Wild Wolf Read online

  “How is that a problem?”

  “I really don’t know. It’s a lot of work, but he has good people managing the companies he owns. He likes being involved, and the company is expanding faster than he planned for. Before you called, he was wandering his fortress while howling over the unfairness of it all. How dare his tub business be five years ahead of schedule?”

  “Is he insane?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  “Think they’d notice if we ran away? I’m starting to feel running away is reasonable. You can come with me, but we’ll have to steal Petra back from Desmond. I’m pretty fond of her. She’s a very good wolf. Maybe it took me over a year to actually name her, but she’s a good wolf. She did not trust me at all to begin with. She’d gotten shot with a silver bullet, so I’d been worried she was like us.”

  “Oh, she’s not. But a silver bullet can do a lot of damage even to mundane animals. They don’t penetrate all that far, but they can make a mess of circulation, cause muscle damage, and break bones. And some people—and animals—have silver allergies. But it was probably shock and blood loss that gave you that impression. Fenerec tend to die very quickly when shot with a silver bullet if the bullet isn’t removed immediately. It essentially prevents their blood from becoming oxygenated.”

  I grimaced. “Do other Fenerec have trouble with iron?”

  “No. You do?”

  I nodded. “I wondered why no one seemed bothered by it. Like, I can handle my cast iron pots, but it’s tiring even when I go near them.”

  “Just so you are aware, that’s going to make it so Richard freaks out any time you go near a cast iron pot.”

  “And silver turning my hands black is normal?”

  “Yes, that’s normal for us. Maybe you just react to iron, too. That’s a rough metal to react to, though. There’s iron everywhere.”

  “Alloys don’t bother me. Raw, unworked iron is the worst. Cast iron is better than raw iron. If the iron has been mixed with anything, I don’t have nearly as much trouble with it.”

  “I’m pretty sure cast iron pots aren’t pure iron. I think there is up to seven percent of other materials in it. I remember reading something about that, because I used to think it was just raw iron, but it’s not. Maybe that’s why you can handle it?”

  “I never thought about it, because my cast iron pots aren’t that bad.”

  “If you don’t mind, we’ll experiment with that when we’re back in the States. We try to know as much about everybody as possible, in case of emergency.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Amber yawned again, and she snuggled into my blanket, closed her eyes, and relaxed. While I waited, I kept a close eye on her. Her breathing remained steady. After half an hour, Richard came my way, and I rolled down my window and leaned out of my truck.

  After hanging up his phone and pocketing it, Richard’s attention focused on Amber. “How is she doing?”

  “She’s fine. She woke up when we stopped, but she went back to sleep. How’d the call go?”

  “Your truck is about to die a terrible death. It needs to break down so we’re delayed at least an hour while you attempt to fix it. When you can’t fix it, after we get notified the Chinese are ready to meet us, we’ll abandon it to deal with later.”

  “How are you going to break my truck?”

  “My wife is going to fry the engine when she comes to check on Amber.”

  My poor truck. “But I promised Amber we’d run it over with a tank, Richard.”

  Richard frowned and considered my truck. “It doesn’t have to work to run it over with a tank.” In a louder voice, he called, “Nicolina? Mind coming here?”

  She walked over, careful to lift the hem of her gown, so it wouldn’t get stained from the grass and dirt. “How is Amber doing?” Maintaining her grip on her gown with one hand, she rested her hand on the hood of my truck. A few seconds later, the engine spluttered and died.

  I heaved a sigh and killed the engine. “Well, shit.”

  Pretending as though nothing had happened, Richard said, “The next time you break one of your cars, we’re going to run it over with a tank.”

  “Why?”

  “Declan promised Amber they’d run his truck over with a tank, and that sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “I actually like my cars, Richard. I don’t want to destroy them with a tank.”

  “But I want to destroy things with tanks.”

  “So destroy something other than my cars with a tank. Where are you even going to get a tank?”

  “I have no idea. I’ll cross that bridge later.”

  “No tanks,” Nicolina growled.

  “But—”

  “No.”

  Richard sighed. “But it would be fun.”

  “Why was my truck sacrificed? How was it sacrificed? What did you do to my poor truck?”

  “The battery is dead, every wire in the vehicle is melted, and I may have broken the cylinders through sudden temperature differential. They’re cracked through. I used some magic to make sure the engine didn’t blow with a loud bang, so you can open it up and poke at it while we waste time in case any of the locals are watching us. The locals are probably watching us. I’m using some magic to mask our conversation. This is going to make me tired and crabby later, but that’s fine. This whole thing is going to make me tired and crabby, so I’m just getting an early start.” The woman shrugged and stared down at her gown. “I really like this dress, so I hope we don’t destroy it today.”

  “If you destroy it, I’ll get you a new one,” Richard promised.

  “I don’t want a new one. I like this one. You gave it to me.”

  I grinned at her admission. “It’s always better when it’s a gift, isn’t it?”

  “It really is.” She wrinkled her nose. “Richard wanted me to look my best, and this is my best.”

  According to Richard’s expression, he disagreed. “You’re beautiful no matter what you wear. You’re not beautiful because you’re wearing some damned designer dress.”

  “Declan, tell him he’s wrong.”

  “But I’d be lying if I did that. Your dress is beautiful, yes. But it’s not why you’re beautiful. You’re pretty no matter what you’re wearing. I certainly thought your husband was a lucky man when you came out of that airport in London.”

  “I looked like a sleep-deprived, rabid goose.”

  I attempted to imagine what a sleep-deprived, rabid goose looked like and failed. “Can geese get rabies?”

  “I really don’t know,” she admitted. “But is there anything scarier than the thought of a goose with rabies?”

  Richard snorted. “The last thing we need is some damned goose getting rabies. The world might end. I don’t know why they used horses for the riders of the apocalypse. Horses are not nearly as terrifying as an angry goose. A goose large enough for someone to ride? Now that’s the stuff of nightmares. So, think you can fix your truck, Declan?”

  “Not if she blew my engine, but since you need an hour, as it happens, I keep my tools in the bed, so let’s see if I can work a miracle. It’ll take at least an hour to get to the cylinders.” I unbuckled my seat belt, got out of the truck, and popped open the hood. Smoke coiled up, and I waved my hand in front of my face to be rid of it. “That’s always fun. I just love when I pop the hood and see smoke. It’s my favorite.”

  Shooting Nicolina a glare over the death of my truck, I went and got my toolbox, grunting at its weight. I thumped it to the ground, and the rattle of metal on metal woke Amber. She rolled down her window. “What’s going on?”

  “Think we can import a truck with a dead engine to the United States or Canada? I’m pretty sure my engine is dead.”

  “We can find a local tank and spare the expense,” she replied. “It seems more exotic to use a foreign tank while on vacation. Where might we find a tank near here?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m slightly concerned we might have to steal the tank. Would anyone a
ctually loan us a tank?”

  “I bet that would keep Elliot busy for at least ten minutes. We can make him locate a tank for us.”

  Richard’s laughter rumbled in his chest. “Sorry about waking you, Amber. How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad. Tired, but otherwise not bad.”

  Nicolina frowned. “You don’t feel like you need to throw up?”

  “After the amount of throwing up I did last night, we are not questioning why I’m feeling better.”

  “She expelled a lot last night, and it was rather disturbing, but closer to morning, she wasn’t throwing up nearly as much—and she was throwing up some food by then, too. Not much, but some.”

  Nicolina’s expression brightened. “That is supposed to happen. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Do you still have a spare chocolate bar in your purse? I’m feeling brave enough I’d try one.”

  Grabbing her gown with both hands so she wouldn’t trip over it, the woman hurried to the other vehicles, drawing everyone’s attention.

  Amber snickered. “I’m sorry, Richard. She’s a handful right now, isn’t she?”

  “It’s a problem I’m happy to have. I do regret she picked that dress right now, though.”

  “Why?”

  “It isn’t going to survive the day, and I may have fibbed somewhat about where I got it, which means when she finds out where I got it, my days are over.”

  Amber raised her hand and rubbed her temple. “You had someone sew it by hand, didn’t you?”

  “I had someone sew it by hand.”

  “It was nice knowing you, Richard,” Amber said. “Make me some cookies before you die, that way I can eat them at your funeral. You know how much she hates when you do excessive things.”

  “It wasn’t excessive. She deserved a beautiful dress.” Richard sighed. “Think if I hide behind her father that he might save me?”

  “At this point, you may as well try, especially if anything happens to that dress.”

  Richard snorted. “Amber, have you been paying any attention to what’s going on? We’re in Russia, there is at least one confirmed wild wolf in the area, and we deliberately are making ourselves sitting ducks while we wait for some Chinese representatives to meet with us. The wild wolf problem alone is problem enough. Frankly, I’m hoping the damned wolf—or pack—comes at us here. Desmond is itching for a fight.”

  “He is?” I asked, wondering if I needed to bother actually dismantling my damned engine. Anyone watching me would expect it, so I grabbed my tools and began the tedious process of taking the truck apart. “But why?”

  “He’s been worried, and when he gets worried, his wolf is active. His control is good, but I’m going to feel rather sorry for anyone stupid enough to cross him right now.”

  Amber opened her door, made sure her shoes were on properly, secured my blanket around her, and slid out of the truck, coming to join me. “This makes me wish I had a gun.”

  “You know we’re armed, Amber. If you want a gun, you can have one. Your aim should be better compared to yesterday, so if you want to be armed, just be more careful than you usually are.” Richard took his phone out of his pocket and sent a text. “There, I asked Nicolina to make her father be useful and bring us weapons and ammunition, just in case.”

  “What part of this seems like a ‘just in case’ scenario? Aren’t the odds of the wild wolf paying us a visit fairly high?” Amber shook her head and turned her attention to the toolbox. “Can I help?”

  “Only if you promise to use a wrench as a weapon if needed,” I replied, pointing at the battery. “Your first job is to get that ready to be removed. Have Richard do the heavy lifting, as I’d rather him hurt himself than you hurt yourself right now.”

  “I would normally be offended by that, but you’re absolutely right, and I accept your offering of one slave named Richard to lift things for me while we work on this.”

  “I’m buying some old beater we can fix up together in the United States, and once we’re done, if we don’t absolutely love the vehicle, we will destroy it with a tank before buying another beater and repeating the process.” I gave my dead truck a fond pat. “Putting them back together is most of the fun, and all I ask is that I get to use it for a week or two before we send it to its next life as scrap metal.”

  “How could I possibly say no to that?”

  As I’d figured out the whole lot of them lived to be sarcastic, I turned to her and said, “You absolutely can’t.”

  Laughing, Richard poked around in my toolbox, armed himself with a wrench and some pliers, and began looking over my engine for something to assault or destroy. “You’re going to fit in just fine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Within thirty minutes of working on the engine, which consisted of looking like we worked on it while discussing the probability of the singular wild wolf being a wild wolf pack, the first of the Chinese arrived. Desmond intercepted them while Richard stayed with my truck.

  I understood the reason as to why; if Amber so much as grimaced, Richard tensed.

  The visiting Chinese would have to come to us—or Amber would have to go to them. I understood Richard’s protectiveness. I often checked on Lane and Anthony, who kept the Anderson twins company and schemed something destined to make my life even more complicated.

  Anthony would find a way to make me pay for dropping off the radar. He always did. By the time he got around to it, I hoped I could meet his general expectations on humor and tolerance. Lane kept an eye on me, and I caught him at it every time I checked over my shoulder.

  Crossing Russia and dodging the local wolves had changed me, and I disliked some of those changes.

  Before, I would have kept score. Before, I would have concocted some dated curse to keep Anthony on his toes or confuse those I wasn’t sure about. Before, I would have frequented museums, contemplated theft, and admired art for the joy of it.

  All of those things had lost their shine in the days after I’d killed Julie in order to protect Anthony and Lane.

  I had a lot of thinking to do, but first, I needed to get over the current obstacle blocking my way—and threatening to reveal the supernatural to the entire world.

  The Chinese weren’t the only ones to pay us a visit, and I counted six distinct, overly large canine shapes ghosting through the woods surrounding the road. Amber, who hid a rather potent handgun among her tools of choice, rested her hand on the weapon. “See them, Richard?”

  “I see them and smell them,” Richard replied. “At least six wilds, and there are a few who haven’t fallen that far yet, but they’re keeping their distance. It looks like their wild wolf problem is a bit more extensive than they made it out to be—or they were lying and putting the blame on someone else. Then again, from what I’ve heard about how they operate here, they have a bunch of wolves primed to blow. They may have been given the push over the edge by the ved’ma. Any idea how many of these bodark they have?”

  I shrugged, and like Amber, I’d been given a gun. The Beretta would get the job done, but the silvered rounds loaded in the weapon gave me a serious case of the creeps. “I tried to stay away from the ved’ma and their wolves. The ved’ma run the show here, although the mayor is the one who decides who gets which brand. It’s a part of their monthly unveiling.”

  Amber stiffened. “Do you think they’ve been forcing rituals, Richard?”

  “They could be. If they are, we have a much bigger mess on our hands than we anticipated. Let’s pack this up and stick close together. This isn’t going to end well, but we’re going to make sure it doesn’t end well for them rather than us. Declan, do you smell that almost sour sickly stench?”

  I took a few sniffs and identified the odor he described. “I do.”

  “That’s the general marker of a wild wolf. I don’t know why it translates to smelling like a sickness, but it does. Any wolf that smells like that is going mad, and they’re likely to snap and start killing people. If it’s caught e
arly, witches can help prevent it from progressing. I’m an oddity, as I can essentially run wild and have little trouble becoming human again afterwards. Most don’t. I also don’t tend to smell quite the same as they do, but it’s essentially the same thing.”

  “It’s because he’s so submissive,” Amber explained, tossing my tools into my toolbox with no care of where they went. When I sighed, she shrugged. “You can hover and sigh in disappointment while I restore it to rights later, and if I damage any of your big, manly tools, I’ll take you to a hardware store and set you loose.”

  “I don’t have a big enough toolbox for that.” I joined the packing fray, shaking my head over the amount of damage Nicolina had done to my engine. It hadn’t taken long to determine she’d somehow cracked every piece of metal in the engine, she’d completely shattered the head, and the fate of the cylinders would haunt me for years. “I’m going to need therapy to get over what she did to my truck.”

  “I’m sure I can think of something to help you get over Nicolina’s cruel mistreatment of your truck,” Amber promised, tossing more of my tools into the box. I grabbed the rest and dumped them in, closed the box, and hauled it in the direction of the other vehicles. She laughed, followed, and said, “Would anyone have stolen them here?”

  “I don’t know, but I bartered and bargained to gain ownership of every single one of these tools, and I will keep them.”

  “I see. You’re one of those men.”

  “One of what men?” I grunted and set the box beside the nearest SUV. “I’m a sensible man who knows how much good tools cost, you mean?”

  “No. You’re a trophy hunter. Your tools are your trophies. You won them in bargains and barters, so they are now trophies.” Amber peeked into the vehicle, retrieved the keys from Desmond, and popped open the back. “There is no such thing as too many tools, so as far as trophies go, yours are good.”