Michele Hauf - Forever Werewolf

“I will,” she said, standing and tipping down her sunglasses to look over the rims at him. “You sure you’re feeling well this morning?”

“As well as a man who suffers a mysteriously debilitating ailment can feel.”

She snatched the vial and then gave him a hug. He didn’t squeeze back. Affection tended to spoil a well-trained child. Alana was proof of that. He couldn’t lose Lexi. Not yet.

“Lexi?”

“Yes, Father?”

“Be careful around Trystan Hawkes.”

“I am always careful around everyone, you know that. But Hawkes is not a threat to anyone.”

“He’s also not a full-blooded wolf.”

“What?”

His daughter’s gasp hurt his heart—and revealed her heart. Already she’d stepped across the invisible line she kept drawn around herself and had taken to the Hawkes man. He couldn’t allow her to fall into a ridiculous fantasy.

“His father, Rhys Hawkes, is a half-breed. Half wolf, half vampire. And his mother is full vampire.”

He waited for her reaction, but she swallowed and merely nodded, stunned at the announcement.

“I thought you should know. He’s dangerous.”

To her heart, and to his.

After excusing herself from her father’s bedside, Lexi closed the door behind her and wandered down the tower stairs, her fingers tracing the cold stone walls for support. The man she was fascinated by was a half-breed? His mother a vampire?

Her heart beating rapidly, she jammed a shoulder to the wall and shook her head.

Here she’d been close to hope that the new guy was just interesting enough to intrigue her. She’d already begun to trust him. And she’d been gazing at him like some kind of lovesick dove. But he had vampire blood running through his veins. Not potential mate material. Not for the pack princess.

At least that is what common sense boldly said. While her heart, well, it whispered something too soft for her to interpret right now.

“Once again, you get the wrong end of the stick,” she muttered.

With a sigh, she lifted her chin and marched down the hallway. Work would keep her mind away from her stupid mistake.

They pulled up the female’s body to a rousing round of cheers. Her fingers twitched, and that was enough for everyone to believe she was alive and had a chance at survival.

Tryst carefully handed her off to the team who would take her inside the keep for medical care. Earlier, a helicopter had brought in a doctor, one of very few who treated wolves as a specialty, because he was a werewolf himself.

Forgoing the offer of a beer from Liam, who had dug alongside him through the morning hours, Trystan wandered off from the pack who whooped and high-fived. It was a time for celebration. All missing pack members had been accounted for. Some had passed, but he knew they would be remembered and mourned as heartily as they cheered the living.

Trystan never missed a reason to celebrate, but it didn’t feel right to join in this time. This was not his pack. Not his family. And though they encouraged him to participate, he thanked them and wandered off around the side of the castle where the avalanche had knocked out the glass wall. What had once been an outdoor stadium was now a sloping heap of snow.

Poking the ski pole here and there, he verified the tight snowpack and that it was okay to tread. Not that he’d fall far, or do much damage if the snow layers did shift. And really? It would be sweet to jump from the castle roof on a snowboard and shred this slope.

He shouldn’t think of capitalizing on the drifts after such a dire event, but his adventurous eyes were always keen for an excellent slope.

The weak sun hid behind white clouds and evening fast approached, with a noticeable drop in temperature. Tryst’s breath fogged before him. The avalanche had cleared the decorative frost from surrounding trees, yet in a wide circle where disaster had not struck, the world was still coated with white. Weird. And humbling.

He was hungry and tired, but most of all he wanted a few moments to sit quietly and close his eyes, to reconnect with the universe and ground himself in the now. It was the best way to boost his physical and mental energy.

Stuffing his gloves in a pocket, he shook his head to scatter the snow and ice that had frozen in his hair as he’d worked up a sweat. His clothing was damp from exertion, and as soon as he sat down it would begin to freeze, but he’d ignore that because right now he welcomed the silence.

Hiking down the side of the hill formed against the castle wall, he landed on the walkway to the stadium seating, which was now all under snow. The walkway hugged the back of the castle and led to a stepped area graduated to walk out across a vast courtyard. A single yard light glowed over the courtyard.

Someone was seated on the upper step, elbows back and propped behind her. He guessed female, because of the slender line of the long gray coat. A fur-lined hood crowned her head, concealing the side of her face, but he knew it was the Connor princess. The bad one, as Liam had intimated.

Naughty bad?

Tryst’s heart raced. He blew out a breath that fogged before his face. Yet suddenly his bravado fell. What did she know about him? Edmonton Connor had likely told her about his mixed-race heritage. Which meant Tryst had to play her carefully because he didn’t want to lose her respect.

Sitting down next to her, about two feet away, he scanned the horizon over the treetops. “We found the female. Was Sandra her name?”

“Yes. Rick just texted me that she is alive. That’s a miracle.”

“She’d been crushed against a stone bench, and had managed to work her way beneath it as the snow moved over her, so had the space beneath for air. So lucky. I think every bone in her body is broken, but she’ll heal. Women are so strong.”

“You say that as if it’s a fact that’s been proved to you.”

“It has been.”

He bowed his head, images of his mother coming to mind. Tall, dark, yet regal in the most macabre manner, his mother, Viviane LaMourette. The touched one , as some would whisper behind her back.

But he wasn’t about to divulge how it had been to grow up with an insane vampire mother who would have bitten him on more than one occasion had his father not been vigilant in keeping him safe. He would have given his mother blood, but it wouldn’t have rescued her from the wicked melancholy that relentlessly haunted her soul.

“It’s going to be a gorgeous night,” he offered. “In a few days the moon will be full and bright. I’ve always loved the moon for its bold white light. I bet its shine makes you look like a snow princess.”

She tilted back her head, and the hood shrugged down onto her shoulders to reveal glossy black hair, unpinned and falling straight about her narrow face. A pert nose, soft pink mouth, and porcelain skin competed against those harsh, ever-present sunglasses.

“Do you ever take those sunglasses off?”

“No.”

Too quick, that answer. Protective. And practiced. “It’s cool. You’ve got the whole Matrix thing going on.”

“Matrix?”

Tryst twisted to face her. “The greatest movie ever made? You’re kidding me, right?”

“I don’t see many movies. I’m too busy. And if I have free time, I’d rather read.”

“Seriously? That is so wrong.”

“Reading is good for a person. You learn things from books,” she said mockingly.

“I know, but reading is so … static. I’m the type of guy who has to be moving all the time.”

“Watching a movie for two hours doesn’t sound very active.”

“I agree with you there, but still, it wins hands down over books any day.”