Jane Godman - The Unforgettable Wolf

Violet was bemused at the way he spoke of Ged. It was as though he was indebted to, but barely knew, the man who was responsible for the band’s success. “How did you meet Ged?”

They were eating lunch on the tiny balcony of their Parisian hotel suite. It overlooked the River Seine, and the brilliant sunlight, blue skies and iconic buildings made it a picture-perfect scene.

A slight shadow crossed his features. “It was six years ago. I had been through a difficult time. I’d been ill following an attack—” his eyes were on the river, so she couldn’t read his expression “—it’s not something I care to remember, let alone talk about. I was a music student and I’d been in a band. Not Beast.” He turned back to look at Violet, and the shadows were gone. “I’d never come across anything quite like Beast. Ged turned up at my apartment one day. He said he’d seen me play—God alone knows how, because I hadn’t done anything for a while—and he was putting together a rock band. He was looking for a bass guitarist, if I wanted to audition. At first I wasn’t interested, but he left me his card. I don’t know what it was, but something about the encounter, something about Ged, kept tugging at my mind. Anyway, I got in touch, did the audition and haven’t looked back since.”

“Is that how Ged found the others?” Violet sipped her water. The elegant menu had dismayed her, and she had ordered a rare steak with a salad instead of any of the dainty French dishes. “He scouted them?”

“I suppose so,” Nate said.

Violet sensed he was being deliberately vague. Beast had been together for six years, so he had to know the details of how every one of the members joined the band. Violet thought about Ged Taverner. On the surface, he was charming, but there was something about him that troubled her. It was a watchfulness, a stillness, that was outside of her experience. He was the puppet master, the Svengali, and he reveled in the role. Maybe that was what she felt from him. That sense of needing to be in control. Whatever it was, it worked. The band clearly owed their success to him.

“Is this okay?” Nate indicated the suite behind them. They had arrived in Paris just over an hour ago and checked into this grand, old hotel that cried out “money.” There were two adjoining bedrooms with a sitting room in between. “This way, the others in the band won’t get any ideas that you might be available.” His face darkened as he said the words.

She reached across the table and clasped his hand. “This is perfect.”

Could she tell him she’d be happy to share one room—and a bed—with him? Could she find the words to tell him that her fantasies about getting him into bed, any bed, were getting wilder by the minute? She didn’t know if this longing was something she’d experienced before; all she knew was it was raging out of control. How would Nate feel about that? About her wanting him, but also about her possible inexperience? She guessed he wouldn’t want to take advantage of her memory loss. No matter how much I might want him to.

She wondered if something of her thoughts showed in her face, because Nate’s eyes flashed and his grip on her hand tightened. Just as he leaned across the table toward her, there was a wild pounding on the door.

“Nate?” It was Torque. “Get decent, man. We’re leaving in five.”

Nate groaned. “I have to go. You can either come and watch—but I warn you it will be boring—or you can explore the city and meet me at the stadium in a few hours.”

“I choose the nonboring option.” Even though it means being apart from you.

“Very wise.” He rose to his feet, paused and then, as though unable to help himself, stooped and kissed her lightly on the lips before striding out without a backward glance.

Violet sat very still for a few seconds, then slowly raised her fingertips to touch her lips. It had been the briefest of kisses. Barely a kiss at all. So why did her lips feel like they were on fire? Why was she trembling all over? Why did she want to run after him and beg him to kiss her again? Because this attraction was growing like wildfire, consuming her to the exclusion of everything else.

The thought jerked her up from her seat like a lightning flash. No. This couldn’t have happened. She was confusing gratitude with something deeper. She was still suffering the effects of that blow to her head. I could have a husband, or a lover, waiting for me somewhere. He could be frantically searching for me even now. I may not be free to have these feelings for another man.

She didn’t think that was the case—and Nate’s frequent internet searches that turned up no trace of anyone looking for her, no newspaper reports of her as a missing person, backed up her hunch—but she clung to the thought anyway. Because the alternative was that she had tumbled headlong into this intense attraction toward Nate with no real idea of who he was. Worse than that, she still had no idea of who she was. But she had a suspicion that she was a werewolf, and she knew he was a werewolf killer. It was hardly a match made in heaven.

Restlessly, she decided to push her thoughts aside, reasoning that her damaged head wasn’t capable of straight thinking. After being confined on that bus with all the raw energy that was Beast for the best part of a day, she needed activity. Among her expensive new clothing, she had noticed some kick-ass running gear. Changing hurriedly into three-quarter-length leggings, a tight T-shirt and running shoes, she made her way down to the lobby and out onto the street.

The wide pavements alongside the river were busy, but there were other joggers taking advantage of the pleasant weather. Violet ran at a steady pace, enjoying the fresh air and the sunlight on her face, even though she craved more. What more was, she didn’t know. When she tried to reach within herself to find out, it eluded her. All she got was a sense of needing bigger, freer, wilder. Frustration kicked in and she paused, leaning over a wall to view the river as she caught her breath.

That was when it hit her. A memory. The first she’d had since that blow to her head. Brief and faint, it flashed into her mind for a second or two. A man, strong, tall and powerful. He was angry. His voice was raised. She got a sense of her own anger firing back at him before the image faded. Although she tried to catch it, to hold on to it, it was gone.

Even though she had felt the confrontational mood of the flashback, she had felt something else more strongly. It was there again. That feeling of otherness. Wherever she had been when she and that man faced each other with rage quivering between them, it had been...different.

Where am I from? Where do I call home? That man cared enough to be angry at me, yet he doesn’t seem to be searching for me. The mystery of her identity appeared to be tied into the mystery of where she belonged. A slight headache was forming behind her eyes, and instead of jogging back to the hotel she walked slowly, her feet dragging. Her thoughts kept returning to the only thing that mattered.

Nate. She picked up the pace. I need to be with Nate.

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