Читать книгу Wolf Undaunted - Shannon Curtis - Страница 13

Chapter 5

He’d overheard some of what that underground clinic had been used for, and it turned his stomach.

Vivianne flinched slightly, but masked the move by skimming her hands over her skirt, as though straightening the fabric over her curves. Yeah, she’d heard him. She could try to ignore him all she liked, but he was going to make sure she heard him, on this topic at least.

“I know you want to resume your project—” she began, but halted when her father leaned forward in his chair.

“My project?” he repeated in a low voice. “Don’t you mean our project?” Zane’s eyes widened, and he glared in accusation at Vivianne. She’d been part of it? Had she condoned what her father had done at that clinic? He’d heard the whispers, the stories of those who’d been abused, but who’d escaped just before the clinic was destroyed. He’d also heard the cries of pain, the moans and screams of the other “patients,” just before her brother, Lucien, had unleashed on his father. He folded his arms as he glared down at the senator. The man was a monster.

Vivianne’s father tapped the top of his desk with his forefinger. “Those experiments are designed to create weapons we can use against the werewolves.” Vincent Marchetta shook his head. “We were so close, with that Segova woman—”

“You mean Natalie, your daughter-in-law,” Vivianne interrupted. “She’s family now, Dad. And there was no ‘we’—neither Lucien nor I knew anything about this clinic of yours.”

Her eyes met Zane’s briefly, and he relaxed a little at her pointed message. She hadn’t been involved in that madness, and she wanted him to know that.

Vincent nodded. “And that was my mistake. That’s why I want you involved, from the ground up, this time, Vivianne. After what they’ve done to our family—what they did to you—I think you’d jump at the chance to eradicate the wolves.”

Zane watched as Vivianne’s eyes rounded, just a little. “You—you want us to work together?” She was blinking, as though trying to hide her shock, her...was that hope he saw flare in her eyes? His brows drew into a deeper V. Did she want to hurt the wolves? Him?

“Think about it, Vivianne. The only advantage lycans have over vampires is that their bite is lethal. Otherwise, strength, speed, agility, etc.—we’re evenly matched.” Vincent’s eyes sparked with anticipation. “If we could create some sort of inoculation, some defense that would render a lycan’s bite harmless—imagine what that would mean for us?”

“It would definitely give us an advantage,” Vivianne admitted, and Zane’s heart sank at her words. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. He’d learned she was quick to assess the benefits and pitfalls of a project, to think several jumps ahead of those around her, and in this situation, she didn’t disappoint. “It would also position us as the strongest colony among the vampires. Maybe open up some trade potential.”

“You’re talking about conducting mad science experiments on werewolves,” Zane hissed at her. Her eyes glinted with steely determination before she looked at the man sitting on the other side of the desk.

“It’s not legal,” she told her father gently.

“It’s not ethical! It’s not right!” Zane exclaimed.

“We can get around it,” Vincent told her, “once this bill is passed. But I want that tract of land for when it does.”

“I’ll think about it,” Vivianne said, then rose from her seat and gathered her handbag.

“Tell him no,” Zane said forcefully.

“You do that.” Vincent watched as his daughter prepared to leave.

Zane glared between the two, then shook his fist in the senator’s face. “If you come anywhere near my pack, old man, I will rip you limb from limb.” The old man didn’t even blink. Zane twisted to face Vivianne, not trying to hide his anger as he clenched both hands into tight fists. He wanted to yell, he wanted to punch—he wanted to stop Vincent’s plan, but most of all, he wanted Vivianne to stop it, and he was so damn useless. The fact that she seemed to entertain the idea infuriated him, disappointed him...hurt him. He growled, and the fog whirled up around him, blocking her from his view.

Vivianne hesitated briefly as Zane disappeared in a virulent mist, then adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and left the room.

* * *

Vivianne looked out of her car window, her gaze resolutely fixed forward as her driver turned onto the ramp leading to an underground car park. Rock music was thumping through the earbuds in her ears. She’d had to resort to that tactic to drown out the six-foot-three werewolf who had argued with her ever since her father had dropped his little bomb back at the family home that evening. Even now, with the moon rising, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, sitting next to her on the back seat, hands gesticulating wildly, his expression dark and fierce as he protested her family’s plans.

As if he thought she could stop Vincent Marchetta.

Vivianne looked up at the building to the left of her. It was an architectural masterpiece, with glass corridors leading off to the left and the right, allowing plenty of moonlight into the interior of the building. There were two wings leading off the central block, with an abundance of balconies that suggested access to the outside, but also privacy from each other. Each window, though, and each balcony door, held the same darker glass she had at her own home and office building, as well as her vehicle. Tempered glass. It allowed in light, but blocked UV rays, so that vampires could function in daylight hours without burning to a crisp.

All except for one end of the building that was completely constructed of glass—but this glass was designed to let in the sunlight. Probably to feed the light warriors who had now revealed their existence to the world. She shook her head, not bothering to hide her amazement. She’d had no idea Arthur Armstrong and his sons were light warriors. Everyone thought they’d died out during the time of The Troubles. Her eyes narrowed. They’d managed to hide their existence for centuries. That showed a shrewd calculation and patience that she’d do well to remember when dealing with the Galen brothers.

The Galen brothers, who were apparently doing very well, going by the new state-of-the-art clinic they’d set up.

She leaned back into her seat as the car entered the dim car park. The Galens seemed to think of everything, providing not only a discrete entrance for those who didn’t want to be seen visiting them, but also a UV-free access for vampires.

Her car pulled up at the portico and a tall man with dark hair emerged from the doorway, his arms folded.

Ryder Galen.

Vivianne’s driver hurried around to open her door, and she gave him an intent look. Harris had been her driver for several years, and she trusted him implicitly. She hoped nothing had changed during her coma. She didn’t want word of this visit to get back to anyone in her colony, and especially not her father.

Harris winked, and she gave him a small smile. She hoped some things never changed, namely his ability to keep her secrets. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said quietly.

“Thanks, Harris.” She saw Zane also emerge from the car, and sighed. He looked furious, but the curiosity at their location was winning over as he glanced around, and his features relaxed when he saw Ryder.

She strode up to the doorway, and met Ryder’s gaze directly. The man eyed her, his bright blue eyes keen with interest.

“Do you personally greet all of the patients for this clinic?” she asked, slowly removing her earbuds.

He raised an eyebrow at the rock music that could still be heard blaring from the earbuds, and she switched the music off on her phone app.

“Only the interesting ones,” he responded, his brow dipping slightly in curiosity. “I was surprised to see your name pop up on my schedule.” He gestured to the doorway, and she preceded him into the clinic.

“Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”

“You didn’t really give me much choice,” he told her dryly as he guided her toward the lifts. She gazed around with interest. Instead of the linoleum she’d come to expect in hospitals, the hallway was lined with timber floors. Clean, crisp, but with a warmer, softer tone than she’d expected. The walls were tastefully painted in a soft gray that was both calming and restful, and not in the least depressing.

Zane let out a low whistle as they stepped into the elevator. “Things are looking good for the Galens.”

“You’ve made quite a few changes since your father died,” Vivianne said, looking over at Ryder. “Do you miss him?” She knew there’d been a rift between them, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone who was such a key part of your life for so long...

Ryder dipped his head for a moment. “Like a migraine. We can choose our friends, but we can’t choose our family, can we? How is your father?” He looked at her just as closely.

“Oh, he’s peachy,” Zane muttered. “Happily plotting the extermination of the werewolf breed at this very moment.”

“He’s fine,” Vivianne said, keeping her gaze on Ryder. “How is Vassi?” Her voice softened unintentionally, and she cleared her throat. She would never admit it, but she’d come to admire and respect his wife, Vassiliki Verity. As a lawyer, she was exceptional at her work. As a person, she’d be challenged to find someone with a stronger code of personal ethics, and a love for truth and honor. They’d had several arguments about the direction of the Marchetta businesses, and certain decisions that Vivianne considered “gray,” whereas Vassi deemed them “downright dodgy.” Vivianne had enjoyed their heated debates. She would have to see what she could do to tempt the lady lawyer back. First, she’d have to find out why Vassi had left in the first place. What had occurred between Vassi and her father to make her leave the company?

“Vassi is good,” Ryder said, his face softening into a smile, and there was no hiding the warm pride in his eyes. “We’re setting up a second clinic location, and she’s working on the permits and negotiating access.”

Zane tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ve met Vassi,” he said. “She worked for you, right?”

Vivianne stared at Ryder for a moment, trying to ignore Zane’s presence. Ryder’s respect and delight in his partner was almost tangible. When had anyone spoken about her like that? Certainly not her father. She and her brother were working on their relationship, but they argued, just like any normal siblings. She smiled briefly, dropping her gaze. She was a Vampire Prime, she reminded herself. She didn’t need anyone to be proud of her. She didn’t need those other softer emotions. She needed to ensure her colony were safe and thriving. Period.

The doors opened, and she followed Ryder out into a hallway. This one had carpet, with tasteful art lining the warmer-colored cream walls. Wall sconces with—wow, with real candles—were sporadically placed, creating a soft ambience as Ryder led her to a door with his name on it.

He stepped inside, then halted. “Dude, that’s my desk!”

Vivianne peered around him. A man with dark hair and dark eyes peered with annoyance over his shoulder. The stunning redhead in his arms hastily rearranged her top into a more presentable appearance, and she slid off the desk.

“I was just saying hi to my wife,” the man said, then grinned. “Besides, you know that saying, never let a good desk go to waste,” the man said, as he reluctantly let the redhead step away from him.

“That’s not a saying,” the woman said, trying to hide her smile. She faltered when she saw Vivianne.

“A vamp?” Her nose wrinkled with distaste, and her fingers curled. Sparks of lightning arced between her fingertips.

Vivianne’s eyes narrowed as Zane chuckled next to her. “A witch?” Her tone was just as frosty.

“A vamp, a witch and a light warrior walked into a bar,” the man at the desk quipped, then placed his hands over the redhead’s fists. “Easy, Mel. Remember, we’re being more accepting...” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

The red-haired witch curled her fingers into a fist, extinguishing the arcs of power. “Acceptance sucks,” she muttered, then pasted a bright smile on her face as she strode toward the door. “Besides, I have a client to see.” She paused next to Vivianne, her green eyes brittle. “Something about a silver glove,” she said nonchalantly. She looked over her shoulder at the man with the dark hair. “See you tonight.”

Vivianne’s lips pursed as the witch left the room. Silver. She hated silver. Every vamp hated silver. Lycans, silver, witches, were all at the top of her “things to despise” list. Zane shuddered next to her. Silver was just as toxic to werewolves as it was to vampires.

“Feisty,” he muttered.

Ryder sighed as he turned to Vivianne. “I’m not sure if you’ve had the pleasure, yet, but this is my brother, Hunter. Hunter, this is Vivianne Marchetta.”

Hunter strolled forward, his brown gaze touring over her. “So, you’re the vampire prime that gave my father so much trouble.” He frowned. “You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”

“Don’t be deceived,” Zane muttered. “She might be short, but she can be vicious.”

Vivianne’s gaze slid briefly to glare at the werewolf by her side, then she smiled at Hunter. “I prefer to avoid making assumptions,” she told him sweetly.

Ryder closed the office door, then gestured to a comfortable-looking wingback chair. “Please take a seat. As you can see, we’ve delivered on your special requests.”

“Demands,” interjected Hunter as he leaned against the bookcase lining one wall.

“I’m sure you can appreciate my need for discretion,” she said quietly as she sank into the chair.

“Why are we here?” Zane asked, and leaned an arm along the ridge of the wingback above her head. She glanced up briefly. He was close, leaning his hip against the side of her chair as his brown enquiring gaze found hers.

She turned back to the Galen brothers, both of whom were watching her closely. “You’ve probably heard of my recent...break.”

Ryder’s eyebrow rose. “Break? I was there, Vivianne, when Lucien brought you into Woodland. I saw your injuries with my own eyes.” He shook his head. “The fact that you’re sitting here, talking, it’s nothing short of miraculous.”

Hunter snorted. “I don’t believe in miracles. But, if it was so miraculous, Ms. Marchetta wouldn’t be here visiting us. So, what gives?”

“Anything I say here is treated as confidential, correct?”

“Of course,” Ryder responded. “All our patients’ records are confidential.”

“I want your word,” she insisted. She’d known Ryder long enough to know that he was an honorable man, and this was too important to not get his personal guarantee.

He nodded. “You have it.” She turned her gaze at Hunter.

Hunter sighed, rolling his eyes as he held up his little finger. “Pinkie swear.”

She pursed her lips. She guessed that was about as good as she’d get from this brother.

“I need your help. Since I woke up, I’ve been...seeing things.” She rubbed her forehead. “Not just seeing things, but hearing things, too.”

“You left out the part about the dreams,” Zane pointed out, his lips quirking. She ignored him. Again. But she couldn’t stop the warm bloom of color that swept across her cheeks.

“What kind of things?” Ryder asked. At least he wasn’t looking at her as though she was going mad. Yet.

“Well, one thing, really,” she said, glancing quickly up at Zane, who raised an eyebrow.

“What thing?” Hunter asked, and she was surprised by the patience in his tone.

“Uh, a—” She swallowed. Putting it into actual words was a lot harder than she thought it would be. “A, uh, werewolf.”

Ryder leaned back in his chair. “Well, I guess that’s not surprising,” he commented. “You were attacked by a werewolf.”

“It could be a form of PTSD,” Hunter suggested, and straightened away from the bookcase. “Having visions or memories of the wolf who attacked you...do you have nightmares?”

Her cheeks heated. “Uh, at first, yes, but that seems to be lessening.”

Ryder nodded. “Over time, the nightmares become less frequent as your mind starts to heal from the trauma. It’s PTSD if the nightmares keep recurring after a significant period, along with a few other symptoms.”

“No, it’s not like that,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not talking about Rafe Woodland—although I have had nightmares about him, about the attack. The werewolf I see is—” She hesitated. God, how did she explain this without sounding like an absolute nutter?

“Gorgeous?” Zane suggested. “Sexy? A downright fox?”

“Annoying,” Vivianne stated, frowning.

Hunter’s eyebrows rose. “Annoying?”

“Yes, annoying. At first he was just a shadow out of the corner of my eye, and every now and then I heard him laugh, or mutter—”

“I don’t mutter,” Zane muttered.

“Yes, you do,” she snapped at him. She turned back to the Galens. “But now—” She swallowed again. “Now I can see him. Hear him.”

“And he’s...annoying?” Hunter said, walking slowly toward her, his head tilted as he watched her keenly.

“Yes. Distracting.”

“You left out sexy,” Zane reminded her.

“Shut up,” she hissed, then bit her lip when Hunter halted directly in front of her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean you, I meant...” She trailed off, gesturing toward Zane.

“You can see him now?” Hunter narrowed his eyes as he followed the direction she indicated.

“Yes,” she said, her lips turning down. “And you can’t.” She wanted to cover her face, hide from the reality of admitting her condition, her mind’s weakness. “I think either the lycan poison is coming back, or I’m going mad,” she said in a whisper.

“You think I’m a figment of your imagination?” Zane said, his tone incredulous.

Hunter sank to his heels in front of her so that their gazes were level. “Those would be obvious possibilities,” he conceded softly, and her heart sank at his words, and she saw sympathy spark in his eyes.

“I need to figure out what is wrong with me,” she said, trying to hide her fear.

“I’m not something ‘wrong,’” Zane said as he walked around the chair to face her, his expression troubled. “This is why we’re here? You think I’m driving you crazy?” Surprisingly, there was hurt in his tone, but there was also something else...she’d almost think it was concern. “I hate to break it to you, vamp, but I’m not some latent memory of yours. We never met before—” the muscle in his jaw twitched “—before I died. And I’m not a damn poison.”

“I need to fix this,” she said, her voice stronger. She was looking at Hunter, but her words were intended for Zane. “I can’t lead Nightwing if I’m losing my mind.”

“And it’s all about position and power with you, isn’t it, Vivianne?” Zane said, his deep voice rumbling in a snarl.

“You’re worried about your colony?” Ryder asked, and she looked beyond Hunter’s shoulder to meet his gaze.

She nodded. “A prime can’t hold their position if they’re non compos mentis. Only the strong can lead, and mental deficit is a weakness. There will be a leadership stoush, which would weaken Nightwing among our neighbors, and our enemies. Fighting from within, fighting from without—it will be a bloodbath for my people.”

“What about Lucien? Can’t he take the prime position?” Ryder asked.

Zane’s lips curled back at the mention of Vivianne’s brother’s name.

Vivianne shook her head. “No. He’s taken a leave of absence from Nightwing, and so has surrendered any claim to the Nightwing Prime position. He would have to fight for it, just like anyone else, and after what my father did to his wife, I don’t see him wanting to be Prime.”

“I can’t believe your brother and I have something in common,” muttered Zane. “We both hate your old man.”

She frowned. She was already divulging more information than she was comfortable with. “Can you help me?” she asked Hunter.

He gazed at her for a moment, assessing her. He shrugged. “We can run some tests, and find out what we’re dealing with,” he told her. She settled back into the chair, relief lessening the strain in her shoulders. She would have preferred a “yes, we can fix you” response, but she appreciated he wasn’t prepared to make false promises. She could respect that.

“Okay.”

“You agree to the tests?” Hunter asked.

She nodded. “I do. When do you want to schedule them?”

He smiled. “No time like the present,” he said, touching her forehead lightly.

Darkness descended across her mind, and the last thing she saw was Zane’s concerned face as she slid into unconsciousness.