First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series) (15 page)

Neva looked down at herself. She was wearing a simple cotton nightgown. “I didn’t put this on.”

“What you
did
put on has been staked, salted, and buried.”

“You had no right to dress me. I’m not a Barbie doll!”

“I figure since I sat up all night feeding you and keeping you warm, I definitely had the right.”

She pointed an accusing finger at him. “
You.
You fed me
raw meat
!”

“Yeah, I did, and it’s done you a world of good. By rights, you shouldn’t be on your feet yet. You wanna yell at me about it, fine. Just do it after you get dressed—it’s already past dawn, and this
place opens at eight. I want to be long gone before any conscientious volunteers decide to come in early.”

Dammit.
What she really wanted to do was go back to sleep. She snatched the clothes from his hands, plus a proffered pair of sneakers, and stalked off to the thrift-store dressing room. Travis’s selections fit surprisingly well, and the colors and styles had obviously been chosen to suit her. Either he’d gained tremendous experience in stealing women’s clothing over the years—and she’d make sure she gave him a hard time about that notion—or he’d measured her.
He’s
so
going to die if I find out that he did.

“Threatening me again?” he asked as she made her way to where he was straddling a wooden chair.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my head?”

“And how many times do I have to tell
you
to quit broadcasting? I didn’t measure you. I didn’t even peek—
much
. For your next question, I’ve arranged transportation and packed a lunch. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

That hadn’t been her next question at all, but he was gone. There was nothing to do but run to catch up.

The little bitch was
alive
? Meredith paced her elegant bedroom, which encompassed the entire top floor of the cliffside mansion overlooking the Pacific. She passed by the window through which she’d tossed the bearer of the news, her platinum-blonde hair and gold satin robe fluttering as the sea breeze rushed through the shattered pane.

Alive? Perhaps she had misunderstood what she had seen in her silver scrying bowl. But what other conclusion could she have drawn from viewing Geneva leaping off a high cliff? The image had gone cloudy then, and Meredith had assumed the outcome. In a frenzied rage, she’d torn Geneva’s guards to pieces, then turned her wrath on the other prisoners. Several had been slaughtered in their cells. By the time the day of the full moon arrived, she’d been almost too exhausted to kill the wolves that had been forced to admit that they hadn’t found Geneva’s body. Even the initiation of the newest wolves—those that were left—and the energy Meredith gained by their transformation had failed to cheer her for long.

Alive.
Meredith had tried hard to take comfort in the certainty that even if she could survive such a fall, Geneva would die slowly and painfully during her first shift. Apparently the bitch was made of stronger stuff than previously suspected. No. No, not
strong
, just obstinate and uncooperative as usual, Meredith corrected herself. As a werewolf, Geneva might be a little harder to capture, but she
would
be captured.

Meredith drew a long, cleansing breath of salt air, then another, feeling the dreadful tension leave her lithe body. There was a reason for actual cheer. Her darkly beautiful spell she’d grieved as lost to her was now resurrected, her plans restored, because Geneva lived. Soon, perhaps even by the next full moon, it could all come to fruition.

Of course the little bitch’s crime would have to be dealt with first. Geneva had done what no one had ever dared to do: not just defy Meredith, but escape. That could
not
go unpunished. Meredith had already made an example of that upstart Riley, which couldn’t fail to make an impression on the pack. She’d won their battle in the ash circle, leaving him severely wounded and only half-conscious. But the next day when she’d demanded his sworn fealty, he’d spit at her.
Spit. At. Her.
Meredith had immediately bound the great wolf with magic so he couldn’t return to human form, then had him flayed in the courtyard until gobbets of bloody fur had sprayed the marble walls as well as the faces of the onlookers.

Really, he should have had the courtesy to die right then and there, but that was a werewolf for you. The animal nature was tough and resilient. However, it also seemed to be unpredictable, and that factor was keeping her up at nights in her spell room. Meredith’s magic was potent enough to dominate almost any human or werewolf, body and soul.

Almost.

Over the years, the meticulous records in her grimoires showed that approximately 1 percent of those she turned into werewolves were like Riley and Geneva, completely unaffected by Meredith’s forceful efforts at mind control and magical possession. She could control their bodies to a degree, prevent them from shape-shifting—or force them to do it. But that was about all. It was a constant frustration to her. Recently she’d had great
hopes for some ancient Peruvian spells using blood and thorns, but the subject’s temperament had failed to change in the slightest. She assuaged some of her disappointment by watching her pack tear him to pieces.

Now she had to contend with Riley. He’d been dumped in a cell, where he would either live to be useful eventually, perhaps as hunting practice for her wolves, or die. Of course, even the dead had their uses.
Waste not, want not.
The weaklings who hadn’t survived their first Change had been gathered up and burned to ash by now, and that ash was a highly potent ingredient in many of Meredith’s spells. She sighed at the thought—she still hadn’t found a suitable replacement for her manicurist. A small mistake, that one, made in her eagerness to build up the numbers after killing several of her other conscripts.

Fortunately she didn’t make many mistakes. She ruled by strength and power and cleverness, none of which could be matched. It didn’t hurt to hammer that home as often as possible, but truth be told, it wasn’t the pack she wanted to impress this time. It was Geneva herself. She’d have to think of something truly special to inflict on her. It was pure bad luck that she turned out to be one of the recalcitrant few that couldn’t be controlled.
Yet.
Meredith was determined to find a way. If she had to keep the little bitch locked up for the next twenty years,
someday
Geneva would be forced to acknowledge Meredith’s complete superiority in all things, once and for all.

So. Where was Geneva now, and who could she send to track her down? The messenger had said the brat was being helped—some big werewolf had been spotted traveling with her. Obviously it was someone with age and experience, or they wouldn’t have been able to elude Meredith’s wolves. No matter.
If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.
Meredith glided to an elegant marble table that held a wide, silver bowl, and began
slowly stirring the cold water inside it with delicate fingertips. As the spell left her lips, the water clouded and bubbled, then cleared to reveal a lovely but strange image…a natural bower of evergreens in a forest. She studied it for a long time. Scrying was a difficult art, and not only did it take skill to discern
what
you were seeing, but
when
. Past, present, or future? Was she looking at a place Geneva had been, or was going to be?

Perhaps she and her wolves should pay a visit.

You can’t go home again.
High on a hillside, curled in the hollow beneath a thicket of junipers, Baker rested his chin on his paws. His dad’s ranch spread out over much of the valley. He’d sat on this hill a lot as a kid—it was his favorite place to think—but he’d never enjoyed the view with such incredible clarity. The night sky was clouded over, but the darkness provided no barrier to his sight. The daytime colors were gone, replaced by a whole new palette, beautiful in its own right.

On the homestead far below, Benner and Jack, the ranch dogs, were silent. In fact, over the many miles he’d traveled, no dogs had challenged him or sounded the alarm. Maybe they knew he wasn’t an ordinary wolf. Maybe it spooked them. Hell, he knew
he
was spooked. Probably why he came here—where else did you go when you were scared but home? Baker hadn’t lived here for years, but somehow his feet had found the way even though his brain hadn’t been thinking about it. Instinct, he supposed.

Instinct wasn’t doing a fucking thing about turning him back into a human being, though. And until he was on two legs again, he’d find no welcome at his family home. Nor would he be able to help his friend Riley. Somehow there had to be a way,
and he was gonna find it.
Somehow
…Baker closed his eyes, and exhaustion claimed him.

“At least it’s not a dump truck.”

That was all Neva had to say about his latest choice of ride as she threw in her backpack and got in. Travis had been sure she’d approve of the four-wheel-drive pickup he’d appropriated—okay, it was old and rusted, but it ran and wouldn’t attract attention. Of course she’d still be pissed at him about the raw meat thing, and especially for replacing her nightgown while she was asleep. He should probably just be glad she got in the truck at all.

He wasn’t much for explaining things, so he didn’t even try to tell her that the clothing switch had nothing to do with the hideous dress—much—and everything to do with the fact that he’d ripped out the front of it during their impromptu make-out session. And later, half asleep, she’d turned her head at the wrong moment and the cup of milk he’d been trying to get her to drink had soaked her to the skin. Not good for someone who was already chilled. He’d cussed himself out as he sought something simple to put on her.

He’d held her for a while then, so his naturally high body heat could warm her. That’s the story he was going with, anyway, the fact that he’d enjoyed the closeness notwithstanding.
Christ, I’m telling myself a helluva lot of lies lately.
Or maybe the lies were to appease that little voice in his head, the one that told him he had a lot to make up for, to atone for. To pay for what could never be repaid. The voice that said he could never have what he wanted most…

Travis glanced over at Neva. She was resting her stubborn chin in her hand, looking out the window. Deliberately not
looking at him. Did she remember last night at all? Did she remember the kisses and caresses that she had returned? Did she remember sleeping in his arms? In that moment he’d felt as close to
home
, to truly belonging, as he had since—

Hell, it didn’t matter how he felt. Getting close to anyone was a serious mistake, and getting close to Neva was an even bigger mistake. She was tough and smart and beautiful. And she deserved so much more than
him
. He’d had no right to kiss her last night, no right at all. If he was lucky, she’d have no memory of it. If she did, he’d have to play it down somehow, maybe pass it off as a dream, or just downright piss her off.
Ha. That shouldn’t be hard.
The fact that it would be hard on
him
, he ignored.