Читать книгу Forever Werewolf - Michele Hauf - Страница 9

They pulled up the female’s body to a rousing round of cheers. Her fingers twitched, and that was enough for everyone to believe she was alive and had a chance at survival.

Tryst carefully handed her off to the team who would take her inside the keep for medical care. Earlier, a helicopter had brought in a doctor, one of very few who treated wolves as a specialty, because he was a werewolf himself.

Forgoing the offer of a beer from Liam, who had dug alongside him through the morning hours, Trystan wandered off from the pack who whooped and high-fived. It was a time for celebration. All missing pack members had been accounted for. Some had passed, but he knew they would be remembered and mourned as heartily as they cheered the living.

Trystan never missed a reason to celebrate, but it didn’t feel right to join in this time. This was not his pack. Not his family. And though they encouraged him to participate, he thanked them and wandered off around the side of the castle where the avalanche had knocked out the glass wall. What had once been an outdoor stadium was now a sloping heap of snow.

Poking the ski pole here and there, he verified the tight snowpack and that it was okay to tread. Not that he’d fall far, or do much damage if the snow layers did shift. And really? It would be sweet to jump from the castle roof on a snowboard and shred this slope.

He shouldn’t think of capitalizing on the drifts after such a dire event, but his adventurous eyes were always keen for an excellent slope.

The weak sun hid behind white clouds and evening fast approached, with a noticeable drop in temperature. Tryst’s breath fogged before him. The avalanche had cleared the decorative frost from surrounding trees, yet in a wide circle where disaster had not struck, the world was still coated with white. Weird. And humbling.

He was hungry and tired, but most of all he wanted a few moments to sit quietly and close his eyes, to reconnect with the universe and ground himself in the now. It was the best way to boost his physical and mental energy.

Stuffing his gloves in a pocket, he shook his head to scatter the snow and ice that had frozen in his hair as he’d worked up a sweat. His clothing was damp from exertion, and as soon as he sat down it would begin to freeze, but he’d ignore that because right now he welcomed the silence.

Hiking down the side of the hill formed against the castle wall, he landed on the walkway to the stadium seating, which was now all under snow. The walkway hugged the back of the castle and led to a stepped area graduated to walk out across a vast courtyard. A single yard light glowed over the courtyard.

Someone was seated on the upper step, elbows back and propped behind her. He guessed female, because of the slender line of the long gray coat. A fur-lined hood crowned her head, concealing the side of her face, but he knew it was the Connor princess. The bad one, as Liam had intimated.

Naughty bad?

Tryst’s heart raced. He blew out a breath that fogged before his face. Yet suddenly his bravado fell. What did she know about him? Edmonton Connor had likely told her about his mixed-race heritage. Which meant Tryst had to play her carefully because he didn’t want to lose her respect.

Sitting down next to her, about two feet away, he scanned the horizon over the treetops. “We found the female. Was Sandra her name?”

“Yes. Rick just texted me that she is alive. That’s a miracle.”

“She’d been crushed against a stone bench, and had managed to work her way beneath it as the snow moved over her, so had the space beneath for air. So lucky. I think every bone in her body is broken, but she’ll heal. Women are so strong.”

“You say that as if it’s a fact that’s been proved to you.”

“It has been.”

He bowed his head, images of his mother coming to mind. Tall, dark, yet regal in the most macabre manner, his mother, Viviane LaMourette. The touched one, as some would whisper behind her back.

But he wasn’t about to divulge how it had been to grow up with an insane vampire mother who would have bitten him on more than one occasion had his father not been vigilant in keeping him safe. He would have given his mother blood, but it wouldn’t have rescued her from the wicked melancholy that relentlessly haunted her soul.

“It’s going to be a gorgeous night,” he offered. “In a few days the moon will be full and bright. I’ve always loved the moon for its bold white light. I bet its shine makes you look like a snow princess.”

She tilted back her head, and the hood shrugged down onto her shoulders to reveal glossy black hair, unpinned and falling straight about her narrow face. A pert nose, soft pink mouth, and porcelain skin competed against those harsh, ever-present sunglasses.

“Do you ever take those sunglasses off?”

“No.”

Too quick, that answer. Protective. And practiced. “It’s cool. You’ve got the whole Matrix thing going on.”

“Matrix?”

Tryst twisted to face her. “The greatest movie ever made? You’re kidding me, right?”

“I don’t see many movies. I’m too busy. And if I have free time, I’d rather read.”

“Seriously? That is so wrong.”

“Reading is good for a person. You learn things from books,” she said mockingly.

“I know, but reading is so … static. I’m the type of guy who has to be moving all the time.”

“Watching a movie for two hours doesn’t sound very active.”

“I agree with you there, but still, it wins hands down over books any day.”

She lifted her chin, but didn’t go so far as to sniff in disapproval. Yet Tryst felt her disdain for what she guessed must be his lacking education. Ah, well, he couldn’t win them all. The invitation to attend Oxford had been offered, but the idea of sitting in a mortal institution had been received with laughter from both him and his father.

“You don’t do anything fun, do you?” he goaded.

“Why do you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he offered. “Fun is a necessity of life. And life, well, life is energy. The world responds to the energy you put out.”

“It that so? Sounds kind of New Agey to me.”

“To each his own.”

He sensed she couldn’t be that much of a stick-in-the-mud. A pretty woman like her must do things that made her happy. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so beautiful. Tryst believed the way a person led their life was reflected upon their face. It was an unavoidable result of karma. And energy. He’d once fretted over the freckles covering his skin until his mother had said something about them being giggle marks. Every time he’d laughed as a baby a new freckle had appeared. It had changed how he viewed opposition and challenges. Mom did have her good moments, and he cherished them like diamonds.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked.

Again, the assessing head tilt. Tryst felt her gaze upon him, even though he couldn’t see it, and he liked her curious regard even if it wasn’t necessarily friendly. He loved when a woman looked him over and then decided to touch. Would she touch? Nah, she was one cool chick.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t play with her.

“Go for it, Lexi. I don’t bite.”

“What?”

“You were giving me the eye. I know.”

She scoffed. “You are conceited.”

“Yeah, but I’m also a threat to you in a way I can’t figure out. And that freaks you and surprises me.” He leaned closer and placed a hand next to her elbow on the step. Brushing his nose aside her silken hair, he smelled the faintest citrus sweetness. “You’re freaked, admit it.”

“Back off, Hawkes.”

He sat straight, propping his elbows on his knees and looking over the grounds before them. A wiser unaligned wolf wouldn’t risk sitting so close. Curiosity always trumped his wisdom. And who could refuse a challenge?

“Fine. I get it. You’re the princess. You get to be the choosy one. You always this defensive toward men?”

“Yes.”

That honest answer was refreshing, and also tossed a wrench into this challenge. Straightforward kind of chick, this princess. He’d never met one like her, and everything about her made him want to learn more, to delve beneath her monotone exterior and discover the brightness within aching for release. Lexi Connor harbored a bold and vibrant color inside her, and he would find it.

“My father told me …” she started.

Spine straightening, Tryst immediately sensed what she couldn’t quite say. Hell, the principal had told her about his mixed blood. Of course, if the man wanted to protect his daughter from a nonpack wolf he would use whatever weapon he had at hand.

“What did he tell you? About me?”

He wasn’t about to make it easy for her. For anyone. So he had a chip on his shoulder about his heritage. Anyone wanted to make a big deal about it? He knew how to throw a punch. He had a missing molar, too, because he could also take a punch.

Lexi sighed and smoothed a gloved finger along the seam of her leather pants. “He warned me to stay away from you because …”

“Because why? Because I’m a strong male who knows how to take care of a woman? Because I don’t mind getting my hands dirty to help another pack? Because I respect your father?” Feeling his ire, he flexed a fist.

“Because you’re a half-breed.”

Tryst pulled up his chin and released his fists. The principal had gotten his information messed up. “I’m full wolf,” he said, cautioning the growl on his tone.

“How is that possible? Your father is half wolf, half vampire, and your mother—”

“Is a vampiress. But I don’t have any vampire in me, trust me on that one.”

“Sounds impossible.”

“Yeah?” He couldn’t punch his way out of this one. Damn. “And are you offended by the idea I might have a touch of vampire blood running through my veins?”

“I—”

“You pack wolves are all alike.” He stood and kicked the toe of his boot against the stone step to shake off the packed snow, and to avert his growing anger. “You’re all so tightly knit and exclusive. New guy comes along and you feel threatened.”

“I didn’t say that I’m threatened by you. Nor did I say—”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He stomped up the steps, knowing if he didn’t leave her now he’d only give her a real growl. And he would never do that to a pack leader’s daughter. Any woman, for that matter.

Wow. She’d just strummed his chords and what an awful tune.

“I’m going to find something to eat, then get back to work shoveling out your pretty little castle, Miss Princess Trueblood.”

So maybe he didn’t have as good a handle on this challenge as he’d thought.

“Arrogant idiot,” Lexi muttered after the angry wolf who stomped inside. “The vampire thing definitely rubs him the wrong way.”

And rightly so, she figured. Vamps and wolves had been at odds for centuries. They honored an ineffable ceasefire at the moment, but there weren’t a lot of wolves who would embrace a vampire as friend. Her father was friends with Trystan’s father, Rhys Hawkes, but it was more a political relationship than an embraceable acceptance.

For good reason. Wolves didn’t go near vamps because if bitten by a vampire the wolf would develop an insatiable bloodlust, and werewolves did not drink blood or feed on humans. Ever. It was an abominable practice. And vampires avoided wolves because they knew the wolf was stronger and could beat the crap out of them with one fist tied behind their backs.

So a young werewolf who had been born of a vampiress and a half-breed couldn’t possibly be full-blooded wolf. Why did he believe that?

Of course, if he hadn’t a hunger for blood perhaps that led Trystan to such a belief. But the blood hunger could emerge anytime. Lexi knew well that, genetically, things didn’t always go as nature had intended in a wolf’s body.