Wolf Fever

Chapter 11

AFTER GETTING DARIEN’S APPROVAL TO BE CAROL’S bodyguard, Ryan returned home to grab a few days’ changes of clothes and called on his sub-leader to watch the pack and his sister and to take over mayoral duties as his assistant mayor until he returned.

But his sister was giving him major heartburn. If he hadn’t figured that she’d be more trouble if he took her with him, he’d have left her at the B&B in Silver Town so she would be close by and he could check on her periodically. But her nursery sales were skyrocketing with the advent of spring, and he knew she wouldn’t want to leave her business for anything.

“Chester Ryan McKinley,” Rosalind scolded, as she continued to decorate the fireplace mantel in the living room with greenery, the fragrance of burning lilac candles scenting the air. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m trying to discuss this with you.”

Ryan stopped in mid-stride and turned to frown at his sister, the only one in his pack who could get away with talking to him like that, but only in the privacy of his home—and she damn well knew it. “The discussion is over.”

“Why? You speak about that woman constantly. You can’t get over how she discovered who the murderer was, when you were investigating the crime just fine with your tried and true scientific methods. Why can’t you believe she’s psychic?

“According to Bertha, the owner of that bed and breakfast you stayed at, you not only went to the games to watch Carol but to the gathering and took her on a date. Now you’re going to be her bodyguard? Admit that you feel something for her. Besides, you can use her on that case you can’t solve.”

“You remember the last time you insisted I use a psychic? What a disaster that was?”

Rosalind’s lips and amber eyes smiled. “All right. So Madame Dulaney was a bona fide fraud. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” His voice rose although he meant to curb his temper, but the false psychic could have cost him everything. “Hell, if I hadn’t agreed to go out with Bennagin’s spoiled-rotten daughter, he would have sued me for everything we own.”

“Your business insurance would have covered it.”

He gave her a scathing look.

She shrugged. “Besides, Miss Hoity-Toity-I’m-Owed-Everything-Under-the-Sun soon gave up on wanting to hang around you. Three dates, and she was glad to get rid of you. You sure know how to make a girl feel unappreciated. Well, in her case, loathed.”

“What did you want me to do? Turn her and make her my mate?” He shook his head at the horrible notion.

Rosaline smiled a little. “No. Then she would have been related to me. But from everything you’ve told me about Carol Wood, this woman’s the real deal.”

“I explained to you that she most likely overheard conversations that led her to the evidence. Nothing to do with psychic predictions. Besides, I don’t need a psychic to tell me that Eleanor’s husband isn’t seeing anyone behind her back. That the woman is paranoid as usual.”

“What about when you get another case? Carol could assist you.” Rosalind tied another pink satin bow on the cedar garland. “You could help me trim for spring, you know.”

“I’m all thumbs when it comes to decorating,” he said.

Her eyes were downcast, and Rosalind’s playful expression had faded. Ryan let out his breath in defeat. He guessed Rosalind missed their mother helping her decorate for the different seasons. He stalked over to the table where cut flowers from her greenhouse sat in crystal vases and a single sprig of mistletoe sat amongst them. He raised a brow.

Rosalind tried to hide a smile. “Why, how’d that get in with my spring greenery? Carol’s a red now. Rare red. Rare female at the right age for mating. Unless you aren’t interested in her because she’s newly turned. But having a newly turned mate offers advantages. You’d be in charge of her, show her the ways of our people, have someone you could mold to your own liking. Seems to me she’d suit your disposition perfectly.”

Ryan snorted. “The woman is not in the least bit biddable.”

That comment brought a real smile to his sister’s lips. She’d like him having a cantankerous mate, he suspected. And hell, his sister and his mate would most likely bond in womanly fashion and gang up on him. Not that he couldn’t deal with them, but he really didn’t need the added aggravation.

He put the mistletoe down on the coffee table and then grabbed a frilly lace bow and fumbled to tie it to the garland. Decorating was a woman’s job. He glanced at the fireplace. The flames blazed hot on this chilly spring night, and wood was already stacked to the hilt in a copper box nearby.

“You’ve chopped enough firewood to keep us warm for the next three years. Which brings me to another point. You only split wood when something’s bothering you. And lately only when Carol Wood’s name comes up in the discussion. Suddenly you’re out chopping down trees again.” She raised a brow.

He ignored her and grabbed another frilly pink bow off the table. His sister was a gardener extraordinaire. When did she become a psychologist in her spare time?

Psychologist… hell, the psychiatrist. Dr. Metzger. The one who’d given Carol so much grief. As soon as he had a chance, he was doing a little research into her story. Problem was that he might not be able to verify that the doctor’s wife had died after Carol had told the doctor her vision, unless Ryan spoke with the psychiatrist and could verify the date. Even then, the doctor probably wouldn’t tell him anything about Carol’s session because of patient confidentiality.

Her mother! But would her mother tell him anything? Only one way to find out.

“I’ve been talking to you, and you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Rosalind wove a string of pearls through the garland. “If you put off going after her—and I don’t mean just being her babysitter—Darien Silver will surely convince her to mate with one of his eligible and very willing bachelors. I wouldn’t wait too long. If you want her—”

“Enough, Rosalind! I have no idea where you’ve come up with such nonsense. When have I even hinted I was interested in the woman, except to learn the truth of how she came to know what she did?”

Rosalind pointed with her elbow at the coffee table and continued to wrap the string of pearls around the garland. “In that notebook, you have photos of her.”

“I added photos of many of Darien’s people while I was investigating who might have been involved in the crime.”

Rosalind finished with the pearls, walked back over to the table, flipped open the notebook, and pointed accusingly at the picture of Carol sitting on top—just where he’d left it.

“Right, but why do you have seven photos of Carol? You’ve filed away all the rest of your papers concerning the case, so why are her pictures still out? You said from the start that you didn’t believe she was a suspect.”

“Hell,” he muttered under his breath. Rosalind would be the one to make a mountain out of a ripple in the ground. “The case isn’t closed until I learn how she knew of the evidence that confirmed the murderer’s identity.”

Her eyes round, Rosalind stared at him. “You think she’s a co-conspirator? Guilty of taking part in the murder?”

“No. Of course not. She was human at the time. They wouldn’t have involved her. But she either wittingly or unwittingly overheard the conversation, and I’d like to know which, for the record.”

“Hmm, then why don’t you prove it once and for all? Have her work with you on a case, and let her help you solve it. What if she’s not psychic but just very good at discovering leads, like you are? Maybe if you gave this woman half a chance…” His sister had a way of sounding facetious when it suited her.

“Even if I wanted to, I doubt her pack leader would agree with my mating her.” That slipped out before he had a chance to stop his words. Hell. The truth of the matter was that if he wanted her and she was mutually agreeable, no one would be an obstacle in their match.

Rosalind’s lips parted, and then she quickly smiled.

He let out his breath in exasperation. He refused to openly admit to Rosalind that the petite, blue-eyed blonde was on his mind twenty-four-seven. So much so that he couldn’t concentrate on any P.I. case, nor could he keep a close handle on being mayor of Green Valley and pack leader. Ryan couldn’t pinpoint what got to him about her the most. Yeah, she was a looker, but he wouldn’t have noticed if not for all the attention she had received for solving the murder case through sharing her psychic knowledge.

That wasn’t true, either. Her looks had definitely caught his eye. But the way she tried to protect Lelandi from being turned, not knowing she was already a lupus garou from birth, and Carol’s strength in not falling apart during the battle that could have killed her—that she didn’t run away in stark terror—those attributes kept nagging at him.

“You won’t know if Darien doesn’t agree to your mating her until you try. You can’t deny it, Ryan. You can’t quit looking at those photos, and now you’ve offered to be her bodyguard? But of course she suggested it, which to me sounds like she’s in as deep as you are in this… situation. You can’t disagree with me that you’re dying to be with her longer. Oh sure, you’ve tried to appear as though you are leisurely getting ready to leave, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this seriously unsettled and distracted over anything. Or anyone.”

Ryan shook his head and stalked toward the back door. The red who was skulking around Darien’s place needed to be caught and confronted. In the meantime, Carol and Lelandi needed to be protected. That was all.

“If you cut any more wood, we will no longer have a forest,” Rosalind teased.

Ryan shoved the door open and slammed it closed behind him, then stared at the pile of wood stacked as high as the two-story potting shed. Rosalind was right. As much as he hated admitting it. They had enough firewood for three winters at least.

Fine. He’d take a run on the wild side. Clear his thoughts on a long jog through the woods now shivering in a northerly breeze before he took off for Silver Town.

Ryan stalked to the shed. Inside, the aroma of wet peat earth filled the air, while flowers erupted from cold-hardy bulbs in rectangular planters and winter-tender plants snuggled close together on top of plant heating mats. The shed was Rosalind’s “baby” nursery, and she defended the place with wolfish fierceness—nothing could be changed without her permission.

Not that he minded. He was glad she had an occupation she so thoroughly enjoyed and that kept her out of his business—for the most part—and out of trouble. He quickly removed his shirt, boots, socks, and jeans, and then deposited them on a small wooden bench. The brisk cold chilled him to the bone. Which helped to freeze his thoughts of Carol Wood and her inquisitive blue eyes.

Then, his muscles heated with the change, stretching and accommodating the shift swiftly until he was standing on all four paws, the double coat of fur warming him better than any human-made coat could.

The shorter, fine fuzzy undercoat trapped a layer of warm air next to his skin, while the longer, coarse guard hairs repelled any hint of frost or snow or rain. Long tufts of hair growing between the pads of his feet gave him a good grip as he raced across the thin sheen of ice already covering the back patio while circling the place to make sure Rosalind would be all right. Although his deputy had told him he’d hang around to check on her two or three times a day.

Hell, Ryan had enough work to do here, and none of it included taking on the problems of a newly turned female. So why was he really bound for Darien Silver’s territory after a quick run in his wolf coat?

Ryan cursed his unwanted desire to be with the woman again, but after taking a run on the wild side and ensuring that everything was quiet around his place, he didn’t feel any more settled. He changed in the garden shed, returned to the house, and gave his sister a hug with a few choice words of instruction. She eagerly agreed to follow them, which made him suspect she wouldn’t. Then he hurried to his truck.

Darien had dictated that he sleep in the sunroom on a sofa bed. How was Ryan going to protect Carol if he slept on the other side of the house?

He’d have to twist the rules. His job—his way.

“Just who’s paying Ryan to be Carol’s bodyguard?” Darien asked Lelandi as he paced across the master bedroom down the hall. Carol heard a hint of wry humor in his tone as she pulled off her clothes in the private bathroom adjoining her guestroom.

Carol hated that her sense of hearing was so good that she could make out every word—muffled but still audible if they spoke loud enough. She figured most werewolves tuned out conversations they didn’t want to listen to. But she wasn’t able to do that yet, especially when the conversation was about her. That made her feel as though she was another Silva, overhearing exchanges that she wasn’t meant to hear.

“Darien, Carol is willing to pay for his services, but it’s our place to do so since the red in our territory most likely was from my old pack. So my responsibility, which means yours.”

“We don’t need an outsider bodyguard,” Darien grouched. Now he sounded annoyed. “What is it with McKinley anyway? He’s acting mayor of Green Valley, now full-time active pack leader, and he’s still haunting our town.”

“He’s got a thing for Carol. Surely you see that as well as anyone here does.”

Darien growled.

“What if he’s the right one for her? I mean, Jake or Tom could be, but they haven’t shown anything more than brotherly affection for her. Tom’s more protective and Jake delights in teasing her, yet he’d protect her with his life. But Ryan… well, you saw the way he danced with her. And before that, the way he came to her rescue when Mervin tackled her. I didn’t get to see it, but Silva said they shared some kiss outside by the house. You know how she is. She’s an alpha. She needs someone who’s strong of character like she is. Ryan would make a good match.”

“We have plenty of pack members who would make her a good match. An alpha werewolf doesn’t have to have an alpha mate. For all we know, she might need a man that she can boss around.” The floor creaked some more with his pacing. “All right, so McKinley comes here to fortify our forces, but it irritates the hell out of me that he thinks our men can’t protect her. I’m only allowing this because you wish it.”

No more words were spoken. No need to eavesdrop any longer.

Carol started the shower and turned on some New Age music. Next would come the lovemaking. At least the shower and music drowned out the moans and groans.

Carol climbed into the shower and closed her eyes as the hot water sluiced over her skin. Was Lelandi right in thinking Ryan was truly interested in her? The sexual interest was there, that was for sure. Every time she got close to him, her blood sizzled. Her heart pounded at an increased tempo.

But it wasn’t just her response to him. His actions triggered her hormones to skip around in an excited frenzy. The way he observed her—although she had to remind herself he was probably trying to figure her out—and the way his gaze filled with admiration at times, lust at others, she knew she had more of an effect on him than he was letting on.

Even if they weren’t a match, she was determined to prove to him, while he served as her bodyguard, that her psychic abilities were real. She shouldn’t have cared if he believed her or not. She imagined that more than half of the world’s population didn’t have faith in such things. But she did care that he believed. That he knew she had been honest with him.

She grabbed the container of liquid body soap and squeezed some into her hand. Then she slid the pearl-like soap over her shoulders, breasts, and stomach.

A distinctive thump sounded nearby, muffled by the water rushing in a heavy spray out of the showerhead. Darien dropping a boot on his bedroom floor? It sounded like it had come from her guestroom, though. She listened intently but didn’t hear anything further except for the continued stream of water shlushing out of the showerhead and the mystical New Age rhythm of drumbeats, flutes, and pipe whistles. Had to have been Darien or Lelandi making a noise. Or just her imagination.

She ran shampoo through her hair and over her face, the scent of peaches filling her nostrils with the sweet, refreshing fragrance. Her fingers swept the silky soap down her arms.

After that, everything happened so quickly that it was a blur. The rings of the shower curtain slid aside. The cooler air from the bathroom hit her wet skin. The smell of the onions and garlic the intruder had eaten permeated the air, right before a painful jab penetrated her arm. Her eyes and mouth shot open. Soap burned her eyes, tears forming instantly to wash away the stinging but further blurring her vision. A heavy hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her scream.

Heat quickly spread through her blood, and she felt as if she were slipping into nothingness. The hot water still ran over her, her eyes burning, and whispered words penetrating the darkness as someone held her tight. The smell of man and woods, of sweat and fear clouded her senses.

“Asleep. Let’s get her out of here before we get caught,” the man said in a rush, his voice hushed.

She didn’t recognize his harsh and concerned voice. Her last thought was to wonder where her bodyguard was when she needed him so badly. Damn Darien for forcing Ryan to sleep in the sunroom on the other side of the house. If he’d even returned from Green Valley to watch over her yet. But she’d heard Lelandi arguing with Darien once they’d returned home from the tavern. Heard that Darien hadn’t wanted Ryan in the same room with her. That it would stir up the other bachelor males. That it would encourage Ryan to want Carol for a mate.

Once they discovered she was missing, it would be too late.

She would have fought her kidnappers’ confinement, if she could have oriented herself in this new world. But all she saw was blackness, no wolf’s vision here. And all she felt was numbness spreading through every inch of her body. Huffing and puffing and grunting, not her own, filled her ears.

A jolt to her body and an abrupt change from cool air to frigid air startled her. Her wet, soapy body grew goose bumps as a chilly breeze whipped across her sticky, water-soaked hair, still coated in shampoo, and her naked skin. The biting cold encased her as silky red hair floated over her face. Her eyes filled with tears and soap, she briefly saw a blurry image of amber eyes narrowed as they looked down at her—a concerned-looking man with the start of a scraggily beard. Then she succumbed to a tiredness from which she couldn’t free herself. Vaguely, it was as if she was seeing the vision she’d witnessed in Ryan’s truck outside the tavern all over again. Only the cold was too real.

She floated, was jostled, and heard the crunching of footsteps in the dark and the heavy breathing and hard-charging heartbeats that revealed her kidnappers’ panic. One of the men held her tight against his body, his chest covered in a padded vest that made him feel cuddly, not hard and strong. Clothed in flannel, his arms also felt soft.

She wanted to bury herself deeply in every part of him that felt warm wherever he touched her. His warmth helped to heat her body, but she felt as limp as a chilled, soaked noodle. She tried to open her eyes to get a better look at the man, but they stung from the soap and she barely opened them. Her eyes were too blurry with tears for her to see anything. Her head felt empty and floated separately from her body.

Then it hit her—although she wasn’t sure whether it was a vision of something to come or a nightmare, or a little of both. She couldn’t tell as her mind slipped into another reality induced by the drug.

Jake paced in his wolf form through the great room after a jaunt in the night with several others. Only he hadn’t changed back. None of them had changed back. Carol watched helplessly. Lelandi’s green eyes pleaded with her to do something. Anything. But what could Carol do? Just warn their kind not to shift. And look at how well that had worked! Damn it!

Then the world faded into something else. A room she’d never seen before came into view. A big-screen TV clung to the wall. And the walls: the upper half-sunny and lighted with fan-shaped brass sconces to give the illusion of light, and the lower half covered in light oak paneling. The room had no windows. No windows, as if buried in the bowels of the earth.

Rich brown leather sofas and a light brown rug added to the earthy tones. A man’s room, she thought. But something wasn’t right. Bright lights from another room intruded on the soft lighting in this one. With the greatest apprehension, she moved without moving toward the doorway bathed in brilliant white.

Someone was in there. Shadows crossed the doorway briefly as someone moved about, blocking the light marginally. She had to see into the room. Had to see who the someone was.

Two shots rang out.

“Hey!” From a great distance, Sam shattered the future world Carol was in. Instantly her thoughts became her own again, except that she couldn’t remember what had happened, where she was, or what she was doing. Shots had been fired. Hadn’t they?

The cold shook her from the fogginess—the shower, the soap, the kidnappers! She opened her mouth to speak, to call out, to get Sam’s attention.

Shots rang out. Shots fired from close by. From the kidnappers. At Sam.

The acrid smell of gun smoke drifted to her.

Her mouth snapped shut. Silver bullets? She couldn’t be the cause of Sam’s death. Best to let the villains take her away.

“Raise the alarm!” Sam shouted.

The man carrying her swore under his breath and tightened his hold on her, stumbling at a slightly faster pace.

“What the hell’s happening?” Darien asked, growing closer to Sam’s voice.

They were coming for her. The sensation that she was one of the pack gave her some peace of mind, but the danger the gunman posed if Sam and Darien caught up with her was too great to ignore. The bullets would kill Darien and Sam and any others who got too close. They couldn’t risk it. Don’t risk it!

“Three men running that way. They’ve got Carol!” Sam shouted back to him. “And they’ve got guns!”

Another shot rang out and Carol tried to squirm, but not a muscle obeyed her.

“Carol!” Darien shouted.

She tried to speak, to shout, but she had no voice.

Suddenly she felt herself falling, dropped like a sack of cold groceries. She should have felt a hard impact, but her body didn’t feel anything but a slight jolt. Now she was left in the sweet-smelling grass, crispy with frost, to freeze to death. She curled up into a fetal ball, trying to get warm, when a large hand gripped her shoulder and she shuddered. They weren’t leaving her behind after all. At once, she felt an odd mix of reprieve and regret.

“You’re alive,” he said, his voice low and dark but comforting.

Ryan? A sense of overwhelming relief washed over her. And a fuzzy question surfaced. When had he returned from Green Valley? She envisioned him racing to the rescue on a white steed while he wore the McKinley plaid, the kilt reaching his knees, sword belted at his waist, a shirt open to his collarbone, his face frowning as he scooped her up from the cold ground and—

“I’ve got her!” Ryan wrapped her in something warm and soft that smelled of him, his distinctive male scent of fresh soap and heat. Of spices and the wind in the firs, of the wild. Was it his plaid? She imagined him now wearing only the long shirt that reached mid-thigh and sturdy leather boots that met his knees, his expression worried and stern.

“Are you all right?” he asked, lifting her off the cold ground. He jostled her as he ran, his arms so tight around her that she felt he was going to crush her. But the heat and his protectiveness comforted her.

And when they reached the laird’s castle, he was going to kiss her and tell her how much he loved her, how he couldn’t live without her. She would be a member of his clan as they would want her to join them. Despite her being a MacDonald. Did the McKinley clan fight with the MacDonalds? She didn’t know but fervently hoped not.

“Carol, can you focus?” His darkened eyes studied her for a moment as he rushed toward their destination.

She parted her lips, couldn’t get a word out, closed her eyes, and concentrated on him and the way he held her so… so possessively.

He squeezed her tight again and kissed her lips gently, which got her attention. As soon as she opened her eyes, even as blurry as her vision was, she saw his lips curve slightly upward, but his brow was still furrowed in a deep frown.

After what seemed like forever, his feet tromped on wooden steps—when she thought they should have been stone—and then inside. She felt the warmth of the castle keep and smelled the scent of apple pies coming from the kitchen far away.

“Ohmigod… Carol. Is she all right?” Lelandi asked. “What’s happened?”

Lelandi? The Highland romance Carol was living instantly died, and she remembered the pies Lelandi, Silva, and she had made after returning from the tavern and her date with Ryan.

“I think she’s been drugged. She’s not said a word since I found her. She can barely open her eyes, and she is limp and unresponsive.” Ryan rushed through the house.

Carol smelled the scent of the roses on the mantel as they passed them. Felt his legs lift, his thighs bumping her back as he ascended the stairs. What was she wrapped in, if not his plaid?

“Where were you when Sam raised the alarm?” Lelandi’s words were spoken close behind him, her footfalls on the carpeted stairs lighter but just as hurried.

“I was searching the woods out back when I heard gunfire and Sam’s yelling. When I drew too close to her kidnappers, they must have heard me coming and dropped her.”

“Oh, Carol.” Lelandi’s voice was clearly shaken. “Take her to her room. I’ll call Doc.”

Then the hazy world seemed to fade away. Carol was safe and home for the moment with the man of her dreams. And free.