The Shadow Wolf. Bonnie Vanak
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the sharp blue sky.
No purple tunic and matching pants, either.
Delicious smells of frying bacon came from downstairs. It enticed and cajoled. Food, she needed food, her head ached from hunger, the hollow pit in her stomach demanded energy.
She looked around. The cheerful powder-blue-and-lilac bedroom had a white bamboo dresser, glass-topped table and two chairs with floral prints. Megan touched her head, trying to get her thoughts squared.
“You never ate your breakfast, so I fried eggs. I advise you not to skip another meal or you’ll fade into nothing, and not just because you’re a Shadow Wolf,” came a deep, laconic voice from the doorway.
Tensing, she sat up, fists ready to strike. Now she remembered. Gabriel had hypnotized her into sleeping. Panic squeezed her insides.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
He leaned against the doorjamb, thumbs hooked through the belt loops of faded jeans. Rolled up at the sleeves, a blue chambray work shirt displayed his strong, tanned forearms. His feet were bare. A black cowboy hat tilted over his brow. “On the table, getting cold.” In his deep Louisiana drawl, “table” was pronounced “tay-bull.”
She threw back the thick duvet, swung her legs over the bed’s side. Her feet touched soft carpeting. For a moment, she wriggled her toes, basking in the luxury. Megan struggled to fight the dizziness. “My cousins. What did you do with them, you bastard?”
“They’re fine.”
“If you hurt them, I’ll …” The threat was empty, and they both knew it.
“Is this part of your torture technique? Keep us separated, make me think the worst? Why not just kill us and get it over with?”
A frown dented his forehead. “I don’t torture Shadows,” he said mildly.
“Cousin Megan!” Two miniature tornadoes flew into the room and bounded on the bed. They crashed against her.
Hiding a wince at her sore arms, she held them tight. “Are you okay?” She smoothed back their hair, studied their expressions.
“Gabriel made us bacon and eggs and sausage,” Jenny said, glancing shyly at him.
“And toast with orange marmalade.” Jilly burped. “‘Cuse me.”
Gabriel made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle, but looked indifferent. Masking her anxiety, Megan smiled at the girls. They wore identical pairs of bright pink shorts and pink scoop-necked shirts. On their feet were new cuffed socks and sneakers.
Megan touched a corner of Jenny’s shirt. “Where did you get these?”
“Gabriel had his housekeeper buy these for us. No more purple uniforms,” Jenny told her.
“Gabriel took us here to his island to keep us safe,” Jilly told her.
Megan tightened her grip on her niece. How could she tell her that Gabriel had abducted them? In some ways, her young nieces were still innocent, despite the island’s harsh living conditions. She didn’t want to scare them.
Instead, she gave a reassuring smile and changed the subject. “Did you get outside and see the Gulf of Mexico?”
If the girls had explored the island, she could figure out how to access the mainland and formulate an escape plan.
“Gabriel took us to the beach and we found some seashells by the water, but he didn’t want us to go far,” Jenny piped up.
She hid her disappointment.
“I wanted to check on Megan. We can go out later, Jenny,” Gabriel said.
Jenny beamed. Megan studied her enemy, shocked he had discerned the difference between the girls. Few could tell them apart.
She had to regain her strength. Somehow, there was a way off this island, and she would find it. Megan braced her hands on the bed. Going to do this, must do this. She managed to stand, but her knees gave way. With an involuntary cry, she fell back onto the bed. Oh this was bad, so very bad.
Eyes wide with fright, the twins stared. “Cousin Megan?” Jilly’s voice trembled.
Gabriel detached himself from the doorway. He flashed a winsome smile at the girls. “Jenny, Jillian, why don’t you go into the playroom while I have a little chat with your cousin?”
Dread pooled in her chest as the girls scrambled away.
He gave her a critical once-over. “When did you last eat?”
Her stomach growled a protest. “I’m fine.”
“You’re weak and dangerously low on energy,” he countered, his gaze sweeping over her. “Where were you hiding out?”
“Rio. You know, de Janeiro in Brazil. I had a hankering for a mojito,” she shot back.
He rubbed his temple. “Tell me.”
The command was soft, threaded with steel. She felt compelled to obey. “Couldn’t get here right away, had to diffuse the trail. Spent three days in the Bahamas first … lived off fish, the girls did … I gave them my share, couldn’t catch much, had to lie low. Hitched a ride with a fisherman headed to Florida.”
“Then how did you use up all your energy?”
Gabriel was a mind manipulator, able to coax hidden thoughts from reluctant victims. Horrified at how easily she’d confessed, she mustered her strength and bolted for the door. He hooked her around the waist. “Easy,” he muttered. “Relax, chère, I’m not going to hurt you. But I will have answers.”
Megan sagged in his arms. Her trembling hands couldn’t grasp the doorknob. Pain throbbed from the rail spike hammering into her skull. Oh, the hunger was bad now, so bad, the craving for protein screaming its need.
Gabriel helped her sit on the bed. He picked up the cordless phone on the nightstand and dialed. He gave a crisp order for bacon, sausage and eggs and hung up, giving Megan a thoughtful look.
“Food first, then a hot shower. I’ll ask Mrs. Hemmings to find clothing that fits.” His heated gaze swept over her again, making her shiver. “You’re a size twelve, right?”
Outraged, she glared. “I’m a size eight.”
A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. He’d tricked her. Again.
“How the hell did you let yourself get this bad?” he demanded. “Didn’t you make plans, have supplies?”
Megan looked out the window.
“The truth, Megan. Why haven’t you eaten?”
With all her might, she shuttered her thoughts. Instead of invading her mind, Gabriel ran a thumb across her palm. The electrical contact sizzled, creating a shiver of erotic awareness. Megan stared at his strong, tanned fingers. He turned over her hand, frowned at the reddened scratches on the back.
“You got jumped. Someone stole your money,” he guessed.
“The fisherman smuggling us off Shadow Wolf island demanded more money than we’d planned.” Megan yanked her hand away.
“You’re a Shadow. Why didn’t you just steal money when you got to the States?”
“I’m no thief.”
“Then I suppose the car with your scent all over it is a rental?” he drawled.
Color ignited her cheeks. “I put an envelope filled with money and a note in the door of the owner’s home. It’s worth more than the price of the Ford, which has leaky oil gaskets, bald tires and finicky brakes. I might be a Shadow—” she spit out the word “—but we have integrity. Unlike you Normals, who turn in your own people for money. Because we are Draicon, like you. Like it or not, that’s a fact.”
“Normals?”