Wolf Fever

Chapter 9

HELL AND DAMNATION. RYAN COULDN’T BELIEVE HOW much the petite blonde could get under his skin. One minute she’s touching his plaid, while he’s wishing he was wearing it right that moment, wondering when she’d ask the question all women asked. Did he wear anything under the kilt? Ha, what God gave him. The next minute, she’s wanting to find a mate in his pack?

How Carol could think the other women were hot and she wasn’t was beyond his comprehension. But the notion that she’d come to his pack and check out some of his bachelor males was unthinkable. Not that it wouldn’t help his standing in the pack. But hell. Seeing her mated to one of his men—not any of whom would be right for her… he couldn’t have it.

Even the notion that she’d check out the other women’s pack didn’t agree with him. Who knew what sort of men were in it? These women weren’t interested in their own bachelors. Why would Carol be? Besides, she was a special case. With special needs, because she was newly turned. She had to have just the right man.

He had no regrets about dancing close to her. He’d thought she might be feeling insecure about the way the other women looked because she’d changed into the clingy silk dress, and he’d wanted her to know she was just as hot an item in the soft pink sweater and jeans she’d worn earlier. He loved comfortable casual.

But he’d never expected her to turn his body into a raging inferno. Even now, he was still at half-mast, partly because of the way she’d danced with him, the heat and fragrance and softness of her body still lingering in his thoughts. And partly because of the way she had caressed his plaid. Envisioning his body wrapped in it and her touching him made him harden even further.

He tried not to frown at her too much as he parked at the Silver Town Tavern, the lot fairly empty. He would speak to Darien about ensuring she didn’t check out the other pack. Or his own.

“Ready?” he asked her as she stared out the window.

She snapped her head around to look at him, her expression startled, and he thought something was wrong.

“Carol?”

She smiled, but the expression was forced. “Sure. Let’s get the interrogation over with. Pronto. I’m sure you have more important business to take care of back home.”

She dropped the smile, and her look turned mutinous. Which appealed a hell of a lot more than when she was giving him a fake smile. Wondering about his own sanity, he shook his head and left the truck to get her door.

Ryan’s question had yanked her out of a vision so fast that it startled Carol, but since he didn’t believe she could see what she could, she hadn’t any plan to enlighten him. Yet given the way he looked at her, she figured he’d question her about it anyway.

“What were you thinking when I drew your attention?” Ryan asked, helping her from his vehicle.

The biting cold… silky red hair floating over her face… male amber eyes narrowed, padded armor, and a tiredness she couldn’t free herself from.

“Carol?” Ryan asked again, his hand firmly on her arm as he guided her toward the tavern.

“Nothing.”

But the look he gave her told her he knew differently. He gave his head a slight shake. But what did she care? He wouldn’t believe she’d had another one of her visions. Anyway. And the meaning of the vision eluded her as before, so what was she supposed to say? Even if he had been more enlightened?

She walked at Ryan’s quickened pace, observing the carved wooden wolves guarding the double doors of the bar. If she’d only known in the beginning what they had signified. Werewolf territory.

Before she’d become a werewolf, Carol had only been in Silver Town’s tavern once during the fall festival when the doors were open to non-members as well as members. She hadn’t realized that to obtain memberships, citizens had to be card-carrying werewolves.

Ryan hurried to get the tavern door for Carol, the rusty hinges squealing as he pushed the heavy oak aside. Rustic fans circulating the air were probably new but looked antique enough to have been hanging from the time the place opened in the nineteenth century.

The smoky mirror behind the long, polished bar definitely had been there from the early days, and the counter was worn in spots where folks leaned against it, drinking their choice of poison. She imagined the shadows of people from long ago reflected in the dingy glass. Silva swore she was going to make Sam replace it with new mirrors, but Sam was a rustic himself and wouldn’t go along with it. Maybe because he was cheap, too.

Amber glass lights hung on brass rods from the high ceiling, casting a soft light over the dark wood tables, some round for smaller groups, some long and rectangular for larger crowds. The place was fairly empty, with just a few older couples enjoying drinks and conversation. The talking died when Ryan and Carol walked inside.

Many of Darien’s pack were still at the gathering. Sam and Silva had returned at some point and were preparing roast beef sandwiches and drinks, the aroma of the roasting beef filling the air. Silva hurried to greet them and directed them to a table in the center of the room surrounded by other tables.

A fishbowl.

“We’d prefer one over here, thanks.” Ryan guided Carol to a table in a corner of the room where it was out of the traffic, half hidden in shadows, quiet, and easier to talk privately. And unavailable.

“This is Darien’s table,” Carol whispered, her heartbeat accelerating, but she had a sneaking suspicion Ryan already knew that.

Silva tapped a pen on an order pad. “Boss man sits here with Lelandi and his brothers. I’ll show you to another table.”

“He’s not coming here tonight,” Ryan told her and pulled out a chair for Carol so self-assuredly that his move fed her own confidence.

His amber eyes steeled, Sam wiped the bar. “Darien might not be here tonight, but his brothers will be, guaranteed. And they also sit there.”

“Not tonight.” Ryan gave him a look that meant he would not be dissuaded. “Darien suggested we come here on our date. So I’m sure he won’t mind if we take the most out-of-the-way, private spot.”

Silva looked at Carol as if hoping she would make Ryan come to his senses. Carol only smiled, figuring what the heck, and took her seat. She’d already done enough to create a scene or two, why not another?

“Yep. I figure capturing Darien’s ribbon today entitles me to a reward.”

Ryan gave her a small nod of approval and pulled his own chair out and sat down.

Sam poured a beer for a man at the bar and inclined his head briefly to Silva, giving his okay. She let out her breath.

“All right. It’s on Sam’s head if Darien shows up expecting his table and finds it occupied. What would you care to drink?”

“A strawberry daiquiri,” Carol said.

Silva’s brows shot up into her bangs. “You always get a Chablis. Are you sure?”

“Yep, tonight’s a cause for celebration.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair. “A beer for me, Silva. And a couple of hot roast beef sandwiches for the two of us, too.”

Silva nodded. “You know, the word is getting around that you’re here to question Carol about the murder case and then you’re leaving for good. Best be quick about it, if that’s all the business you have, because the bachelors are antsy about you being here. Rumors are circulating that it’s more than that.”

“They have a lot more to worry about than me being here.”

Her face brightening, Silva said, “Oh?” Which meant she was delighted to share whatever the new gossip was around the tavern and the town.

“Some red male is running around here without Darien’s permission, possibly targeting Carol or Lelandi, or both. That’s who everyone should be more concerned about.”

Silva gave Carol a worried look.

Trying to appear unconcerned, Carol shrugged. “The bachelors are all going to be my bodyguards, and Lelandi will also be well protected. Nothing to worry about.”

“Ryan will be your bodyguard, too?” Silva asked, hopeful.

Carol attempted a nonchalant tone for her response, but it came out more annoyed than she had planned. “Ryan’s going home as soon as he grills me.”

Silva gave him a hard look. “You could at least guard her. Be nice while you question her. If you’re not… well, Sam will take care of you. Believe me, you don’t want that.” She whipped around and headed to the bar to get their drinks.

Carol loved having Silva as a friend. “Ask your questions so you can return home.”

He glanced at Silva as she spoke with Sam, ordering their drinks. “Don’t you want to wait for your drink first, Carol?”

“Why? Think it’ll make me tell the truth?”

Ryan cast an elusive smile at her.

“It won’t.”

His smile broadened.

“I mean that it won’t get me drunk so that I’ll tell the truth.” She paused. “I mean…” she said, totally exasperated with herself, “I’m not telling you anything but the truth, no matter what. How do you suspect I learned about Larissa’s murder?”

“You overheard something. I’m not saying you consciously have tried to hide anything. Just that—”

“Well, hell, that’s nice to know.” She didn’t try to hide her annoyance. He might as well know that she didn’t appreciate his questioning her as if she had something to hide. “The truth is that you don’t believe in parapsychology. Right?” She lifted her chin a hair.

Ryan had to keep a stern face on that one. He didn’t think he’d get anywhere with Carol if he smirked as though he thought she didn’t have any abilities. He just didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be proven 100 percent. What she claimed to be able to do wouldn’t hold up under any kind of scrutiny and couldn’t be used in a court of law.

“Just the facts, ma’am. Solid, hard, physical facts,” he said.

“All right.” She sat up straighter, and he loved her backbone. “Did you know that I was a prisoner of Darien’s household before the battle between the reds and grays occurred?”

Not having known, Ryan frowned and pondered that. “Before you were turned?” He drummed his fingers on the table, then quit. “Of course. They feared for your safety because you’d discovered something about the murderer. They were afraid whoever it was would be sure to silence you also.”

Looking like she was fighting to keep from showing her irritation, Carol clenched her teeth. Then she leaned forward and speared him with a hard look. But no matter how irritated she looked, he couldn’t help thinking how attractive she was, her blue eyes heated and narrowed, her face lightly flushed.

“You’re right, of course. The reason also was that if Lelandi was injured, I’d be her personal nurse. But the biggest reason?” she asked.

“Enlighten me.”

Silva joined them with a tray of beers and one strawberry daiquiri. She leaned over the table and then deposited Carol’s red frothy drink and his beer.

“Before she was changed, but way before she actually saw our kind frolicking in the woods, she had a premonition of it.”

Ryan hadn’t expected Silva to offer the explanation, and he really wished she’d butt out, but he nodded. The so-called premonition was certainly easy to explain away. “She could have seen it happen, but not as a premonition.”

Silva smiled. “Tell him, Carol. Tell him how you saw us.”

Carol looked as though she didn’t think he would believe her, and he wasn’t sure she was going to bother explaining. She took a strawberry from a tiny, plastic pink sword in her drink, wrapped her glossy lips around it, and then sucked for a moment. He swore it was the most erotic thing he’d seen in a long damn time. And that she did it on purpose to stir him up again.

Then she took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I saw men and women shifting in the woods near Darien’s place. They stripped out of their clothes, and in a blink of an eye, they were wolves.”

His gaze shifted to her dipping the strawberry back in her drink, and then he watched as she licked the sweet liquid off the remainder of the strawberry. It made him think of the way her tongue had touched and tasted and teased his earlier in such a seductive fashion when he had kissed her. And he was damn ready for a repeat performance. How appealing it would be to taste the sweet flavor of strawberries on her tongue!

Not intending to allow the vixen to distract him further, he cleared his throat. “I still say you could have seen this and then imagined that it had occurred as a vision. Dreamed it, whatever.”

Carol licked her lips in such a sensuous way that he swore she was trying to make him hot all over again. Even if she wasn’t doing so consciously, she sure had that effect on him. She dipped her strawberry back in the drink, pulled it out, slipped it into her mouth, and sighed.

Once she had finished the fruit, she pointed her tiny sword at him. “No, I saw everyone shift in the dark, and the night was foggy. As a human, I wouldn’t have been able to see what you can.”

He still didn’t believe it. “The light from the house must have illuminated the forest some.”

Carol gave a short laugh. “Yeah, right. Even you couldn’t believe something so ludicrous. I’d envisioned following the others into the woods. I hadn’t been turned yet. The vision was vague. I only knew Lelandi wasn’t with the men and women there. But I recognized some of Darien’s people and tried to warn Lelandi about what Darien and his people were.

“She wasn’t from Silver Town, and because she was smaller, I thought she wasn’t one of you. I thought she was like me and that Darien intended to change her. I’d never suspected anyone could be born as a werewolf.”

Silva leveled her gaze at Ryan. “Yep, so how do you explain that?”

Carol loved how Silva needled Ryan. She knew if Lelandi was here, she’d gang up on him, too. Not that Carol couldn’t hold her own, but it was nice to have the ladies backing her up. She’d never had friends like that before.

Ryan’s forehead wrinkled as he considered Silva in a disgruntled way. “Aren’t you supposed to be bringing us sandwiches?”

Silva smiled. “Yesiree.” She said to Carol, “He gives you any trouble, sugar, you just let me know.” She sauntered off with the tray of beers for another table.

That’s when the whole group from the gathering seemed to arrive at the tavern en masse. Darien walked in first with his arm possessively around Lelandi’s shoulders. He looked straight at Ryan and Carol sitting at his table, but instead of making a fuss, he escorted Lelandi to a table nearer the restrooms.

Carol took a relieved breath, glad at least Darien didn’t seem to be bothered about this. Maybe Ryan had been right in thinking that Darien had set this up, so he didn’t mind giving up his table to them because of it.

As Jake followed them inside, he grumbled, although sounding more amused than truly annoyed, “Sam needs a talking-to if every time we come here, he’s allowing some outsider to sit at our table.”

Darien slipped his arm down lower, around Lelandi’s waist, and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Worked out well the last time.”

Five men escorted Becky to a table. Marilee had several others falling all over her as they grabbed a table and stuck it against another farther away. Mervin was with the second group and gave Ryan another hard look.

Carol studied the women for a moment, still trying to remember where she’d seen them. At the hospital? As patients? But they weren’t from around here. Then again, Lelandi had said she’d interviewed them, so maybe they’d been here for a couple of days prior to the gathering. Or maybe earlier to see what Silver Town had to offer before they even expressed an interest in attending the gathering.

“So where were we?” Carol asked Ryan, ready to end this. There was no convincing the stubborn man of science that what she could envision could really happen.

“You were saying you saw our kind shifting while you were still strictly human. Then Darien would have had to turn you if one of Lelandi’s pack hadn’t during the battle.”

“Probably. But you missed my point. I didn’t physically see them shape-shift in the woods. I saw it in a vision of the future way before the battle commenced. When I eventually did see the scene for real, I had already been turned.”

She could tell he didn’t believe a word of it. No reaction, no expression to indicate what he was thinking. Trying to figure out the next question he’d ask her to see if he could tear her story into bits and prove it was all something made up from a way too vivid imagination?

She ought to tell him about the ghost she once saw. That was sure to go over really well. When she’d told some friends about it, the ones who believed in apparitions had known she was telling the truth. The others had had the same look as Ryan did now. Disbelief, not even a small smirk in amusement. No, he was not amused. He was too steeped in scientific fact to believe in ghosts or anything else in the supernatural realm.

“I bet you never read about fantasy worlds when you were young. Never believed in the Easter bunny or Santa Claus,” she said.

He gave her a broad smile that made her wish she hadn’t made the comment.

“What?” She let out her breath. “Don’t tell me you and your kind don’t believe in fantasy worlds. You’re a living, breathing fantasy—all of you…well, us—if you want to really get technical.”

“Fantasy is in the eye of the beholder. We are the stuff of legends, not fantasy exactly.”

“Right, so I have psychic visions, and you think that’s fantasy. But for me, it’s real.”

For an inkling, he appeared to consider her words as plausible. But then he said, “I believe we’ve established that fact.” He shrugged. “Me believe in Santa Claus? Only if he wore a wolf suit sometimes.” He smiled again.

“Our versions of fairy tales might surprise you. Little Red Riding Hood? The wolf, as caring about children as a good family dog might be, was trying to escort Little Riding Hood home safely to her grandmother. The woodcutter was the villain. He didn’t give the wolf a chance to prove he was one of the good guys. The woodcutter took one look at the wolf and immediately labeled him as a beast of prey. Our kids, of course, read the original version also, so they know what others are talking about. But we feel we’re a little more open minded.”

She raised her brows. “I take it the wolf is not the bad guy in The Three Little Pigs, either.”

“Nope, he was totally framed.” Ryan gave her that wolfish grin that suited him so well. He pulled out his credit card, tapped it on the table while watching her, and then finally asked, “Do you feel there’s a reason for having the visions?”

She shrugged. “You don’t believe anyway.”

“If I did, why do you think you have them?”

“I have no idea why some people have a psychic connection and others don’t. Probably just like no one knows why some have a photographic memory or can create music without any training or are geniuses in mathematics or quantum physics. Makes life more interesting when we’re not all the same. Don’t you agree?”

He studied her, and she swore he was mulling that over. Maybe he wasn’t hopeless after all when it came to believing in something that wasn’t exactly scientifically proven.

She sighed deeply. “No one in my family has any paranormal abilities. At least not that anyone is willing to speak about. No one wanted me to reveal my talents, either. I even had nice little discussions with a psychiatrist, starting when I was seven.

“Dr. Metzger attempted to brainwash me for three years, trying to convince me I had an overactive imagination. That paranormal abilities weren’t possible. That they couldn’t be recreated in a scientific environment. In other words, those of us who have these abilities make mistakes like lab rats and don’t get it ‘right’ all the time. So, we’re phonies. All of us.”

Ryan’s jaw tightened fractionally. She wasn’t sure what the message was there.

“You know what made Dr. Metzger finally give up on me?” She raised her brows, waiting for Ryan to signal for her to continue. She’d never discussed the reason with anyone except her mother because the psychiatrist had been so mad at Carol. She wouldn’t have told Ryan, but for whatever reason, she wanted him to believe her. Not that telling him the story about the doctor would make any difference, but…

Ryan didn’t say anything for a moment and then asked, “What made him give up on you, Carol?”

“I saw his wife and unborn child die in a car accident before it happened. At least I assumed it was going to happen. I didn’t know anything about them. They might have died years earlier. But I saw his very pregnant wife driving the car, and she looked the same as the picture he had of her on his desk, probably taken shortly before the accident. I was sure it was a vision of some future happening.

“I wouldn’t have told him about it, but I thought maybe, just maybe, he could stop her from driving into the city. We lived in Denver at the time, but he lived out of town. In my vision, it was winter, and the roads were icy. Their car skidded on the slick roads and crashed into a tree. He didn’t believe me. Got really angry instead. Said I was creating the tale because I was mad at him for trying to help me. Help me! Ha!”

She silently fumed, remembering that day so well. Hot tears had filled her eyes, her throat closing.

“He said I was a horrible person for making such a story up.”

No one had ever said anything like that about her. Not someone who was supposed to have her best interests at heart. Carol took a deep breath, the feelings of that day swamping her with regret. For years, she’d wished she’d never said a thing to him about his wife. At least she hadn’t had to see him any further after that.

She looked at the table, fighting bitter tears. “He slammed his fist on the desk and cursed me. The frost giant and his icy blue eyes turned darker and colder. Tears rolled down my face. I was only ten at the time. No one had ever gotten that angry with me over anything.”

“Hell, Carol. His license should have been revoked.”

Carol shook her head. “The worst was yet to come. When I left his office, he called my mother in, and behind his closed door, he told her he wouldn’t see me any longer. That I was hopeless. That I was making up horrible stories. My mother asked what kind of stories, but he wouldn’t elaborate. I heard him tell her through the door of his office that if I was committed, I’d quickly get over my need to make up these stories.”

Ryan looked on the verge of getting up from his chair and coming around the table to comfort her, but she didn’t need his comforting touch. She’d dealt with the issues, and they were in the past. At least that’s what she kept telling herself. Yet the memory of Metzger’s piercing eyes and the way he’d slammed his fist on the desk was forever imprinted on her brain.

“My mother kept asking me what I’d said to Dr. Metzger. I couldn’t tell her, not until later that night. In the beginning, I really had hoped the ‘special’ doctor could help me sort out my abilities. Sometimes I wished I didn’t have them. Sometimes I wished everyone else did so they knew what it felt like. But denying my ‘talents’ wasn’t feasible. So I just didn’t let on that I had them.”

“Did Dr. Metzger’s wife die?”