Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (85 page)

The poodle seemed more enthusiastic than she felt. She should feel happy—she did, enough so that her body felt light, her heart airy, but underneath, something else lingered. Not quite foreboding or trepidation. More like a cool sense of certainty that nothing in her life would ever be the same again. She remembered the dream.

She should tell Beatrice then and there, but a deep sense of foreboding held her back. It went against common sense to hide the dream. But the thought of telling Bea now gave her sick belly.

And she wasn’t yet sure how to feel about that.

~~~

Chapter Five

The frothy wake trailing behind the ship broke up the crisp blue of the water. Grant glared at the foam. Not even this helped ease his irritation. The night in Pigalle, following Jean-Paul, the glow, and the man’s confession—all haunted him. After days of analyzing it all, he feared the wolf even more. It was as if it had been waiting until, instead of taking over, it could merge. How did he get rid of the animal inside of him before he lost himself altogether? The wolf had too much power. It wouldn’t lie dormant. It paced and whined, urging Grant to hunt again.

If he gave in to that urge, the scene in Pigalle would repeat itself. He could feel it. He couldn’t go around murdering glowing men. It risked too much. His sister had suffered enough without losing him, too. But the wolf wouldn’t go away. He’d grown so annoyed in the last week that even being annoyed irritated him. He couldn’t take any more. He’d learned to marginally bear losing Tristan, to bear losing himself to the uncontrollable blackouts, too. Searching for his nephew kept him going, despite the gloom.

The new, constant awareness of the wolf-soul inside him combined with Leigh Hamilton falling conveniently ill the second the ship set sail had become too much. Finding something to punch sounded damned good. One good punch, though, and he’d lose control. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stop.

“
The poor girl’s been so sick so long, you have to wonder if it’s a ruse,” Nick Levitt said, flicking the ash of his cigarette over the ship’s railing so that it blew up and scattered in Grant’s face.

Grant turned his glare on Levitt, his sister’s private—useless—investigator. He should have smelled him coming but the wind must have hid the stink of the cigarette. “You would know,” Grant said. “You’re probably an expert on being avoided by now. Oh the excuses women must come up with.”

Nick chuckled low. “Only the smart ones.”

If only women did, in fact, avoid Levitt, Grant might sleep a little better. Nick’s pretty boy face might look good in purple and green bruises. So Grant kept his fists at the rail instead. The ladies might just swoon harder, though, including his sister. The clear day and bright sun hurt his eyes, and the wind made his skin itch.

Nick’s provoking comment was what it was. He had no reason to feel so irrationally frustrated over Leigh Hamilton’s seasickness. But he did. Levitt insinuating that she was faking gave the idea legs. If Nick suspected as much, too, then it might be more than Grant’s own head searching for a way to stop replaying images of a claw opening that man’s neck.

Leigh really was avoiding him. If he could stop thinking about the woman, his mood would dramatically improve. From the hotel to the train to boarding the ship itself, she’d cleanly avoided answering his questions about that note. “Is there something specific you need from me, Levitt?”

“
Not a thing, friend.” The man’s green eyes sparkled with humor.

Leigh’s green eyes had startled him with their brightness that day in the church. Why didn’t Nick’s now? Grant analyzed the green hue four full seconds before realizing he was comparing Nick’s eye color to Leigh’s. He shook his head. “By the time she’s well, we’ll have arrived.”

“
What’s the rush?” Nick asked.

“
You must be joking.” What was the rush? Leigh hadn’t given them a single clue as to what to do next or where to go. No, that wasn’t true. She’d asked them to please take her to the scene of the crime. She’d said please. He glared at Nick, wishing he and his smirk would bug off. “We’ll arrive in New York in less than three days.”

Nick shrugged. “And?”

“
And the clock is ticking.”

“
If there’s information to be had,” Nick said, nonplussed, “Beatrice will get it. You don’t appreciate how resourceful your sister is.”

Grant snorted.

Just this morning, Beatrice had once again refused to let Grant speak to Leigh until she got her sea legs. Beatrice had insisted Leigh stay with her until she felt better. Twelve days out, and she should have her sea legs by now.

Plus, Beatrice helping Leigh at every turn didn’t equate to being resourceful. His sister hadn’t even asked to see the damned note. Grant had to force her to read the thing, and then she’d only laughed. His newfound disdain for all things now included her, too.

“
I can see how much fuming is helping matters,” Nick said. “I’m shocked that Leigh isn’t up, about, and demanding to see you.”

Grant ground his teeth.

Nick flicked the ashy stub over the edge. It disappeared a long way down, into the ship’s frothy wake. “Too much rage might trigger a change into the wolf, friend, and you don’t want to go animal in the middle of an ocean, with little place to run or hide.”

Words couldn’t define how much Grant hated Nick knowing this secret. “Don’t you have a petty misdemeanor somewhere to investigate? Some evidence to lose or ruin?”

“
Only if burning Leigh’s note counts.” Nick grinned lopsidedly. “Until Leigh is well enough to give us more information, I’m a free agent. Why don’t you check on sweet, little Duchy? She’ll help you find your sunshine.”

Grant ignored the bait about the note and the mention of the poodle, whom he’d just visited. Duchy hated the kennel. He didn’t blame her. “Free is what you’re calling it these days?”

“
Free in the spiritual sense, of course.” Nick flashed his eyebrows up. “I’d love to see Miss Hamilton back to good health, myself. The lady quite intrigues me.”

Grant liked that idea about as much as the idea of Leigh not recovering at all. “If she does, in fact, find her sea legs, know this. Beatrice and I will be the only people who interrogate her.”

Nick’s grin widened. “Interrogate? Certainly. By all means. If that’s the term you’ll use with her, though, I should warn you, most don’t take kindly to it.”

“
I mean it, Levitt. Not a single question about Tristan’s disappearance. I refuse to have any of us inadvertently feed her information.”

Nick’s grin faltered. “You still don’t trust her.”

“
You do?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had but one conversation with the lady. What I witnessed in Georgette LePlante’s salon, though, erased any doubts I harbored. The lady is sincere.”

He forced his hands open. Georgette LePlante made his skin crawl. It had taken 20 francs and a threat to have her leave the hotel. “Sincerity won’t find Tristan.”

“
Touché. And now I am all the more fascinated.”

“
Swear it, Levitt. Not a solitary mention of Tristan, or of what happened that night.”

Nick turned, propping his elbows on the rail behind him. “Not to worry, Connel. I trust I can think of far more titillating topics than my case that I’d like to engage Miss Hamilton in.”

Grant straightened, fists clenched again. Nick gave a low chuckle and a wink, leaving Grant fighting the deep desire to ring the man’s bell good. Instead, he walked the perimeter of the ship trying to shake his frustration, gave up, and headed back to Beatrice’s quarters. He knocked, waiting, not sure what had him so irritated.

Once he could ask her about the note, once he could ask her about the vision in Sacré Couer, he’d feel himself again. Nick was right. If he kept on like this, he’d fully change. He could feel the wolf in him growing restless with each passing day.

It was as if it needed to be near her, too.

Grant didn’t need to be near her. He needed to be able to ask her the million questions he’d come up with in the days since that vision in the Sacré Couer. Up to and including who Henry was and why she would tell the man they were engaged.

He knocked again.

She’d been in love with Henry. It was a simple conclusion, easily drawn. The man had broken something off between them. Being so obsessed with any of these details went against good sense. Why did he care who Leigh Hamilton loved?

It was the fact that she’d used his name.

Either she had no idea how well known his family was, or she did, and hoped to create some sort of leverage. Grant needed to know exactly who Henry was and if she’d already delivered a similar note to the man.

Their family could not withstand any further scandal. Hell, he didn’t even know where in California Leigh was from to start with.

Grant stretched his neck. Why wasn’t Beatrice answering? She’d taken all meals in her room in order to care for Leigh. Damn it to hell, he could swear his sister was conspiring to drive him senseless with annoyance.

The wolf in him paced, agitated. It wanted in that door more than he did.

Grant glanced up and down the corridor. A handsome couple strolled his way, the woman gaping at him a moment, then blushing as they walked past. Grant unbuttoned his collar, tugging at the material. A wave of heat flashed over his skin.

He had to get in that room.

The wolf in him pawed to the surface. It wanted out. Grant bit down, struggling to control the shaking in his limbs. He had to get his anger under control. He had to get in the room. He pounded again. Hard. Harder. He tried the knob. Locked.

“
Bea,” he called out, his mouth close to the door. “Bea. Open the door.”

The muscles in his thighs bunched. His abdomen ached like the aftershocks of a punch. Oh, God. The wolf was taking over. He should have known. He should have realized this was coming. He’d convinced himself feeling the wolf ever present was the new norm. Instead, had he been teetering on an invisible brink?

Again, he pounded, hard enough that his fist hurt. His room was too far away. A deck below. He had no idea where Nick’s was. What could he do? Where could he go? Down the corridor? Up? Where were the nearest stairs? His heart squeezed, slamming at double speed. Sweat wet his back and forehead.

“
Son of a bitch,” he said, pounding his fist one final time. He had no choice but to find the nearest dark corner.

He gave up, turning to sprint toward the stairwell. The glimpse of someone descending them stopped him.

The lock snicked on the door.

Grant exhaled. He tried the knob. It gave and he pushed his way in.

Leigh shrieked, landing onto her backside. Grant slammed the door closed and fell back against it. His lungs strained for air. Little dots of light blurred his vision. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was about to faint.

But he did know better.

The wolf was coming.

Fast, hard. He had to get Leigh away from him. His mouth wouldn’t form words. His arms shook. The muscles in his limbs tore with pain.

“
Run,” he said, his voice nearly a growl.

“
Wh—what?” She struggled to her feet, wobbly, but backed away.

“
Run,” he said again, when she didn’t continue. He spotted the door she must have come from. A rumpled bed stood visible, just past the frame. His mind flashed with an image of Leigh in the bed. He squeezed his eyes against it. His emotions careened beyond his control.

The image stayed, fleshing out. Leigh in that bed, her hair tumbling over the bare skin of her shoulder, those green eyes heavy lidded and looking up at him.

The wolf in him howled. Grant swallowed against it.

He had to make her leave before she saw him, saw the wolf, witnessed the stuff of nightmares and horror stories. No matter how much the wolf seemed to need to be near her, she wouldn’t be safe.

“
Go,” he bit out, jabbing at the door. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Leigh’s eyes bulged. She dashed for the bedroom door.

Grant collapsed to his knees and unleashed the low growl strangling inside him. The last of his vision flooded with pinpoints of light. The lights extinguished. Grant lost himself to the wolf.

~~~

Chapter Six

Leigh shot to the narrow bed and backed herself up against the faux headboard. Her stomach tipped with the sway of the ship. A low rumble echoed through the wall separating her from Grant. The rumble built, changing pitch and coalescing into a long, mournful howl that made her hair stand on end.

Her gaze darted around the room. A brass candelabra stood on a far table, But it was too close to the door to risk getting it. Also, it was possibly attached to the table itself. “Jacob,” Leigh whispered, “what is it?”

Jacob drew closer, but shook his head.

It had taken all her strength to crawl out of bed and get to that door. She’d been throwing up for over a week, trying not to move, wishing some other mode of transportation could get them back home.

There wasn’t.