Stranger:. Zoe Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ glanced over at Astrid, who sat on the edge of the bed they were to share that night. The Englishwoman hadn’t yet changed for bed, but perched warily, fully clothed and ill at ease.

      “Have you no nightgown?” Gemma asked. She, herself, had only the one, so nothing could be loaned.

      “I don’t wear anything when I sleep,” came the strained reply.

      Oh. “I promise I won’t try anything fresh.”

      Astrid managed a taut smile, her gaze straying to the door. Across the hall was Lesperance, and through the inn’s thin walls, the deeper voices of him and Catullus resonated in bass murmurs.

      “You miss him,” Gemma said quietly.

      Astrid choked out a laugh, shaking her head at herself. “Absurd, I know. He’s just across the hall. One night should not matter. I lived alone for years and didn’t need anyone. Then he roars into my life and …” Her look grew tender, faraway. She was in a distant land Gemma had never truly seen—love. “We have not slept apart once since then.”

      What must that be like, to need someone so fully? Strange, too, witnessing the steely Englishwoman’s vulnerability. Yet it didn’t diminish her, but somehow made her even stronger, that she could hold such love and need for someone, and still fearlessly fight. It helped that Lesperance was a man of uncommon strength, as much a warrior as the woman who loved him.

      Gemma ducked her head. “I’m sorry you have to be separated on my account.”

      At this, Astrid chuckled. “Catullus, for all his unconventional ways, can be something of a traditionalist. He wants to protect your reputation.”

      Now Gemma laughed softly. “That assumes I have a reputation.”

      “He’s an optimist.”

      “I know you don’t trust me,” Gemma said, and Astrid did not dispute this, “but I want you to understand something. I will never manipulate or seduce Catullus to my advantage.”

      “I know you won’t,” Astrid said, “because, if you do, if you hurt him for your own gain, I will cut each and every freckle off of you with my skinning knife.”

      Gemma had no doubt Astrid would do just that. She refused to let the Englishwoman cow her, however. Blandly, she asked, “Which side of the bed do you want?”

      Astrid smiled, not entirely without warmth. A kind of détente had been reached, an establishment of mutual respect that might not see bonds of eternal friendship forged, but at least created a foundation of wary esteem.

      “It doesn’t matter to me,” Astrid said, standing. “I’m not sure how much sleep I’m going to get. I’ve grown so damned used to having that wolf beside me every night.”

      Gemma furrowed her brow at Astrid’s word choice, but didn’t comment. Must be a pet name or term of endearment.

      “The innkeeper said he had some whiskey,” Astrid continued, moving toward the door. “Think I’ll have a nightcap. That might help me sleep.” She paused, one hand on the doorknob. “Want to come down and have a drink?”

      This, absurdly, touched Gemma. “A shot of good whiskey sounds wonderful, but,” she added with disappointment, “I can’t creep about the place in my nightgown.”

      “As you like,” Astrid shrugged, then left the room.

      Gemma stood next to the bed for several minutes, heart thudding, mind awhirl. The men’s voices across the hall had gone silent.

      She drew a breath, summoning courage.

      Before she could stop herself, she padded across the hall and opened the door to the other room. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. A mirthless smile touched her lips. She was forever stepping on the wrong side of doors, into situations she should probably avoid. But then, if she did avoid those situations, her life would be indescribably dull.

      And dull certainly did not describe the scene before her.

      Catullus, dressed only in his trousers and an open shirt, rose up from the bed at her entrance. His hand reached for a nearby pistol, but stilled when he saw she was the unannounced visitor. Gemma’s eyes moved from his shocked face to the sculptural planes of his chest, satiny skin lightly dusted with dark hair. She would have followed the causeway of ridged, defined muscles down from his chest to his flat abdomen, and lower, but the sound of claws scraping on wood snared her attention.

      Gemma froze when she beheld the room’s other occupant.

      Less than five feet from where she stood. Staring at her with topaz eyes as it uncurled from the floor to standing. A huge silver-and-black wolf.

      “Wolf,” she said absurdly.

      And that’s what it was. Not a large dog that had somehow wandered into the room. But a massive wolf looking right at her. She didn’t have a lot of experience with wolves, had only seen a few at a distance when she’d been in Canada, but even someone of her limited experience knew that this wolf radiated power and deadly potential.

      What in God’s name was it doing in Catullus and Lesperance’s room? And where was Lesperance, anyway? Downstairs, having a quick tryst in the taproom with Astrid before retiring to separate beds?

      Not that any of this mattered. There was a damned wolf in the room.

      She backed to the door. Her eyes never left the animal. She rasped to Catullus, “Move slowly. Just edge toward me and we can make an escape.”

      Catullus sighed. He was irritatingly calm about the presence of an enormous wild animal in his room. “Not necessary.”

      Her eyes flew to his. “But there’s a—”

      Before she could finish this thought, the wolf trotted forward and gave her motionless hand a friendly lick. Its tail wagged, briefly, then looked up at her with what she could have sworn was humor in its golden eyes.

      Gemma managed to break the gaze to see a pile of men’s clothing folded neatly in the corner. Sober, respectable clothing that an attorney might wear.

      Understanding came with the loss of her breath. “Lesperance?”

      The wolf gave a soft woof. It moved back and sat on its haunches.

      Gemma’s eyes shot to Catullus, watching her with a kind of resigned amusement. Oddly, all she could muster was annoyance, not amazement that there were humans who could turn into animals. “You didn’t tell me.”

      “Never seemed an appropriate time,” he said. “’The Heirs are about to unleash a mythic power on an unsuspecting world, and we have to stop it, and, incidentally, Nathan Lesperance can change his form into a wolf, a hawk, and a bear.’”

      “A hawk and a bear, too?” This aggravated her further. “What about you?” she demanded of Catullus. “Can you turn into a turkey or an anteater?”

      His lips quirked. “No—I’m just a man.”

      She was, in truth, all too aware of the fact that he was a man. And СКАЧАТЬ