Luck of the Wolf

The look in his eyes stopped her. They were piercing and sharp, as if he already knew everything that had happened to her since Franz’s terrible accident in New York.

“What is your name?” he asked again

She wanted to tell him. She wanted so desperately to trust someone, anyone, and he had not restrained her or tried to hurt her in any way. She could almost believe he meant her well.

But she had believed that before. Believed because she had to think that she would find the people Franz had said would welcome her in San Francisco. Her own kind. The ones who could answer all her questions. She had thought then that she couldn’t make it all the way to the West Coast without help, not in this strange and unknown country with its unfamiliar customs and terrible cities, and seething crowds of humans.

Still, she had made it here, though she had quickly learned that it was better to be alone than to rely on any stranger.

“I don’t need your help,” she said.

“The Hemmings?” he asked, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “The Phelans?” He shifted his weight on the chair. “Did you run away?”

Aria jerked up her chin. “I didn’t run away from anyone.”

“Ma chère, this bickering will do neither of us any good. I saved you from a terrible fate, and—” He stopped abruptly. “Did those men do anything that.” His gaze shifted to her waist, then below.

A great rush of heat made Aria feel as if the blood was boiling under her skin. “No,” she said. “They didn’t hurt me.” She looked away quickly, but not before she saw the relief on Cortland Renier’s handsome face.

“Thank God for that,” he said. “But you might not be so fortunate next time. That is why I have no intention of allowing you to return to the streets. Your people—”

“I don’t know my name!” she burst out.

The silence lasted so long that Aria had to look at him again. Renier was still frowning, but now she could see that he was bewildered, as well.

“How is that possible?” he asked.

Now that she had decided to lie, she had to do everything she could to make the lie seem true. And in the most important ways, it was. She slumped against the cushions. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“The drugs,” he said. “You are obviously not well.” He began to rise. “You must eat and rest. Tomorrow, when your mind is clear—”

“It wasn’t what they did to me,” she said. “I don’t remember anything.”

His eyes narrowed. “Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe, chère.”

“I don’t care what you believe. I don’t know where I came from.” She shivered for effect. “I remember the water. It was cold. And then I was walking, and I didn’t know anyone. I was hungry. A man said he would give me food and a place to get warm.”

“What did this man look like?”

“He was.” She screwed up her face. “I don’t know. He was one of them. They gave me something that made me sick. That’s all I remember.”

“Were you on a ship?” he asked. “Did you fall into the water?”

“I don’t know!” She buried her face in her hands. “Can’t you leave me alone?”

He got up. “I am afraid I cannot, chère,” he said. “If, as you claim, you remember nothing, you will face certain ruin if you return to the streets.”

“Why do you care?”

“I am not like those who took you. Any honorable man would feel bound to protect a woman in your position.”

“I don’t want protection,” she said, meeting his gaze. “No one will ever trick me again.”

“Your naiveté is touching, mademoiselle, but misguided.”

“I told you, I can make you let me go.”

“Ah.” He nodded with revolting smugness. “Forgive my discourtesy, but how do you propose to do that, chère?”

It was foolish, and she knew it. If there had been any other way, she would have taken it. But she had nearly lost herself after Franz’s death, forced to pretend to be human during the weeks that followed. She had almost forgotten what she really was. But once she showed Renier, he would never trouble her again.

Tossing the blanket aside, she began to pull off her nightgown. Renier started in surprise, and that gave her such satisfaction that she almost didn’t mind that he would see her naked.

The Change was as swift and easy as it had ever been. Aria felt new strength flowing into her body as the transformation drove the last effects of the poison out of her. Her senses grew so keen that the smells and sounds of the place were almost painful. In a handful of seconds she was no longer naked and vulnerable but powerful and unafraid.

She grinned, showing her teeth. No words were necessary, even if she could have spoken them. Renier would be just like the men who had seen her Change in New York. His shock would soon give way to horror. He would scramble away in terror, and she would knock down the door and make her escape.

But it didn’t happen as she planned. Renier didn’t try to run or collapse into a gibbering puddle. He was as cool and collected as he had been since she’d awoken, his head slightly cocked as if he found her performance amusing.

“Bravo,” he said. “You have made your point. Unfortunately.” He rose, turned his back to her, removed his coat and hung it over the back of the chair. He loosened his tie and removed the studs in his collar. His waistcoat came off, and then his shirt. His fine shiny boots and stockings followed, and finally his trousers.

Aria knew what was coming. She hadn’t guessed. She hadn’t met a single werewolf since the ship had landed in New York. When Renier Changed, it was like looking in a mirror for the first time in her life. His fur was auburn instead of gold, but he was everything she had imagined when she had come to San Francisco, so full of hope and dreams.

He was her kind.

Shaking out his fur, Renier sat on his haunches and stared into her eyes. She thought she might be able to dodge around him; he was bigger than she was, but her smaller size might make her faster.

If she’d had the will. If she hadn’t been paralyzed with wonder and a fearful, dangerous joy.

Renier wasn’t paralyzed. He Changed again while she hesitated, turned his back to her and put on his clothes. When he was fully dressed, he returned to his chair.

“So, chère,” he said softly. “You didn’t know I was loup-garou.”

Loup-garou. That was a word she hadn’t heard, but she could guess what it meant. She couldn’t very well deny that she hadn’t known that Cort was a werewolf.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Now,” he said, stretching out his legs again, “there can be no secrets between us.”

No secrets. Franz had promised that she would learn important things when they got to America, things only the wehrwölfe in San Francisco could tell her. He had even hinted that he himself knew more than he had ever let on.

But he had never had the chance to explain. He had taken all those secrets with him in death, and his special documents with them.

Maybe Cortland Renier could help her. If he knew about werewolves in San Francisco, it seemed possible that he would know about the Carantians, too. And he had mentioned families. Was that what Franz had meant? Was it possible her family wasn’t dead after all? Would she find cousins, uncles, brothers or sisters among those who waited for her?

She licked her lips. Franz had said the Carantian colonists in San Francisco were good people, honorable and steadfast. But he had said there were bad werewolves, too, just as there were bad humans. How was she to distinguish one from another, when she couldn’t even be sure when a man was human or not?

You don’t have to tell him everything, she thought. You can wait and see if he really means what he says.

Moving quickly, Aria grabbed the blanket in her jaws and raced to the door. She Changed, snatched up the blanket and wrapped it snugly around herself. Renier crossed his legs casually and smiled.