Шеррилин Кеньон: Night Play

Could it?

Was it a joke?

But as she read it again for the fourth time, she knew it wasn't. The rotten, cowardly SOB had actually broken up with her via her own FedEx account.

Sorry, Bride,

But I need a woman more in keeping with my celebrity image. I'm going places and I need the kind of woman at my side who will help me, not hinder me. I'll have your things delivered to your building. Here's some money for a hotel room tonight in case you don't have any vacant rooms.

Best,

"You sorry, sycophantic, scum-sucking dog," she snarled as she read it again and pain engulfed her so profoundly that it was all she could do not to burst into tears. Her boyfriend of five years was breaking up with her… through a letter that he'd charged to her business account?

"Damn you to hell, you filthy snake!" she snarled.

Normally Bride would sooner cut her own head off than cuss, but this… this warranted serious language.

And an ax to her ex-boyfriend's head.

She fought the urge to scream. And the need she felt to get into her SUV, go over to his television station, and pound him into itty-bitty bloody pieces.

Damn him!

A tear rolled down her cheek. Bride wiped it away and sniffed. She wouldn't cry over this. He so wasn't worth it.

Really, he wasn't, and deep inside she wasn't surprised. For the last six months, she'd known this was coming. Had felt it every time Taylor put her on another diet or signed her up for another exercise program.

Not to mention the important dinner party two weeks ago at the Aquarium where he had told her that he didn't want her to join him. "There's no need in you getting all dressed up for something so boring. Really. It's best that I go alone."

She'd known the minute he'd finished speaking that he wouldn't be around much longer.

Still it hurt. Still she ached. How could he do such a thing?

Like this ! she thought angrily as she waved the letter around like a lunatic in the middle of her store.

But then she knew. Taylor had never really been happy with her. The only reason he had gone out with her was because her cousin was a manager at a local television station. Taylor had wanted a job there and, like a fool, she had helped him to get it.

Now that he was safely ensconced in his position and his ratings were at the top, he pulled this stunt.

Fine. She didn't need him anyway.

She was better off without him.

But all the arguments in the world didn't ease the bitter, awful pain in her chest that made her want to curl up into a ball and cry until she was spent.

"I won't do it," she said, wiping away another tear. "I won't give him the satisfaction of crying."

Throwing the letter away, she seized her vacuum cleaner with a vengeance. Her little boutique needed cleaning.

You just vacuumed.

She could just vacuum again until the damned carpet was threadbare.

Vane Kattalakis felt like shit. He'd just left Grace Alexander's office where the good — and he used the word with full rancor — psychologist had told him there was nothing in the world that could heal his brother until his brother was willing to heal.

It wasn't what he needed to hear. Psychobabble was for humans, it wasn't for wolves who needed to get their stupid asses out of Dodge before they lost them.

Ever since Vane had crawled out of the swamp with his brother on Mardi Gras night, they had been lying tow at Sanctuary, a bar owned by a clan of Katagaria bears who welcomed in all strays, no matter where they came from: human, Daimon, Apollite, Dark-Hunter, Dream-Hunter, or Were-Hunter. So long as you Kept the peace and threatened no one, the bears allowed you to stay. And live.

But no matter what the Peltier bears told him, he knew the truth. Both he and Fang were living under a death sentence and there was no place safe for them. They had to get mobile before their father realized they were still alive.

The minute he did, a team of assassins would be sent for them. Vane could take them on, but not if he had to drag a hundred-and-twenty-pound comatose wolf behind him.

He needed Fang awake and alert. Most of all, he needed his brother willing to fight again.

But nothing seemed to reach Fang, who had yet to move out of his bed. Nothing.

"I miss you, Fang," he whispered under his breath as his throat tightened with grief. It was so hard to make it alone in the world. To have no one to talk to. No one to trust.

He wanted his brother and sister back so badly that he would gladly sell his soul for it.

But they were both gone now. There was no one left for him. No one.

Sighing, he tucked his hands in his pockets and turned onto Iberville as he walked through the French Quarter.

He wasn't even sure why he cared anymore anyway. He might as well let his father have him. What difference did it make?

But Vane had spent the whole of his life fighting. It was all he knew or understood.

He couldn't do as Fang and just lie down and wait for death. There had to be something out there that could reach his brother.

Something out there that could make both of them want to live again.

Vane paused as he neared one of those women's shops that were scattered throughout the French Quarter. It was a large redbrick building trimmed in black and burgundy. The entire front of it was made of glass that showed inside where the store was littered with lacy women's things and delicate, feminine tchotchkes.

But it wasn't the merchandise that made him pause.

It was her .

The woman he'd thought he would never see again.

Bride.

He'd seen her only once and then only briefly as he guarded Sunshine Runningwolf in Jackson Square while the artist had sold her artwork to tourists. Oblivious to him, Bride had come up to Sunshine and the two of them had talked for a few minutes.

Then Bride had walked out of his life completely. Even though he'd wanted to follow after her, Vane had known better. Humans and wolves didn't mix.

And definitely not wolves who were as screwed up as he was.

So he'd sat idly by even while every molecule of his body had screamed out for him to go after her.

Bride had been the most beautiful woman Vane had ever seen.

She still was.

Her long auburn hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head that left curls of it to caress her porcelain face. She wore a long, black dress that flowed around her body as she jerked a vacuum cleaner across the carpet.

Every animal instinct in his body roared to life as he saw her again. The feeling was primal. Demanding.

Needful.

And it wouldn't listen to reason.

Against his will, he found himself headed toward her. It wasn't until he had opened the burgundy door that he realized she was crying.

Fierce anger tore through him. It was bad enough that his life sucked, the last thing he wanted was to see someone like her cry.

Bride paused her vacuuming and looked up as she heard someone entering her shop. Her breath caught in her throat. Never in her life had she seen a more handsome man.

Never.

At first glance his hair was dark brown, but in reality it was made up of all colors: ash, auburn, black, brown, mahogany, even some blond. She'd never seen hair like that on anyone. Long and wavy, it was pulled back into a sexy ponytail.

Better yet, his white T-shirt was pulled tight over a body that most women only saw in the best magazine ads. It was a body that was meant for sex. Tall and lean, that body begged a woman to caress it just to see if it was as hard and perfect as it appeared.

His handsome features were sharp, chiseled, and he had a day's growth of beard on his face. It was the face of a rebel who didn't cater to current fashions… one who lived his life solely on his own terms. It was obvious that no one told this man how to do anything.