Читать книгу Luck of the Wolf - Susan Krinard - Страница 10

ARIA DODGED OUT of his way, furious at her own stupidity. Cort had been worried about her going out alone. She had assumed he was concerned about the men who had taken her the first time.

But these weren’t the same men at all. She might not have Cort’s ability to recognize wehrwölfe just by looking at them, but she couldn’t mistake the way this man moved, or how easily he countered her attempt to escape.

It was almost funny that the second werewolf she’d met wanted to hurt her. But he did, and there was no point in trying to warn him off, or ask him and the other man what they wanted.

And no one was going to help her. She’d learned in her first week on the Coast that the people here knew better than to get in the way of bad men.

Backing deeper into the alley, Aria swept off her cap, dropped it on the ground and ripped open the front of her shirt. The man with the rope waited while the other werewolf began to remove his own clothing. Aria tore her trousers open with one hand and threw them aside. Cold, damp air wrapped around her arms and legs as she flung her underthings away.

The strange werewolf finished undressing a moment later. He was big all over and very hairy, and when he Changed his shoulder stood as high as Aria’s head. She closed her eyes and let her own wolf take her. Her enemy went straight for her front legs and knocked them out from under her.

But Aria was fast, and strong. She had spent years running and riding up and down mountain slopes, and along treacherous trails that wound through dense forest and beside sheer cliffs. Her muscles reacted instantly, propelling her to her feet again. She snapped at the stranger’s nearest foreleg, her teeth sinking through fur, and into flesh and bone.

Her enemy yelped and snarled, swinging his big head around to seize the ruff on Aria’s neck.

“Don’t hurt her!” the other man cried. “He wants her alive and well!”

But the wolf didn’t seem to hear. He bore down on Aria, smothering her with his far greater weight. She realized that he could crush her without even trying. She struggled beneath him, gasping for breath, her tongue lolling and her ears flat against her skull as she scrabbled at the mud with her nails and tried to get a grip on the stranger’s belly.

“Baldwin!” the man yelled. “Stop! If you—”

His voice cracked on a cry of pain. Aria made a feeble attempt to lift her head.

Cort, she thought. And suddenly she was free, the massive body on top of her tumbling sideways with a grunt of surprise. Aria leaped up, her whole body protesting the sudden movement, and sprang toward her attacker. A warm, thickly furred shoulder brushed hers. Together she and Cort fell on the stranger, who snapped and snarled but proved no match for the two of them working together. He rolled on his back in a grotesque posture of submission, and the stink of urine mingled with the foul carrion odor of his breath.

Cort stood over him, bristling and growling. Aria couldn’t laugh, not in this shape, but she grinned and danced with joy. She had never felt anything like this before, not even when she brought down the fleetest and noblest of stags after a long and exhausting hunt. She and Cort had won. Together.

But Cort didn’t seem interested in their victory. He Changed and stood over their enemy, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Get out of here,” he said, something cruel and rough replacing the usual smoothness of his voice. “Tell your master he won’t have her, even if he sends every loup-garou in California.”

He aimed a kick toward the other werewolf’s belly, but the beast dodged away and fled. The man who hadn’t Changed was already gone.

Cort turned to her. “Stay as you are,” he said harshly. He went to the mouth of the alley, glanced left and right, and gathered up the clothing he had dropped there. He had torn his clothing off when he’d Changed, and the garments were badly mangled. He examined them with obvious disgust.

“Ruined,” he said. He pulled on the trousers, which were ripped lengthwise from knee to hem, and fastened the two remaining buttons. He drew the equally torn shirt over his head, ignored his once-shiny vest and finished with his stained and dirty coat. His feet were bare and covered with mud. He looked so unlike his usual self that Aria wanted to laugh again.

That would not be a very good idea, even if she could have managed it in wolf form. He glared at her, promising reprisals for her disobedience, and picked up the rope the men had left behind.

“There is no point in collecting what remains of your clothes,” he said, “and it wouldn’t be advisable for a young woman to be seen walking the streets in a state of complete undress. You will pose as a dog until we get home. As for me—” He examined himself and made a sound of disgust. “I will doubtless be considered just another inebriate emerging from a fight in some den of iniquity.” He made a loop out of the rope. “Come here.”

The freedom she had claimed for so short a time, the warm rush of victory, could not be taken from her so easily. She laid her ears flat and bristled.

Cort sighed. “If you knew how much trouble you have caused.” He dropped the rope. “Stay close to me. If you stray more than an inch—”

He left the rest of the threat unspoken, but Aria heard the real anger in his voice, in the flat cadence of his words and the slight but noticeable change in his accent. She realized that she had seen him annoyed, even short-tempered, but never angry. Never so furious. Not with her.

Lowering her head, she crept toward him. He spun around and strode out of the alley, pausing once to study the ground.

“Someone seems to have availed themselves of my best pair of shoes,” he said.

With a grimace, he took a handful of Aria’s thick ruff in his fist and began walking. The feel of his hand in her fur was not in the least uncomfortable. In fact, it felt warm and strong and wonderful.

She realized he hadn’t been angry with her just because she had disobeyed him and taken a stupid risk. He was upset because he had been afraid for her. He had always claimed to care what happened to her, but now she was certain he had really meant it. He must have had a reason not to tell her who she was.

They were back at the house in five minutes. Cort let her go when they were safely in the hallway, and opened the door to their rooms. She darted inside, shook out her fur and Changed.

Something in Cort’s expression made her rush to find the hated dress. She put it on in the bedroom and came out again.

Cort was hunched in one of the chairs by the table, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the carpet.

“You could have been hurt,” he said, not looking at her. “You do understand that?”