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Rama jumped up on the table, his keen yellow eyes watching intently as Verah perused the pages.
“There must be a spell or an incantation in one of these books that will work as well as his blood,” she muttered. “There has to be!”
An hour later, she closed the ancient text, and reached for another. It had taken her mother a lifetime to collect these moldy old tomes. Surely one of them possessed the spell she needed.
When none of the grimoires yielded the information she sought, she contacted Yanaba. But the Navajo shaman who had helped Verah refine her magic and gifted her with the wisdom of his years had no answers for her.
Verah blew out a breath of exasperation. If Yanaba didn’t have the answer, maybe the spell she was looking for didn’t exist.
* * *
Chapter 10
Victor Rinaldi listened attentively to the conversation taking place between his father and Russell Alissano. It concerned Kiya’s disappearance, of course. Damn the girl. Even when she wasn’t here, she was nothing but trouble. He was under no illusions about her feelings for him. No doubt she had run off in an attempt to avoid their upcoming engagement.
Well, she could run far and wide, but she wouldn’t be able to hide for long. Her old man was bound to sniff her out sooner or later. For his part, Victor hoped it would be sooner so he could get this marriage over with and move on.
He was tired of pretending to be smitten with Alissano’s daughter, but he was determined to play the game of lovesick suitor to the end. The reward would make it all worthwhile.
His people had lived in the shadows for too long. It was time for the werewolves to shed their veneer of humanity and take their proper place in the world—right at the top of the food chain.
* * *
Chapter 11
Gideon’s Phoenix lair was located in a ground-floor apartment. There had originally been two barred windows facing the street, but with the owner’s approval, Gideon had had them plastered over with the understanding that, when he moved out, he would restore the windows. He had also replaced the flimsy wooden door with one of reinforced steel and installed a pair of the best dead bolts money could buy. His rent and utilities were paid ten years in advance, assuring that he had electricity and running water whenever he chose to return. The same was true of the other places he maintained here in the States. The lair in New York City was far more lavish than this one. The same was true of his place in Tennessee.
Materializing in the bedroom, he lowered the wolf onto the mattress. Was she out for the rest of the night? If not, how would she react when she awoke in a strange place? Would she remember who he was before she tried to rip his throat out?
He regarded her a moment, thinking that, wolf or woman, she was something to see. Her fur was as black as midnight, her ears small and pointed, her body trim and compact but well muscled. Quite a package, he mused, in whatever form she was in.
Maybe some night he would change into his wolf form and they could run the hills together.
Chuckling softly, he went into the bathroom and closed the door. After removing the filthy rags he had worn for the last three years, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast. Damn, but it felt good! Closing his eyes, he stood under the spray and let the hot water sluice over his head and body. He hadn’t had the luxury of a real bath since Verah captured him. Whenever his stink got to be more than she could stand, she had turned a hose on him.
He stayed in the shower a good forty minutes, washing his hair and scrubbing away the stink of captivity.
When he returned to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, the wolf was still out of it. He figured she would likely sleep through the night after all they’d been through.
Moving to the dresser, he pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, then stretched out on the bed beside the wolf. He needed to feed but it didn’t seem wise to leave her here, alone, on the off chance she might wake up. For a moment, he contemplated taking a few sips of her blood, but the thought of getting a mouthful of fur quickly soured him on that idea.
Turning onto his side, he stroked her head. Her fur was soft and warm. Touching her was soothing somehow. Closing his eyes, he slipped into oblivion, clean and at peace for the first time in years.
Kay woke with a start, surprised to find herself lying naked in a strange bed with Gideon, in a room she didn’t recognize. How had they gotten here? And where was here? The last thing she remembered was a searing pain in her flank. When she touched her leg, there was no wound, but that didn’t surprise her. Most injuries healed overnight, although in her case, serious injuries sometimes took a little longer, since she was only half werewolf.
She wrinkled her nose. The room smelled musty, as if no one had lived in it for a very long time. Of course, if this was Gideon’s home, it had been unoccupied for at least three years, which would account for the smell, and the thick layer of dust on the nightstand.
Sitting up, she glanced around, wondering if there was anything to eat in the place. Considering who lived here, she doubted it. And even if there happened to be a stray loaf of bread or a package of lunch meat lying around, after sitting on a shelf for three years, it certainly wouldn’t be edible.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
It had only been a few days since she had showered, but it seemed longer. She washed her body twice and her hair three times before she felt clean.
Wrapped in a towel, she returned to the bedroom. A glance at Gideon showed he was still sleeping soundly. She bit down on her lower lip for a moment before moving to the mahogany dresser against the far wall. Rummaging through the drawers, she found a short-sleeved navy T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants similar to the ones he was wearing. The pants were miles too big and too long, but better than nothing. She used a belt she found in the closet to keep them up, rolled the cuffs so she wouldn’t trip, and left the bedroom to do a little exploring.
The living room was sparsely furnished with little more than a dark leather sofa, a rectangular coffee table made of distressed oak, and a large bookcase filled with books, magazines, and a bronze statue of a tiger, all covered with dust. A state-of-the-art flat-screen TV hung over the fireplace. The fourth room was the kitchen. The cupboards were empty. There was no stove, only a small white refrigerator, also dusty. She stared at it, grimacing as she pictured the inside filled with bags of old blood.
Going back into the living room, she dropped down on the sofa, displacing little puffs of dust. She needed something to eat. Unfortunately, she had no cell phone with which to order anything and no money to pay for it anyway. And no idea where she was. For all she knew, she could be in the middle of Timbuktu. She regarded the TV for a moment. Gideon had been away for three years. What were the odds that the electricity was still on? Only one way to find out. Taking the remote from the coffee table, she hit the on switch, pleased to discover that the TV had power and the batteries in the remote weren’t dead. She was relieved to see a familiar news program. At least she was still in the country.
