Destiny of the Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #2)

Destiny of the Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #2) Page 8

Heaven forbid. A gray. Her dead sister’s mate. And torn emotionally because of losing her. Yet, Lelandi couldn’t stop craving his touch.

“Wait up!” Silva said. “I want to ride with her.”

Darien put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “I need to talk to you first, Silva.”

“Can’t it wait, boss? Sam saw everything anyway. Uhm, as much as there was to see.”

Again, there was a long pause before he responded.

“Got to take care of the little lady,” a white-haired man said.

“All right, Doc. But I want to hear what happened out there soonest, Silva.”

Pack business. Nothing else counted. Certainly not Lelandi. Only the shooter who killed the gunman mattered. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her heart.

“Yes, siree, boss,” Silva said, her voice like cotton candy.

The ambulance jiggled some more, and Silva’s slight feminine fragrance scented the air.

The doors slammed shut and the woman smiled at Lelandi, her expression wistful.

“You sure shook that big gray out of his doldrums, sugar.” Silva turned to Jake. “So what in the world happened out there?”

“I could ask you the same, Silva. Why the hell did the gunman have to die before he talked?”

Lelandi croaked out, “He had to die. No witnesses.”

Chapter 5

AS SOON AS LELANDI’S LOOK-ALIKE SISTER HAD INVADED his favorite Friday night getaway since the death of his mate, Darien knew there’d be trouble. His men were sure he wanted her to replace his dead mate. The women were already jealous he’d be interested in another red. Despite the fact he’d made every effort to show no interest in her.

Except for the kiss. Hell, he’d only done it to silence her words. Yet, the kiss hadn’t just stopped at prohibiting her from speaking, nor had he wanted it to, which was absolute madness. Worse, he made her pass out, not because of his passionate kiss either. She was severely injured for Odin’s sake. What the hell was the matter with him anyway?

Letting his breath out in exasperation, he stood in front of Hastings Bed and Breakfast and examined Sam’s flesh wound, seeing where the bullet had grazed his upper arm.

Sam was telling his story again, probably for the fiftieth time, relishing every second of his moment of glory while the townsfolk crowded around, listening in. “The gunman was following us, but Silva was chattering as usual and must have distracted me. He fired before I could get a shot off. Whoever killed the man hid in the trees on a ridge. Have no idea why he hasn’t joined us to get a pat on the back.”

“Probably worried Darien would be pissed at him for not hitting the gunman somewhere less fatal.” Mason slanted Darien a look.

Humans, curious about what had happened, mingled with his people, so Sam and the rest of Darien’s people were cautious about what they revealed. Which made Darien think again about the kiss. Hell, he couldn’t have the little red wolf, half out of her head, talking about lupus garous.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Darien said, breaking up the show.

“I’ll take him.” Mervin still wore his old-time barber clothes, vest, red band around the arm of his white long-sleeved shirt, red bow tie, and the straw hat seated on his nearly black hair. “The sheriff’s cutting his vacation short and headed back here, Darien.”

“Good. I want a meeting at two this afternoon with my team.”

Once he’d seen the injured transported to the hospital, Darien returned to where the dead gunman lay. Two of his men rifled through the man’s clothes. His black eyes were lifeless, a scraggly two-day growth of black beard covered his face and his long hair was unkempt.

“No ID.” Mason removed his hand from the guy’s jacket pocket.

Not that Darien expected he’d have any. Not a local, but a human, and a good shot with a gun. A hired gun? Or his own job?

Mason jerked his thumb at the dead man. “The shooter killed him with one fatal shot to the head. Sure knew what he was doing. This guy used a 9-mm; powder residue on his hands and jacket, proving he fired the gun, silver bullets in his right side pocket.”

Darien shifted his perusal of the gunman to Mason, who shrugged. “The bullets in the chamber are regular. The ones in his pocket would have killed your brother and the little lady.”

“He didn’t believe.” Swamped with relief, Darien realized how lucky the woman and his brother had been.

Mason handed the bullets to Darien. “So a lupus garou killed him. How much you want to bet the silver’s from our mine?”

“Might tie into the missing silver.” Darien’s attention shifted north where two of his men headed in his direction, John Hastings, owner of the hardware store and B&B and one of the founding fathers of the town, and Deputy Peter Jorgenson.

They both shook their heads, confirming they hadn’t located the other shooter.

Deputy Jorgenson’s amber eyes were nearly black, although he was never easily riled. “We found gunpowder residue and took pictures of where he’d stood and tramped down the grass.”

“Any trace of his scent?” Darien asked.

“So many of us were in the area, it’s hard to tell. Even Sam’s and Silva’s scents were drifting on the breeze up that way.”

Darien motioned to the gunman. “Take him to the morgue. I want Doc Featherston to conduct an autopsy and give me a report ASAP. Have a ballistic test run on the bullet and a comparison made on every lupus garou’s gun out here today.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Deputy Jorgenson said.

Mason walked back to town with Darien, his face scrunched up in thought. “You think the shooter was a red or a gray?”

“I think he was one of us or the shooter would have left a red scent. Easy to detect.”

“I smelled a red scent,” Hastings said, half of his gray hair, loosened from the leather strap, now whipping about his shoulders in the breeze. “Faint, but it was there.”

Darien glanced in the direction of the dead man and the deputy organizing a party to carry him. “Now that you mention it, Jake said he thought he smelled one near Lelandi. And we heard a couple of howls. Why didn’t Peter mention smelling any?”

“I was the only one who caught a whiff of it in the breeze. He discounted what I smelled. Said my sniffer wasn’t as keen as it used to be. I’ll give him that, but I know what I smelled.” Hastings shook his head. “Young whippersnappers.”

“Darien, wait up, boss!” Deputy Jorgenson shouted, chasing after him. “We’ve found evidence a red was in the area.”

Darien gave Hastings a knowing look.

Hastings snorted. “Yeah, my sniffer’s out of whack.”

Deputy Jorgenson handed a patch of red fur to Darien.

“Found it stuck to some brambles and definitely smells like a red lupus garou. ”

Darien looked up at his men. “It’s fresh. Hell, he’s got to be a royal.”

“Same one I smelled.” Hastings gave the deputy a pointed glower.

“Post guards for the woman around the clock,” Darien said.

“Yes, sir.” Deputy Jorgenson took off running toward town.

“That young man’s got what it takes to be sheriff some day,” Mason said.

“Only if he listens to his elders,” Hastings clarified.

Darien continued toward town. “Another sixty or so years, I’m sure Uncle Sheridan will give up his job.”

Hastings shook his head. “He’ll want to retire once he learns all hell broke loose while he was on vacation for the first time in ten years.”

Mason snorted. “He’ll be in hog heaven—ordering folks around. We haven’t had this much excitement since that mental patient broke out of a loony bin, killed his family, then hid out here.”

“One reason not to allow humans to live in our town,” Hastings said.

Darien didn’t agree. “Keeps us on our toes. Otherwise, we’d get careless.”

A large gathering of men at the edge of town were talking about the crimes committed. Most lupus garou societies blended with human-run towns. Silver Town was different—run and controlled by lupus garous since its inception when the first settlers moved west, and Darien’s family had opted to keep it that way.

When they reached them, Mervin spoke to Darien. “The red sure stirred up this quiet little town. Don’t imagine it’s going to settle down none for a time, either.”

“The lady’s going home, soon as I explain how her sister died.”

Several cast sideways glances at each other.

“As soon as she’s well enough to travel,” he added.

Some nodded, but he could tell they didn’t believe him. The only way to prove his word was to send her packing, and he would, just like he said.

“See you boys later.”

Darien stalked up the street to his SUV. Lelandi hadn’t been in her grave three weeks, now this. But another thought puzzled him. If she’d cut ties with her family, how had Larissa learned about her sister’s death?

If she hadn’t been his soul mate, he would never have gotten involved with a red who had family, not without her parents’ and the head of her pack’s permission. He damn well suspected now she hadn’t been a loner, giving up her pack, like she’d said.

Climbing into the vehicle, he took a deep breath and smelled the new car leather. The vehicle was supposed to be perfect for a family, this one having four doors to accommodate the triplets. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the steering wheel hard. Several had warned him not to take the red for his mate, yet he couldn’t get her out of his system, vivacious and spirited as she was. But he should have known she wouldn’t have been strong enough to be a pack leader’s mate.

When he parked at Silver Town Hospital, he noted the large number of vehicles there. Probably some of Sam’s kin come to check him out. And Uncle Sheridan’s sons, the twenty-four-year-old quadruplets, were there, too, probably looking in on cousin Tom. Darien blew out his breath. Keeping the community calm after the incident was going to be some job.