Master of Wolves (4 page)

Except they never did find that heart.

Faith, meanwhile, described the woman she'd seen to the detective investigating the case. He blew her off.

“You saying a chick did all that to
that
guy? Not likely. It was somebody from the bar fight.” Gordon Taylor's beefy middle-aged face had gone closed and chill. “I doubt we'll ever solve it.”

“Everybody knows you go to that jail, the witch gets you.”

Faith felt the hair stand up along her arms. “Bullshit,” she told Rambo. “And on that note, I'm going to bed.”

Jim waited an
hour to make sure Faith had dropped off. Lifting his muzzle off his paws, he rose from the rug beside her bed to peer over the edge of the mattress.

She was deeply asleep, moonlight spilling across the side of her face. Even with the bruises, he saw elegance in the rise of her high cheekbones and sensuality in her lush, full lips.

God, he'd love to kiss that mouth.

Sighing in regret, Jim sat back on his haunches and let the magic spill. It rolled over his skin, ruffling the black fur with waves of raw, tingling power. He suppressed a whine of pain as his muscles twisted around his distorting bones. The magic pulled him onto his back legs, stretching him upward as his body flowed like wax.

When the magic winked out, Jim rolled his shoulders to loosen them. It was good to be human again.

More or less.

He turned his attention to his pretty, unwitting hostess. Faith had kicked off the covers as usual, and the red T-shirt she wore was twisted up around her waist, baring a silken belly and tiny white panties. Her long legs were sprawled apart, and he could plainly see the tight points of her nipples under the shirt.

He'd wanted her from the day she'd come to collect “Rambo” from his trainer—none other than Jim's uncle, Ray Johnston. Ray's lucrative business as a K-9 trainer was what had given Jim the idea of going undercover as a Clarkston drug dog in the first place.

One look at Faith had inspired dreams of a far more intimate partnership. Among other things, he badly wanted to paint her pretty face, with its wide, intelligent green eyes and lust-inspiring mouth. Even her hair challenged him with its thousand shades of fiery copper. Normally tamed into a tightly coiled braid, it tumbled around her shoulders in a mass of curling silk whenever she took it down. He wanted to paint her like that, wild mane hanging loose around her face, her elegant body deliciously nude, all its lean, beautiful curves on display.

But there was a lot more to Faith than looks. She was a complete professional, cool under fire, with a good eye and sure instincts. She was also neck deep in a magical mess she didn't recognize and was totally unequipped to deal with.

He only hoped he could save her.

Sighing, Jim turned and slipped from the room with the surefooted ease of a man who could see in the dark. It was time to report in. Charlie was probably ready to chew nails by now.

Faith's house was a rented three-bedroom brick ranch just inside the city limits. It was scarcely bigger than a double-wide, furnished mostly in hand-me-downs from relatives. The rest was early American Wal-Mart, which was all Faith could afford on a cop's salary. The only decorations were photos and a few framed newspaper clippings, all of which seemed to feature cops and firefighters who were relatives of hers.

Through shameless eavesdropping, Jim had learned law enforcement was a Weston family tradition. Faith's father was a police chief, two of her brothers were Georgia state troopers, and the third was an FBI agent. The baby of the family was a firefighter and arson investigator just as intent on solving crimes as the rest.

Jim once heard her tell another cop that she'd been a hell-raising tomboy as a child. He figured it was probably in sheer self-defense against rampaging brotherly testosterone.

Pushing open the kitchen door, he stepped out into the carport and fished in a pocket for his cell phone.

For reasons no one clearly understood, when a werewolf shifted form, his clothes shifted, too. Once he resumed being human, the original clothing came back, along with whatever he happened to have in his pockets—car keys, phones, even guns. It was one of those Direkind mysteries Tony Shay used to call PFM—Pure Fucking Magic.

At the memory of his friend, a little needle of pain slid into Jim's heart. His lips tightened.

Closing the carport door behind him, Jim paused on the step to scan his surroundings, every sense alert.

It was three o'clock in the morning, and the neighborhood was still bathed in moonlight. Rows of brick ranches just like Faith's lined the narrow street, as alike as cookies, except for the color of the trim and shutters. Somewhere a dog barked, the sound carrying clearly in the chill night air. Inhaling, Jim scented the object of the animal's attention: a possum, waddling across the street in search of garbage cans to pillage.

Reassured that nobody was watching, he walked around Faith's police car and flipped the cell open. With his thumb, he punched the button combination to encrypt the call, then tapped out the number he'd memorized the month before.

Charlie Myers picked up on the second ring. “You're late,” the High Chieftain of the Southern States growled in his smoker's rasp.

“She couldn't sleep.”

“You should have scratched to be let out. I've got to go to work in the morning.” He ran a dry cleaning business in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Jim suppressed a snort. “Faith isn't about to let Rambo roam through the neighborhood alone, scaring small children and eating the neighbors' cats.”

“You eat the neighbors' cats?”

“No, but she doesn't know that.”

Charlie grunted. “Actually, I kind of like Siamese. I stay away from Persians, though. The bastards give me hairballs.”

“Yeah, a little pussy can be a dangerous thing.”

“Smartass. I didn't stay up 'til three
A.M
. to chat. What have you got?”

He sat down on the low brick wall around the carport. “In the past week, three more officers have been put under that spell. Apparently sometime during the night, because they were okay when I saw them the previous day. Now almost all the cops smell of black magic.”

“So this witch, or vampire, or whatever the hell she is—”

“Vampire. Scent's too far off human for her to be anything else.”

“Whatever. Point is, she's got the cops under her control. Has Weston noticed anything?”

“No. Most of 'em don't act that blatant around her.”

“I don't understand why the vamp is going to all this trouble.” The chieftain sounded frustrated. “If all she wanted was to cover up Shay's murder, why not just put a spell on the investigating detective? Why the whole department?”

That was the question that had been gnawing at Jim since he'd arrived last month. “I think she's figured out a spell to let her draw on the cops'life force to power her magic. She's got to be doing something. That vamp my sister fought last month was murdering people every couple of days. This one has killed Tony and maybe a couple of others, but nothing like that. Which is why we're not neck-deep in media.”

“But she hasn't tried to put a spell on Weston?”

“Not yet. When she does, she's going to get the surprise of her life.” The bitch was not laying a hand on Faith.

Charlie hesitated, chewing that one over. “Could they be on to you? All this vamp has to do is get one good whiff, and she's going to know you're magic.”

“Yeah, but I haven't seen the vamp. She's been leaving scent trails all over the department, though, so I figure she's coming in during one of the other shifts. I can't be sure, since Faith leaves me in the car a lot.”

“It's a wonder you don't suffocate, wearing that much fur.”

“She always leaves the air conditioning running.” He shrugged. “Ray warned me that was standard procedure. Seems K-9 officers can't take reports and deal with their dogs at the same time.”

“What about this rogue werewolf you smelled? Could he have scented
your
trail?”

“Oh, definitely, but he may not realize what he's smelling.” In dog form, Jim smelled pretty much like a dog. The scent of Direkind magic wasn't that strong—unless you knew what to look for. “Which I doubt he does, since he's a rogue.”

Charlie mulled that over a minute. “I don't like this, London.”

“Me neither, but if they'd known what I was, they'd have jumped me by now. So they must not know.”

“Or they're playing games.” After another brooding silence, the chieftain swore. “I can't believe Tony Shay gave that bastard Merlin's Curse. He knew how to avoid creating rogues. That's the first thing any of us learns. Now we've got to worry about that idiot Turning the entire fucking department into werewolves. If Tony wasn't already dead, I'd kill his ass.”

Stung, Jim glowered. His friend had been a hell-raiser, but he wasn't irresponsible. “Look, if Tony could have helped it, he wouldn't have bitten the guy. Autopsy said he was probably still alive when his heart was cut out. Bet you ten bucks he just lost control and chomped on one of the bastards who were holding him down.”

“But why did he let one piddling vampire and a bunch of rogue cops get the jump on him? In Dire Wolf form, he could have chewed them all up and spit them out.”

“Unless the witch came up with some new kind of spell.”

Charlie made a disgusted sound, half snort, half growl. “Give me a break, London. The only magic that can touch one of us is our own. That's the way Merlin designed the Curse. Spells just roll off us.”

Irritated, Jim glared out at the night. “Look, I've known Tony since we were kids. We grew up together. Hell, we went through our first Change together. I don't know why he gave that guy the Curse, but I'll tell you right now, it was something he couldn't help.”

“You know what, London? I don't care. It doesn't matter why he infected the rogue—your job is to fix it. Find out who the bastard is and kill him. His little vampire bitch, too. Preferably before they start infecting cops with the Curse and we get a real mess on our hands.”

“Charlie, believe me—the minute I spot him, he's a dead man. He helped that bitch cut out Tony's heart while he was still alive. They're going to pay.”

“Good.” A deadly little silence fell before the chieftain spoke again. “What are you going to do about Weston? If you have to Turn to Dire Wolf to jump him, she's going to see too much. You'll have to take her out, too.”

Jim stiffened as his every instinct howled in rejection. “No.”

“London…”

“If I have to, I'll Turn her.”

“The idea is to keep the bad guys from creating a bunch of werewolf cops, not to start Turning them ourselves.”

“She won't be a rogue. I'll be her Wolfmaster.”

Charlie snorted, the sound cynical. “I'm sure your dick'll love that.”

Jim forced himself to bite back several of the choicer replies he had in mind. “My sex life is none of your business, Charlie.”

“Look, I don't care who you ball. The only thing I give a rat's ass about is protecting our secret so we don't get King fucking Arthur down on our collective heads. All I'm saying is, don't get so wrapped up in this chick that you forget to keep an eye on business.”

He tightened his slipping grip on his temper. Charlie was an asshole, but he could also pull Jim off this mission if he wasn't handled carefully. And God knew what would happen to Faith then. “If you're that worried about Arthur, let me call in Diana. Her husband could work a spell to locate the vamp and that rogue, and I could finish them both off without anybody knowing anything. Including Arthur and Faith.”

“Forget it.”

“Chief…”

“Your sister had no business marrying that fairy, London,” Charlie said hotly. “She didn't even ask permission from the Council of Clans. Arthur is in and out of Llyr's palace all the time. You think he's not going to notice that the queen of the fucking Sidhe is a werewolf?”

Two months ago, Diana London met and fell in love with Llyr Galatyn during a hunt for one of the rogue vampires. Neither of them expected the relationship to go anywhere. After all, she was a mortal werewolf, while he was the immortal king of the Sidhe.

Yet love won out, thanks to the intervention of Cachamwri, the Dragon God—Jim was still a little fuzzy on the details of how
that
had come about. At any rate, Cachamwri had made Diana both immortal and cross fertile with her lover, though she still remained a werewolf.

The problem was that Llyr's closest ally was Arthur Pendragon and his Magekind, who didn't know werewolves existed.

What's more, they couldn't be allowed to find out. Merlin himself had made that very clear sixteen hundred years ago when he'd created the Direkind werewolves to keep an eye on his magical champions. If Arthur and his warriors ever overstepped their bounds, the Direkind were supposed to step in and deal with them.

But that would only be possible if the Magekind never discovered the existence of the werewolves, whom they might otherwise destroy. The Direkind had kept themselves hidden for sixteen hundred years.

Now, however, a werewolf was living in the court of Arthur's closest ally. Keeping her true nature secret was going to be tricky, and they all knew it. Fortunately, Diana and Llyr had come up with a cover story.

Jim took a deep breath and explained one more time. “Diana and Llyr told Arthur she's from the court of Llyr's brother. Since Ansgar Galatyn never had diplomatic relations with Arthur, he bought it. And since Ansgar's dead, he's not going to be telling anybody anything different.”

“You telling me she's convinced Arthur and his entire court that she's Sidhe?”

“Diana's
good.
”

Charlie snorted. “Or Arthur's a lot dumber than I thought.”

Jim ground his teeth and reached for patience. “Are you going to let me bring Llyr in on this?”

“No.” The word was utterly flat, allowing no room for argument at all.

Jim argued anyway. “So instead we're going risk the entire Clarkston Police Department going rogue?”

“Dammit, London, we've existed in complete secrecy since Merlin created us sixteen hundred years ago. We ain't coming out of the closet on my watch. Especially not because of some little…twit who couldn't stay out of Llyr Galatyn's pants. I'd sanction her, except—”