The Legend of the Werewolf (17 page)

Westley nodded.

Chris growled, green eyes flashing to red.
"The man yells as though I weren't in a sick bed. I'm acting at
this point, though. A whole night of bed rest did me pretty good
but he doesn't know that. The second he deems me healthy, I'm to
leave. I'm not going anywhere, though."

Westley shook his head at Chris before
he looked at Anne. "Doesn’t matter. Chris and I have been talking …
and we’ve … never mind. Do you really believe that this man is the
first?"

Anne’s chest ached with the
implications of what Westley didn’t say. They’d been talking? The
way Westley said it made it sound as though they were talking about
breaking up.

She cleared her throat and shrugged,
focusing on Westley’s question. "I guess so." She wouldn’t tell
them about Mike’s visions just yet.

"No, really. Do you believe he is the
first werewolf? Not because of what we're doing but because you
believe it."

Anne didn't have to think about it
anymore. Between what happened last night and her thoughts
concerning him this morning, in her gut she felt certain. "I
believe it."

Her stomach dropped with the confession,
pain burned an acid hole in her chest.

She knew why. She was attracted to
him.

He was kind enough to help her avoid a
marriage. He looked at her like she was more than just someone
else’s potential wife, like she was worthy of pursuing. He had also
treated everyone involved with his kidnapping with respect. Not a
lot of respect, but it was better than nothing.

But, if his visions meant he was the first
werewolf, reincarnated or not, then that meant somewhere he had a
goddess waiting for him. Waiting to bestow her love on him for a
thousand lost years.

Even if he did almost kiss her in his
bedroom, why would anyone ever choose to give up a goddess for
little, insignificant Anne?

Westley stuck his hand in front of her
eyes and snapped his fingers. "You okay?"

She had to shake herself. "Hmm? Right,
yeah. I'm fine. What were we talking about?"

They gave her an odd look so similar to
each other that she knew they were made for each other. It
depressed her further that they had to talk about
separating.

Maybe they meant it only as a temporary
thing. God she hoped so.

"The first werewolf."

She tried to laugh but it stuck in her
throat like putty. "Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I
guess the idea that we have the first of us on this ranch right now
..."

Westley nodded. "When this gets out, if
he doesn't get killed, this pack will be subjected to so much
jealousy. I wouldn't be surprised if we get werewolves fighting
each other just to join us."

"So you believe it?" She didn't know
why she was shocked. She wanted other people to believe that she
hadn't endangered the entire pack for a fairy tale. Not even Bill,
who taught her this stuff since he turned her, would believe
her.

God, what a mess. She didn’t want Mike to
be the first werewolf. She just wanted people to believe that he
was.

She needed a shrink.

"After last night ..." Westley trailed
off and shook his head. "There's definitely something going on with
him."

Anne looked to Chris for extra support.
His eyes were green again and seemed far away. "My father once told
me that only the most powerful magic could create shadows. You have
to kill people to do it. I always thought it was a story. Now, I
see that it isn't."

"So you believe, too?"

He nodded.

That shouldn’t depress her as much as it
did.

Westley jumped up from the bed,
knocking her to the floor.

"What are you—?"

She didn't get to finish. Westley
dragged her up by the back of her shirt and shoved thick bottles in
her hands. She fumbled with the jars until her fingers firmly
wrapped around them. Chris jumped fully under his covers until the
beige quilt sat under his chin and Westley sloshed a wet cloth over
his forehead.

What the Hell? "What's
going—?"

The door slammed open. Gordon stood in
the doorway and glared inside the room. His eyes scanned the scene
before studying Chris's suddenly slack body in bed.

Anne could hardly comprehend seeing an
older version of Westley sneering down at Chris like
that.

Too weird.

"Is he alright?" The question sounded
forced to Anne's ears.

It bubbled with loathing rather than
concern, and Anne knew why Westley shoved the bottles in her hands,
suddenly aware of the scene they made.

Chris, laying hurt in his sick bed with
both her and Westley standing above him, medication in their ready
hands made the perfect ruse.

Anne couldn't speak. She hadn't heard
Gordon stomping through Westley's cabin. That shouldn't have
happened. More and more she was losing her focus. She needed to
stop thinking about Mike so much.

"His fever broke." Westley's normally
soft voice was as cold as a rock in winter.

His indifference brightened Gordon's
dark mood. He nodded. "Keep me updated on his condition." His eyes
landed on Anne and he raised a brow as though seeing her for the
first time in the insanely small room. "Shouldn't you be with our
guest?"

She nearly choked and had to fight for
her words. She hated lying to her pack master. Untrue words spoken
to him scratched her throat like sandpaper.

Westley could only do it so skillfully
because the man was his father.

"I wanted to thank Chris for helping us
last night. I didn't think he'd be like this when I got here and I
lost track of time. Brock's with him, though." That part was at
least true, and it eased her guilty heart just enough for her to
sound sincere.

Gordon nodded again. He turned his back
and exited the room without looking back at any of them.

Chris deemed it safe enough to open his
eyes when the door clicked shut, but no one moved or spoke. They
listened patiently for the sound of the outside door opening and
closing before they could speak without fear of being
overheard.

Westley half fell on the bed when his
father left. "Jesus, I wish he wouldn't sneak up on me like
that."

"I wish you could tell him to get a life,"
Chris muttered.

Westley shut his eyes, seeming to ask
for patience. "I’m not ready for that. I need my pack."

Chris skimmed down the bed so that he sat
next to Westley. He ran his fingers through Westley’s light hair in
an intimate gesture. "But, don't you see? I'll be your pack and it
won't just be the two of us either, Anne will still be your friend.
She won't stop being your pack mate just because your dad tells her
to."

Westley's lips twitched. "A pack of two
people, maybe three. Doesn't sound like much to me."

Anne put the bottles on the nightstand.
She couldn't stand to hear anything as private as their worries for
the future when she already worried along with them.

Westley was right. Chris didn’t get it.
Werewolves regarded their pack as their family. It was a unit that
was hard to give up and leave behind. Weres usually didn’t do it
unless they were leaving for another pack.

Dragons didn’t need packs. They were
able to survive on their own for their entire lives if they chose
to. If an entire group of dragons lived together then it was
because they chose to.

Until Chris met Westley, he’d chosen to
live on his own like most other dragons. When they became a pair,
he chose to join a pack of werewolves should they accept
him.

Gordon did not accept.

"I'll leave you two alone now. I just
wanted to see how everything was and make sure you were okay," she
said, nodding to Chris.

Neither looked at her. They just looked
at each other.

"Thanks for coming over," Chris
said.

She couldn't stand hearing the lack of
hope in his voice.

Then he lifted his head to look at her.
"Look, whatever we're going to do, we'll do it today. We can't keep
putting this off and Westley and I can't keep pretending that we're
fine with him getting married."

Westley sat up. "Thank God, what's the
plan?"

Even Chris stared at her expectantly. She
wished she had more of a plan. What she did have in mind seemed
filled to the brim with flaws. "We stick with the original idea.
We'll just ask Mike to play the part and demand that Gordon call
off the wedding."

Chris rested his chin in his bandaged
hand. "And when Gordon asks why?"

The best idea in the world popped like
fireworks inside her brain. "I'll ask Mike to tell him that he
doesn't want me marrying Westley because Mike wants to marry
me."

***

"Are you out of your mind?"

Not the reaction she hoped for. Anne
couldn't contain the sliver of insult that wormed into her voice.
"Gee, thanks a lot."

"I mean, not that you're not worth
marrying or not attractive," His eyes skimmed up and down her body,
hesitating in a few specific places that made Anne
blush.

God. She loved being looked at like
that.

Mike seemed to come out of whatever trance
he was in, blinked a few times, and had the decency to look
embarrassed. "Sorry, but the point is that I can't just marry you
and hope for the best for your friend."

Anne slipped back into business mode.
She had to make him see why this was a brilliant idea. "But that's
the beautiful part, we don't have to do anything. You don't have to
worry about being tied to me or anything because I'm a werewolf.
Everyone thinks you're the first werewolf reincarnated. If you say
you want to have a long engagement, they'll go along with
it."

"I got the impression from Gordon that
he didn't care whether or not I really was the first of
anything."

Anne nodded. "Right, but if he wants to
keep the respect of his pack then he'll get over that really fast.
There are people outside, right now, waiting to meet you. They
brought their families and stayed the night after a dangerous
situation. Trust me, you're the one in charge here."

Mike rubbed his hand over his chin,
thick with stubble.

Anne waited, muscles jumping and
twitching under her skin with anticipation.

“
I need them to let me call my
partner in Griffon. I’ve put it off too long already,” he
said.

Her hands slapped together at the
victory. “I’d bet a million dollars, my first born son, and my soul
you could get a phone if you asked for it.”

“
Good.” He grinned lazily at her.
"All I do is play my part, in turn I get a phone call, the chance
to play husband to a gorgeous lady, and out from under Gordon's
nose? Sounds like a plan."

She returned his grin.

NINE

Mike adjusted his borrowed sweater,
shifting his feet in anticipation for meeting the crowd. "Explain
again how we’re doing this?”

Anne, damn her, danced around the cabin
like a pixie.

A gorgeous fantasy pixie. Just because
he was going to play her spouse didn’t mean he got the right to
touch her.

Her werewolf mind cut him off from most
of her thoughts, but he didn't need them. She was queen of the
world, she’d won the lottery, it was her birthday and Christmas
rolled into one.

She wasn’t the least bit nervous for
what they were about to do.

Which was lie to an entire pack of
werewolves. "Just play the part and everyone will follow you around
like rats following the Pied Piper."

"Should be easy enough," he said. He’d
said it every time he had her repeat what they were
doing.

The problem was that it seemed too easy.
And, once he realized that, he got nervous. In his line of work,
everything that was too easy was not to be trusted.

In Griffon City he was used to both
taking and giving orders. Anne’s orders were that he stand tall,
speak with confidence, and let the wolves outside bow
down.

Seemed simple enough, but something was
missing. He wasn’t putting something together. His instincts just
didn’t go shit-crazy for no reason.

He hated, hated, hated, when that
happened. It made him feel small, like he wasn’t qualified to do
his job. Right now, he wasn’t feeling very damn qualified to call
himself a detective if there was something he wasn’t
get—

Mike ceased to breathe. He knew what
they were missing. “Your plan’s not going to work.”

Anne stopped dancing with her imaginary
partner to stare at him all dumbfounded and horrified, as though
he’d just told her he’d run over her kitten.

“Why not?”

“How are we supposed to fake a
soul-bonding?” The thing that all werewolves did as part of their
mating. The thing that attached werewolves to their mates for
life.