Possessed by a Wolf

Chapter 4

“Stop right there,” ordered the green-coated guard at the gate to the palace grounds. His scowling glare traveled from Faran’s shaggy blond head to his well-worn boots.

Faran stopped, suddenly wary. It was barely noon the next day, but already the palace guard had been replaced by soldiers from Vidon.

“Step back here, please,” said the guard.

He moved slowly, hiding the stiffness from his wound. According to Sam, he should still be in bed. Whatever. Faran needed to sort out his shiny new position as palace spy, and he was counting on Chloe to help him develop a cover. He’d left a message on her cell phone he hoped wasn’t cryptic to the point of nonsense.

“Identification?”

Wordlessly, Faran handed over his passport and waited patiently in the pale January sunlight, the distant rumble of midday traffic competing with the splash of the courtyard fountains. The formal gardens separated the Palace of Marcari from the street. The building itself rose in the middle distance, a confection of pointed turrets and carved stone balconies. It crossed his mind that Lexie would be there as well, but it was a big place. He’d just have to put on his big boy fur and keep to himself.

Never mind that his inner idiot yearned for another glimpse of her. Last night she’d been even more beautiful than he remembered, with that flame of hair tumbling down her back. He longed to bury his face in it and smell the perfume of her skin. Like that’s ever going to happen again.

The guard looked up, jerking him back to reality. “American. From California.”

Tourists wandered past, cameras clicking.

“Yes,” Faran replied, watching the man scrutinize his passport. Ironically, this was his real one. Faran had plenty of fakes he could have used, but he’d decided a simple approach would be the best.

“Hmm.” The man nervously brushed the double row of gold braid on his uniform. Despite himself, apprehension pooled in Faran’s stomach. Cops of any kind made him feel guilty—no doubt a knee-jerk reaction from his misspent youth.

“What is your business at the palace? There are no tours today.”

“I’m here to see Chloe Anderson.”

“Step over there while I confirm,” the guard said, pointing. Obediently, Faran moved to a spot beside the black iron fence that surrounded the palace grounds. There were three more Vidonese soldiers waiting there, weapons already drawn. Faran tensed, last night still fresh in his memory. The guards saw him flinch and gave an unpleasant laugh.

The gate guard said something that Faran didn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it made the one with the gun step closer, shoving the barrel inches away from Faran’s ear. “You’re not on the schedule.”

Faran laughed. “You’re going to shoot me for that? Seriously?”

Mocking wasn’t the best idea. The closest soldier spun Faran around and pushed him against the fence. Pain burned through Faran as the stitches pulled over his wound. The pat-down began, professional but thorough. Fury rose like an incoming tide, knotting Faran’s shoulders. He clenched his teeth against it, willing himself to be silent.

“I think you had better come with us,” said the guard who had frisked him. He took one of Faran’s arms, the other soldier grabbed the other, and they began walking toward the palace. “Captain Valois has a special place ready for unexpected visitors.”

Oh, goody, Faran thought as they led him away.

As it turned out, the Vidonese didn’t take Faran to the cells built into the—thankfully modernized—palace dungeon. Instead, they took him to a room that looked vaguely like an old-fashioned kitchen, complete with huge enamel sinks and a massive table in the middle. Benches ran along either wall, and they were full of other people. Faran glared around him. The wolf in him wanted freedom, dominance and revenge—not necessarily in that order—but the rest of him knew smart strategy was going to make or break his cover.

The benches were already full of people awaiting questioning. Faran sat in the one empty spot.

“The cells are already packed,” said a tall, thin man next to him. He spoke English with a cultured British accent that belonged on a polo field and not at all with his wardrobe. He had ink-black hair to his shoulders and was wearing a black T-shirt stenciled with Old Goths don’t die, they’re just Nevermore.

“Why are you here?” Faran asked, but he thought he knew. If the man wasn’t immortal, he should have been. No one but a vampire had the right to rock that much eyeliner.

“I am suspect because I am Maurice.” The man stretched out his arms as if addressing the entire world. His fingernails sparkled an electric blue.

“Is that so?”

The man shrugged. “They’re idiots. The captain isn’t—he’s real police—but he’s working with those green-coated fools. Eventually they’ll figure out my most criminal act was a diminished seventh chord during the final moments of my last concert. It was at the end of the tastiest riff, just hanging there with buckets of unresolved longing. Mwah.” He kissed his painted fingers like a satisfied chef. “Stole the hearts of my audience. Every single one.”

“Right,” Faran said, humoring the guy. Memory sparked—a clip from a recorded concert involving a light show, live horses and a snowstorm of glittering feathers. The guy was some kind of musician, if one used the term generously.

Faran didn’t have a chance to ask more questions. The door flung open and Chloe stormed in, her heels clicking on the tile. Two Vidonese officials trailed in her wake.

She took one look at the room and spun on the guards. “I was told my friend is being interrogated. Clearly, you’ve shown me to the wrong room.”

Faran got to his feet. “Chloe!”

She looked around a moment before spotting him. Her blue eyes widened. “Faran! I got your message. What are you doing here?”

“I need to confirm that I have an appointment with you.”

Chloe blinked, but caught on at once. She turned to the guards. “Let him go, he’s with me. Now where’s my photographer?”

An argument started, Chloe insistent and the guards defensive. Faran tried to eavesdrop, but Maurice tugged on his sleeve. “Do you know if they ever found the ring?” he asked.

“What ring?” Faran answered.

Maurice grinned a ragged smile. “The wedding ring. What did you think I was talking about, hobbits?”

Faran grimaced. “I’m so not going there.”

“It’s gone. Stolen.” The man waved a long-fingered hand. “That’s what this is about. The green-coats showed up at my rooms last night looking for it.”

“And they think you have it?”

“I’m not sure what they think. I was having a party. You know—a few musicians, a few fans. Some lush young lady in a school uniform. Don’t think she was in school though, if you take my meaning. The green-coats showed up with faces like the Grim Reaper in need of a laxative.”

“And?” Faran said.

“One of the guards was clearly unused to such sights of revelry. He fainted dead away.”

“A Knight of Vidon passed out on the job? That’s hard to believe.”

Maurice shrugged. “I can’t be responsible for the effect I have on common mortals.”

Faran couldn’t think of a reply to that one. Fortunately, Chloe’s argument with the guards ended right then. She grabbed Faran’s wrist and dragged him away—which felt odd since she was more than a foot shorter.

“This is a nightmare,” she murmured. “They think Lexie stole Amelie’s wedding band.”

“They think everybody stole the ring,” he replied, gesturing to himself and Maurice.

“You’ll be fine,” Chloe replied, sounding exasperated. “The guards have nothing concrete on you or Maurice. They’re just making a big show so they look like they’re doing something. But Captain Valois is focused on Lexie because she was standing right next to the case when it vanished. It’s circumstantial, but he counts that as a real lead. I just found out he’s taken her for questioning. He’s had her for hours.”

“What?” Faran snarled. Lexie was many things—some of which made him furious—but she was no thief. “Is she all right?”

“They won’t let me see her.” Chloe’s blue eyes were dark with worry. “Thank heavens you’re here. They’ve sent Sam out of the city.”

“You know Lexie and I aren’t together, right?”

“What does that matter?” Chloe demanded. “She saved your life last night.”

Chloe had a point, but that didn’t make things any less awkward. He folded his arms. “Where are they holding her?”

Silently, Chloe pointed to a door at the end of the hall.

He flexed his fingers, wishing they were claws. “Have they allowed her to call a lawyer?”

“It doesn’t work like that in Marcari. You know that.”

But what he knew and what he demanded for Lexie weren’t the same thing. His vision went fuzzy around the edges as he went from anger to fury. Faran was storming down the hall before he realized it.

Within moments, he heard Chloe’s voice raised in another argument. Clearly, she was running interference with the guards and buying him time. She might have been Lexie’s best friend, but Faran owed her a long list of favors, too.

One of the guards called after Faran, ordering him to stop, but he blew through the command as if it was no more than a wisp of steam. There were a few things the world didn’t understand about werewolves. They didn’t need the moon to change. They were a different species, not victims of a disease caught from a bite. And they were insanely loyal when the occasion demanded it.

The door was locked but he wrenched the handle. It made a sick crunch and ping and then the door swung open. Lexie was sitting alone at the table, her head in her hands. She looked up, her hazel eyes widening as she saw him. “Faran!”

His chest constricted. She was alone and forlorn, the only vibrant thing in the dead room. He crossed the room in two steps, stopping on the other side of the table from her. “Time to go.”

Her hands settled on the table, looking pale against the dark wood. “What are you talking about? Captain Valois is holding me for questioning.”

He knew Valois. A good cop, but this time he had the wrong suspect. “You don’t belong in custody. I won’t have it.” A tiny voice inside Faran whispered that he was losing it. He wavered a moment, realizing that the wolf in him had bounded past some invisible line of good sense. Lexie brought that out in him as surely as if she short-circuited his brain. But then he decided he didn’t care.

She opened and closed her mouth before sound came out. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“Why not? You need help.”

She held up her hands, palms out. She looked appalled. “You’ve got to leave. If you break me out, you’re just digging us both in deeper.”

“Don’t you want to get out of here?” He leaned across the table. She pulled back. Whatever softness he thought he’d seen in her when they’d met in the garden was gone. Her fingers were trembling. He could scent fear on her, sharp and sour. His own nerves coiled, unnaturally alert. Fear meant prey. “Come with me.”

“Think, Faran.” Her expression was fierce, but tears glinted in her eyes, silvery in the hard light of the room. He had always loved her combination of bravado and vulnerability—but at times like this, her stubborn refusal to take the easy way out drove him crazy. She lifted her chin. “Cooperating is my best chance for a clean getaway.”

She was probably right, and that made her refusal sting all the harder. Getaway. She was already planning to leave him behind. Again. Frustration bit like fangs. He slammed the flat on his hand on the table, making her jump.

“Stop it!” she protested. She was breathing hard, a pink flush bright on her cheekbones. “You’re not going to bully me. Not ever.”

He instantly felt worse. She’d been terrified of him ever since he’d saved her that night in the alley. He didn’t understand. He’d never hurt her. Ever. “Your solution is to run. I want to make it so that you don’t need to run ever again.”

“That’s not your decision!” Her voice cracked, but there was anger there as well as fear. “And you’re not being logical.”

But he was far past rational thought. The ground seemed to drop away under his feet, and suddenly he was back in Paris, begging her to stay. “How do you expect me to help you if you keep pushing me away?”

She took one last deep breath. It came out on a sigh. “I didn’t ask for your help. I can clear my own name. Or maybe running is what I want, but I’ll manage it on my own.”

And there was the rejection again. You wrote me off as a freak and cut your losses. “Sorry I stopped to care.”

Lexie didn’t answer. Instead, she looked up, her eyes shifting to a point behind Faran. He whirled, past and present blurring in his head. And then the present hit him like a brick.

Captain Valois was in the doorway, a scowl on his face. Odd, but the captain looked shorter from this vantage point. Faran had only ever seen him when in wolf form.

“What happened here?” Valois asked, his voice mild. Faran wasn’t fooled. There was a core of steel in that softness.

He didn’t care. “The door was in my way.”

Valois’s eyebrows rose.

Chloe appeared at the captain’s elbow, linking her arm around Valois’s as if they were very old friends. Faran knew it was a trick she used to calm her clients when they were on the edge of a bridal meltdown. “They’re fighting,” she said in a stage whisper. “Like wild dogs.”

“What about?” The captain looked mildly interested.

“It’s personal,” Faran and Lexie said almost at once. She shot him a sour look.

“Is that so?”

“It’s domestic,” Faran said with some annoyance. The word didn’t sit well on a wolf.

“Sad when a marriage goes like this,” Chloe added, clearly improvising.

Lexie made a strangled sound.

“What’s your name, sir?” Valois asked.

“Faran Kenyon.”

“What’s your business in the palace?”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Faran’s brain froze. He’d lied his way in and out of hostage takings, terrorist cells and crime dens, but Lexie had flash-frozen his brain. “I had to see her,” he said with asperity.

“They work together, too,” Chloe volunteered. “He’s her assistant and her husband. Always a bad combination.”

Faran’s eyes met Lexie’s. For the first time in years, they were in complete accord: Chloe was out of her mind.

Valois gave a slow nod. “You should leave, Mr. Kenyon, and I suggest you do it quickly.”

Faran barely stifled a growl.

“But don’t go far,” Valois added. “I’ll need to speak with you later.”

Faran took a last look at Lexie. “I won’t be far. I’ll come if you need me.”

“Go,” she said. “Just go.”

Even now, she didn’t want him. Especially now, when he’d let the wolf get the better of him. With a curse, Faran pushed his way from the room.

Chapter 5

“The ring isn’t in your chamber,” said Valois. “It is not in your belongings. So where did you put it?”

Lexie was exhausted, but sat with her spine straight and her don’t-mess-with-me face intact. Her watch said it was just after two o’clock, but it felt as if she’d been in that tiny, windowless room for days. She was bored with the grimy walls, the scarred tabletop and the gritty floor. She’d never thought it was possible to be bored and scared at once. Added to that was guilt. Faran had pushed her buttons and she’d lashed out. He’d been trying to help and deserved better than that. If Valois ever let her go, she’d try to apologize.

“I don’t have the ring,” she said. “I never took it. I don’t know who did.”

“Is that right?” Valois tapped his chin with his forefinger. “And yet I wonder about a woman such as you, one who grew up in what might be considered luxury, and now lives more or less out of a suitcase. With all those advantages in childhood, why is it that you work and live like a nomad, when you don’t truly need to work at all?”

Lexie stiffened. “I choose to work. I earn my own living in my own way. I don’t need to live off anyone else.”

“What does your family think of that?”

“I’ve never asked. They don’t control me anymore.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “You don’t miss them?”

“No.” She tried to say it without venom. Her brother had been the golden child, as vicious as he was perfect. They had both been restless, intense children, but he’d channeled his unsettled energy in dark ways. Her mother had doted on him, even after his death. “We’re not close.”

Valois didn’t waver, although he sat back with a weary air. His fingers twitched against the tabletop, though his expression was exactly the same as it had been when he’d knocked on her door early that morning. “Tell me about your husband. When we checked your background in preparation for your employment here, your marriage was not mentioned.”

Lexie’s mouth felt sticky with stress and bad coffee, as if she’d been drinking glue. He’d grilled her over and over about every minute detail of the evening, but he hadn’t touched this topic yet. Did that mean he had a fresh layer of hell in store for Mr. and Mrs. Werewolf? What the blazes had Chloe been thinking, coming up with this story? And why?

She sighed. “What about him?”

For a moment Valois almost looked amused. “He seems very protective.”

“He is.” That much at least was true.

“The front gate scanned his passport. I asked them to do a little digging just now.” Valois examined his nails. “There wasn’t much to find at first glance. No mansions or art schools like you had.”

“No.”

“In fact, there is little information about his early years. It is almost as if he had no childhood. Can you explain that?”

“He doesn’t talk about his childhood much.” And that would be the first clue he’s different. His secrecy should have rung an alarm. “I don’t think he had a happy youth. Not that it’s any of your business.”

For the first time, a flicker of interest crossed the policeman’s eyes. “From your tone it seems you are just as protective of him.”

“So?”

“You’re not exactly inseparable. No evidence of a common address. No common name.”

“I’m a fashion photographer. My work keeps me on the move.” The room felt as if it was growing smaller. Sweat trickled down the small of her back.

Valois flicked his fingers dismissively, as if suddenly changing his mind. “Perhaps you are telling the truth. There was an application for a marriage license in Paris some years ago. There is every chance that none of this is relevant.”