First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series) Page 3

  This hall was crowded, too, and he hugged the east wall as he made his way through the people. Tripped on an IV pole and apologized to an older man in a plaid bathrobe. Still, the woman’s scent was getting stronger, and Travis knew he was close. Then he spotted his quarry through the open door on the opposite side of the hall. He expected his wolf to be pleased with itself (it was always terribly self-satisfied after a successful hunt), but this time it was full-out triumphant. For a strange moment his human brain reeled, too, and Travis had to shake his head to clear it. Weird. Clearly his senses were just overloaded after tracking her through this olfactory nightmare.

  Hidden by the tide of visitors and patients between him and the door, he watched her for a few moments. She was in an armchair, beside the bed rather than in it, which meant she was healing up fast, even for a Changeling. The long, faded blue bathrobe was hospital issue, but he liked the look of her dark-brown hair tumbling over it. Her face was pale in comparison with vivid freckles that marched up and over her nose and across her cheekbones. Her eyes were not just dark brown, but the deep color of rich coffee. Pretty eyes—but even from here he could see the desperation in them.

  “Come with me if you want to live.”

  Neva stared at the enormous hand the stranger extended to her. Her gaze followed the black leather–clad arm up to the massive shoulders, the strong jaw, and the thick lock of wavy blond hair hanging over his dark glasses. “You have so got to be kidding me,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I always wanted to say that line. Except I’m not kidding.” With his other hand, the big stranger plunked a flower arrangement of purple irises and orange chrysanthemums on the bedside table. He yanked the tiny card off it and stuffed it into his jeans pocket, but not before she read, To our valued employee, Bob.

  “You stole somebody’s flowers?”

  “Camouflage.” He opened and closed the drawers and closet. “No clothes left, huh? Guess you’ll have to come as you are.”

  “Why would I go anywhere with you? I know what you are.” She practically spat the words at him, even as she grabbed the remote from the bed and poised her thumb over the red button for the nurses’ station. “You’re one of them.”

  “Yeah, well, I know what you are, too, sister.”

  Of course he would know, but it still stung. She didn’t want to be like him or any of the rest of the damned creatures under Meredith’s thumb. “Look, I know who sent you. And I can give you twice what she offered you.”

  He laughed at that. “Trust me, nobody could pay me enough to come here. It stinks.”

  “What about your pack leader?”

  “I have no pack. I’m just here to spring you.”

  Something like hope stirred inside her, and she pushed it down hard. Not only was this a werewolf she was dealing with, but he had screwed up her plans once already. She wouldn’t be fooled. “Meredith won’t like it,” she tested.

  “Who?” He slid the sunglasses down his nose, revealing vivid blue eyes that studied her as intently as she was studying him. “Look, if you have a gripe with somebody, that’s your problem. I’m here to get you out of here. Period.”

  From the set of his mouth, he looked like he was bracing himself for an argument. She was all set to give him one, too, then realized this was exactly the opportunity she needed. “Okay.”

  “Look, we both know you can’t stay—what?”

  “I said okay. I want to go. Go ahead, get me out of here. You messed up everything the other night and you’re responsible for me being in this place, so you owe me, mister. Let’s go.”

  “Wait just a damn minute.” He pulled the sunglasses off completely then and pointed them at her. “I saved your frickin’ life, lady. If anybody owes anybody, it’s—”

  “Just get me out of here and we’re even.” She started struggling to her feet as he opened and closed his mouth, obviously at a loss for words. He recovered enough to offer his big hand again, and this time she took it and used it to pull herself up, finding herself standing almost nose to nose with him. Or rather, nose to chest. Neva was tall herself, but this guy was huge. She eyed him warily. “No funny stuff. Get me out of here, and we’re done.”

  He hesitated, his brow furrowed. “Anyone in their right mind would be happy to get out of here, but you’re a little too keen. You thinking of trying to off yourself again?”

  “That’s none of your business. Are you going to help me get out of here or not?”

  The frown deepened, but he didn’t argue further, just put his sunglasses back on. “Can you walk?”

  “Not fast, but yeah.” Okay, technically she’d only shuffled around her room and limped partway to the nurses’ station once. She had no idea if she’d hold up any farther than that, but she wasn’t going to say so. Instead, she pulled the ties of her bathrobe tighter and grabbed her cane.

  He placed himself on her left, her arm and leg casts against him, and threw an arm around her, his big hand curled around her waist. “What’s your name?”

  “Why’s it matter?”

  “Well, if we’re stopped, it’ll look pretty suspicious if I don’t know my own cousin’s name.”

  Cousin. Well, it was lot better than pretending to be his girlfriend—she wouldn’t have to feign affection. After all, if he was her own cousin, Alec, she would have punched him rather than hug him just out of childhood habit. Before she could say anything, however, her newly acquired cousin picked up her chart from the plastic pocket on the door.

  “Geneva Rayne Ross,” he read.

  “Just Neva.”

  “Christ, you used your real name? I thought you were trying to hide.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly when they brought me in here. So who the hell are you, the werewolf police? Why do you keep interfering in my life?”

  He was silent for a long moment. “Travis Williamson. No. And goddess only knows.”

  She swung around and thumped the center of his chest with a right hook, which was all she could reach from the awkward angle. It was a point in his favor that he didn’t let her fall—she’d overbalanced and would have done a fine face-plant if he wasn’t hanging on to her.

  “What the hell was that for?” he demanded.

  “Luck.”

  “Must be extra good luck since you already stabbed me in the same frickin’ spot,” he muttered. “Lean on me,” was all the warning she got before he abruptly propelled the pair of them sideways through the door and down the hall.

  She’d been worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep up, but there was no need. Her feet barely touched the floor at all. She couldn’t be glued more tightly to Travis’s right side if he’d used duct tape to secure her. And despite the strength of that big arm and its sizeable hand, he somehow managed not to squeeze her too hard. As for the effort required of him, she might as well have been a sack of groceries as he negotiated a path through the busy halls.

  To her surprise he smelled good. Her senses were so much keener now, which was a real drawback in a place like a hospital, where most smells were repellent at best. Travis’s scent was earthy and definitely male, but not in a stinky-gym-socks kind of way—instead, it reminded her of hiking trails in the mountains and summers by the lake. And it was strong. This close to him, the scent of him canceled out all the others around her, and she was oh so grateful for that little perk.

  “My goodness, girl, where are you going?” It was Fern. Breaking away from a group of nurses by the elevator, she came over and looked like she was going to start examining her patient for damage. Instead she folded her arms and glared up at Travis. “This gal’s in the hospital for a reason, mister.”

  “My cousin and I were just heading to the gift shop for a few minutes and then maybe the cafeteria,” Neva said quickly. “I’m all right. I feel pretty good, and I’m really not putting much weight on my leg, see? Barely had to use my cane at all.” She waved it and smiled.

  Fern looked unconvinced. “You’re going to wear your
self out.”

  “He promised to carry me if I got tired.”

  On cue, Travis swung her up into his arms. “I’ll take good care of her, ma’am. We want her to get better.” He leaned down to Fern and whispered, “Shopaholic. Neva won’t be happy until she buys a few magazines and some knickknacks.” Neva smacked him solidly, but he ignored it.

  “Don’t keep her too long,” warned Fern. The frown was still there, but it had relaxed to two furrows instead of three. “I’m off shift now, honey,” she said to Neva. “I’ve got three days off, but I’ll check in on you first thing when I get back. I don’t want to hear that they had to double your pain meds because of this little escapade.” She patted Neva’s good leg and headed back to her coworkers.

  The chime of an elevator door sounded, and Travis turned and walked into the car with Neva still in his arms. Several people followed them on.

  “You can put me down now,” she whispered fiercely.

  “Later,” he said smugly. “The nurse was right. We don’t want to wear you out.”

  “And what was that bit about me being a shopaholic?”

  “You know you have trouble controlling yourself.”

  “I do not!”

  “You can’t be helped if you don’t admit you have a problem.” He smiled and addressed a couple who were staring at them. “She was injured at a shoe sale. Trampled when the doors opened.”

  “I am so going to hurt you,” she muttered.

  She repeated the phrase when they arrived in the parking garage. “A motorcycle? Are you crazy?” she said as he set her on her feet. “Nice bike, but I’m not getting on it.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “No, I mean I’m not going with you. Thanks for getting me out and all, but we’re done. We’re even now and we’re done.” She dismissed him with a wave and headed toward the pedestrian exit. It would have been a much more dignified departure if her gait wasn’t so awkward, if the floppy little cloth slippers offered a little more protection from the hard pavement, if she was used to using a cane, and if she wasn’t dressed in a thin bathrobe with nothing but baggy pajamas underneath.

  And if she didn’t feel Travis’s disapproving gaze drilling into her back every damn step of the way.

  Forty-five minutes later she’d made it off the expansive hospital grounds and covered three city blocks. One block was with her own energy, and the last two were by sheer force of will. She was heading south, so the wind was at her back, but she was still freezing. Wasn’t it supposed to be May? Neva collapsed gratefully on a bench at a bus stop, and she was even more grateful that no one else was there. She had to think, had to plan. At least she had a couple of pieces of ID in her bathrobe pocket. That was all she’d been carrying the night she’d jumped—just enough to identify her body.

  It was still enough. She just had to figure out a way, and fast. With no idea what day it was—Tuesday? Wednesday?—she didn’t know how much time she really had before the full moon turned her into something she couldn’t live with.

  A killer.

  Travis was relieved when Neva finally sat down. She’d slowed considerably over the last couple of blocks, but he’d been afraid she’d collapse on the sidewalk rather than take a break. Stubborn woman, he thought, but he admired her spirit. She didn’t rest long before forcing herself to her feet, however. He shook his head as she struggled down the sidewalk, determination in every limping step.

  Of course, he’d been following her since she first walked away from him in the parking garage. He’d briefly entertained the notion of minding his business and riding away into the sunset, but he decided that just getting her out of the hospital building wasn’t going to solve any problems. There was still the matter of a full moon to deal with, and there was no safe place for her to go. Nope, like it or not, he wasn’t done—and besides, his inner wolf had kicked up hell from the moment Neva left his side.

  He circled the Triumph around the block and came up alongside the blue-clad figure. Her pajamas were getting strange looks from passersby, or maybe it was the industrial-strength cane that she didn’t really know how to use effectively. Whatever people were staring at, she was obviously struggling.

  “Hey,” he called out, but she ignored him. Her lips were pressed together in a straight line, and Travis had a sudden strange impulse to kiss them—and to smooth that little furrow between her brows with his lips, too. Shaking that image from his head, he tried again. “Neva!”

  Her eyes darted in his direction, although her head didn’t turn. She was still moving forward, but so slowly that Travis had to use his feet to coast the big bike alongside the curb. “What do you want?” she snapped.

  “Not a thing. Just thought you might want a lift somewhere.”

  She stopped then and eyed him suspiciously, her arms folded in front of her. “Why?”

  Why? Christ, he had no idea. “Why not?” he shot back.

  The first tiny chink appeared in her armor. “It wouldn’t work. My cast…” She shrugged.

  “It’ll work.” He parked the bike and opened a saddlebag. Drew out a long leather duster, helped her to put her right arm into it, and draped it around the left. The shoulders of the coat sagged midway to her elbows and the hem reached the sidewalk. Her little fabric slippers looked ridiculous poking out from under the grainy brown leather. How the hell had she walked in those?

  “It’ll keep the wind off you and cover up that cast,” said Travis. “You’re going to have to sit on the bike first, though, so I can arrange the coat around you.”

  Easier said than done. There was some struggling and swearing before she was seated properly, during which time he was amazed they didn’t knock over the bike. Travis settled in front of her at last, scooping up her casted leg and resting it on top of his thigh, tucking the leather duster all around it. She clutched him tightly with her good hand as he slowly wheeled away from the curb and merged into traffic.

  The wind immediately snatched at Neva’s hair. A few strands were tugged free, but most of it was tucked into the turned-up collar of the enormous coat. She wished she had a helmet, then snorted—it was a silly thing to want when her plans didn’t include living more than a few hours at most.

  She laid her face on Travis’s broad back. Her pain meds had worn off, and she hurt everywhere. Her position on the bike felt precarious, as if she was going to tumble off and hit the pavement at any moment, but the creature within her had left her no choice in the matter. No choice in any matter, it seemed. She had to leave the hospital in order to carry out her plan, and once outside of the hospital, she couldn’t get anywhere fast enough on her own. Therefore, she had no option but to trust this man. This werewolf, she corrected quickly. She couldn’t let herself forget that he was the very thing she was running from.

  Neva didn’t have a clue what Travis’s motives were. If he was the ax-murderer type, she supposed he’d already had his chance when he first found her. Instead, he’d helped her. He’d come back for her in the hospital, knowing what she was about to become. And all without ever knowing her name. Of course that didn’t prove he didn’t work for Meredith. And now? She hadn’t even asked where he was headed, although she supposed it really didn’t matter much. He was heading east, and that was good enough for her. Once there, wherever there was, it shouldn’t be that hard to ditch him.

  The hard part was going to be finding another way to do herself in, and fast. Before the animal inside grew strong enough to try and stop her. Or before she lost the will to carry out her plan. She closed her eyes as the stupid, useless tears started up again, and sobbed silently onto Travis’s black jacket as the motorcycle carried them down the highway.

  FOUR

  “Where is she?”

  The sharp voice rang out from the shadows at the back of the room, causing the three men who had just entered to stop in their tracks. Dozens of candles flared to life along the walls, revealing a strange series of symbols, shapes, and creatures, painstakingly drawn with bl
ack and gray powders on the moon-white marble floor. Dark spatters of blood gleamed wetly.

  Another flurry of candles ignited behind an enormous velvet armchair with an ornately carved frame. The flickering light illumined the lithe form of a woman seated there and gilded the waves of her long blonde hair.

  “You’re hesitating—you haven’t found her. Have you?” Meredith de la Ronde uncoiled from the armchair and stepped down from the dais like a model, pausing with each step for maximum effect in her thigh-high La Couturier boots. In lieu of the last stair, she planted her black suede heels with the bloodred soles on the naked corpse that was sprawled in front of it. To her satisfaction, not one of the three men facing her gave the dead man any notice at all. He might as well have been one of the marble floor tiles, even though he had worked alongside them until a few days ago.

  If she’d been alone, she might have laughed.

  Meredith had power, and she liked it. Not only did she plan to keep it, she was growing it by the day. Or rather, by the month. The latest inductees to her pack were due to turn when the full moon reached its zenith this night. And as their sire, the one who had bitten them and shared with them the wolfen gift, she could draw energy from them, enough to fuel not only her dark spells but also her darker ambitions. Most of her pack members were mere thralls, toys and tools to be used up and discarded as Meredith saw fit. She stroked the exquisite pendant that hung between her breasts. The dark opal, set in silver, was the size of a raven’s egg, and fire flashed in its depths; as long as she wore it, she owned nearly all of the wolves she’d created, mind, body, and soul.

  Geneva had been among the few who were not so easily entranced, and to make matters worse, the stupid little bitch had the nerve to escape. Meredith had been sick with fury when she’d discovered it. She’d killed the guards, of course, then turned her rage on whoever was handy until the anger gave way to the grief it really was. Not for Geneva herself, certainly, or for any other person. No, Meredith mourned her greatest and most powerful spell. After years of research, of trial and error, pain and blood, it was her very best creation, her Sistine Chapel, her Mona Lisa—