Читать книгу The Werewolf's Wife - Michele Hauf - Страница 10

When Abigail wanted to leave immediately, Ridge suggested they take his truck. She didn’t give him any more information about her son. He had no idea the witch had a kid. But it wasn’t as if he’d kept tabs on her over the years.

Only in your dreams.

“I want to drive,” she said, and veered toward the garage, exhibiting the no-nonsense, listen-to-me-or-I’ll-zap-you attitude he knew all too well. “You agreed to help me, so get on board with the plan, Addison.”

“Plan? When did we come up with a plan?” When she dangled her keys and stepped into the garage, curiosity led him to follow. “Is there a plan?”

“The plan is to get moving. Fast.”

The garage was no warmer than the inside of an icebox, he noted before the door rolled up to reveal the gray evening sky and the security light outside blinked on. Ridge nearly tripped over a toy.

He backed away from the horrendous red-and-black thing some joker in an R&D department had decided to call a vehicle. It was one of those foreign jobs that would get eaten alive by a semitruck on an icy freeway. Not designed for Minnesota winters, that was for sure.

“Oh no. I’m not getting into that death trap. I’m sure you have to be a clown to ride in one of these.”

“Ridge.” She fixed him with an exasperated stare, and he almost looked away for fear her eyes might beam another blast of magic that had very likely left the kitchen wall scarred and bruised near the outlet.

Almost. He leaned his elbows onto the miniature atrocity and looked across the car at the most gorgeous set of sky blue eyes he’d seen. He hadn’t recalled them being so … fathomless. As if mysteries and secrets swirled around inside the iris, and somewhere in there a man might trip and spiral endlessly after.

He’d like to trip. Had never once tripped in his dating history.

“Please, we have to hurry,” the witch pleaded with him.

He relented to the compelling pull of the damsel’s distressed gaze. Ridge folded himself into the passenger seat, and after adjusting it as far back as it would go, his shoulders still rubbed the door and his knees the dashboard.

“You’re right.” Abigail turned off the ignition with a frustrated sigh. “This car doesn’t fit you. I’m sorry. Let’s take yours.”

Pleased to be behind the wheel of his Ford 350—and in control—Ridge navigated the pickup truck around the perimeter of the Twin Cities on Interstate 35W. The snowstorm they’d had three days ago had left a sheen of ice along the shoulder, but the main drive was thankfully clear and dry.

Abigail had suggested they begin with the River pack, located closest to the Cities, which occupied land on the Minnesota side of the St. Croix River.

“You’re tilting at windmills,” he said as they cruised the freeway amidst a blur of red taillights heading home during evening rush hour.

Through rain, snow, hail or sleet, the Minnesota driver never backed down from the challenge of rush hour. Another reason he was thankful his job wasn’t nine-to-five or in a business complex. Ridge liked to drive, but preferred the rough back roads and anywhere away from traffic.

“After Creed Saint-Pierre and Blu Masterson got married, all the packs and vampire tribes in the area agreed to the pact to cease warring against one another,” he said, feeling it was necessary to state what the witch obviously had overlooked.

“Do you really believe that, Ridge?”

“You tell me if it’s something to believe. Did they all agree to play nice with each other? Doesn’t the Council know?”

“We always know. I’d say seventy-five percent of the opposing forces have stepped back and are now minding their own business. The Council is extremely pleased over that. The wedding was worth the effort, if you ask me. The Kila and Nava tribes have been exemplary, but then the Kila leader, Nikolaus Drake, does sit on the Council, as well. And I’m sure some of the packs are participating—”

“Some of them? You said the Council always knows. And yet, you have no idea which packs are involved in the cease-fire, if any are.”

“That information has yet to be gathered.”

“Uh-huh. Or did the Council throw a big party for the wedding, then leave the newly-weds to flounder in hopes their love would bring peace and happiness to the world?”

“You’re the one who blindly believes all the packs have ceased participating in the blood sport.”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t know that for sure. And yes, he did want to blindly believe everyone—vampires and werewolves—could get along. But he wasn’t stupid. Hell, he’d grown up knowing vampires were nasty, longtooth bloodsuckers and should be taken down if they looked at him cross-eyed.

Of course, he’d grown up knowing that it was every man for himself, and no one, not even your own breed, could be relied upon to stand with you or to even be civil to you, let alone treat you with kindness.

“I know little about the River pack,” he said, “save where they could possibly hold blood sport. That is if they are involved in the heinous games. Their compound is on the other side of Marine on St. Croix. But I don’t know what you expect to do. We can’t rush them and rescue the vampire if they do have him.”

“Why not?”

He flashed her a glance, but couldn’t find a joking smirk on her face. “I thought you were centuries old.”

“I was born in 1550.”

“So shouldn’t you know more? Like how one lone wolf and a trigger-happy witch could never stand against an entire pack. Especially if they are holding the blood sport. You have to know how the wolves get worked up during a match. The scent of vampire blood excites them and jacks up their adrenaline. They think with their beast brain as opposed to their were minds. They will tear any outsider limb from limb.”

He slowed and Abigail leaned over to check the speedometer. “What are you doing? We’re on the clock!”

“We need to think this through more. A plan is in order. I’m going to take the next exit.”

“No! We don’t have time to think. Forty-eight hours, Ridge. More like forty-six now with this damned traffic. My son is in danger.”

“Did the caller indicate he was in danger?”

“He’s been kidnapped. What part of kidnapped does not entail danger to you?”

“You said they were keeping him in protective custody. Sounds kind of … protective to me.”

“I can’t believe you’re being this stupid.”

Yeah, him, either. The boy was in danger if some unknown had taken him from his mother’s care. But he needed facts, information—more than a wild goose chase—to better understand the situation and come up with a plan. He did not like reacting.

“Tell me about him.” He resumed speed, catching up with traffic, thinking if he could get more information from her, she may begin to trust him more, and then he could talk her out of this insane mission, at least until a workable plan had been solidified. “I didn’t know you had a son.”

“His name is Ryan and he attends boarding school in Switzerland. That’s all you need to know.”

“Fine.”

Boarding school? He’d never understood a mother who could send her child away for months at a time. It was wrong. Children needed parents to thrive. And for protection. But who was he to judge? His opinion had no bearing right now. Abigail was a lioness out to protect her stolen cub. He should not stand in her way.

“Does the Council know you have a kid?”

He caught her gaze and she quickly looked out the window. Well hell, he couldn’t prevent curiosity. She was known to have a wicked reputation. Motherly and protective were the last two words that came to his mind.

“I think Ravin Crosse—one of the witches on the Council—is aware,” she offered, “but no one else knows. It’s no one’s business but my own. If I want to protect my family by keeping it a secret, that’s my right. You know it isn’t easy surviving in a world meant more for mortals than us.”

“Is he a witch?”

“It’s rare that magic is passed on to a son. That’s something I won’t know until he hits puberty.”

“Which is when?”

She huffed and gave him her silence.

“Sorry. I won’t ask about him again. Kids are miracles. You’re lucky to be a mother.”

It changed his mind a bit about Abigail to know she was a mother, and further, to know she so fiercely protected her own. He’d heard the rumors about her, that she was quick to judgment and the first in line to administer punishment at the Council’s beckon. Rumor told she’d had a crazy love thing going with a vampire once, too, but he wasn’t clear on that. What mattered was now she was clearly putting her child’s interests in front of her own.

He’d do the same in her position. If he had a son, and someone threatened him, Ridge would show no mercy and take no prisoners. Forget the plan, he’d react without remorse. Let the bloody kidnappers beware his paternal wrath.

“So I’m surprised you didn’t come to me sooner,” she suddenly said. The cool darkness of the truck was intermittently lit from the glow of red taillights passing by. “It’s been a long time. Figured you’d had a blackout and totally erased all memory of Vegas from your brain.”

“Close.” But he had never forgotten her sweet coconut scent or the softness of her skin. Never.

“So why now? It’s been over a decade. You haven’t found someone you wanted to marry until now?”

“What makes you think there’s someone I want to marry?”

“Why else would you bother with a divorce from a marriage you’d forgotten, and so quickly?”

“Just want to clear away a past indiscretion and smooth the path for when the time does arrive that I want to marry. And I’ve never forgotten this marriage, just … tucked it away into a dark little corner of my mind.”

“Yeah, a dark place,” she said absently. Then, seeming to lift from the mysterious dark place, she asked, “So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment.”

“You’ll marry a werewolf,” she stated.

He clenched his fingers about the steering wheel. She had the aggravating manner of assuming her opinion was right.

He wasn’t sure who or what breed he’d marry. Just because he was a wolf didn’t mean he had to marry one. Though, a female wolf would be his ultimate match. Only a wolf could understand another wolf. There weren’t a lot of females in the area, due to rampant hunting of werewolves by vampires in the mid-twentieth century, but their numbers were slowly increasing thanks to the packs’ fierce protection of the valued females. Yet still, to find a female wolf and fall in love was like laying claim to a treasure that must be hoarded and prized. Lottery odds, that. He’d dated a werewolf once—unsuccessfully.

Last year when Amandus Masterson had still been the pack principal, he’d offered his daughter Blu’s hand to Ridge in marriage as a means to forgo her marrying the vampire Creed Saint-Pierre. Ridge had been honored for but the moment it had taken him to hate the principal even more. He’d been shocked the father could so easily pawn off his daughter on the first wolf he’d hoped would serve to his advantage. Ridge had refused, and Amandus had then offered Blu to the next wolf to walk near him, an idiot underling.

Fortunately Blu, at the Council’s insistence, had married Creed, and the match had surprisingly turned into the proverbial heaven-made pairing. The werewolf princess and the ancient warrior vampire, Creed Saint-Pierre, had quickly fallen in love, and Ridge could see the glow of love on Blu’s face every time she visited the compound.

He was glad Blu still visited. He regarded her as a friend, and she him. It had been difficult for her, growing up in the pack compound without her mother. Persia Masterson had suffered greatly at her husband’s hand. Blu had always believed her mother had run away when she was young, never to be seen again.

Ridge had done his best to protect Persia, but he’d been young as well, and a wolf could take only so many beatings. Blu knew it had been his talon that had murdered her father, and she did not hold him responsible for committing an act she had later told him was just and necessary.

There were days he blamed himself. It was your fault. At the time, he’d taken out the one man who had meant to bring down the pack by continuing to partake in the blood sport and wage war against the local vampires. But if he’d been more sensible, probably he could have found a less violent way to take care of Amandus Masterson.

Probably not. The old wolf had possessed a mean streak a mile deep. No one knew that better than his deceased wife, Persia. Masterson had treated her worse than a dog, and he’d tormented Ridge all his life. And he’d thought nothing of creating the largest blood sport complex in the state. The old man had been bad to the bone.

“You’re suddenly quiet,” Abigail commented. “Thinking about the werewolf you hope to someday marry?”

If only his thoughts could touch something so light and hopeful.

“I will marry for love, not because she’s my breed.”

“So you would marry a mortal?”

“I didn’t say that.”

A mortal and a werewolf presented a sticky situation. Because the only way to bond with his mate involved him having sex with her under the full moon—in werewolf form—and mortals generally freaked whenever he wolfed out and proudly wore fur, talons and a toothy maw.

“Severo and Belladonna are making it work,” she commented.

“Yes, but she wasn’t mortal for long. She’s vampire now.”

“Right. Severo has developed an insatiable blood hunger now, too, because she bit him.”

Ridge winced. The idea of craving blood, such as vampires did, twisted his gut into knots. Wolves did not consume blood or attack humans. Ever. They did not need humans to survive. They existed among the mortal breed, but kept their distance. Unfortunately, man would always reign supreme over the beasts.

“What about you?” he prompted. “I haven’t had a knock on my door from you over the years. No boyfriend? No marriage plans? Or just happy to be my absent wife?”

“Please. I forgot all about that silly marriage days after the trip.”

Ouch. That hurt. Because he had never forgotten.

“And I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”

“Yikes.”

She shifted on the passenger seat to face him. “I mean … I don’t know. I just … I don’t handle relationships well. I have a tendency to become …”

“Too attached?”

She sighed heavily. “Obsessive.”

“Ah.”

Dare he ask? Hell, why not. The worst she could do was blast him, and probably she’d keep her magic holstered in a small space like this. “I think I once heard something about you and a vampire.”

“Oh please, not the Truvin Stone thing. I will never live that one down.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Her soft chuckle and shake of head spoke volumes. She’d apparently suffered countless rumors over the years, yet he did believe that one because it was the one he’d heard more than a few times.

“Like I said,” she offered, “I fall in love too damn easy, and then I go straight on into obsession. I loved Truvin, and well, he was the first guy to show me real kindness. That was in the eighteenth century when witches were extremely unpopular. So what if he was a vampire? I had more power over him because back then the Protection still made witch’s blood poisonous to vampires.”

“You like to have control in a relationship?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. Then, with a shrug of her shoulder and an uncomfortable shift on the seat, she answered more softly. “It’s hard to shuck off. The need for control. It’s my protection.”

He could understand that. A woman who was a witch had two marks against her in this patriarchal society.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Truvin spurned me. And I don’t blame him, because I got carried away with my adoration. We didn’t see each other for centuries, and then we suddenly did a few decades ago. Let’s say I had to give it one last go, and he wasn’t pleased to see me. Hell, the things that follow a girl through the centuries. Sometimes I wish I was a familiar, because at least they don’t remember their actions from one life to the next.”

“When you know better you do better,” Ridge said.

Her sigh pressed against his heart and he reached across and clasped her hand. She tugged initially, then relaxed and gave his a squeeze. Her heartbeat warmed his palm.

“Thanks for telling me that. It makes me think you can trust me.”

“I do trust you as far as being the rescuing knight and having a valorous code of honor you’ll adhere to. I guess I spilled that embarrassing relationship stuff because I need you to know that if you have the slightest notion that we could become an actual we, you should give up now. I’ve learned to not be so clingy and in control. Mostly. I don’t need to be in a relationship with a man anymore.”

“So you’re playing for your own team now?” He hitched a sneaky look her way.

“What? You think I’m a— No, I still like men. Lovers suit me, but a boyfriend? Not on my radar.”

“I’m sorry about that. I think being in a relationship would be the best thing for a person’s heart and soul. The soul needs love.”

“The soul also requires freedom,” she responded.

Her soft tropical scent filled his senses, and he was the one to break contact and put his hand on the wheel. They were opposites when it came to ideals for love.

And yet her scent had gotten into his senses and refused to leave. She would prove a distraction he’d once already fallen victim to. And if she wasn’t interested, then he should listen to her warning and keep his focus on helping her, and not on her soft, kissable mouth.

Abigail turned to her side and yawned. She didn’t want Ridge to see. Exhaustion tugged at her shoulder and neck muscles, but she couldn’t afford to sleep. Ryan had to be freaking out. If witches held him, there was no telling what her son was thinking. He’d grown up knowing his mother was a witch, had witnessed her casual usage of magic in their daily lives, and she’d taught him that he existed in a realm populated by all breeds and creatures. As well, that this mortal realm was not the only one out there. Many, including Faery and Daemonia, and dozens others, existed alongside this one.

She had explained to Ryan he would come into his magic when puberty hit. Or not. She knew a daughter born of two fire witches was likely to also be a fire witch—and as a result, would drain her parents of that magic when she came into her own. But the males were hit and miss. Rarely did a boy gain magic from his mother if his father was mortal or another breed. But it could happen when both parents were witches, so she’d wanted to prepare him for that possibility.

Truth was, Ryan could gain magic—or something else all together. It was the something else that disturbed her now.

To keep her thoughts from dire scenarios, she let her gaze glide along Ridge’s profile. The light from passing cars frequently glanced off his square jaw. He was a solidly built man with a thick, muscled neck that alluded to much physical labor, thanks to him being a lumberjack, or so she’d heard. His masculine yet crooked nose made her wonder if it had been redesigned once or twice in his lifetime due to brawls. His hard jaw was set and determined, and he wore stubble as a moustache and along his jaw. The hair on his scalp wasn’t much longer than the stubble on his face.

Dark brows furrowed over deep brown eyes that always startled her when they met gazes. He was so intense. Nothing ever appeared casual about him, and everything seemed as if it was the Most Important Thing to him.

And that everything growled power and strength. Don’t mess with me, you’ll regret it. It also screamed dangerous and wild. He was a beast, a man who possessed an animal side that must be released every full moon. A beast that could barge out if it wanted at any time of the month.

Like that night in Vegas.

She wasn’t afraid of werewolves. Certainly she’d known her share through the centuries, and she was on good terms with Severo, who occasionally served the Council.

Werewolves were at times playful among their pack, and she knew they were devoted and protective of those they loved. But the man-beast werewolf form they shifted into did give her caution. A seven-foot man-wolf with razor-sharp talons and a maw full of teeth made for grinding and tearing wasn’t something Abigail wanted to mess with or invite over for a cozy dinner over sauvignon blanc.

And yet, despite what she’d told him after he’d pounded on her front door, she had thought of Ridge over the years. Often. She didn’t want him to know that seeing a television commercial for Las Vegas could rocket her memories back to that weird night of fire, vodka and crazy, drunken sex. And then on to dreams of what might have been with the sexy man who had selflessly saved her from the killing flames.

And she would never reveal that sometimes her dreams had her twisting between the sheets and moaning for the missing touch from the one man who had not only startled her but had also awakened her to new wants. He’d changed her in ways she was only beginning to grasp now. The obsessive lover in her? It was still in there, but she had been tamed and turned onto something less greedy yet perhaps a little more wanting. She wanted smoldering desire countered by a patient passion. Such wanting was intent to wait for the right man instead of Mr. Right Now.

She’d dated Miles Easton—the witch who’d tied her to the stake—for six months after the crazy notion to move to Vegas for a year, and had resigned herself to the fact most men were basic, functional and sufficient in bed. They put out no more than they expected back. And they expected to come every time they had sex, then roll over and snore. Boring.

But Ridge? As soon as the sheets were pulled away, he became a literal animal. And she wasn’t as frightened by the prospect of another go-round with his werewolf as she should be. For beyond the smoldering desire, her cravings whispered of wild, spontaneous sex. Hot, no-holds-barred sex. Make-me-dream-about-it-for-days sex. Make-me-shiver-when-I-think-your-name sex. Heck, she liked it a little rough, or so she imagined she would because she’d not yet found a lover to meet her pining desire to be held under control.

Ridge recognized her need for control. He was a smart man, but then again, perhaps she was overcontrolling, and who wouldn’t notice that? Ryan even rolled his eyes at her when she demanded too much from him for chores and homework.

At least she recognized her control fetish. And if the tables turned, maybe she’d finally get a handle on it and surrender completely.

But it was foolish to feed those fantasies. The werewolf wanted a divorce, and she wanted her son, safe in her arms.

And so she had steered her course directly into the fray. The River pack, if they participated in the blood sport, would present everything she did not want to deal with. As Ridge had said, when the wolves viewed the sport, they often shifted and impromptu matches were held between their own. They became enraged and hungry for physical fight by watching two vampires go at one another to the death.

She could stand before a gang of vampires without fear, and usually walk away without giving blood. Truth was, vampires still held a healthy regard for witches even though their blood was no longer poisonous to them. And she could hold her own against any witch who possessed earth, air, water or even fire magic. She didn’t mind demons, but ultimately, they were all idiots contained by their mortal shells.

But werewolves were half animal, and Abigail had a healthy respect for wild animals with big teeth. Much as her bad ole self wanted to burn magic through werewolf hides, she had to admit, she was glad to have Ridge along for the ride. He offered the instinct and strength she needed. Her magic was powerful, but facing an entire pack could overwhelm her, and then she knew she wouldn’t be able to direct her magic efficiently.

Which meant she was using Ridge as a means to an end. But it was more important to her to save Ryan than to worry about using one man. Ridge was tough; he could take it.

Besides, much as she should sign those papers right now and let the man off the hook, she couldn’t make it so easy to get a divorce. No, she must offer the man a challenge to prove his worth in the ending of their sham of a marriage.

You’ve got to stop thinking of him as a knight in shining armor, Abigail. Putting men upon a pedestal always gets you in trouble in the dating arena. Be smart.

And she would be.

“The last place I know where the River pack could possibly be holding a secret match is just ahead,” Ridge said. “That building down the road.”

Abigail straightened and surveyed the lights winking in the distance across the snowy field stretched before them. They’d turned onto a gravel road, which was lined with pine trees on one side and high snowbanks on the other. What she guessed were yard lights beamed across the soft blanket of snow, making it glitter as if a faerie stage. The beauty of winter offered a deceptive masquerade.

“I thought this was an old property the River pack had abandoned for digs in Wisconsin, but there are lights on everywhere. Hell,” Ridge said. “Could they really?”

“They’re obviously up to something,” she said.

She knew it pained him to consider any from his breed could still be involved in the blood sport. His naivety was odd, coming from one who had garnered much respect from his peers through his fierce mien and honorable manner.

“Do you know this vampire? What’s his name? What does he look like?”

“I, uh …” She didn’t know what he looked like.

Ridge flashed her a wincing shake of his head. “How are we supposed to find the guy if you don’t know what he looks like?”

“I’ve been told his name is Mac York. We just call out his name.”

“That’s your plan? If you were a vampire—any vamp—kept chained and starved by werewolves in a filthy cell, and you heard a rescue team call out a name other than your own, wouldn’t you stand and plead that is your name?”

“Oh.”

Ridge pulled the truck over on the side of the road and turned off the headlights.

“We can’t stop—”

“We are going to think this through,” he said firmly over her complaint. He cast a narrow, hard gaze at her that she could see, despite the darkness in the truck.

Abigail did not back down. Instead she lifted her shoulders and delivered an admonishing gaze right back at him. No one told her what to do.

“You can stare at me all you like, Abigail, but I can smell your fear. So just chill and let me think this through.”

“If I wasn’t afraid I’d be too cocky,” she challenged. “Fear is necessary when facing an enemy.”

“Abigail.” He clasped her jaw and turned her chin to face him. Normally she’d fling magic at anyone who touched her without consent, but his domineering manner quieted that urge. “This is going to be dangerous. I know nothing will stand between you and saving your son, but let me be your shield, will you? Don’t get in front of me. In fact, stay as far back as possible. Let me stand before whatever danger presents itself, or neither of us will survive.”

“But I can throw magic—”

“How far? And what kind? Are you going to geld them all like you did me? That’ll only make them angry, and you know they’ll all wolf out then. If they’re not already in werewolf form.”

“I didn’t geld you.”

“Close.”

“Whatever. I’m a master with air magic. I can toss a man through the air, send objects flying like a car, weapons, whatever you need me to do. I’ve also mastered fire.”

“Is that so? Tell me how a practitioner of fire gets herself tied to a stake with a circle of flaming fagots laid around her feet?”

Indeed, how? Had it been because she’d been so stupid in love—as was her frustrating mien—that she hadn’t seen it coming? “He overpowered me. I am a woman. That means there are some men who are stronger than me, no matter what my skills.”

“Exactly. So let me do the talking, right? And keep your flaming trigger finger holstered until I say so. No flames, Abigail. Deal?”

She nodded, but mentally crossed her fingers. She’d walked through more than a few wars in her time. She knew how to wield magic in battle. Real battles that had involved men on horseback brandishing swords and fighting for their king and country.

This witch could certainly handle a few werewolves.