Garoul: Silver Collar Part 13

Emily lay still and watched as Luc investigated her closet, and the door to her bathroom and tiny shower room beyond. She was looking for something, someone.

"Luc," she said with soft uncertainty. Perhaps it was unwise to draw Luc's attention to her. "What's wrong? What are you looking for?"

Luc turned to her, crossing the floor between them in one stride. She towered over Emily, then leaned in so she was pressed flat to the mattress. She did not react to Emily's words; rather she began an intensive investigation of Emily's p.r.o.ne body, carefully sniffing at her hair and ears and neck. She growled, and it rumbled deep in her chest, her eyes constantly flickering to the left and right as if wary of some danger surrounding them. It made Emily nervous. What was going on?

"Luc," she said again, quietly. "What's wrong? Is it the other werewolf?"

Luc snapped her head away from Emily's throat and held her gaze, her eyes narrowing to glittering slits. Her lips drew back into an evil grimace baring her savage fangs. Emily swallowed. Had she made a mistake in referring to the other Were? Luc returned her attention to smelling Emily again. For some reason, this was of paramount importance to her. Her long claws plucked at Emily's tank top, an old favorite she slept in. She worked a small hole in the fabric, inserted her fore claw and tugged hard. The material ripped as if a sharp blade had run through it. Emily gasped as it fell away from her body leaving her bare-chested.

A wet snout snuffled at the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, burrowing deep into her armpit and eventually pushing in under the breast itself to breathe in the sweat line. Emily gasped as the coolness of Luc's damp muzzle and the coa.r.s.e scratch of her fur pressed against her flesh. Her navel was sniffed next and a huge wet tongue dipped into it making her leap with surprise and ticklishness. Her underwear was no defense against the curved claws, and soon, her panties lay in shreds on the floor beside her top. Emily froze as Luc buried her face into her crotch and breathed deeply. She explored the crease where thigh met groin.

The folds of Emily's s.e.x were roughly burrowed into as if some prize lay buried beneath. An unexpected flash of arousal ran through her, and she felt dampness between her legs. Her cheeks flamed at Luc's proximity to this disgraceful, telltale. The large furred head paused for a moment, hovering over this new moisture, the ears flicked, a sign Emily knew to indicate deep thought, and then Luc's nose buried deeper and took a heavy inhalation and then withdrew.

Nothing s.e.xual had happened, yet Emily felt as turned on as she had in the RV when they had slithered over each other's nakedness. She was erotically charged at Luc's proximity to those most intimate parts of her body. Need flooded her, along with a healthy respect for the sharp teeth and claws so casually grazing her body.

As if to underscore the fragility of her human shape, she was flipped over onto her belly. Hot breath burned across her b.u.t.tocks as Luc resumed her intimate olfactory study. What the h.e.l.l was she looking for? Emily's thoughts crumbled, and she squeaked with embarra.s.sment as her cheeks were roughly separated and a wet snout examined her b.u.t.t crease. She squirmed and tried to wriggle away, crawling a few inches up the bed before she was dragged back down and held firmly in place as every inch of her was appraised. She held her breath, uncertain how this would work out, trying to ascertain how much danger she was actually in. And then the huff and puff of inhalation stopped and a rough tongue rudely pressed against the most intimate part of her and licked all the way from her a.n.u.s, up along her spine to her neck. There the huge jaws clamped around her nape and shook her.

It was a firm shake, letting her know who was the boss, strong enough to make her go limp with an inborn terror, but not hard enough to hurt. She understood this was deliberate. She had no idea why Luc was doing this. And then, without warning, a huge clawed hand came down and slapped her across her b.u.t.tocks. She yelped, and there was another slap of calloused, leathery skin against the softness of her bottom.

Luc shook her by the neck again, and she whimpered. She had to, out of stunned shock and also because it was the right thing to do. She was slapped across the bottom again, for a third time and more forcefully. Her b.u.t.tocks stung, and hot saliva ran down her neck from the huge maw holding her nape. She whimpered and was again lightly shaken. Then Luc dropped her and rose to her full height panting and pleased.

From outside, a wolf howled. A real wolf. Emily knew the difference now. It was a lesson easily learned. Luc lumbered over to the window and breathed in the sweet night air in great lungfuls, then she slipped through the window and was gone without a backward glance. How come she thumps around my bedroom like an elephant then moves like silk once she's outdoors? The random thought slid into Emily's mind as she began to gather herself.

She staggered to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. She ran the shower and in the long mirror twisted to examine her back. It was sticky and shone with Luc's spittle, and her b.u.t.tocks were bright red from her spanking. She pulled her hair up and tried to see the back of her neck. She felt more than saw the lumpy rows of raised teeth marks. She couldn't understand what Luc's intentions were but knew she had been branded in some way. If she had intended to hurt Emily, then the slightest bit of pressure would have snapped her neck like the stem of a wine gla.s.s. No, this had been about marking and domination. Emily knew there was no going back from this. She had started something she'd be lucky she could finish.

Chapter Twenty-five.

"We've come to return these," Marie said.

Jolie slid the brown paper package onto the countertop and had to avert her eyes in case she gave Norman Johnston the good glaring he deserved. Her ears had been battered all night with Hope's scolding about the state of her little dog, and she held him solely responsible. The package contained the newly laundered shirt and the overalls she had worn and also the T-shirt she'd dressed Mouse in, along with the dreadful tartan dog ensemble. She had taken particular pleasure in tying it up with the tightest double knot she could manage. Let his gnarled old fingers deal with that.

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously. He had just opened his shop for the afternoon and they had caught him by surprise. His shifty confusion and discomfort made him even more unapproachable.

"The dog jacket and a few other things," Marie said. "Thanks for looking after the dog, Mr. Johnston. We thought he was gone for good." There was genuine sincerity in her voice.

"S'okay, I suppose." Norm took a grudging step toward courtesy. "You can keep Wilbur's stuff," he added. "It's too small for my new dog, anyway."

Marie's and Jolie's eyebrows rose and they swapped glances. Wilbur? But at least the old coot was showing some manners, the first time in years. There came the clip of claws and a rustle from somewhere behind him and he stepped aside to reveal a large Rottweiler-pit bull cross.

"This is Delilah," he said proudly. "We got her from the pound this morning. She's my new guard dog." He shot Jolie a hard look and she glowered right back. "She was to be euthanized," he said with disapproval.

Marie held out her hand. "Delilah. What a beautiful name and what a beautiful dog."

Jolie considered the big, lumpish brute. It looked like a dumped armchair. No one would want to get on the wrong side of it, that's for sure. All in all, a good match for its owner, she decided.

Delilah's docked tail began to wriggle as she sniffed at Marie's proffered hand as if they were old acquaintances. Norman watched it all with uncertainty, then cleared his throat.

"How is Wilbur?" he asked. It seemed that if his guard dog okayed a visitor then who was he to question it. Already, Jolie could see who was the boss of his house.

"Wilbur's fine. He was well looked after," Marie answered, and Norm's withered cheeks gathered color. "Is your niece here?" Marie asked.

A few minutes at the library had revealed all the local gossip. Norman Johnston had a niece visiting, and that just had to be Luc's love interest.

"Emily?" Norm's eyes narrowed.

Marie nodded. "I'd like to have a word."

"What about?" Norm was right back to his usual cranky self. "Is it because of Wilbur?"

"No, not that at all," Marie said.

"Because she couldn't leave him there. She had to take him. He'd a gotten eaten otherwise," he continued, ignoring Marie's a.s.surances. "Is it because she hunts? Is that it? Because she don't go near your place. No one does. Your place is bad news-"

"What's up, Uncle Norm?" With uncanny timing, a woman appeared from the connecting doorway to Norm's house. Delilah nudged her hand for a petting.

"These here folks are from Little Dip," he said. His voice had become querulous again and Jolie braced herself for more ugliness. The redheaded woman was tall and angular. She had a shrewd stare and a confident poise and had obviously been listening in on the conversation from the other side of the door.

"Nice to meet you, Emily." Marie held out her hand. "I'm Marie Garoul." Emily took it, not quite meeting Marie's eyes.

This was interesting, Jolie thought. It was as if the woman knew Marie was an Alpha. As planned, Jolie gathered several items from the surrounding shelves and brought them over to the counter. Norman Johnston, riveted as he was to the conversation, could not pa.s.s up the chance of a sale that marked up more than a week's worth of business for his tiny store. He shuffled over to Jolie and the till, well out of earshot of the women.

"I wondered if maybe we could go somewhere to talk?" With her keen hearing, Jolie could hear Marie's persuasive tone. Emily nodded. They walked through the aisles to the exit.

"Do you want to take Delilah with you?" Norm called after Emily, as if the dog offered some form of protection, but she didn't hear him and the shop door tinkled shut behind her.

Jolie dumped a handful of books on the counter. That caught his attention.

"I'll take these, too," she said. They were children's cla.s.sics-Anne of Green Gables, Robinson Crusoe, White Fang-all dusty as if they'd sat on the shelf for years. It was time Mouse progressed from comic books.

"I think you know my niece, Lucienne Garoul," Marie said, as soon as they were settled on the bench seat under the library oak.

Lucienne? "Luc?" Emily said. "Yes, I do." There was little point in pretense, and anyway, she wanted to find out what this stately woman wanted from her. She was taller than Emily, maybe in her late forties or early fifties, but it was hard to tell as strength and vibrancy zinged off her. She was as dark as any of the Garouls, with silver-streaked hair pulled back neatly at her nape. She had broad shoulders and intelligent black eyes that Emily swore could see straight through her. Something was tugging at the back of Emily's mind. The woman's svelte stature, her muscular grace, the silver laced through her hair. And then it clicked. This was the werewolf that had faced down Luc at the logging camp. This was the Alpha.

"She escaped you, didn't she? And now you think I know where she is. Well, I don't," she said, belligerence began to enter her voice, but she tamped it down. She did not need to goad this woman. Lost Creek may be on its last legs, but there were still enough people around to prevent Marie Garoul from mutating into a monster. That did not mean Emily could push her luck, either.

"Oh, I know where she is," Marie said. "She's hot on your heels."

Emily flushed a little. "I'll be going home to Chicago soon." As if that changed the playing field.

"That won't keep you safe. She'll follow you there and probably flounder." Marie had this habit of holding her gaze when she spoke. "Can you imagine Luc in a ma.s.sive city like Chicago? I'm surprised she was able to make her way around these streets without causing a commotion."

Emily found herself unable to look anywhere but at Marie when she spoke to her. She saw every word reflected in those pitch-black eyes and knew it was true. Luc would be hopelessly lost in a city. It would be a disaster, and it would be all her fault. Emily's breath hitched and an old familiar clawing returned to her chest. She wanted her pills.

"I don't mean to be intrusive, but has Luc...marked you in any way?" Marie asked. "A scratch, a bruise? Maybe even a...bite?"

Emily's chest tightened even more. "That's none of your business," she snapped, and knew she had given the game away. She was furious with herself. Anger dammed up her throat, closing it over, choking her with unsaid words.

"Are you all right, Emily?" Marie's voice sounded tinny to her ears. "You look very pale."

"I'm fine." Emily rose to leave, then had to sit right back down again. Her world was disorienting and airless.

Marie placed an arm around her shoulders. "Cover your nose and mouth with your hands and breathe with me." She counted as she breathed slow and steady alongside Emily's ragged gasping. After a few minutes, Emily found it was easy to keep pace and her lungs relaxed, allowing her breathing to flow naturally. Sweat slicked her spine, and despite the warmth of the day, she shivered. Marie's hand was warm and rea.s.suring on her shoulder. She watched Emily carefully.

"I'm okay now," Emily snapped. And as an afterthought, added, "Thank you." There was no need to be rude. The woman was only trying to help her.

"Emily, has something happened to make you this tense?" Marie asked with concern.

Had something happened? Werewolves had killed her father. They were everywhere in town and only Emily knew it. And one in particular was stalking her and licking her and stealing all her underwear.

"No." Emily staggered to her feet and drew herself up straight. "I don't want to talk to you, Marie Garoul. I know you from before. I've seen you before."

"Oh?" Marie took up her challenge, no doubt thinking of the logging camp incident where Luc had tried to save her. But that was not Emily's first memory of this enigmatic woman. She had an earlier encounter than that. One when she was nine years old.

"You were at my father's funeral," she said, her voice hard. Here was her chance to finally say it aloud and to the person she held responsible. "You were there to make sure they buried him before anyone asked any more questions about you and your family. But I know what you are. I've always known." Emily threw down her trump card, her ace, her threat. It was the only play she had left. "The Garouls are werewolves. And now I have evidence, living proof, and if I have to lure her to Chicago, I d.a.m.ned well will."

Chapter Twenty-six.

Marie's gaze flickered for an instant, and that was the only outward sign that she remembered, and was rea.s.sessing Emily and her threats.

"I came here to capture a werewolf," Emily said, drawing her strength from the dregs of bitterness that lay curdled in the pit of her stomach. "If you want her back, you better tell me what happened to my father. What really happened to him and why you killed him."

"Roy Johnston came onto our land and tried to murder a member of my family. He shot my cousin, twice." Now Marie was standing and she towered over Emily. "And don't tell me he thought he was hunting bear. He d.a.m.ned well knew what he was doing. He'd been creeping around Little Dip for years."

"He knew something was going on in Little Dip."

"He knew something was going on in Little Dip he could exploit!" Marie thrust her face close and lowered her voice. "Your father wanted to cash in on my family. He shot at us, barely missing a cub. That cub was your lover, the one you don't seem to give much of a d.a.m.n about. Her uncle took the bullet meant for her, and your father kept shooting to finish him off. Luc went for him and he had a heart attack. He keeled over like a felled tree, just as the coroner reported."

Emily was furious. She didn't want to hear this, but she could remember her father's profile as he sighted up his next kill. The steely determination that came over him, his refusal to miss, to come away empty-handed. He hated to lose. He was the winner.

"You bribed the coroner, and the police. Everyone knows that," she said, her anger bleeding into every word. How dare this woman shake her to the core? "My father's body wasn't even in Little Dip when they found him. He was eight miles downstream."

"We gave your father's body to the Silverthread. He should never have been on our land. The coroner confirmed he had died of cardiac arrest before he hit the water. Why would the police even care? It was the truth. Why should there be any bribery? That's the sort of poisonous nonsense your uncle has been filling you with all your life," Marie said. "I mean witches, for G.o.d's sake. At least your father guessed at the right monster."

Emily turned to go, but Marie grabbed her arm. Her grip was strong and not to be dismissed.

"You've got a werewolf after you, Emily," she said. Her voice was cold. "And you have gone out of your way to create this situation. I know why you've done it. Out of some misguided revenge, I suppose. I'm not sure how you've done it, though I'm sure it took more than a piddle in the woods to make Luc forget about her own safety and follow you around like a mooning puppy. She's enthralled, and she's ill. She has a virus and I need to get the cure to her. And now she has this new sickness that you've somehow pressed upon her."

Emily stood stock-still. She did not like hearing this. It rang a little too true. Marie released her.

"If you care for her then why is she running from you?" Emily counter accused. "She's trying to get to Canada. Why was she sent away?"

Marie fixed her with a stare that turned her inside out and examined all the contents. Emily felt her knees weakening. She could barely cope with this conversation.

"She told you that?" Marie asked.

"She told me she was sent away when she was young."

"She was the same age you were at your father's funeral. Luc was not responsible for your father's death. She didn't touch him. My mother was Alpha then. She did not want the possibility of Luc being questioned. She wanted her out of the way. She sent the entire family north and they never came back."

"She's back here now."

"Because she's ill. Because this will always be her natal den." Marie stepped closer. She was intimidating in all her glowering glory, and Emily fought hard not to backpedal away from her. "Maybe she's come home to die?" Marie said, then laughed softly at Emily's stricken face. "Seems you're not as unaffected as you act. Are you sure she didn't bite you, just a bit?"

Emily felt her face blaze but was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. Marie moved away. She looked bored now.

"Go home, Emily," she said. "Luc will keep right on calling, and when you finally come to your senses and realize the danger you're in..." She shrugged. "Well, you know where to find me." She went to walk away, then hesitated. "Oh, and please talk to your uncle. Ask him what really happened to your father. Your dad was a smart man. He figured out what we were, the same as you. But his intentions were bad and a lot of people suffered. My question is, what are your intentions, Emily?"

Emily returned to the shop to find her uncle whistling cheerfully and stacking shelves. Delilah lay slumped by the counter blocking an entire aisle. She still felt shaky after her encounter, but the familiar confines of the shop soon relaxed her.

"Where are the regulars?" she asked, noting the empty stools.

"Pension day. They all go to the steak house on pension day."

"You sure Delilah's not putting them off?" she asked, stepping over the dog who had positioned herself perfectly for any possible tidbits.

"Well." Norm paused to suck his teeth. "Pat Crone came in earlier and looked a little nervous."

Emily hauled Delilah to her feet and pushed the lazy animal toward the connecting door. "I think she needs to stay outside on a fine day like this. Honestly, Uncle Norm, you can't have dogs lying all over the shop. Not with food."

"Here, take this through, will ya?" He shoved an opened package at her, all crumpled brown paper and string.

"What is it?"

"Them Garouls returned some stuff. See? Told you she was wearing my pants." He pointed at the contents. "Told you they were thieves. Always take what they want, them Garouls."

"At least she washed and ironed them," Emily pointed out.

"Yeah, they did that, all right," he conceded, and she could see he found the whole episode confusing. Thieves weren't supposed to return stolen items freshly laundered.