The Patient Wolf (Wicked Urban Fantasy #1) (10 page)

Chapter 15

When Alexander came
to the door that evening, Ana was glad she had followed Lindsey’s fashion advice. He was dressed, as usual, impeccably, in a two-button designer suit of smooth grey wool with a grey shirt and grey silk tie and his favorite Patek Phillipe watch.

Ana still felt she didn’t look sophisticated enough in her black lace dress from the sale rack at Dillard’s. It had seemed so elegant when she tried it on in her bedroom for Lindsey, but beside Alexander’s sartorial splendor, she felt like a country bumpkin. At least the pearls added a touch of class, she thought. And Alexander didn’t seem to notice how dowdy she felt.

“You look very beautiful my dear,” he said, as they walked to his car in the late afternoon sunshine. Joe, she noticed, was raking leaves on his front lawn—or he had been. He’d given up all pretense of yard work and was staring at the car that was parked in front of Ana’s house.

“This is beautiful,” Ana said, running her hand over the sleek, black machine as Alexander helped her into it. “What kind of car is it? I have no idea.”

“A Lamborgini Huracan,” he told her as he got into the driver’s seat. “She has a 600 hp, 5.2-liter V10 engine with a seven-speed dual clutch transmission and will get to 100 kph in 2.5 seconds.”

“Oh,” Ana said in a small voice.

Alexander laughed. “That is about sixty miles per hour. Top speed is about two hundred miles per hour.” He revved the engine and gave a wave to Joe. “Your neighbor seems to appreciate good cars,” he said as the headed down the street, at a slightly more sedate pace than one hundred kilometers.

“I appreciate good cars. But I’ve never driven in anything like this. My brother had a 1968 Shelby Mustang for a little while. He let me drive it once. That’s the closest I’ve come to any kind of supercar.”

“The original Shelby Mustangs were good muscle cars, but this is much, much more.”

They continued to talk about cars as they drove through town and into the countryside. Alexander revved the engine and let the car out when they reached a long, straight stretch of two-lane road. Ana tried to surreptitiously hang onto the door handle, but the man (damn him for being so observant) still noticed and laughed. “Don’t worry, Chérie, I’m a very good driver,” he said.

“By the way, we are going to a little restaurant I’ve heard about that is about an hour from here. I wanted to get away from Rivelou. Find someplace where we could have a private evening and not run into colleagues or your family,” he told her. “It is called The Strawberry Moon. An interesting name.”

Ana just shook her head in resignation. “It’s an Algonquin name for the June full moon, when the strawberries are in season. And the restaurant is lovely. I’ve been there several times. It is owned by some friends of my grandfather,” she told him.

“No escape, then?” Alexander asked lightly.

“No escape,” she replied, grinning back at him.

The mention of her grandfather brought a knot to Ana’s stomach. She did not want to tell Alexander her grandfather was summoning him. The man he had met at the flea market was the pleasant, eccentric character her grandfather often played with people he didn’t know well. It was disarming and appealing, and if they were lucky, they never saw the other side of the man.

Yes, her grandfather loved her. Yes, he had indulged her, maybe, as he had said, more than any of his other grandchildren. But at his core, he was both a traditionalist and a practical leader. He had supported the development of PackNet, a private “dark web” where paranormals of all types, from shapeshifters to vampires to witches and more, could exchange information safely. He was the one who spearheaded the drive to change what they called themselves: from “werewolf” to “shapeshifter.” The newer term held less negative connotations, he explained to the old-timers who hadn’t seen the need for the change. If the pack was going to survive in the new world of cameras in every pocket, being careful not to be seen wasn’t good enough.

Someone, somewhere, would slip up and be caught on film. When that happened, his pack would be ready. Pack members were quietly in place throughout the three-county area he commanded. They were mayors, bank officials, lawyers, and police officers.

Hank Bertrand was the head of the family, and the head of the pack. He was in charge, and if he was right, Alexander had violated several pack laws—and there would be a price to pay for breaking the law.

They drove through Graceton, where the Strawberry Moon was located, just as it was getting dark. The quaint, Victorian-era tourist town offered covered bridges, artsy boutiques, and a variety of festivals throughout the year designed to attract tourists. A banner across Main Street announced the Pumpkin Festival, which took place every year in mid-October, would be held the following weekend.

As they walked into the restaurant Ana was greeted by Marianne Fletcher, a tiny woman of about sixty.

“Ana, I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t know this reservation was for you or I would have put you over by the windows.” She turned and snagged a waitress who was walking by. “Ashley, get a table for two ready in section four.”

“But all those tables are full, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Bring another table. Set it up by the window. There is always a special place for Hank Bertrand’s granddaughter.”

Ana rolled her eyes and considered falling through the floor in embarrassment. She had taken great pains to distance herself from her family, just for reasons like this. She never wanted to stand out, but when your grandfather was Hank Bertrand…and apparently, from what Alexander had said earlier, he had also already noticed the inconvenience of dating Hank Bertrand’s granddaughter.

Jonathan had always enjoyed the attention. Until he realized the price he paid for getting those special seats at a restaurant, or that loan at the bank. It meant that everything he said and did was reported back to her grandfather. If he picked a fight, if he criticized her dress or the way she wore her hair, or—god forbid—if he criticized anything about Sophie, if he acted in any way that was considered against pack etiquette, Hank Bertrand heard about it. The problem was, not only didn’t Jonathan know pack etiquette, he didn’t know there was a pack. The one secret Ana had always kept from him was the most important part of her life.

Yes, Jonathan could be a bully, and he was a definitely a braggart and he had wanted to use her family connections to further his career. Eventually Ana probably would have seen that for herself. Maybe she would have accepted his faults and continued to go on loving Jonathan anyway, but under the watchful eyes of her grandfather’s myriad friends and connections, and with a secret so essential to her very being, their marriage had had no chance at all.

Alexander, however, didn’t seem to mind the extra fuss as two busboys busily brought in another table and squeezed it into position in front of the center window, where the view of the river was best. Ana was sure he was used to people arranging the best table for him because of his own identity as a public figure, but he didn’t seem to be bothered that this time she was the reason for the special attention.

“I had no idea I was taking such a celebrity to dinner,” he said with a smile as a few minutes later the waitress escorted them to a table next to the windows.

The view was beautiful. The back of the restaurant was all glass and they could see not only of the river in the distance, but the surrounding woods, the trees just beginning to be touched by autumn color.

“I mentioned the Fletchers are old friends of the family. Watch out, here comes Miss Marianne again.”

“It has been forever, Ana honey, since I’ve seen you at our monthly gatherin’s,” she said in her soft, Southern accent.

“I’ve been so busy with my classes, Miss Marianne. And living in town, it would be such a late night for Sophie. I don’t want her to miss school.”

“There’s more to learnin’ than just what’s in books, my dear. Sophie needs to learn about her heritage, too.”

Alexander followed the conversation with interest. “I take it Sophie is your daughter?” he said when Mrs. Fletcher left. “You never mentioned you had a child. Tell me about her.”

That, of course, was all the opening any mother ever needs. Ana launched into a long discourse on Sophie.

“She must be charming,” Alexander said after a few minutes, and Ana sighed in relief. He didn’t seem put off by the fact she had a child. She’d seen many a man run away almost as fast as Alexander’s car could go when he realized he was dating a single mom.

When it came time to order, the waitress recommended the special salad of Bibb lettuce, fresh strawberries, pomegranate, toasted pecans, and white chocolate Balsamic vinaigrette. They followed the delicious salad with a creamy lobster bisque, then an entrée of filet mignon with white asparagus. After lingering over coffee and a decadent dark chocolate mousse garnished with raspberries, they headed back to Rivelou through the now-dark countryside.

The farmlands spreading out along the river made the two-lane road feel closed in, the lights of the car illuminated the narrow path as they sped silently along in the dark. The dry corn stalks, still mostly unharvested, hovered over the narrow road, constricted the view and contracted it to only the dark pavement ahead of them.

Ana began to feel a bit claustrophobic and glanced over at Alexander. He had become unusually quiet as they drove, and she wondered if he felt the change in mood also. Finally, the fields finally gave way to the woods and she began to feel better, and breathed a little more easily.

“I almost forgot to mention it. I had a call from a reporter at
The Standard
yesterday after I left you. They want to do a feature on the seminar,” Alexander cut across her thoughts.

“That’s fabulous, Alexander. I’m not surprised. We are a small city. It’s fairly easy to get a little media attention.

“Oh, that didn’t sound quite right, did it?” She put her hand to her mouth, worried Alexander would be offended or consider her comment to mean she thought his work was unimportant. A statement like that could have had serious consequences when she was married to Jonathan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that your seminar wasn’t newsworthy.”

“I understand what you meant,” Alexander said easily, and Ana breathed a sigh of relief. “And yes, it is….”

Alexander braked suddenly as something cut in front of the car. There was a “clunk, clunk” sound as the anti-lock brakes kicked in and slowed the powerful vehicle. “Whew. That was close. Did you see what it was?”

“No, I didn’t.” Ana found she had her hand to her mouth again, this time covering the urge to scream. She was glad she hadn’t. The incident had been startling, but she was sure it was just a deer…or something.

“It seemed too small for a deer,” Alexander echoed her thoughts. “The eyes were too close to the ground.”

“I don’t know what else it could be,” Ana said, hesitantly. Even though she was sure she knew exactly what—or who—had jumped in front of the car. “It’s a good thing this car has such excellent brakes,” she added.

“Hmm. Well, I’ll just have to keep my eyes on the road. Sorry if I scared you.”

“No, that’s okay. You’re obviously an excellent driver.”

“Well, let’s talk about something else. Take your mind off of close encounters,” he said, glancing over at her.

“You were just saying
The Standard
is going to give you a feature on the…”

“Did you see that?” Alexander cut in.

Another animal stood at the side of the road, eyes glowing as the headlights hit it.

“It isn’t a deer. It isn’t the right shape,” he added as the car continued to glide along the road at top speed. He looked over at her, as if to see how she reacted to his statement.

“There’s another one.” He pointed ahead to the drivers’ side of the road. “They seem to be watching us closely,” Alexander said as he glanced at her again. “You know what they are, of course. Wolves.”

“Wolves!” Ana tried to sound surprised. Yes, she knew they were wolves, and she knew exactly where they came from and why they were here. But old habits die hard. She had learned at an early age never to talk about what she was. About what everyone in the family was. Even though she was now almost certain her grandfather had been right that this man was like them, it was still difficult for her to admit what they both knew. “Yes, there are still a few in this area, and people do see them occasionally,” she prevaricated.