Moonlight and Diamonds & The Vampire's Fall (21 page)

Chapter 24

C
hampagne in hand, Stryke picked up his pace down the cobbled street. It had taken an inordinate amount of time in the wineshop. A two-for-one sale had brought out the French in hordes. And his inability to speak the language had probably made him miss his chance at the register more than a few times. And then there was the spry old woman who had pushed past him with an armload of vino.

Ah well, he'd survived that debacle. And now a gorgeous, and naked, woman waited his return. A woman he had promised to love no matter what. He couldn't wait to snuggle up to Blyss beneath the sheets and drink the champagne from her lips.

Rounding a corner, he was roughly shouldered by a teenager running by. “Hey!” But Stryke didn't pursue because a scream alerted him. “What's going on?” he asked a passing tourist who screamed and clutched his child's hand.

“A monster!” the man said in frantic gasps. “It's a big wolf!”

Heart dropping like a stone, Stryke picked up his pace. A big wolf? Monster? It couldn't be. Not in this city crushed from building to building with people. Suddenly he saw the wolf run across the street and down a narrow alleyway.

Not a wolf, but a werewolf.

A handful of teenage boys followed, curiosity killing their sense of safety.

“Shit.” It couldn't be. Could it? “Blyss?”

He'd not seen her in werewolf form. And she had taken the elixir, right?

“Please let her have taken the elixir.”

He hastened into a run and rounded the corner, racing up behind the young men. Shoving them out of his way, he pushed hard enough to knock them over, but not break bones. “Stay the hell away!”

“But, dude, it's a werewolf!”

“Movie costume!” Stryke called back.

Ahead, the werewolf howled, obliterating his claim to it being a fantastic movie prop. No werewolf with a sense of self-preservation would ever shift in the city. And if so? They certainly wouldn't run around frightening tourists and inviting the police, or worse, animal control with a tranquilizer gun.

It could be Blyss. Hadn't she taken the elixir Himself had made for her? Did she fear its dark origins? Or had she simply forgotten?

No, that was out of the question. Foremost in Blyss's heart was keeping the illusion of normality that she'd created over the years. Drinking that vial would have been a quick and easy fix. He didn't understand.

Yet she'd pushed him out to get the champagne. He hadn't thought much about it until now. It had been weird, as if she'd wanted to get rid of him. But why? To shift?

“Can't be her,” he muttered and pushed harder to gain on the wolf.

They'd entered a residential area. Overgrown shrubbery demarcated some yards. A quiet neighborhood. Not the optimal place for a crazed werewolf to roam. Of course, no place was, unless it was out in a vast forest far from humans.

Just don't howl again,
he thought.

The sound of a police siren trilled behind him. A long way off. He couldn't know if it was because of the werewolf—what sane police dispatch was going to answer a call to pursue a werewolf?—or probably it was headed out on a routine call like a burglary or traffic violation.

This had to be the first time Stryke wished for burglary in answer to a multiple-choice question. Because he knew in his heart the werewolf was Blyss. He sensed her now. Could smell her essence. His own wolf stirred in an instinctual need to catch the wolf it recognized as one with whom he'd mated.

The werewolf veered left. Stryke made a quick turn, hoping to head off the wolf. He pushed through a tangle of vines, and seeing the hip-high shrub that delineated a backyard, he leaped and jumped over it, landing deftly on the ground. Realizing the champagne bottle was still in hand, he abandoned it and picked up into the run again. He could hear the wolf's breathing now and sensed it had slowed pace. Pausing to mark the area, determine where next to go. Or perhaps even slowing to rest, take in the surroundings. Seek shelter.

Sneaking under a high-trimmed willow tree, Stryke sighted the sleek black werewolf, who entered a small garden shed without a door. He eyed the house. He saw no clues that residents were inside. The overgrown garden and a couple of plastic bags of garbage sitting on the back stoop also alerted him that perhaps they were gone.

He raced to the shed, and when the werewolf turned to slash its talons at him, Stryke realized he wasn't going to win this one in human form.

Quickly, he shifted, unzipping and shoving down his jeans as he did and tearing off his shirt. The shed was probably ten-by-ten feet square and empty, save for a rack on the wall that held a rusted old bicycle.

The werewolf lunged for him again and pinned him to the dirt ground just as his werewolf fully formed. The werewolves struggled briefly, but Stryke's wolf was able to easily subdue the other, who wasn't so much fighting as acting in self-defense. He sniffed the female and sensed their connection, and as much as the wolf in him wanted to mate, his
were
side pulled more strongly.

Safe was the feeling he knew he had to share. The werewolf needed to feel safe.

Stryke shifted back to
were
shape, clutching the other as she also shifted. They came to
were
form together, lying on the shed's cool dirt floor. Blyss shivered in his arms. She startled and scrambled closer, frantic pants huffing across his chin.

“It's okay, sweetie. I'm here.” He pulled her onto his lap and cradled her head against his chest.

“How did I get here? Where are my clothes?”

“You shifted to werewolf shape.”

“Mon Dieu.”

Why the hell this had happened, he couldn't begin to guess. But now was no time for questions. “Let me take you home.”

She nodded and clutched him tighter. “Please.”

“I'll get dressed. Then I'll find you something to wear.”

He hated leaving her alone and shivering in the shed, but he couldn't walk through Paris with a naked woman in his arms. His jeans had survived the shift. Mostly. One leg was ripped down the inner seam. Nothing he could do about that.

Walking around back of the house, he determined no one was inside, and while he wasn't an expert at picking locks, he did find a low sash window that wasn't locked. And he wasn't sure how much time they had before a curious human found them. Jiggling the wooden frame, he was able to push it up and climb inside.

Elderly people had to live here because he couldn't find anything more suitable than a long, floral robe for Blyss to wear. She didn't complain as he helped her dress.

In fact, she remained quiet, her head bowed. The shift had been unexpected, he decided. She was as freaked about it as he.

“Let's go,” he said and swept her into his arms.

Once back at her place, he ran a bathtub full of hot water and helped her get in.

* * *

Stryke brewed some chamomile tea he found in the kitchen cupboard. He'd left Blyss to soak in the tub. She had clung to him all the way home, but he'd sensed her need to clean up and pull herself together. To be by herself. He couldn't fathom why she'd been out and about as a werewolf, but he sensed it hadn't entirely been her fault.

Had something gone wrong with the potion Himself had provided? Maybe it was faulty? He should have never accepted a boon from such evil. He blamed himself for anything that may go wrong with Blyss because of the elixir.

And yet, were he a pack leader and had it been one of his pack members who had exposed their breed to the public, he would surely reprimand the wolf. A beating, perhaps from the pack, a show of authority. A female he would assign a less severe punishment.

Could he command a pack and delve out the punishment when the rules were broken? Yes. Because the rules kept them alive. Blyss needed—well, she needed to be human. It was what worked best for her.

What would a pack think if he had a human wife, but also knew that she had been born wolf? That she denied her heritage. It wouldn't go over well. And he would never ask any wolf to accept her as part of the pack family.

He didn't want to lose Blyss.

Did that mean he'd never have a pack? He couldn't let his father down. Or himself. Which meant the next conversation he had with Blyss would prove the toughest ever.

The tea was mixed with a touch of mint, and the cool scent tingled in his nose. He'd made himself a cup, too. The sun had set. Moonlight beamed through the glass ceiling.

Sighing, he picked up the cups and wandered into the bedroom. Blyss sat on the bed, a sheet pulled up about her breasts. She hadn't dressed. She thanked him for the tea and sipped. Earthy scents infused the room.

He wasn't sure how to start the conversation, so he crawled up beside her and nuzzled his face into her hair. She smelled like the exquisite socialite he'd first met in the gallery weeks ago. But her delicate, shivering frame felt defeated and small. As if something had stolen her hope.

After a few sips in silence he made a stab at the truth.

“Blyss, you haven't drunk the red stuff, have you?”

She shook her head, lowered her lashes.

“Is that why you shifted?”

“I think so. I didn't shift on purpose. It came on me so suddenly. I, uh... Earlier today when you were away helping Rhys, I shifted to wolf without volition, as well. It's why I pushed you out of here so quickly when I felt it happening again.”

“I did get a weird feeling about that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Why don't you drink the elixir and stop it? What happened was dangerous, Blyss. Not only to you but innocent humans. A fully shifted werewolf should not run through the streets of Paris.”

“I know, I know.”

He traced her cheek, toying with a curl of darkest hair. “I thought you wanted to be human more than anything?”

She stretched her shoulders back, sitting up straighter. The sheet fell away. She was so beautiful beneath the moonlight. He decided this apartment, with the windows in the ceiling, must have been crafted with Blyss in mind. Like a star upon a stage, she was a true glamour girl.

“Things have changed,” she said so softly he had to lean forward to hear, and that was saying a lot considering his wolf hearing could pick up a mouse running across wet summer leaves half a mile away.

He took her teacup and set his and hers aside on the nightstand, then clasped her hand and waited for her to explain. For the longest time she held his gaze. Her bold green eyes captured him, teased him, touched him. Revealed her vulnerabilities. For the first time in his life, he could feel tears well behind his eyes.

So this was what it was like to love someone so much that their pain became your own?

Yet beyond her pain he sensed something brighter. Perhaps even hopeful.

“I didn't take the elixir because I thought I could give the werewolf a test-drive,” she said. “Maybe try it on and wear it awhile. Get a feel for, well...myself. A lot has changed since that first horrible shift. My life is something I've created down to every last detail, but...” She touched his lips and smiled. “Is the life I've made really the life I was meant to have?”

He kissed her fingertips. She was the only one who could answer that. Hell, he had no clue because he was still making his own life. And he liked the way it was going so long as it included Blyss.

“I figured I could give it a month or two,” she continued. “I'll always have the elixir. I can take it at any time. I want to do this for me, but as well, I want to do it for you. I love you, Stryke. And I never felt closer to a person than during the time we spent at the cabin. You make me want to embrace something I've always denied.”

Her words were sincere. He believed that she believed what she said 100 percent. But could the glamour girl exist alongside the werewolf? He didn't want her to sacrifice any of the fine things and the lifestyle she had come to love for him.

Because loving him was as far from fancy shoes and diamonds and Paris as she could get.

“Tell me you'll support me,” she said. “Please?”

“Blyss, I'm behind you 100 percent. You want to try on your werewolf and take it for a spin? I've got your back. As well as your pretty little tail and those gorgeous claws. But will you promise not to take the werewolf for a run in the middle of Paris during the height of tourist season?”

“That's the one small problem. I can't seem to control the urge to shift. It just...attacks me. I wonder if there's a transition period? I hope that's what this is, because if I can't control my wolf then I might as well drink the Kool-Aid right now.”

He stroked her hair and chuckled. “The French have Kool-Aid?”

“Something similar. But will you help me? If I shift again, I don't know what will happen. The wolf I can keep contained in the apartment, but my werewolf is another story.”

“Maybe we should head out to the cabin for a couple more days?”

“Can we? Would Monsieur Hawkes mind?”

“I'll give him a call.” He kissed her, intending for it to be quick, but Stryke got lost in the sweet taste of his future, and he pushed Blyss back into the pillows and caressed her breasts. “Mmm, I suddenly have the urge to mess you up, glamour wolf.”

She propped up on her elbows and pressed a finger over his lips. “You called me glamour wolf.”

“That's what you are. You okay with that?”

She nodded. “Very.”

* * *

A month later, Stryke still hadn't left Paris. And Blyss was over the moon about that. Rhys Hawkes had offered him a permanent job at Hawkes Associates, which he was currently considering. But Blyss knew his home in the States called to him. There was where his family lived. It was where he had made a life, as small and comfortable as it was. It was where his future as a pack leader waited.

And she wanted him to have that future.

As well, Stryke considered the idea of starting an enforcement team such as Kir was a part of. He'd spent more time with Kir and had gone out with the Enforcement team to observe. He always returned to Blyss in a great mood, rambling on how he intended to institute the ideas and procedures when he got back home.