The Werewolf's Wife

“Sorry.” Say the devil’s name three times, and—look out. “Something’s wrong, Abigail, and I’m getting the feeling it has nothing to do with your long-forgotten husband showing up on your doorstep.”

She flashed him a gaze that told him she would have never put such a label to him. Nor would he. Why had he said that? He shouldn’t claim a title he’d never earned.

Something about standing in her presence was loosening his resolve to get the divorce papers signed and get out of Dodge. Something that he saw reflected as sadness in her gorgeous eyes. He’d forgotten her beauty. Her compelling presence. Those sexy bow lips. He was a real pushover for women in distress, and had the scars to prove it.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Something is wrong.” She pushed shaky fingers through the thick spill of hair that beamed blue within the black as the cruel winter sun shone through it. He’d not remembered its brilliance or that it looked so liquid, as if he could swim in it. “The worst wrong of all wrongs, that’s all.”

“Then this can wait.” He tapped his coat where he’d tucked the divorce papers.

“No, I …” She stopped before him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes unwilling to meet his. Everything about her was tense and wrapped up and not the normal Abigail that he barely knew.

Every instinctual alert inside him screamed that the woman was in trouble.

Then suddenly she locked onto his gaze. Her eyes twinkled, and an eyebrow lifted, as if a devious plot had just hatched. “You’re about the most honorable werewolf in the area. You’re strong and smart.”

“That remains to be seen. My pack is dwindling faster than you can howl at the moon. I wouldn’t say that makes me the smartest pack leader around.”

“You defended the vampires by taking out your own pack principal.”

He looked down and aside, his eyes tracking the water puddles from his boots. He didn’t need to be reminded of what he’d done to win his position, but no wolf in the area would let him forget it. Opinions on his honor and smartness varied wildly, from doing the right thing, to being a traitor to his breed.

He’d only done what was necessary.

“You’re like some kind of chivalrous knight or something,” she continued with the weird praise. “I’ve seen warriors like you in the sixteenth century. You ooze nobility and valor, Ridge. And damn, you are looking fine lately. You work out?”

The comments felt so wrong coming from a known sneaky witch who had taken joy in the painful act of shackling the magic of a vampire tribe leader not months ago. “What are you getting at?”

She pressed her fingers over his jacket. The papers beneath crinkled. Her pale pink lips parted. Sexy, thick lips that glinted with gloss. Had those delicious lips ever kissed him? His memory was a little fuzzy on all the details from Vegas.

Ridge hoped she couldn’t hear the pound of his heart over the crinkling of the paper, because right now it beat a thunderous pace at her closeness. He was two parts fearful of her power and two parts ready to shove her against the wall and kiss her in a way he’d never gotten to kiss her in Vegas.

Why were the details so lacking?

“You want me to sign the divorce papers?” she asked with a forced tone of sweetness. Ridge’s red alert prickled the hairs at the base of his neck. What was she playing at?

“That was my objective in setting foot on your property and risking further damage to my delicates.”

“Your delicates?”

“You put a damned spell on me that night in Vegas, Abigail. Because of it, I am now unable to have kids.”

She cast a wondering gaze over his face, not meeting his eyes. He wanted that connection, to look into her and read her sincerity, if it existed.

“I did no such thing. Not on purpose.” She looked aside, then as if an afterthought added, “Hell, I’m sorry. But you deserved it for freaking me like that.”

“I deserved emasculation?”

“I did no such thing!”

“Close. So freaking close. I always knew you were a bad bit of witch, but that was just mean, Abigail.”

“You think I’m bad?”

He rubbed his abdomen and nodded. “Yes.”

A tiny smirk of satisfaction curled her kissable lips. She was pleased with his assessment of her, obviously.

Creased pink slacks sat low on her hips and her short sweater revealed a slice of taut belly. The slender rim of fur at her wrists taunted him with a tease of softness, promising passion-laden kisses and all the naughty things he’d imagined doing with her over the years.

Yes, he’d had a few dreams.

Ridge averted his gaze. He did not find the witch attractive. Though he felt sure the sex had been great, it was only a hopeful memory. He was a fool to believe it had been anything more than a stupid night of drunken folly. Damn that vodka!

He tugged out the papers from his coat and waved them before her.

“Okay, okay!” She paced before the counter, twirling a finger about the end of a luscious twist of black hair. “You want something from me? First you have to give something to me.”

He had not expected this visit to be easy.

“What’s your price, witch?”

Pressing her hands to the counter and tensing her jaw, she seemed to struggle for a moment with what she would next say, and then, “Your help. I need the help of a noble warrior.”

He shook his head, chuckling at the ridiculous request. “You’ve been watching too many movies.”

“I rarely watch television. I don’t need to. I’ve seen the real thing. And you are the real thing, Ridge. I don’t have time to explain, because the clock is ticking and forty-eight hours is now closer to forty-seven.”

“Abigail, you’re beginning to sound a little crazy.”

“Am I?” Her vibrant blue eyes finally met his, and he noticed they were bloodshot, as if she’d been crying. That wasn’t the truth he’d been hoping to see there.

“What’s wrong, Abigail? Talk to me.”

“I am talking to you. I’ll sign the papers as soon as you help me locate a vampire who has been kidnapped for blood sport by a local pack.”

He whistled and stepped back a few paces. Mention of the blood sport always brought up his defenses. “You are not serious.”

“Deadly.”

“That’s right, you’re the grand high poobah on the Council for werewolf and vampire relations. Since when does the Council take an active role in rescuing vampires from the blood sport? They normally observe and suggest. I can’t imagine they’d step in to personally act on the behalf of one missing vampire.”

“They won’t, and wouldn’t conceive of taking an active role. The Council can’t know about this. Please, Ridge, I need your expertise. You’re familiar with all the packs in the state. Which ones are involved in blood sport?”

None of them. He hoped.

“I … can’t do this.”