Witch Wolf (25 page)

I could smell the burning torches before we entered the clearing. A few people mingled here and there. I looked to my right at the stone throne. Sheila wasn't sitting there. I spotted Trevor mingling with two female wolves. Apparently, he spotted us as well. He practically skipped up to us.

"Hey, Rosalin." He looked at me. "Kassandra, right?"

I did my best not to glare, and I think I managed not to.

"Yeah."

"Sheila wants you to introduce her," he said, talking to Rosalin.

"Where is Sheila?" she asked.

"She's not here yet. Said she'd be a little late. She and Lukas had to take care of something."

I looked out over the array of werewolves and spotted Carver White's light hair. His blue eyes met mine, empty of any emotion. I gave him a dirty look.

Trevor said, "They probably got caught up working on the house. They've been doing some remodeling, did you hear?" He looked at Rosalin again. "Sheila's thinking about having our meetings there once the renovations are done." He smiled brightly.

"No. I hadn't heard." Rosalin sounded disinterested. Trevor's girlfriend was still werewolf-sitting.

Claire wouldn't be able to meet with the other wolves for a few more days, until the fever finally broke. For now she was on bed rest.

A guy walked up behind Trevor. He smiled at Rosalin and then me.

"Who's your friend?" His voice was a deep baritone. His hair was short and spiky. He was well built. The leather of his jacket thudded against his back when Trevor put half an arm around him.

"Lukas!" he exclaimed. "It's about time you guys showed up. Still remodeling?"

The big man laughed. "Sheila's got this idea that another wall needs to be knocked down to open the dining room up into the living room and den. We're not going to have any walls by the time she's done."

Trevor nodded as if he understood and then looked around. "Where's Sheila?"

"She'll be here soon," Lukas said and then looked at me. "You're Rosalin's friend?" he asked.

"The new wolf?"

New? I didn't know how I felt about being called new, but I shrugged. "Yeah."

"Lukas, this is Kassandra. Kassandra, this is Lukas, Sheila's brother."

He offered his palm and I took it, unthinking. He wrapped his hand around mine so tightly that it hurt.

I tore my hand away. "What the fuck, Lukas?"

He smiled, brightly, his blue gaze holding mine. "Just a test," he said, "a lesser wolf wouldn't have taken their hand away."

I slipped my hands in the pocket of my leather jacket. "I'm not very fond of tests," I stated in as cold a voice as I could muster.

Lukas gave a booming laugh, looking to Rosalin. "You didn't warn her, did you, Beta?"

Rosalin's eyes narrowed in contempt and Lukas's smile broadened.

"Warn me of what?" I asked, turning to her.

"They're going to test you. Maybe not today, but as they get to know you," she said, "and some of them, like Lukas here, will be complete assholes about it."

Lukas grinned.

A woman's voice growled out over the clearing.

"Lukas!"

Sheila Morris was sitting in her throne. I hadn't seen her enter the clearing.

I watched as Lukas's shoulders tensed. His eyes narrowed slightly. He turned that look on me.

"Well, Kassandra, you've been warned." His voice was a low whisper. He went to stand quietly behind his sister's throne.

Sheila Morris's blue eyes scanned the crowd of werewolves that had suddenly fallen silent.

Rosalin grabbed my elbow, and as she went down to her knees she pulled me with her.

I stifled the growl that was beginning to build. The clearing was suddenly hotter, like someone had lit a nearby fire. Rosalin's energy thrummed up my arm where she held my elbow, and I took a deep breath in through my mouth, tasting fur on my tongue.

"Step forward," Sheila said, her eyes meeting mine.

Rosalin let go of my elbow.

I didn't move. I stared very hard at the ground.

I heard her feet on the earth and felt the force of her energy a second before I felt her fingers bury in my hair. Sheila Morris grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head back. She lowered her pale face toward mine, close enough that I could feel her breath against my cheek.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I felt Carver watching.

I felt the wolf inside of me. I felt her anger. A low growl threatened to trickle from my lips. I swallowed.

"Why do you not step forward?" Sheila's blond hair fell around my face as she gazed down at me. I didn't like her that close and resisted the urge to push her away or break her hold.

I spoke very carefully, trying to control my temper, trying to control the heat in my words. "You are not my alpha," I said, "not yet."

Sheila's bright gaze widened as if it was the first time anyone had ever spoken against her. Her eyes narrowed a second later. "If you join our pack," she whispered, "I will be."

"If you're not nice to me," I whispered back, taking a breath in through my mouth, "why would I even want to join your pack?"

She let go of me so abruptly that I almost lost my balance and fell into Rosalin. I caught myself with a hand against the earthen floor.

I glared at Sheila Morris and she glared back.

Oh, I so did not like this bitch.

"Fair enough," she said, smiling. The smile didn't reach nor did it match the look in her eyes. No, there was a look there that said she'd enjoy punishing me for my bad behavior. I stifled a shudder. "Enjoy yourself, Kassandra," she said, and then turned, heading back to her stone throne. She announced out over the clearing, "My brothers and sisters of the Blackthorne Pack, there is a new wolf among us." She smiled darkly as her voice carried clear and unwavering.

"Welcome her as you would welcome any other wolf to the Blackthorne pack."

Why did I get the feeling she'd just literally thrown me to the wolves?

I continued to glare. If it wasn't for all of the evidence that pointed toward Carver, I would've so loved the opportunity to hunt Sheila Morris. You know those people you meet once and you know that no matter how many times you meet them, or how nice they try to act, you will never, ever, in your entire life, like them or fall for the good person act?

That's how I felt about Sheila Morris. I was beginning to understand why Lenorre didn't like her.

Everything about Sheila rubbed me the wrong way, and knowing that she was a cruel bitch made it ten times worse.

A meteor falling from the sky and striking her would've been icing on my cake.

I spotted Carver leaning up against one of the trees. He was by himself. So far, it seemed, the whole pack meeting was more of a weekly get-together. I hadn't bothered introducing myself to any of the other wolves, and aside from Rosalin and Trevor, none of them said anything to me.

Oh, I caught some of the looks. You know that look people give you upon first meeting, trying to figure you out? Yeah, I got a few of those. The Blackthorne Pack was a tight-knit group, and even though Sheila had told them to welcome me. . . they didn't, not really. I saw it in some of the glances from male and female alike. A few of the wolves cast their eyes down, but the others seemed to be warning me. I ignored it as best as I could, moving carefully around two female wolves who were talking about work.

I approached Carver.

His blue gaze flicked to me and then back toward the distance. He acted as if he couldn't be bothered, but he said, "I told you the truth. You don't have to stalk me, you know."

"Who said I was stalking you?" I asked.

He scoffed as a look of disgust fell over his features. "Why else would you be here?"

"What do you know about a man named Henry Walker?" I dropped my voice so that, over the happy-chatty werewolves, no one would hear us.

He looked at me. "Rosalin's brother?"

"That's the one," I said, stepping into him. "Where is he, Carver? I'm not fucking with you."

His voice dropped an octave. "How the fuck would I know?"

I closed my eyes, trying not to lose my temper. "Playing the innocent card isn't working in your favor, Carver." I met his blue gold gaze. "I know what you did. I have a witness," I said, then added, "James."

"James?" he looked genuinely perplexed. "Who the fuck is James?"

"The name you gave the woman in the park," I said, "or is that too hard for you to remember?"

Carver bared his teeth in a growl. He stepped into me, so that we were nearly touching. "I. . . did.

. . not. . . do. . . anything."

I stared up at him. "Then, Carver, I suggest you fucking prove it."

A look slid through his eyes, almost too quick to catch, but I caught it. Carver White was afraid.

"I can't."

Claire Delaine's words haunted my memory.

He used to work as a park ranger. He didn't specify which park when I asked him, just said one
of the parks in Colorado.

"How long have you lived in Oklahoma?" I asked.

"All of my life," he said.

"Shit," I said and with feeling.

I gave him a hard look. "Can you prove that?" But he didn't need to. I could feel it this time. He was telling the truth.
Fuck
.

"Yes," he said and for a moment, my mind faltered. I hesitated as I looked at the man in front of me.

If Carver was the murderer, why didn't he out to me to the pack as a woman that works with the police?

I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and walked past Carver and into the wooded area beyond.

Arthur picked up on the second ring. "Yeah, Kass. What is it?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"A favor?"

"Yes," I said, "I want you to run Carver's name. You remember Carver White?" I asked. "The man living in the trailer off Southeast Twenty-sixth?"

"Running it," he said. "What do you need?"

"How long has he lived in Oklahoma?"

"Is he a suspect, Kassandra?"

"I don't know, Arthur, just tell me."

I heard the sounds of computer keys clacking away. I kept walking deeper into the woods, farther away from the pack. Even if I knew it already, I wanted to make sure. If I ended up killing him for some reason, I wanted to know that I'd done all the legal research.

"Carver White has lived here," Arthur said, "since nineteen seventy-nine. That would be the year he was born," Arthur added. "No records of moving in or out of state. I've got a listing of old addresses, do you want them?"

I mentally cursed myself. "No. Any criminal background?" I asked.

"Nope," he said, then asked, "Is Carver White a suspect, Kassandra?"

"Not anymore," I said. "Thanks." I hung up.

If Carver White wasn't my suspect, then who was?

A twig snapped behind me and I spun on my heel in direction of the noise. No one was there.

Gee, me, easily spooked? Nah. I started heading back toward the clearing. I'd put enough distance between myself and the pack that I'd given myself a bit of time to make up an excuse as to my disappearance for the duration of a phone call.

I heard another noise behind me. I turned and someone's beefy fist connected with the side of my face hard enough that the canopy of trees spun and I caught myself on the hard ground with my forearms. I coughed, the pain searing through my bones and flesh. I spat, tasting blood. A heavy booted foot connected with my stomach; the air was knocked out of my lungs and I curled into a fetal position, trying to protect myself.

Something heavy connected with the back of my skull and the world went black.

I dreamed, and in the dream Lenorre looked at me with worried eyes. Her silver gaze held mine and a look of pity crossed her face.

I looked up into that startling pale face and my heart whimpered. I tried to breathe but couldn't take a deep enough breath. It felt like there was a knife in my side.

Lenorre touched my face with nimble fingers. "Kassandra," she whispered, "Kassandra, look at me."

My heart was pounding. I couldn't breathe. I had to breathe. I tried again and it was like inhaling fire into my lungs; the pain seared throughout my entire torso. There were tears of panic and pain burning at the corners of my eyes.

"Kassandra," she said again, but this time she lifted my face to hers. "You have to wake up."

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out. Lenorre reached out, circling her arm around my waist. I felt her energy unfurling like a serpent, wrapping around me, but instead of constricting, a cool breeze of power filled my lungs as she forced the air into me. I drew the breath of her power in a long ragged gasp and said, "I can't."

Her fingers were suddenly cold steel. "You can," she said, eyes growing misty with power, "and you will."

I woke, gasping around the pain in my side. I opened my eyes and blinked into the darkness. The darkness wasn't right. I could see in the dark, but this, this I could not see in. I panicked, trying to move and finding that my hands were bound behind my back.

My pulse quickened, pounding through my aching head like some great bell. I licked dry lips.

Think, Kassandra, think
. I took a very slow breath around the pain. Something was not right. No, something was terribly, horribly, fucking wrong.

Where the hell was I?

Someone whimpered, high and pitiful.

I froze. "Who's there?"

"I am." It was a man's voice that croaked from somewhere in the room. I turned my face in the direction of the voice.

"Who are you?" I asked, cautious.

He coughed. "Henry," he said. "My name is Henry."

Oh, Gods! I jerked at the leather binds, trying to break them. The leather creaked, weakening, but it did not break. Whoever had bound my hands had weaved several layers of thick leather from my wrist to my elbows. I didn't think they were attached to the chair, but I couldn't be sure. The knowledge made me aware of the fierce ache between my shoulder blades. I remembered Lenorre's face, her voice telling me to wake.

How long had I been unconscious?

"Miss?" Henry's voice croaked again.