Page 31 of Curse of the Wolf
“Strength and agility.”
I doubted Radomir or Abrams played a lot of tennis but said, “Could be,” with a shrug. “I don’t suppose you got any footageof the thieves? Or hair or other, er, bodily essences that they left behind? The person I mentioned who is good at helping me find people can use such things.”
“Oh, a forensics scientist with a microscope?”
“An alchemist with a cat familiar.” I decided that since he knew about werewolves, he would believe that other paranormal beings existed.
Ivan blinked. “Does the cat play an integral role?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve actually not seen it yet. Apparently, it hates my scent.”
“Because…” He waved at me.
“I gather. I don’t otherwise do anything to pester cats.”
“You just exude the aura of a predator?”
“So I’ve been told.” I cocked my head and regarded him. I’d believed him entirely normal, but if he could detect that…
“My sister said so. Maybe if I had my bracelet back, I could tell myself.” Ivan looked wistfully at the safe, then must have remembered something because he snapped his fingers. “The police investigator found some hair on the safe that wasn’t mine. They’re supposedly analyzing it, but I haven’t heard anything back. There was a chunk in that hinge there. One of the thieves may have caught his hair when he was bending low to destroy my safe.”
I peered close and spotted a couple of lingering strands. “Do you have a baggie I could put this in?”
“Absolutely. And I’ll grab the footage of the thieves too. It’s from the parking lot and not very good, but maybe it’ll help you.” Ivan strode out of the closet.
I gripped my chin and stared at the safe, considering if there were any other questions I might ask that would help me with my various quests. I hadn’t learned much that I hadn’t already known. If I found the sword, maybe I would stumble across Ivan’s bracelet at the same time, but it wasn’t my priority.
“If you’re thinking of stealing anything, you’d better reconsider,” came a cool voice from the doorway.
Izzy had returned, sans her kid. She stood naked, her clothes tossed onto the bed. Her eyes had a feral glint, and I sensed her on the verge of changing.
“I’m not a thief.” I stood straight, arms wide and innocent, though I doubted I could walk out without a fight.
“No? You’re a murderer.”
“It was a fight, not murder, and Raoul died in the heat of battle.” I licked my lips, struggling to get words out to defend my actions that night. Since I’d never forgiven myself, how could I expect this stranger to forgive me?
“You killed him.” Her voice was savage, almost a growl, and she dropped to all fours as the change came over her.
10
As Izzy changed,I tore off my own clothes, ribs twinging to remind me that I hadn’t fully healed from the explosion. It didn’t matter. I had no choice but to defend myself.
There would be repercussions from turning into a wolf and fighting another wolf in the bedroom of a wealthy real estate developer. That also didn’t matter. Other concerns stampeded out the door when Izzy looked up at me, icy eyes savage, white-and-gray fur coating her sleek lupine body, her jaws open, her fangs dagger sharp.
My magic roared through me, my skin heating uncomfortably from within as my power dropped me to all fours, my torso and limbs shifting. By the time my foe charged into the closet at me, I’d finished changing, and I met her snapping jaws with rapid and powerful bites of my own.
As a wolf, I was larger and more muscular, but her fangs scored me, grazing my shoulder, as she fought with frenzy—with hatred. If I wasn’t careful, she would kill me.
I struggled to feel indignation. In her eyes, this was retaliation from a family member over Raoul’s death… If she killed me, would it even be wrong?
My instincts protected me, not allowing my conflicted feelings to get in the way of the fight. I leaped and dodged, avoiding her furious fangs and lunging in to bite whenever an opening appeared. I didn’t want to kill her, only force her to leave me alone, but as my blood heated further, frustration making my attacks savage, I worried another member of the Cascade Crushers would end up dead at my feet.
Considering she’d been an elegant-looking woman, my enemy was a scrappy fighter. She fought more like an alley cat than a wolf, throwing in swipes with her paws as well as using her body like a wrestler. More than once, she crashed into me as she tried to force me back into shoe racks and hangers full of dangling trousers. We ended up on the carpeted floor of the closet, thrashing about, drawing blood and leaving spatters on the beige weave.
A door thumped open nearby. Someone had to have heard our fight. Maybeeveryonehad.
The realization that a stream of humans might rush in and see us—or be injured because they drew too close—gave me an incentive to end the battle. Using my greater strength and weight to my advantage, I shoulder-butted my foe, ramming her against the safe.
