Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (15 page)

Chapter Sixteen

As
Jack shifted back to human form, Hulk and Squatty looped their arms through his and jerked him to his feet.

“Hold him still so I can get a good look at him,” Gerard commanded.

Neil stood behind Jack, his thick hands around his neck, ready to snap it at a moment’s notice. He squirmed to be free, but the guards were huge. Stronger and more relentless than they appeared. And he’d spent too much of his waning strength during the shift.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Neil said from behind Jack. “We had him in the study, but he took us off guard, shifted, and—”

Gerard put up a hand, silencing him, and then set his gaze on Jack. “Who are you? A thief?”

“I’m not a thief.” Jack shook his head, painfully aware how stark naked he was. “I came here to talk to your daughter.”

Eyes widening, Gerard snapped toward Neil. “Get this man some clothes. I will not continue to talk to him this way.”

They waited in silence, measuring each other up, until Neil brought the T-shirt and jeans Jack had packed in his bag. He chucked them at Jack’s middle. Releasing his arms, Hulk and Squatty stood by while Jack dressed…and then they snatched him up again.
Idiots
. If he’d really wanted to attack Gerard, he would’ve done it in those few precious seconds when he was naked and unrestrained.

“That’s better,” Gerard said, his mouth a hard line.

“Isabelle…” Jack started.

“We’re lucky she’s not here.” Gerard’s gaze eyes burned with wicked amusement. “You might’ve gotten to her before we could get our hands on you. And I believe I asked you who you were.”

She wasn’t here?

Despair hollowed him out. “My name is Jack MacGrath.”

“MacGrath?” The word was a growl, spoken short and clipped. Gerard fumed, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Then you are a thief. And you’re also a liar and a conspirator, and bear one of the vilest names on the planet. What are you doing in my home?”

“I’m here for Isabelle.”

Gerard paused, measuring him with beady onyx eyes. With a quick flip of the covers, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood on shaky legs. He was tall. Six foot five, maybe? But his skin was pasty and his eyes sunken in. Even in his weakened state, her father stood tall, his shoulders pulled back. Shuffling over to Jack, he glowered, looking as if he planned to rip Jack’s head off his neck.

“How do you know my daughter?” he growled, coming closer.

The guards tightened their grip on Jack, as if he’d try to attack their Alpha. But he’d told them before—he wasn’t here to hurt anyone.

“Isabelle came to San Francisco over the weekend, and we met—”

“Were you in the Alpha’s heir conference, too?” He grimaced as if he’d tasted something sour. “I can’t imagine you being Alpha of anything.”

Alpha heir conference?

“No, sir, I’m not going to be Alpha. I met her at an art auction on Saturday morning.”

Neil dug his fingers into Jack’s neck and squeezed tight. Air wheezed in and out of his lungs until words vanished and he couldn’t go on. He hadn’t forgotten what Isabelle had told him. She’d wanted to surprise her father with the collection. Jack wasn’t going to spoil that, as Neil obviously thought. But he also wasn’t going to lie to her father about where and how they met, either.

He’d already started off on the wrong foot, barging into his private chamber. He wasn’t going to add lying to the mix.

“She said nothing of an art auction.” Gerard frowned. “And she said nothing of you.”

That burned, even though it was expected.

“Isabelle and I…” He’d walked through his moment in his mind, had gone over and over how he was going to say this to her father. But now that he stared into his sunken face, the words disappeared. “…I want to be with her.”

I need to be with her.
She’s my Luminary. My soul howls for her.

That’s what he’d wanted to say.

“You want to court my Isabelle?” Gerard stalked closer, within arm’s reach. And then he laughed. The guards chuckled and then broke into laughter with him. “There’s a chance you’re even dumber than your ancestors.” He belted out a laugh that echoed into the room. “I didn’t think that was possible, but here you stand.”

Oh, there’d be no softening her father for the blow. No way to ease him into the idea that they belonged together. He saw that now, and understood Isabelle’s predicament.

But he had a dilemma, too. If they didn’t bond soon, he wouldn’t live to see the coming year.

“The fights and lies between our families happened hundreds of years ago,” Jack said. “That’s got nothing to do with me and your daughter. Right here, as I stand before you this day, I can say with every beat of my heart that I’m in love with her, and she’s in love with me. And that’s the way it will be until the end of time.”

Gerard’s laugh cut short. Blistering waves of rage radiated from his body. As he narrowed his eyes to slits, Gerard coldcocked him. Right in the nose. Starbursts went off behind his eyes. Blood gushed from his nose, dripping down his chest to the floor.

For a guy on his deathbed, he could deliver one hell of a blow.

“How dare you,” Gerard seethed. “You claim to be different from your ancestors, yet what have you done? You’ve barged into my home uninvited and unannounced, terrorized my guards, and while in San Francisco, you attempted to steal the one thing that means the most to me in this world. You are exactly as I thought you were—exactly like every other MacGrath I’ve ever met. You are a liar, a thief, a greedy bastard.”

Well, when he put it like that…

“It would seem that way, but—”

“But nothing.” Gerard’s expression went bitter. “You could never be good enough for Isabelle.”

At least they agreed on that point. She was an angel. He didn’t deserve her, but would spend the rest of his life striving to be the man she needed.

“She loves me.”

Gerard squinted, his nostrils flaring. “Has she told you so?”

The words she’d scribbled came to him:
I must be crazy, but I think I love you.

She hadn’t said it, exactly. She
thought
she loved him.

Sensing Jack’s hesitation, Gerard grinned from the side of his mouth. “She hasn’t said a thing…you don’t even know how she feels.” He paused, searching Jack’s face, and then, “Let me tell you what I know. The MacGrath family is filled with selfish creatures who are only out for their own gain. They’ll do anything to get what they want. When given the chance, you’ll put your own happiness first. You’ll prioritize your needs above hers. Every single time. It’s ingrained in you to be that way. You can’t help it. But I can stop it from happening in the first place.” He nudged his chin at each of the guards. “Take him to the dungeon.”

“What?” Desperate, Jack fought to get free, but they held impossibly tight. Horror pierced him. “No, wait. The
dungeon
?”

“You’ll like it down there,” Gerard said, turning back to his bed. “It’s full of your kind.”

“My kind?”

Americans? Perceived liars or criminals?

Glancing over his shoulder, Gerard grinned sadistically. “Rats.”

There
was the adrenaline he’d been missing. Swells of the energizing hormone flooded his veins at the thought of rats crawling over his body. His eyes went wide as sparks flared in his chest.

Leaving Neil in the chamber with Gerard, the two guards dragged Jack out of the room. Kicking and hollering, Jack struggled. Clashed against the guard on either arm. He tried to shift, summoning the energy surging through him. But the transformation didn’t come.

He’d expended too much energy earlier, and the quick spark he’d gotten from the mention of the rats hadn’t been enough to recharge him.

Spiraling down the first and second staircases, they manhandled him as if they’d done this before. As they passed the study, he caught sight of his backpack on the floor near the couch where he’d been sitting.

Damn it.

“Hey, hey, wait.” He skidded his feet. Pulled and tugged to move toward the study. “My bag, my insulin. Can you grab it and bring it down into the cell—er, dungeon—with me? We’re civilized men, enemies or not.”

They didn’t flinch, didn’t respond.

The blood drained from his veins. “It’s my life we’re talking about.”

“Exactly, MacGrath.” Hulk laughed, low and husky. “It’s your life.”

Dragging him away from the study, they turned right and passed through a door hidden beneath the stairs. Walls made of stone lined a narrow spiral staircase that descended into the dark. Fighting the whole way, Hulk and Squatty eventually managed to get Jack to the bottom. They spilled out into some sort of dimly lit cave with small tunnels branching off in every direction. It was colder down here, the air stagnant and chilling. The walls were smooth and glistening. Like damp limestone. Water trickled somewhere in the distance, and the pungent stench of ancient grime permeated Jack’s senses.

“Where do all those tunnels lead?” Jack searched around, scoping out a route to use when they finally left him to his own devices. “To the seventh circle of hell?”

“It’s an escape route,” Hulk said, cinching Jack’s hands behind his back. “Some of these tunnels go on for miles and dead end. Others loop around to other tunnels. And one spits out somewhere on the River Avonmore.”

“One?” Jack blanched, staring at the nine tunnels branching off. “And all these others lead nowhere?”

“Well, yeah,” Squatty said. “During an escape, the Connellys would know which tunnel led out, but the attackers wouldn’t. They’d get a clean break.”

It was quite brilliant, actually.

But he had to get out, and didn’t have time to search around. There was nothing for him down here. No way to get the thrills he needed to survive. He’d be dead in days without it. But Isabelle would have to come back to the castle for her father. Would he hear her when she did? Would she detect his scent, know he’d come, and search him out?

God, he hoped so.

And before it was too late.

“This way,” Hulk grumbled, and led Jack to the far wall, where giant steel hooks had been drilled into the stone. Chains looped through the hooks and hung to the floor with heavy shackles attached to the end.

“You’re kidding,” Jack said, going cold. “This isn’t the Middle Ages, you know. Prisons have advanced since then. Three square meals a day, a bed, and wifi. This is—”

“The way we do it here,” Squatty interrupted, slamming Jack against the wall. He locked Jack’s wrists into the top shackles as Hulk attached his ankles to the bottom ones. “You’ll only be down here until our Alpha decides exactly what to do with you.”

Still, he dared not hope.

After checking the shackles, Squatty and Hulk strode toward the stairs leading to the main floor of the castle. As if to follow them, Jack pulled away from the wall, the shackles oppressively heavy on his hands and feet. The chains gave him about five feet of walking room, but the hooks were pinned solidly into the stone.

They left him in the dark with no adrenaline to stay alive, and only a grim sliver of hope in his heart. As if his body knew when things had become dire, his hands started to tremble, vibrating through his arms, and chest.

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled, steeling himself for the inevitable. “This is the perfect time to black out.”

And then high-pitched squeaking sounds echoed through the tunnels.

Rats.

Chapter Seventeen

As
the clock clicked ten past eight, Isabelle searched around Bella Nolan’s area of the National Gallery of Ireland one more time. Each piece of art had been hung and illuminated. They were all there, including the one she’d painted of Neil at the Cliffs of Moher for his mother.

And they were perfect.

In the center of the room, she’d highlighted
Werewolf in San Francisco,
her favorite piece. Heart pinching, she swept her fingers over the wolf in the painting, over Jack’s coat. She’d painted him perfectly, capturing the gleam in his eye and the strength in his stance. Skin chilling, she brushed her hands over her arms and recalled how that night had ended.

There was so much riding on tonight and her father’s reaction.

While she thought of it,
where was he?

Anticipation pulsed through her as she exited the museum and waited at the bottom of the steps for her father’s car to appear. Neil had said he’d bring him by eight sharp. It was ten past.

Her father was never late.

Something must’ve held him up. She would’ve been worried it was his health, but Neil would’ve called. What, then?

As she checked her phone to see if she’d missed a message, a blacked-out Lincoln pulled up. Her dad’s car.
He was here.
Neil exited first and swept around the back.

“We have a problem.” Popping the trunk, he pulled out a wheelchair and readied it for her father. “He’s not in the best mood.”

Oh, great.

“What happened?”

The back door opened and her father stepped out. “Nothing I want to worry you with at the moment.”

Standing back with his arms folded over his chest, Neil pressed his lips into a tight line. There was something he wanted to add…

“We can talk about it later.” Her father eased into the wheelchair. “For now, I want to spend a wonderful night with my daughter, and think about nothing else. It’s exactly the thing that will cheer me up. Now what is this surprise you have for me?”

Whatever had stalled him, it must not have been too important. Although Neil looked stressed, her father appeared fine. Sure, he was weak, but he was still interested in what she had planned, which was a bonus.

“Right this way, Dad.” She took the handles from Neil, though he held tight.

“We have to talk,” Neil gritted through clenched teeth.

Impatient to show her father, when they were so close, she glared. “We can talk after, okay? Circle the block, see a show, run errands, I don’t care. Pick him up in two hours.”

“If you insist.” With a small, respectful head nod, Neil marched toward the driver’s side door. “I suppose the
problem
isn’t going anywhere.”

What had he meant by that?

“Take me away, Isabelle,” her father said.

“Sure thing.” She pushed him toward the museum entrance, and then leaned close to his ear. “I know you’re not an art fan, but I heard there’s an exhibit in one of the halls that will take your breath away.”

“You think so?”

He sounded disbelieving.

And it hurt.

“I do,” she said, and rolled him inside. “It’s taken me a long time to put this together, so I really hope you can appreciate it.”

“Wait.” He twisted in his chair. Craned to look over his shoulder. “You put together the exhibit?”

She didn’t answer as she whisked him toward the Bella Nolan area. He’d see the truth with his own eyes.

“Does this have to do with the art auction you went to in the States?”

She paused, hesitating. Thinking back. Had she mentioned it when she was at his bedside? No, she hadn’t. Must’ve been Neil.

“Yes,” she said finally. “It does, but there’s so much more to it than that.”

Slowing around the final corner, dizziness swept over her and her skin prickled with gooseflesh. She was nervous beyond belief. Her father wouldn’t physically destroy all of the paintings as he’d done with the first one, but his disapproval could devastate her just the same.

“Okay,” she said more to herself than to him. “Here it is. A collection of art by the internationally renowned artist Bella Nolan.”

As she pushed him into the center of the gallery, she could sense his heartbeat slow. His breathing matched. He leaned forward in his chair. But she couldn’t pick up any emotions from him. Not anger or cynicism, happiness or surprise. Nothing.

Anxiety spiraled within her as she rolled him toward
Werewolf at the Cliffs of Moher. “
The entire collection is called
Urban Werewolves,
though not all of them were painted that way. Look, this one is of Neil.”

“Our Neil?” he leaned forward, eyeing the art curiously. “I never knew he volunteered for art sessions. Look at that.”

Had he made the connection? He didn’t seem to have. The worry in her veins eased away as she pushed him along, mentioning small tidbits about each of the paintings.

“This one was where you and mom went on your honeymoon, remember?”

That one got a smile out of him. “Of course I remember. That wolf is strong, isn’t he? Look at him. How vibrant and full of life.”

“And this one—” She moved him toward
Werewolf in Manhattan.
“Remember when you and mom took me to New York? The skyline was amazing.”

He nodded. “That was a great trip.”

Why wasn’t he saying anything else? Did he not see the resemblance between the painting she’d done of him in wolf form in front of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and these? Had her first painting meant so little to him that he didn’t even remember it?

Heart in her throat, she escorted him to Jack’s painting. “This one is called
Werewolf in San Francisco
.”

“It’s striking.”

“I’m so glad you think so.” Joy lit her up. Locking the wheels of his chair, she came around and knelt beside him. “Father, now I’d like to introduce you to Bella Nolan.”

He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“You…” Thoughts whirling, tears seized her throat. Her heart hiccuped and then began hammering against her ribs. She couldn’t find the words. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she squeezed him tight. “You
do
remember.”

He’d made the connection. Maybe the first painting really had made an impression on him. She sucked in a rattled breath as her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“Of course I remember.” He pulled back and stroked his hands down her hair. “Isabelle, I could never forget. I simply thought painting was a distraction for you, something that would turn your focus away from ruling the pack someday. There’s a lot to learn about pack dynamics and foreign policy, my dear, and you have to give it the attention that it deserves.”

“I know that.” Heart racing, she kneeled beside his chair. “I do.”

“To be honest, I thought this was a hobby—a onetime thing. I didn’t realize”—his gaze skimmed the gallery, stopping on every single piece in turn—“it would turn into something like this. It’s astonishing. Truly.”

It was everything she’d always dreamed of hearing.

As she blinked, and swallowed down the sting in her throat, a single tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s not a hobby…it never was. It’s my passion, Father. Something that makes me happy. I’m not going to turn away from ruling the pack, but I want to do this, too.”

Now came the words ripped straight from her heart…

“I wanted you to understand how important this is to me before you…” The words were strangled out of her, along with all the air in her lungs.

He nodded, placing his hand over hers as it rested on the arm of his wheelchair. “Before I died,” he finished for her. “It’s okay, Isabelle.”

“I’ve kept this a secret far too long.”

“Judging from how many paintings there are,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “you’ve done a mighty good job keeping it. Have they been on display here this whole time?”

“No,” she said, grinning proudly. “They were sold all over the world, some of them for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“Really?” He snapped his gaze to hers. “Are you telling me I have a famous daughter?”

As a warm blush crept into her cheeks, she shook her head humbly. “No, but some of them are worth more than you’d believe.”

The one directly in front of them was priceless…

“How did you get them all here?” He touched the bottom of Jack’s painting. “Did you have to buy them back?”

“Some yes, but others are more complicated to explain.” Her heart beat fast. “Father, painting has become a part of me, as much as breathing, eating, and loving. I want to keep doing it, for as long as I can, but I desperately need your blessing.”

“Oh sweetheart, you have it.” He spread his arms wide, and she nearly leaped into them. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy with the life I’ve made for you. I didn’t realize this meant so much to you, but seeing them all lined up this way…” He paused as if he was choking up. “If you’ve found your happiness painting, I don’t see any reason why you’d have to choose between them now.”

Her heart soared, releasing the weight she’d been bearing for so long.

“Thank you so much,” she cried. “You have no idea what that your blessing means to me, how important is that I know you want me to be happy, no matter what.”

“Always,” he said, brushing a hand down her cheek. “Whatever it takes, you should follow your heart.”

“God, I’m so glad to hear you say that.” She moved closer to Jack’s painting. “Because I have fallen in love with painting…and with someone I’m not sure you’ll approve of.”

Her dad’s smile faltered.

“This is him,” she said, pointing to the wolf in the painting. “I met him in San Francisco and painted him in Golden Gate Park. He let me borrow a lot of these from his private gallery because he knew how much it’d mean to me to display them for you.”

Folding his arms over his chest, her father got the strangest look on his face. As if he were contemplating something that had him torn to pieces. His brows knit together, his dark eyes shadowed over, and his lips pulled down into a frown.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Jack”—she swallowed hard—“MacGrath.”

She winced, waiting for him to lose his cool. Scream and yell and tell her how foolish she was to start something with him.

“
A stor
, Isabelle….my treasure.” He motioned for her to come back down to his side. As she did, he took her hand. “I love you. More than anything. More than life itself. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to see you happy in this life. And that’s the reason I can’t let you be with him.”

She frowned. Not the reaction she’d been expecting. His response seemed practiced. It was lacking anger, and instead, seemed rehearsed with a calm clarity that only time could offer.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “If you want me to be happy, why can’t I be with someone who makes me that way? He’s not anything like the other MacGrath family members you’ve told me about. He’s kind and gentle, and wants me to be happy, just as you do.”

He scoffed. “Isabelle, MacGrath men never put another’s happiness over their own. Not ever. If Jack MacGrath gave you his paintings to bring here, he must be getting something out of the deal.”

What could he possibly be gaining by letting her borrow his collection? If anything, she’d taken from him. Especially since she took the one painting he loved most. Without asking.

If anyone was the thief, it was her, really.

“All you have to do is figure out what your precious Jack wants most,” her father said. “And then ask yourself, can he get that from you? If the answer’s yes, you know he’s like every other MacGrath in his family line. Only with you, stringing you along, so that he can get what he wants.”

From nearly the moment she met Jack, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted her and no other. More than that, he wanted to bond with her.

So that he could live.

As the thought struck her, her father squeezed her hand.

“I hate that I’m right all the time,” he said, “but I’m an excellent judge of character. Show me a MacGrath who’d put someone else’s needs above his own, and I might change my tune. Until then, you have my blessing to paint and travel and rule the pack after me. But you do not have my blessing to be with Jack MacGrath.”

He’ll die without me.

She was going to be sick. Head spinning, stomach souring, Isabelle hung her head in her hands. Every muscle in her body tightened to the point of pain, and her heart—good God, her heart—clenched into a rock.

She’d gotten what she’d always wanted: her father’s blessing to paint.

But she’d have to continue on with life, missing one half of her heart.