prank, for whatever idiotic reason, he spun around. Nothing was there. He looked to the cat. Chester crooked his head sideways and growled, but not at Trev—toward the door.

“Cat, I think we’re both losing it.” But when Trev turned back to his reflection, he jumped in surprise. The face was still there! “Some days it doesn’t pay to crawl out of bed.”

“Aye, you sense the heavy hand of Fate. The circle is closing again,” the fortune-teller intoned.

Trev laughed, but without much mirth. “Yeah, like a noose around my neck. Bugger all, I’m talking to a wooden dummy! A wooden dummy not really there! I must be friggin’ crazy!”

The face moved closer, the shadows created by the nightlights wrapping around her like a shroud. “The Wheel goes round and round. What has been, has now come again. Time runs short. Do not repeat past mistakes. Do not doom yourself and her.”

Trev leaned his head forward and gently butted it against the glass—not hard enough to break it, but to blot out these damn waking dreams. Sounding much like the Cowardly Lion in
The Wizard of Oz,
he repeated over and over, “I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t, I
don’t
believe in bloody ghosts.”

“Trevelyn…”

He opened his eyes to see the face of the Gypsy fading to a silhouette. Then it morphed again and came alive, finally shifting and merging into the face of Raven. She moved forward, putting a hand on his back. Concern flickered in her amber brown eyes.

“Are you ill?” She slid her arms around his waist and gave him a gentle hug.

Feeling her warmth, Trev grabbed on to her like a lifeline. Pressing her against him, he kissed her—sort of a Prince Charming-Sleeping Beauty scene in reverse. He wanted her to awaken him from this bizarre nightmare.

His body kicked into overdrive, instantly needing the deep physical contact that kept the world at bay. He wanted to lay her down on the cold tile floor and take her with the wildness in his soul screaming to be released. Despite those compelling emotions, he needed to be away from this room and the strange spell he was falling under.

Scooping Raven into his arms, he carried her back upstairs and placed her widthwise across the bed. He covered her with his heavy body, pressing her into the soft bedding; then lacing his fingers with hers, he pushed them above her head, pinning her. At the same instant he spread her legs with his. One hard flex of his hips and he was inside her.

“My version of ‘trick or treat,’” he explained impishly, and then proceeded to drive all thoughts and fears from his mind. There was only Raven.

At sunset, Trev watched Raven light the candles in several pumpkins they had spent the afternoon carving. Britain wasn’t big on Halloween and the yearly ritual of trick-or-treating, electing instead to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night. However, Raven had spent time with her mother in Kentucky, and had fond memories of the holiday.

While he’d grown up in the States, Trev’s early recollections weren’t quite so warm and fuzzy. It hadn’t been until he turned twelve that Jago and he owned their first costumes—which was Desmond’s doing, of course. Vividly Trev recalled Jago insisting they were too old for such nonsense, but that was just St. Jago trying to save them the money Des worked so hard to earn. Des had seen through the lie. He’d taken them to a costume store and allowed them to pick out whatever they wanted. The
rows of masks and racks of costumes had seemed like a fun house in an amusement park at the time.

He hadn’t said anything to Raven, but with her witch’s intuitiveness, she understood. In her gentle way, she’d set about to make a new Halloween celebration, to replace old memories with special ones. Just a small gettogether, she’d promised. Brishen came with Paganne, followed a short time later by Phelan and Katrina. Trev chuckled as a meddling-Montgomerie smile spread over Raven’s beautiful lips. Even Julian had received an invitation, though he’d remained mysterious and replied that said he’d see.

As Phelan came into the kitchen, holding the door for Katrina, Raven looked up from spreading orange frosting on a cake. “Hi, you two.” After exchanging hellos, Phelan gave his sister a kiss on the cheek and then tried to swipe a fingerful of icing. Raven glowered and gave his arm a swat. “Where’s Skylar?”

“Oh, he’s out trying to scare up a date.” Phelan grinned when everyone groaned at the pun.

Paganne came in the back door, but Marvin nearly knocked her down while rushing inside between her legs. “Come back here, you escapee from a petting zoo!” she shrieked, flashing her sister a dirty look. “Why can’t you have normal pets like everyone else?”

Raven waved her spatula. “
I
didn’t let Marvin in.”

“Blast, neither did I!” Paganne groused. As she passed in hot pursuit, she poked Trev in the belly. “Come on, Mr. Drop-Dead Sexy. You can help.”

He laughed. “How can I turn down a request phrased like that?”

Between the two of them, they herded the midget horse into the large greenhouse. Trev then positioned himself at the entrance and, whenever Marvin dashed toward him, stomped his feet and clapped his hands, driving Marvin back toward the door outside. Atticus, mad at being disturbed, flapped his good wing and
pecked at the pony going past. After about three rounds of this, Marvin allowed himself to be escorted outside.

“Marvin needs obedience school,” Paganne huffed. “Thanks for aiding. I would’ve been a half hour getting him out. Now…don’t tell Brishen I told you, but he sold a carousel horse today to one of the London art galleries—not for what you paid, mind, but not a shabby deal, either. Eleven thousand dollars. Also, a buyer from Harrods called and requested three rocking horses for Christmas. If those sell, they’ll order more. I know it’s because of your help with the studio, so I wanted to thank you for giving him the chance.”

“I opened a couple doors. It’s Brishen’s talent that will win him sales and fans.”

Paganne stopped at the door to the living room. “You know, I never believed you knew Raven before the night of the gala, but then I recalled the painting. Still, I just can’t imagine my big sister having you around and keeping quiet…”

“Painting?” Trev echoed.

“Yes.” Paganne tilted her head in consideration. “You haven’t seen it? Perhaps she means it as a surprise and I’ve just let another cat out of the bag. Sorry! You should know: Never tell me anything you don’t want broadcasted. I’m not a social creature, and lack the guile to hide things. I always thought Raven was the same, but I guess I don’t know her as well as I thought.”

“What painting? Raven showed me several works in progress she’s doing for her spring show. None of them have anything to do with me.”

Paganne leaned close so she could see Raven chattering to Katrina and Phelan through the doorway. “Come, but don’t you dare tell her I showed you.”

Hurrying to the small greenhouse studio, Paganne pushed open the door. She jerked her head to silently say, Come on. Trev followed, thinking there was more to Paganne than the quiet archaeologist content with digging
in a ruin or with her nose buried in a book. Maybe Raven’s meddling-Montgomerie ways were rubbing off on him, for he hoped Julian would show up. He’d be curious to see Paganne and his friend together.

“I won’t turn on the lights. Raven would see us, then she’d come snatch me bald, I fear. There’s still enough light to see.” She looked around. “Um, if I can find it.” Then her eyes landed upon a canvas covered with a sheet. Pulling the easel away from the wall and turning it so that light could hit it, Paganne yanked off the sheet with the flair of a magician. “Ta-da! Behold!”

Trev felt as if someone had kicked him. The huge painting was done in shades of deep burgundy, black and pale rose. A man sat astride a horse, dressed in old-fashioned clothing. But it was the unfinished image of a man with wavy black hair. And the eyes…? He looked at them every time he stared into a mirror.

“Amazing work,” was all he could say.

“You can see why I now believe you knew her before the gala.”

Trev inhaled sharply and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I’m assuming Raven did this recently.”

“No, I saw this a couple months before the dance.” Paganne ran her fingers over the paint applied to the canvas and board. “See? Oil paint takes time to harden. Judging by this, she hasn’t touched this painting since the last time I viewed it. It’s amazing. Boy, did she catch you. My big sister is very talented, eh?”

“Yes, she’s a very special lady.” One that had done a painting of him before they even met.

A cool breeze shifted through the glass room, causing Trev to wonder if he stared at Tashian Dumont.

The Halloween party was fun. They grilled shish kebabs over the bonfire Brishen built, and ate Raven’s delicious spice cake with the orange frosting. Julian never showed, but then Trev had been fairly sure his friend wouldn’t.
After everyone was full, Brishen entertained them with tales of Milosh and that Gypsy vampire hunter’s valiant battles to rid the world of evil.

Getting a slight headache, Trev excused himself to go inside for a couple of aspirin.

At the landing bathroom door, he paused, then switched directions and went up to the small bathroom off Raven’s bedroom.

There he found the aspirin, took two but feared they might not bring relief. This was a tension headache. He didn’t get them often, but they could be doozies when they put in the rare appearance. As he came down the steps he paused at the bottom, then sensed something was wrong. He glanced toward the smaller glass room, considering the painting and how uncanny it was, and how strange that it had been done, if he believed Paganne, before he and Raven met. When coupled with his dreams…yes, it did cause him some disquiet.

There was more, however. He couldn’t explain, but he suddenly felt a rising unease about Des and Jago. Glancing at the grandfather clock, he saw it was nearing ten p.m. He didn’t know how they would celebrate Halloween, or if they did at all on Falgannon Isle, but it was still early enough to call there. And in Kentucky it would only be a little before five.

Opening the hall closet he took out his leather jacket and reached inside for his cell phone. A noise in the large greenhouse drew his attention, so he looked inside. Atticus was pecking at his reflection in a plate of glass. Going to him, he squatted down and stroked the bird’s back.

“Hey, boy, you want another bird to play with? Of course, you might not recognize that’s you, since you think you’re a cat. I’ll talk to Raven about some toys, or see if we can get you a friend.” The bird turned his head and rubbed it against Trev’s shin. “Silly Atticus.”

As he rose, his eyes were drawn to the fortune-teller’s
booth. He started to walk on past, but with the foreboding increasing, he was weak. “Just call me William Shatner,” he muttered. Retrieving a coin from his pocket, he popped it into the slot.