My Captive Valentine Page 8

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Her voice rose at least an octave. She swallowed. “When?” The one word came out small and forlorn, and she closed her eyes. Damn.

  He squeezed her hand. “Soon.”

  “Why?” That sounded stronger. Almost normal. She tried to calm her breathing.

  He sighed and let a tiny trickle of regret seep through the bond. She had to learn how to do that. God only knew what he was feeling from her.

  “You know I have an important job that I do for the pack.” He paused, gazing out at the night. “Well, it’s time to do it.”

  “The job you refused to tell me about? Oh, yes, I remember that.” Her voice was much stronger, thank God. But she had righteous indignation on her side now.

  He let out a breath, bleakness escaping through the bond with his breath. “Yes. That. It has to do with the Sickness.”

  “The Sickness! No wonder you would never talk about it.”

  “Yes.” He stood there for a moment, gazing at her, his face troubled. He sighed again and sadness welled through the bond for a moment before being choked off. “It’s not a nice job, Elizabeth. But it has to be done. I’m an Enforcer.”

  “Enforcer?” Like that didn’t sound ominous. And dangerous. “By yourself?” Her voice squeaked on the last word and a soft smile touched his lips.

  “Elizabeth. You don’t even know what it is.”

  “I don’t care! It sounds dangerous.” Her stomach hurt. She always gotten the impression his job was something he did off on his own—

  “Well…” He took both her hands in his. “It can be dangerous. But usually…” He sighed again, and a wave of regret flowed through the bond, just for a moment. “Mostly it’s just sad. I’m responsible for tracking and eliminating any of the packless who have succumbed to the Sickness. Within the confines of our pack’s jurisdiction— which, since we are a new pack, has recently been determined. A larger pack would have more than one Enforcer, but…” he trailed off.

  Elizabeth mouthed the word “eliminate” but no sound come out. It didn’t matter though. Cray saw.

  “It’s necessary, Elizabeth. Those who succumb go mad. Most just slip off into the woods to die alone, slowly, of starvation. Voluntary starvation. They know they are ill. But some give in to the Sickness—and during the full moon—”

  “No.” Elizabeth went cold, horror seeping through her.

  “Yes. They attack humans. It’s— messy.” He closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them, looking directly into her eyes. “It’s against the Law. The penalty is death.” He looked away, shifting his body away too, that feeling of bleakness leaking though the bond again. “I am the executioner,” he said softly.

  “But… But…” She gave it up. What could she say? She wrapped her arms around him instead, pulling him back against her and pressing her head to his shoulder blade. “Oh, Cray. I’m so sorry.”

  He stood there for a moment, stiff in her arms, and then his body relaxed. He turned in the circle of her arms and kissed her gently. “I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you think of me like that.”

  “Oh, Cray. I love you.” She pulled him tight, feeling tears come to her eyes. “You can tell me anything.” But secretly she was glad she hadn’t known until now. Until she knew him much, much better than when they first mated.

  “But— is it dangerous? I mean, can you catch it? The Sickness?”

  “No. Not to me. The packless are vulnerable. But you can’t catch it. I mean, I can’t catch it. But—a human… A human who survives an attack—which is, thank the Maiden, incredibly rare—well, that’s where you get werewolves.”

  “What? Werewolves are human?”

  “Of course. The People don’t need the full moon to shift.” He said that as if it made perfect sense. “It’s extremely rare. Mostly People refer to those who succumb to the Sickness as werewolves. It’s sort of slang.”

  Elizabeth was still trying to absorb that when Cray slipped an arm around her and pulled her to his side. “Come on,” he said. “I want to get you home. I want to make love to you before I go. I want to see your skin glow in the flicker of the firelight.”

  Elizabeth felt a pleasant zing of anticipation. Cray was beautiful in the firelight. He was beautiful anywhere. The long, clean lines of him sculpted to perfection by his endless runs around the perimeter and daily training sessions. But his golden-bronze skin lit by firelight? That was something special.

  It was several minutes before she thought to ask, “So these werewolves, are they insane too?” They had almost reached their cottage. It would come into view as soon as they rounded that next copse of white birch.

  “I don’t know. You will have to ask Dean about that. As far as I know, there haven’t been any in hundreds of years.”

  “Oh.” That was comforting. Sort of.

  Elizabeth sighed and walked with her husband around the trees onto their front lawn. The golden glow shining through the cottage windows illuminated the front porch, warm and welcoming. She wondered how long it would be before they approached their front steps like this again. It was one of the things she loved about living here with the pack, their almost nightly walks home together after dinner at the pack house. Cray always left a light burning inside, and the sight of their snug little cottage always lifted her heart.

  She hoped he wouldn’t be gone too long. And she hoped whatever he had to do wouldn’t hurt him too deeply.

  Chapter 9

  Bridget sat reading the journal in her hand, or trying to anyway. The cramped handwriting was nearly illegible. Apparently, Lyla’s grandmother had believed in hiding in plain sight. None of the women had actually said so, but she got the impression they were looking for signs that the prophecy mentioned her in it. Which Bridget was more than interested in herself. But it was very hard to tell. Important information was sprinkled into recipes, and rambling accounts of mundane events would suddenly morph into predictions of the future or decisive analyses of the political machinations of rival witches. Yes. Witches. Covens and everything.

  Bridget eyed Lyla, seated in the chair next to her. Elizabeth had gone and Aster and Mari were downstairs mixing up a pitcher of margaritas, leaving the two to them alone. She was a little reluctant to broach the subject after her last gaffe, but really—who could have predicted such a simple statement would cause such a stir?

  They had been talking about the mating rituals of ‘the People,’ involving phases of the moon, symbolic rending of clothes and running through the woods at night. Aster had said somewhat disparagingly that you couldn’t really have a true mating run with a human, since their species had such inferior senses. She’d said it to Bridget, still trying to warn her off her little brother, probably, but the other women had stiffened. Aster looked stricken, so Bridget had said the obvious, hoping to smooth things over.

  “Well, really, humans aren’t actually a different species.”

  This was met with dead silence. Four pairs of eyes suddenly focused on her. But did she stop there? Of course not.

  “I mean, the People have to be a sub-species of human, right?”

  Dead silence.

  “But that’s the definition,” she persisted with a glance at Lyla’s belly. “If the two produce viable offspring, they are the same species.” She looked up. “You do produce viable offspring, don’t you?”

  Elizabeth made a choking noise and went white. There was a moment of very uncomfortable silence. Mari reached over to squeeze Elizabeth’s hand.

  Bridget felt heat suffuse her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Did I say something wrong?” Sudden horror of just how wrong it might have been hit her like a slap. Please no. She cast a quick guilty look around the room.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the… babies?” It was almost a whisper, but it seemed to snap everyone out of it.

  Lyla’s hands folded protectively over her belly, but it was Aster who spoke.

  “No. The babies are fine,” she said firmly. She
reached over and squeezed Lyla’s shoulder. “They’re fine. And yes. We do produce viable offspring.” Again it was a firm declaration, but this time she said it to Elizabeth for some reason.

  Then she turned and pinned Bridget with that intense amber gaze. “Cray is half human. Did you know?”

  “Um… No.” She had no idea what else to say to that.

  “And he is definitely viable,” she said dryly. “Anyone can smell that.”

  Elizabeth swallowed audibly. “You’re sure?”

  Aster rolled her eyes. “I’m sure.”

  She turned back to Bridget. “But I don’t see how the people can be a sub-species. If anything, maybe humans are a sub-species. Or maybe… certain humans? I’ll have to ask Dean.”

  Bridget forbore to mention that a larger population could hardly be a sub-species of a smaller one, and the subject dropped. But Elizabeth had been quiet after that, hardly speaking, and Bridget couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d committed some kind of faux pas. And shortly thereafter, Elizabeth left.

  Which brought them to now, with just her and Lyla alone in the room. You should keep your mouth shut. But really, when had she ever done that? It wasn’t like she’d learn anything that way.

  “So, um… You’re a witch?”

  “That’s right.” Lyla smiled pleasantly. “But I’m a good witch.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment. And then, God bless her, Lyla cracked up. Bridget couldn’t help but join in. It felt good to release the tension.

  “Sorry,” Lyla said, shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  They sat chuckling for a little while, but Bridget couldn’t quite let it go. “So, you like… do magic?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you think you could teach me?” Bridget felt a surge of excitement.

  “Oh no. Witches are born. You have to have it in you. In your blood.” She perked up suddenly. “You could be from a lost tribe though. We could test you.”

  “Lost tribe? Like the Israelites?”

  Lyla shrugged, an elegant one-shouldered gesture. “Many peoples have lost tribes. The Jewish people are just the most persistent in trying to find them.”

  Bridget made a non-committal noise. That actually sounded spot on. She tried to imagine herself as a member of a lost tribe of witches and failed. Oh well. Still, she could get Lyla to test her. Just in case. Wouldn’t that be cool? Although she was pretty skeptical that these ‘witches’ could actually create real magic. The whole werewolf thing aside, that seemed a stretch. The journals were interesting though. So maybe…

  Mari and Aster came back with the margaritas and a tray of quesadillas, plus a virgin piña colada for Lyla, and they all settled in for a night of reading through and trying to decipher the journals. The whole prophecy thing was intriguing, but the entries were so disjointed it was hard to make sense of it. Still, it turned out to be a pretty fun evening, with the women laughing and teasing each other, and Bridget was surprised at how nice it was to be included as if she was one of them.

  They called it a night around ten, when Aaron came to collect Lyla, who yawned hugely and hugged Mari and then Aster. She smiled as she held out her arms and hugged Bridget too. “Don’t you worry, Bridget, this will all get settled.”

  Mari reminded her she was just downstairs if she needed anything, and to her surprise, even Aster seemed genuine when she wished her goodnight.

  I should keep a journal. I need to write down everything I discover. She went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, wondering if Gage had any paper around. She had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well, should anyone find out. Maybe I can use the illegible handwriting technique. No. What I need is some kind of cipher. She was thinking about how to design something like that when a knock on the bedroom door startled her out of her thoughts.

  ***

  Gage stood outside his bedroom listening for Bridget within. From the muffled sounds of running water, she must be in the bathroom. He smiled slightly, thinking of her in there using his things, rummaging through the drawers and cabinet to find a fresh toothbrush… No. Come to think of it, Elizabeth had probably done that last night. The woman was nothing if not efficient about things like that.

  He’d come up before, just after Elizabeth left. She was the one who’d told him to make himself scarce. But his sister had met him at the door and sent him away. Now the women were all gone, and it was his turn.

  Bridget opened the door and squinted at him. He could just make out the salty tang of margaritas on her breath, blending nicely with her natural aroma of new spring flowers and fresh sea air.

  “Gage. Good. Tomorrow you need to take me to my apartment to get some clothes. And I have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so Aster said you’ll have to take that up with Lucas.” She gave him a hard look. “I have no intention of losing my job because of you. You got me into this, so you can get me out.”

  “Ah… Yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck, realized what he was doing, and dropped his hand. That was Lucas’s gesture whenever he was worried about something. “The clothes, fine. The job— I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Make it happen,” she said and closed the door in his face.

  He knocked again. The door opened.

  “What?” She didn’t look happy.

  “This is my room.”

  “Not anymore. You forfeited it.”

  “It has my stuff.” He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “My toothbrush.”

  “Fine.” She stepped back. “Get your stuff.”

  “Thank you.” He crossed the room, noticing how the scents of all the females mingled in the space, as if they were welcoming Bridget among them. Which they were. He grinned and opened the bathroom door. At least he could count on the women. Bridget would see how nice it was here with Pack. That would make the adjustment easier.

  He reached in and flicked on the shower. His grin widened as he heard Bridget’s firm tread approaching the bathroom, followed by banging.

  “Gage Daniel Ardennes, you get out here!”

  “I’m indisposed at the moment,” he called in a high falsetto. “Be out in a jiff.”

  Whistling, he stepped under the hot spray and felt his body begin to relax. It had been a trying day. Training had been particularly brutal this morning with his sore ribs and his energy still depleted from the healing. And naturally, Lucas had not gone easy on him. He squirted shampoo into his palm and rubbed it vigorously into his scalp.

  Lucas hadn’t gone particularly hard on him either though. He’d paired Gage with Eli and Dean, and for a brief period, with Aaron, Lucas’s second. Aaron, of course, was the soul of discretion, saying not one word about Bridget or his perceived disgrace. He’d also been careful and gentle, a sure sign that Aaron, at least, didn’t believe Gage was at fault. The man was practically twice his size and could easily have made his displeasure known.

  Nice to have someone in my corner. Especially since Aaron was Lucas’s best friend. Gage rinsed the lather from his hair and paused. Come to think of it, opinion on that seemed to be shifting. Maybe I shouldn’t have declared her my mate right away. Maybe that was my mistake. I should have just claimed her and left it at that. He rubbed soapy lather carefully over his sore ribs.

  Putting her under his protection would have declared his intentions without saying she was already his mate—which she was, or she would be—once they bonded. Something inside him just knew. Had known for what seemed like forever, and he’d just been so happy to get her here to Pack—

  Well, no way to change it now. He shut off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel. She was here, and she was his. That was enough.

  He made his way to the sink and began brushing his teeth. He hoped Lucas would come around soon. Dinner had been a sad parody of their usual happy meals. With no Elizabeth to organize the kitchen and Mari and Lyla missing too, it had been left to Gage to manage something. Actually the meal had been f
ine— who couldn’t manage roast chicken and potatoes? It was the tense atmosphere around the table that was the problem. With none of the women around to smooth things over, there had been very little conversation.

  Lucas had been quiet and maybe a little preoccupied, but not harsh. From the way he kept glancing up at the ceiling, Gage got the impression his brother’s mood had more to do with Mari than it did with Gage himself.

  Unfortunately, Dean hadn’t shown, so he couldn’t grill the Lore Master on specific aspects of the Law, and Aaron had been absent too— so no help there. Probably just as well.

  He wrapped the towel more securely around his waist and opened the door. Best to let things blow over with Lucas, rather than attack head-on. It’s never a good idea to make your Alpha seem wrong. Especially when he’s also your older brother.

  Bridget made an interesting sound—something like a scalded cat—when he entered the room in only a towel. He hid a grin. Walking over to the dresser, he rummaged around for a comfortable pair of sleep pants. Lucas had decreed that everyone sleep in some type of pants, in deference to Mari. He didn’t want some emergency getting them all up in the middle of the night and having her confronted with six naked men.

  “It’s a big bed,” Gage observed. “I’m sure we can share without getting in each other’s way.”

  Bridget gave him a level look. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Gage. You can sleep on the couch.”

  “Fine,” he said, and dropped the towel. He had his back to her, but he could see in the mirror that she didn’t turn away. He pulled on the soft flannel and met her gaze in the mirror. Her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink.

  “Out!” She thrust out an arm, pointing at the door.

  “Are you sure? What about a kiss goodnight?”

  She marched over and put a hand to his bare chest, pushing him toward the door.

  “Out! Out! Out!”

  He didn’t resist. Much. The contact felt nice, her hand warm against his skin, and he grinned at her. “Ah, but you are so beautiful when you are angry, ma petite fleur. You break my heart with this distance you put between us.”