Waif Meets Wolf
Rowan
I watch the black SUV wind up the road to the mansion from my office window on the fourth floor. They pull through the iron gate, and it latches behind them.
She’s mine–I finally have her.
I should be feeling relief, or perhaps some wicked form of pleasure. Instead, all I can think about is my next move. This has been a long time coming, and while I’ve had years to scheme and plan, that voice in the back of my head that constantly reminds me of how important this is shouts at me not to fuck it up.
Several actual voices speak in my head at the same time as staff members let me know what’s happening within the mansion in preparation for her arrival. I tune them out. Instead, I watch James get out of the SUV and open the door for the girl. She can’t see me with her currently-human eyes, but I can zero in on her.
She’s not at all what I was expecting.
Her hair is the same shade as her father’s–black as night–but it’s unruly and looks like she hasn’t brushed it or even washed it in months.
She’s thin, too, like a rail. As she steps away from the SUV, reluctantly following James toward the porch, I can barely distinguish her hips and breasts. From here, she looks like she could be a young boy.
Her skin is so pale, it’s practically translucent.
I have to question how much of this is due to the fact that she’s been institutionalized for several weeks and how much of it is just the way she chooses to live her life. I know nothing about the girl at the moment–only that her name is Hezzlie Stone, and her mother, Ann, is so poor she was about to be evicted from her home when James contacted her yesterday and told her he was sending a car to pick her up.
The woman had asked a thousand questions, according to my Beta Dean, who’d been the one to have to speak to her. My idea had been to show up in the middle of the night and drag her here against her will, but James had shot that down, and since he’s the best pack healer anyone has ever known, I try to keep him happy when I can.
I honestly don’t care if anyone else is happy most of the time.
With the girl out of view, I cross to my desk and pick up the picture that always sits in the corner. Taking a deep breath, I stare at violet eyes, a beautiful smile, and wavy blonde hair. Cursing, I set it aside and try to concentrate, taking matters one step at a time. Still, I can’t hope but think this nightmare will be over soon, and Mara will soon be home.
A sharp knock at the door has any emotion fading from my mind, the scowl I always hide behind firmly in place. “Come!” I bark.
James steps into the room, shaking his head. It takes several seconds to cross from the door to my desk. My office is big–it’s more intimidating that way.
Taking a deep breath, he pauses on the other side of my desk and runs a hand through his caramel brown hair. “She’s here. I’ve asked Wilma to take her to her roo–”
“No. She comes here. Now.” I fold my hands in front of me and look and further narrow my eyes at him.
“But Alpha–”
“James? I want to see her immediately. Do not argue with me.” Forget about keeping him happy. I need to have a look at the girl, to see her with my own eyes. Up close and personal. If there’s any chance she’s not his, maybe I’ll be able to see it in her features.
He lets out a sigh. “It’s her, Rowan.” He’s testing me using my first name. Even though we’ve been friends since I was a young boy, and he was a teen learning his trade, I don’t like it when he takes that tone with me, like he thinks I’m out of order.
“If we had some DNA to compare hers to, I’d be more comfortable saying that for sure, but the spies we send across the mountains don’t come back in one piece, so send her the fuck in.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he reads between the lines. This isn’t a hill he needs to die on. “Fine.” He turns to go, using the mind-link as he walks out to let Wilma know there’s been a change in plans.
I sit up straighter behind my desk, like a lion about to pounce. This girl may be the answer to my biggest problems, but she doesn’t need to know that. Not yet.
I don’t like to show my hand until it’s squeezing the life out of someone’s throat.
Hezzlie
Wilma seems nice. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, but she’s taking the third flight of stairs like a champ. I imagine she has to climb up and down all day long in this massive place.
She’s dressed like a housekeeper, not a nurse, so I am confused.
“Where are we?” I’d asked Dr. Bolton the same question, but he hadn’t answered me. Once he’d admitted that he’d lied to me about this place, and I wasn’t actually going to like it here, he’d refused to speak another word to me.
The wolves on the front porch sent chills down my spine. Everywhere I look, there’s a ridiculously expensive piece of art depicting wolves in battle or a portrait of a regal looking person like you might see in a medieval castle.
That’s what the interior of this place feels like. Outside, I thought it was like a mansion, but inside, well, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a dungeon far beneath my feet.
Or maybe an oubliette in the wall.
I don’t see any other patients. I don’t hear any screaming. I don’t smell disinfectant. I don’t see anyone dressed like hospital staff.
Perhaps Dr. Bolton is rich and has kidnapped me–for some reason beyond my comprehension.
“This is Moonstryker House,” Wilma says as we begin to ascend yet another flight of stairs. “It’s not a fancy name for such a beautiful place, but that’s what it’s always been called, as far as I know.” She turns and smiles at me, and I feel a bit calmer than usual.
“Where are all the others?” I ask as we reach what I hope is the final landing. I’m not used to so much physical activity.
“Oh, there aren’t any, dear,” she says, turning to pat my shoulder. She doesn’t flinch at the sight of my awful hair or the fact that my skin is the same shade of pale gray that would make a Victorian-age mother call the doctor. “I’ll show you to your room.”
She starts to proceed down the hall but stops a few steps into it and slowly turns to face me, her tiny feet pivoting on the polished wooden floor. “Oh, dear,” she mutters.
“What? What is it?” It’s like she suddenly changed her mind, and we’re no longer going to my room.
Behind me, I hear a door close harder than necessary, though it doesn’t slam. I recognize the cadence of the footsteps and turn to see Dr. Bolton coming toward me at a quick clip. I know the look on his face, and he’s not happy.
“Must we?” Wilma asks, her voice so soft, I can barely hear her. “She needs a good soak–and a brush.”
“We must.” Dr. Bolton gives her a sympathetic look, but when his eyes meet mine, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Hezzlie.”
“You seem to be saying that an awful lot these days, James.”
His eyebrow tweaks when I use his first name. I don’t care. What have I got to lose at this point?
Wilma clears her throat and takes my arm, gently leading me in the direction Dr. Bolton has just come from. We reach the door he closed with conviction, and she raises her hand. I see it trembling before she knocks, and suddenly I miss Dr. Turner. He might’ve been an asshole, but I neve saw anyone tremble before them.
Who the fuck waits for me on the other side of this door?
“Come!”
I jerk back at the harshness in the male tone. Whoever he is, I have a feeling I’m about to hate his guts more than I’ve ever hated anyone.
Wilma’s hand is still shaking as she reaches for the doorknob.
The door opens with a slight creak, and I’m peering into the largest office I’ve ever seen. Far on the other side of the room sits an enormous ornately carved desk with a man behind it.
It’s too far away for me to see him clearly, and he’s not looking at me anyway. All I can see is the top of his head as his chair is turned to face the wall behind him. His hair is dirty blonde, perfectly sculpted with every piece in place.
“Go on, dear.” Wilma gives me a nudge, and I start to walk.
Fear bubbles up in the back of my throat as I creep toward what feels like instant death. I swallow it down and will my stick legs forward until I’m within six feet of his desk, and then I stop. The door closes behind me, and I jump again.
The chair slowly turns to reveal a man unlike any other I’ve ever seen before. He appears to be in his mid-to-late twenties. Sculpted muscle ripples beneath his black shirt, and his blue eyes burn like sapphires. I fight the urge to bite down on my bottom lip as he stares at me, I’ve never seen anyone so attractive in my life.
But then the sneer on his face registers in my lust-filled mind, and I remember I am his patient, whoever the hell he is.
I’m either his patient, or his prisoner, and I have a feeling whatever is going to happen next–James will be right.
I’m not gonna like it.