Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf Hunter\Possessed by a Wolf (24 page)

Figures moved, running as fast as anything Abby had ever seen. But they wouldn't be protected without a full moon overhead.

Please. Not Cameron
, Abby thought before Cameron appeared, calling her name. He didn't reach her in time. Dana Delmonico moved like lightning to stand in front of her...just as Sam fired.

Chapter 33

D
ana didn't fall back. Her arms were spread wide to cover Abby, but she couldn't have taken the bullet.

A roar filled the night that shook the trees and everyone still standing. The sound came from the furred-up beast that had raced to protect Dana.

Sam's bullet had pierced that werewolf's hide, but the werewolf lunged forward to rip the rifle from Sam's hands before Sam knew what hit him. And Cameron pushed Sam face-first to the ground, with a knee on Sam's writhing back.

It happened so fast. In a moment removed from time, and without the carnage that could have resulted from Sam's demented rampage—a rampage Abby had not expected to survive—it was over. Truly over.

Abby looked down at herself as Delmonico tossed her cuffs to Cameron. She also found herself buck naked, without one hint of a wolf showing.

She shook so hard her teeth hurt.

Then she was running.

She moved toward where Sam lay hog-tied with his hands behind his back. Her knife, drawn from its leather sheath, was in her right hand.

She straddled Sam's body, holding the knife high, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “You bastard!” she cried. “Did she run, as you asked her to? Did my mother give you the satisfaction of shooting her in the back? Is she a pelt on some other bastard's wall? A trophy?”

“No,” Sam said. “Her pelt hangs above my bed.”

Her knife never came down to sever Sam's murderous flesh. It remained suspended, motionless, frozen, until Cameron took it from her and tossed the blade to the grass.

Cameron pulled her to her feet and spun her around. “It's over,” he said. Then he called over his shoulder, “Dylan? What do you need?”

“A new chest,” Dylan, in man form, replied, getting to his feet with Dana Delmonico's help. “Good thing I know where to get one.”

“He wore a vest,” Delmonico said. “And it was the strangest-looking duo I have ever seen. Sort of like a high-fashion runway featuring fur and Kevlar. However, the combination seems to have worked its magic.”

“Vest?” Cameron said.

“Just so happens I know a cop who had a spare,” Dylan said with hardly a disturbed breath.

The moment of levity that should have seemed out of place, didn't. After what felt like a lifetime of holding her breath, Abby finally exhaled and found her voice. “I didn't kill him.”

“No.” Cameron tightened an arm around her, crushing her to him while he tore off yet another borrowed shirt. “You didn't. No one thought you could.”

“I shifted.”

“One of many more, by the looks of things,” he said gently. “Next time, though, can you give me a sign?”

“They'll take him away?” She loathed saying Sam's name.

“Yes. It really is over.”

“Not quite,” she countered, pulling away from Cameron, ignoring her nakedness.

She went to where Sam still lay. “You loved her,” Abby said. “You loved my mother. You knew there were decent Weres among the bad, and yet you murdered a beautiful soul.”

She didn't actually expect Sam to address that, with his face in the dirt and the monsters he hated standing guard.

“It isn't over,” Sam said, contradicting Cameron. “It will never be over, whether I'm loose or not.”

“Oh, you won't be loose,” Cameron confirmed. “And we'll take another look at that self-defense judgment in your past, to see how you managed it.”

“Too late,” Sam said smugly. “And if you go for my business in trafficking rare-animal pelts, I'd like to see you explain what those pelts are, and where they came from.”

A chill wafted over Abby. Sam couldn't be freed. Ever. Because he was the monster.

“I believe the secret floor and the cage it holds might take some explaining on your part,” Cameron said.

“As will the blood staining it,” Dylan tossed in. “Also the stockpile of weapons in three storerooms behind the bar.”

Cameron nodded his head. “Forensics teams are going to tear up the floor in that secret room, and they're going through your apartment right now. What will they find, Stark, in light of those things? Enough to hold you for a very long time, I'm thinking.”

Sam became uncharacteristically silent.

“Where is she?” Abby said to Sam. “What did you do with my mother's body?”

He did not reply. But he had confessed to her about her mother's pelt—an awful confession she'd never forget.

“Did you keep it because you loved her?” Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her. “Just answer that.”

Sam said nothing. Of course, he'd know not to speak of those things here, with cops standing over him.

Abby couldn't think about her mother's pelt being among Sam's things. She would never be able to see it.

Detective Wilson and another Were stood him on his feet. “Time to go, Stark,” Wilson said.

“I'll tell them about you,” Sam hissed. “I'll sic them on all of you.”

Dana Delmonico shook her head. “Going for the insanity plea, huh? We'll see how far that gets.”

Abby again felt Cameron's arms enfold her. She desired more than anything to give in to his heat and his nearness and his unconditional support. She fought back tears of anger and regret. But she had one more thing to say, and had to say it. “Thank you. All of you. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“That depends,” Dylan replied.

Abby turned her head.

“On what?” Cameron asked.

“On both of you agreeing to join the pack, so that we can keep an eye on you.”

Abby sensed Cameron's relief. She heard him draw in a long breath. “Abby?” he said.

But she was beyond speech. One more word and the tears would fall. She had lost nothing in this fiasco, and had gained a new family. She had a mate she loved more than life itself. The puzzle of her mother's death had been solved—as much as she wanted to hear about, anyway, wanting to forget the nightmares that had plagued her all this time.

“I think they need some alone time,” Wilson said, eyeing the pair.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Delmonico agreed.

“Shall we book this sucker, Dana?” Wilson asked.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Delmonico said.

Without another word, they hustled Sam off, leaving Abby wrapped in Cameron's arms. They stood entwined for several minutes more as silence returned and Abby's shaking eased a little.

Then Cameron spoke. “You're naked,” he said, a comment so unexpected Abby nearly laughed in disbelief. The smile felt so damn good.

“Completely naked,” he added.

“Is that the only thing you have to say to me after all of this?” Abby asked.

“No. But it's a start.” He took a moment to go on. “The pack will be expecting us at the Landaus', I suspect. But I'd rather wait awhile. How's that for a confession? From now on, I'd prefer you wore no clothes every night, even in a public park. And when you do get dressed, I'd prefer my clothes next to your bare skin, in lieu of not having that skin pressed to mine.”

Tilting her head back, Abby looked up at him. When her eyes met his, he gave her the dazzling smile that captured her on that first night and haunted her still.

“Furthermore,” he said, “you might be a werewolf princess, or some such thing, but just so you know, I wear the pants in this family.”

“I see that you're wearing them now,” Abby said.

He smiled a devastatingly gorgeous and revealing smile...

And Abby, satisfied, but still hurting on a level that only the Were beside her could take care of, smiled back as she reached for his zipper.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from POSSESSED BY A WOLF by Sharon Ashwood.

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Chapter 1

S
omething cracked, a snapping sound that shot up Lexie Haven's spine with an icy, instinctive foreboding.

She looked up from her Nikon, still absorbed in photographing the wedding ring on its black velvet pillow. Her concentration had been absolute, and it took a moment to come back to reality and wonder what had disturbed her. Curious, she glanced around the room, but the portable lights she'd rigged up sank everything and everyone else into darkness. The night outside turned the floor-to-ceiling windows into mirrors. She was far away, but could see herself move—a figure in an emerald silk tunic and slacks, her pale face framed by a hip-length tumble of fiery hair. And then someone moved, blotting out her reflection.

“What was that?” she said to no one in particular. No one replied. She looked around, almost ready to dismiss the noise from her mind. She had work to do.

The dim room crowded with party guests made it next to impossible to take good photographs, but royalty paid well. In return, Lexie took plenty of shots of the attendees and their bling, and that included the celebrated wedding band. Although not every palace official wanted a photographer at the party, Lexie was the compromise choice between no coverage and a tabloid free-for-all. Hers would be the first photographs to hit the press. The royal couple had unveiled the ring only half an hour ago.

Which was why Lexie was standing beside the marble fountain, camera pointed at the display case where the ring was being shown. For Lexie's convenience, the case's glass top had been removed and the security alarms switched off. Nevertheless, security guards stood to either side of the case. Until that moment they'd been polite yet bored, but at the cracking sound they stiffened like dogs catching a scent.

Other people must have heard the noise, as well. Voices rose above the splashing of the central fountain, no longer the polite murmur of ambassadors and celebrities deemed worthy to visit the Palace of Marcari. The hundred-odd A-list guests were now just ordinary people, shrill and afraid. Only the classical pianist carried on as usual from his Steinway in the corner, but then musicians were trained to keep going no matter what.

Another cracking noise came, sharper this time. A woman screamed—a short, horrified yelp of surprise. Lexie switched off the portable lights, bringing the rest of the room into better view, and stopped cold. The three south walls of the octagonal room were almost all glass, giving a view of the gardens. A spiderweb of fractures radiated across the center pane, leading away from a tiny hole.
Gunshots
. That's what they'd heard. Fear came like a crashing wave, and Lexie's whole body turned cold. Who was out there in the darkness, looking—shooting—in?

Both the guards drew their guns and joined the scatter of security bolting toward the prince and princess, who stood just in front of the fountain. Lexie's hands had gone slippery with fear, and she set the Nikon down, some part of her still sane enough to worry about dropping it. She grabbed the edge of the display case to steady herself.

The crowd was scattering—or trying to. The west doors that led to the rest of the palace were flung open, but rather than offering escape, more gunshots rang outside the open door. Someone shut the doors again, and the noise of the crowd escalated.

“What's going on?” Lexie's friend, Chloe Anderson, appeared at her elbow. She was dressed in a silk suit with her fine hair swept up in a twist. Her normally fair coloring had turned ghostly pale.

“Someone is shooting. We need to get people out of here.” Lexie's voice shook. The room suddenly felt smaller than it had a minute ago, as if the walls were being sucked inward.

“There's got to be another exit.” Chloe's eyes were wide with shock. And no wonder—she was the princess's wedding planner, responsible for making sure the event went off without a hitch. Whatever was going on definitely wasn't part of Chloe's plans.

“I think we're trapped,” was all Lexie could say.

The room was packed, making it hotter than it should have been. Lexie swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. A jittering edge of panic danced at the edges of her self-control. She slammed it down. She needed her wits sharp. Lexie passed a hand over her forehead, trying to ignore her clammy skin.
Get it together.
She made herself stand straighter. “How are we going to keep these people calm?”

She was just a photographer, but job titles didn't count at moments like this. Fortunately, she wasn't the only one thinking ahead. Right then, the knot of security around the prince and princess broke apart. Princess Amelie of Marcari had one hand on her future bridegroom's arm. Kyle Alphonse Adraio, Crown Prince of Vidon and future king of both countries, was waving a hand as if insisting the guards leave his side and help deal with the shooters. The guards, who wore the green uniforms of Vidon, didn't look happy. Nor did Prince Kyle's younger brother, Leo, who had gone the pale gray of moldy cheese.

Another shot punched through the window and smashed one of the crystal chandeliers, making Lexie jump. In the next moment, the central window shattered into tiny fragments. Cries of fright and pain tore the air as shards smashed to the marble tiles, sending up a dazzling shower of glass. Lexie grabbed Chloe and ducked behind the display case. Needle-sharp glass fragments left a stinging kiss against her skin.

The crash still echoed as an enormous wolf leaped through the gaping window frame. The beast cleared most of the fallen glass in one graceful bound, landing a dozen yards away from Lexie, its claws skidding as it turned to face the broken window with a savage snarl. The creature had pale gold eyes, its coat shading from white fur at the muzzle to black at the tips of its ears. It was huge, at least four feet at the shoulder.

There were wolves in Marcari's mountains—they were on the crest of the royal family—but this one's size gave him away as something more. The beast was not just a wolf, but a werewolf, and she knew his markings. More than that, she inexplicably
knew
it was Faran Kenyon as clearly as if he had called her name.

Faran. Her ex-boyfriend really was the big bad wolf.

The room—even the piano—fell into a horrified, fixed silence. Lexie's heart, already speeding, nearly pounded through her ribs. Memory speared her, adding old terror to new. She'd seen those razor-sharp fangs tear a limb off.

The silence ended as every one of the prince's guards drew their weapons and pointed them at the beast. Lexie leaped to her feet and thrust out a hand. “Stop!”

Her voice rang with command. Everyone turned to stare. Even the wolf looked surprised.

So was Lexie.
Why am I saving Faran? I ran across a continent to get away from him.
And yet, there was nothing else she could bear to do. With a terrible, desperate surge of dismay, she understood that not even a world of distance had broken the essential bonds between them.

“Be careful!” Chloe said in alarm, though Lexie couldn't tell whether it was the guns or the fangs that worried her.

“I know what I'm doing,” she replied tightly. It was an utter lie. Lexie's heart was pounding so hard she felt dizzy, but she moved until the guards would have to shoot through her to get to the wolf. And then she turned and faced him. The wolf—Faran—was watching her with his cool yellow gaze, sniffing the air. Lexie wondered if he would recall her scent, and how he would react when he did. She'd never been sure how much humanity Faran kept in wolf form and besides that, their parting had been awful.

Glass clung to his coat in glittering fragments, his muzzle scratched and oozing blood. There was a wound in his flank, too—deep enough that the fur was matted and dark. Lexie felt a wrench, guessing that was where at least one bullet had gone. The wolf rose, taking a step toward her.

“No,” she said sharply. “Sit. Stay.”

He sat, ears going back as if she'd ticked him off. Faran never had liked being told what to do.

Too bad
. Lexie was shaking. She had memories of watching him fight, teeth and claws rending flesh with unthinkable, wet sounds. The sight of blood didn't bother her much, but the warmth and smell of it had undone her that night. She'd never heard a man scream like that before. They weren't memories she'd ever shared much less tried to figure out. It had been easier to run, and keep running.
I knew there was a chance he might be in Marcari. I should never have come.

But there were other memories of Faran Kenyon. Like the fact that he'd brought her champagne in bed and listened to her talk about the career she'd have one day, the beautiful photographs she'd take.
We did love one another.
Until she'd found out what he was.

Their history was a painful tangle, but this moment—here, now—was simple. She refused to watch him die.

“Ma'am,” said one of the guards, his weapon raised. “Step away.”

“I don't think so.” She stepped closer instead, wiping her sweating palms on the green silk of her tunic. Her stomach felt like a bag of writhing snakes.

At the sound of the guard's voice, Faran snarled again, showing long, curving canines. He began to stand, but Lexie ordered him down with a gesture. There was no question Faran would protect her, but that would just put him in harm's way again.

Why had he come through the window, and who had shot him?

“Listen to Ms. Haven,” said Princess Amelie from across the room. “Unless the creature attacks, do not harm it.”

“Your Royal Highness, please!” one of the guards protested, glancing at the prince for direction. “There is enough danger without this!”

“You will respect her wish,” Prince Kyle ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. The prince and princess were well aware of Faran's secret.

A whisper ran through the crowd, and not a happy one. They saw only a wolf.

Lexie swallowed hard. Panting, Faran regarded her with that unreadable yellow gaze, giving away nothing. She could feel the eyes of the guards on them both, waiting for an excuse to shoot. A sudden image of Faran's smile, the private one he'd kept for her alone, stabbed through her.

Chloe was still crouched behind the display case. She spoke, low and soft. “I hear dogs.”

So did Lexie, and the baying was getting louder, breaking into the deep bell of bloodhounds and the growling snarl of coursers bred to bring down prey. Lexie's breath caught. She raised her chin, forcing authority into her voice. “That's a hunting pack. What's it doing on the palace grounds?”

One of the guards looked up, his eyes cool. “I don't know, ma'am.” Since the wolf wasn't moving, a few of them stepped away, trying to get a better look out the windows. Lexie watched them suspiciously. Had the guard just lied?

And why are they—whoever they are—chasing a werewolf?
she added silently.
And who is doing the shooting?

Faran was looking at the broken window and giving off a slow, steady rumble of threat. Enough light spilled across the lawn that Lexie could make out what was happening outside. The pack was just beyond the gaping hole where the window used to be. Despite the gunfire, some of the guests had been escaping through the shattered opening. Now they scattered out of the way. At least two dozen dogs were coming fast, straining at their leashes. Their handlers also wore the green coats of the visiting Vidonese.

That was the clue Lexie needed. “Oh!”

Chloe shot her a curious look. “What?”

Lexie dropped her voice. “Does Vidon still hate the supernatural?”

Chloe blinked and gave a single nod. The wolf made a chuffing noise that sounded sarcastic. Lexie swore under her breath, doing her best to still the trembling in her hands.

Until Faran had finally taken her into his confidence, Lexie's knowledge of the supernatural was limited to B movies and horror novels. Only a handful knew that the King of Marcari had vampire soldiers at his beck and call, or that the King of Vidon had a company of knights sworn to destroy them.
And they're still fighting. Brilliant
.

The disagreement between Team Vampire and Team Slayer had kept the two tiny countries at war since the Crusades. The marriage between Amelie and Kyle—a true love match, by all accounts—was supposed to unite the kingdoms and end the hostilities. That was why all this—the party, the ring and the photos—was happening.

But if the Vidonese were hunting a werewolf on Marcari soil, all bets were off.

The hounds spilled over the window frame, howling in fury. Faran was on his feet, suddenly between Lexie and the dogs. The guards flinched, and the wolf froze, stopping just out of reach of his opponents. But he growled so deep and low that she felt it through the floor.

The hounds exploded toward him, but the rush didn't last. At the last moment, the handlers realized there was a sea of broken glass. Swearing, they hauled on the leashes. The dogs whined and yipped and howled, denied their prey.

Faran stalked back and forth just beyond the litter of shards, limping from the wound in his side. Blood spotted the floor behind him. Still, his jaws dripped with saliva, upper lip curling to show long ivory fangs. One particularly ambitious hound strained forward, front paws rising as it fought the leash. Faran snapped, taunting the howling dogs. Guarding Lexie.

The tension in the room spiraled upward. Several of the Vidonese guards looked ready to start shooting, no matter what the princess had said. “Wolf,” Lexie commanded, fear sharpening her tone. “Heel!”

He gave her a look that sent ice down her spine. “Heel your alpha ass,” she muttered under her breath, dizzy with terror but showing none of it. “Now. Please.”

Faran stubbornly remained standing, but he fell quiet.

“Get those dogs out of here!” Prince Kyle thundered. “This is a palace, not a kennel.”

The west entrance to the rest of the palace slammed open again, the heavy oak doors swinging as if they were no more than paper. Lexie realized that the gunshots both inside and outside the palace had stopped. A tall, dark-haired man with a rifle stood poised on the threshold, looking stern and businesslike in a perfectly tailored black suit.