Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (39 page)

No, he hadn't needed to see her encounter with the man to
know she still retained her fighting spirit.

A gentle trill from the hawk interrupted his reflections.
Lily was on the move again. He melded his mind with his thought-form, sending
it rising into the gray sky, and soon felt wings flex, the rise and fall of
gentle air currents.

Although a product of Tony's mind, the hawk was real enough
in every sense. Its beak and claws could shred both bark and skin with equal
ease. Its cries resounded in the ears of men. Yet its winged body still felt as
light and insubstantial as the puffy clouds above. Tony sank into its sway and
rode the currents.

Below, he saw Lily detour off the street next to the park
and hurry through the city, making several turns until she stopped at a house
of worship. A Catholic cathedral, if Tony's memory served him. Soon she came
out, lowering her head against a rising wind, her pockets bulging from
something she must have gathered inside.

What could a church offer such a profane one? he wondered,
dismissing the obvious answer. He glided after her, careful not to swoop too
low as they approached the building where she lived with the indifferent ones
who'd spawned her.

The wind blew in eddies along the curbs, tumbling leaves,
tugging at the lapels of the she-wolf's lightweight jacket, rippling through
strands of her silver-white hair. Not for the first time, Tony wondered how
such a graceful, beautiful creature could be so evil.

His fury simmered again.

Below, Lily hesitated as if sensing his hatred. Pulling her
jacket closer, she headed for the door of her gargoyle-infested dwelling, gave
a tight little smile to the waiting doorman and ducked into the entry.

White Hawk sent the hawk to roost on the railing and waited.
Another opportunity would arise. This time rancor wouldn't interfere with duty
to the tribal council.

Still, despite this vow, he couldn't shake his conviction
that the council had put their faith in the wrong man.

Holy Water. Noxious to a werewolf's eyes and lungs. Fire to
the skin. Fatal in large enough quantities. With trembling fingers, Lily opened
one of the bottles she'd taken from the cathedral, chiding herself for her
fearfulness. She was human now, the liquid should have no effect.

But still —

Smothering a tremulous gasp, she gingerly splashed a tiny drop
on a finger. Cool. Wet. Only water. The gasp escaped as a relieved sigh.

She shifted on the velvet settee in the carpeted sitting
area off her bedroom, then recorked the vial and put it back with the others in
the pocket of her jacket. Now she had a weapon. She had no illusion that twelve
bottles were enough to destroy Sebastian, but they would weaken him
considerably, giving her an opportunity to drive a knife into his tender
underbelly and wait for the blood to drain from his body.

Lily shuddered violently at the cruelly vivid picture the
thought brought to mind. Sebastian had loved her, elevated her to heights she'd
never dreamed of . . .

But no one loved her now. She had to take care of herself.

Her hands still unsteady, she stood up on equally unsteady
legs, surveying her room. She hadn't realized how much she'd felt like a
prisoner in these luxurious quarters. With Doris and Vincent gone, her mind was
unburdened of their myriad and often conflicting thoughts, her keen ears were
no longer assailed by their ceaseless noisy movements.

The maid had stopped by to say farewell and noticed the
broken dolls on the floor, but Lily had told her to enjoy her rest, she'd clean
up the mess herself. Though she'd always regarded the woman with a measure of
sympathy for her frantic efforts to please Doris, she was grateful for the
absence of swishing mops and feather dusters, of roaring vacuum cleaner.

For a time she would have some peace. She would rummage
through the refrigerator for something to eat, maybe sit in the den, build a
fire, watch soap operas or read an entertaining novel. But first she'd clean up
the carnage left behind by the hawk.

Carnage, she thought as she picked up a waste basket and
walked toward the mess. What an odd word to describe what was essentially
broken pottery. But as she picked up a porcelain arm streaked with dozens of
tiny cracks, her body tensed with dread.

As if sensing her mood, the hawk cried outside the balcony
doors, its wide wings silhouetted behind the open shutters. She shivered and in
that moment Sebastian's merciless animosity pierced the block she'd erected
against him. Hastily reconstructing the block, she flung the cracked china body
part into the trash can. It hit the bottom with a sick, dull thud.

She shivered again. All she wanted was peace. But peace was
hard to come by.

It was after midnight when Lily heard the sound at her
balcony doors. She sprang upright beneath her blankets, groping for the bottle
she'd set on her bedside table, then enclosed it in her hand and cautiously got
up.

Pressing against the wall next to the doors, she opened the
shutters slightly, leaning forward to peek through the slats at glaring
streetlights, at shifting shadows broken by flashes of restless white.

The omnipresent hawk. Although she knew the bird couldn't
possibly see her through the narrow slits, it nonetheless darted numerous
baleful glances at the door as it strutted along the railing. Annoyed that the
damned creature had interrupted her sleep, Lily moved away from the window and wandered
into the bathroom, the vial still in her hand. Putting it on the counter, she
bent to wash her sleepy eyes.

Sufficiently revived, she turned to reach for a towel. It
magically appeared in her hand. Her eyes snapped open and she met another pair
of eyes—deep arctic blue and framed by a face covered with silver white hair.

"Sebastian!"

"You seem unhappy to see me, dear one." With a
toss of his silver mane, Sebastian formed his muzzle into a grotesque smile.
"I, too, am unhappy. It pains me to find you in such undignified
circumstances."

Quickly squelching her instinctive thought of the vial of
holy water before he could read it, Lily casually dried her face and hands,
then gave Sebastian a mocking once-over.

Bending low to avoid the high ceiling, he supported his
massive bulk on a gilded walking stick. Although at first glance he might
appear to be an unusually tall and muscular human in his bright yellow topcoat
with its matching bowler hat, a second glance would notice his elongated muzzle
and the thick white fur that covered every exposed part of his body.

He was indeed a werewolf — a man-wolf — and though he could
shift from human to canine to man-wolf shape with ease, Lily knew he preferred
the man-wolf form above all. And was flashy about it too.

Few werewolves could retain their clothing as they
alchemized from wolf to man to werewolf, but Sebastian possessed this skill. As
a royal member of the Lupine race, Lily had also mastered that ability, but
she'd preferred a more subdued elegance and had frequently teased Sebastian
about his garish tastes.

"You've outdone yourself," she gibed. "If
work slaughtering humans gets scarce you might consider doubling as a fire
hydrant."

He tipped his yellow bowler hat. "Always the
pepper-tongued one, an attribute undimmed by your mortal state."

"You're the best judge of that, my king," she
retorted with a disdainful bow.

"Careful, Lily," he warned. "I have my
limits."

"Of course you do." Arching her neck, she ran her
fingers tauntingly down the center of her throat. "And I'm ready to die,
Lord."

With a sharp rap of his walking stick, Sebastian shot
forward and grabbed a handful of Lily's hair. Pulling her face within inches of
his, he simultaneously pinned her left arm against his massive chest. "Do
you pups never learn? Werewolves do not kill one another."

"This . . . is as much . . . your fault as . . .
mine," Lily hissed though pain-clenched teeth. Sebastian's hold on her
hair was merciless. Despite that, she pulled away, reaching back with her free
hand for the vial. To block her intent from Sebastian's notice, and though it
hurt even to talk, she forced out new accusations. "You just
 
. . .
 
just want to avoid . . . your own part in . . . Jorje's death. A-admit
it . . . oh . . . oh, High King . . ."

Sebastian gave several vicious pulls to her hair. "Do
not address me with such insolence, pup!"

Agonized tears stung Lily's eyes as she groped for the vial,
but finally she felt its smooth plastic surface. Palming the bottle and
struggling to withstand Sebastian's excruciating tugs, she fumbled to free the
stopper. It didn't budge and she decided her only recourse was to make
Sebastian angry enough to release her. Deliberately sagging forward, which
relieved some of the pressure on her scalp, she fixed him with an accusing
glare. "You know it's true! You chose Morgan as my mate. I never, never
wanted him. Then you put me under orders to protect him. The wolfling was about
to slay him. I regret–"

"Regret! Bah!" Sebastian slipped into the werewolf
language. "Regret is for mortals."

He curled his lip, baring his gleaming canines. His breath
hit her face — hot, reeking of fresh human blood — turning her stomach with
stunning violence. But what surprised her most of all was that she'd understood
him.

"But I forget," he added in a cooler tone, still
speaking in the Lupine tongue. His apparent belief that she didn't comprehend a
word he said reassured her that she'd successfully blocked his mind-reading
abilities. "You are one of them now, are you not? A puny, sniveling mortal.
Perhaps this is why you blame me for the law you violated, why you expected me
to violate it also. No, dear one, I have other plans for you once you return to
the pack."

"I'll never return!" she shot back, barely aware
she'd instinctively replied in Lupinese.

Sebastian blinked in surprise. "You understand . . .
Perhaps all is not lost . . ."

She started to speak again, but he raised his free hand.
"Do not protest. You cannot avoid it. The next aspect of the moon and
Pluto in the heavens is but days away. By then I will have persuaded you to
endure the Song of Hades. Within a week you will be a Lupine again. But not as
a queen." He chuckled darkly. "I have devised an exquisite sentence,
and I am sure you above all can appreciate its subtlety. Imagine, if you will,
your misery at spending the next century as the lowest of the low — an omega,
destined to give your kills to alphas and" — another chuckle — "even
the lesser betas. A fitting punishment for a murderess, and surely a warning to
those who might deign to do likewise."

A chill crept up Lily's spine. Dear God, what hell he'd
planned for her. Even life as an ordinary mortal living in a hovel was better
than that. She faked a derisive laugh. "By Lupine Law, you cannot force
me, Sebastian. And I'll never submit to the ceremony. Never!"

"You who breeched the Law so grievously dare quote it
now?" With a frustrated groan, he released Lily's hair. The moment she'd
been waiting for.

But before she could move to uncork the bottle, he put a
finger on her cheek, grazing the skin lightly with his clawed finger. She
hesitated, momentarily transfixed.

"How could you have done this, Lily? You were my
upholder of the Law."

For an instant his eyes filled with sorrow. His hand moved
to cup her chin. "Now my pack squabbles among themselves like common
beasts. Only by your example can I restore my people's pride. You cannot
escape."

His eyes flickered, narrowed hypnotically. Lily tried to
wrench her head free, but he tightened his grip. "Come to me, Lily,"
he crooned, beginning the werewolf spell.

Her arm now unfettered, Lily slipped it behind her,
expecting her willpower to wane even before she attempted to open the vial.
Although Sebastian's gaze bore deeply into her eyes, her desire to escape
remained as strong as ever. His expression turned puzzled just as she yanked
the stopper free.

With his realization dawning and no time left, she overcame
her fear of wasting a single drop and wildly flung the water into his face.

"You foolish bitch," he roared. His hand fell from
her cheek. Staggering on weakened legs, he reached out blindly, groping for
balance. As he slumped to the floor, his claw snagged one of Lily's wrists.

Lily barely felt the skin tear. She hadn't injured him badly
enough to give herself time for escape, and her only thought was to get another
bottle of water from her jacket before Sebastian's superhuman healing powers
restored his strength. Leaping over his writhing body, she dashed into the
bedroom, trying to remember where she'd left the jacket.

There! There! Carelessly tossed over the back of a chair in
the carpeted sitting area at the far end of the room. Blood seeped from her
wrist, but it didn't matter. Only the jacket, the bottles, mattered. The
jacket. The bottles. She dashed across the wooden floor, bare feet slipping on
the smooth surface, her head growing strangely light.

Sebastian's moans filled her ears. "Noooo . . ."
he cried and she heard him lumbering up, knew he'd read the purpose in her
mind. But she was mere feet away now. The bottles were close, close . . .

A furred hand closed around her ankle and she plummeted to
the white carpet.

"Do not fight me," she heard him rasp. "You
cannot win."

Rolling, flailing, scooting on her belly and unwilling to
waste energy on words, she inched toward the jacket, reaching out, less than a
hand's span from the precious fluid. Blood trickled down her arm, leaving
rivulets on her skin. Still she reached. Reached, reached, reaching . . . But
unable . . .

Sebastian enclosed her legs and with a quick, jerky movement
flipped her on her back. Suddenly pain more intense than Lily had ever
experienced coursed through her body. As if in slow motion, she felt the skin
on one thigh split, felt muscle coming apart, ripping, shredding. An agonized
scream burst from her throat and her eyes shot wide open, searching for the
source of her agony.