The Lonely Wolf Page 5

  As he strode through the hall, his boots dirtied the shiny flooring with outside dust and soil, leaving a trail of gray-brown prints. He knew he was being petty, but when he heard the entrance glass door open behind him, he stomped his heavy footwear with gusto, making as much noise as possible while fouling the place.

  On his way to the mailboxes’ wall, a wind gust brought the scent of were-panther to his nostrils and Lupo’s heart sped up without warning, as if he had been running for his life. Instinctively, he pressed his palm over his chest and swirled around, looking for the reason that had awoken his wolf senses.

  Behind him, a small figure all clad in black stood at the entrance. A long, tunic-like dress attached to an equally black veil covered a girl from head to toe, leaving only her eyes out. Dark and liquid, those almond shaped eyes were framed by perfectly applied eyeliner that made them so big Lupo couldn’t look away. Startled, he realized he was staring at a member of the Purists, one of the most elusive shifter clans in the whole world.

  Her brethren were were-panthers who refused to mingle with the rest of the paranormal society for fear of polluting their superior genes. It was fabled that their women were so beautiful, shifters would go to war with the Purists for them. Helen of Troy had been a Purist. After her, the she-panthers in her clan were ordered to cover themselves for the safety of their people and theirs. At the beginning, a sheer veil had covered their eyes too. Nowadays, times were more relaxed, and the Purists allowed their women to show their eyes. The penalty for approaching a Purist woman was still severe though and at the disrespected family’s discretion.

  Lupo’s wolf growled when he kept still instead of reaching for the girl as he demanded. The girl’s scent and her expressive eyes told him she was as startled by the situation as he was. When he finally stepped forward, she jumped back.

  “It’s okay.” Having already forgotten about the sealed plastic container he was carrying—and the flogging that would follow if she cried wolf—he raised both hands to the side to gesture he didn’t mean to harm her.

  With another step back, the girl shook her head, then looked over her shoulder. A second dark-clad figure appeared at the entrance and took the girl by her elbow. Brown eyes, older and colder than the girl’s, stared at Lupo. The revulsion in the woman’s look was evident and hit Lupo with the strength of a punch to his stomach.

  The older woman pushed the girl forward and they hurried past Lupo and toward the gilded elevator. Before Lupo could say or do anything, they entered the cabin, the woman closed both the wrought-iron gate and the internal door, and they disappeared from sight.

  Shaken by the fleeting experience, Lupo let out a long breath. The weight of the V container reminded him of the reason why he was there, and he walked to the mailboxes wall, went straight to the designated box and delivered the package. The box locked itself with a soft clicking sound, warning Lupo his services were no longer needed.

  On his way to his next stop, Lupo wondered about the she-panther and how his wolf had gone crazy over her.

  After seeing the girl, Lupo thought there might be some truth in the rumors about the Purist women’s spellbinding beauty. In just a few seconds, those black eyes had imprisoned his heart, and he could think of nothing else but meeting her again. And he had only seen her eyes. What would her mouth look like? Her throat? From the little skin exposed, he knew she was fair skinned. Did she have freckles? Where did she have those freckles?

  His wolf whined in pain.

  ****

  After a full day of tedious work at the office, Quintilius felt he could go home and have enough strength left to fake he wasn’t heartbroken.

  For the last few days, he had done his best to avoid Camelia. Staying late at night at the office and leaving early in the morning had helped. Camelia worried about him, and he wasn’t in the mood to explain why he wanted to punch a concrete wall until it broke.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said, passing Iris’s desk on his way out.

  His secretary waved at him. “Have a good night, alpha.”

  Lately, it was easier to deal with Camelia’s twin sister, Iris, who looked nothing like her. Where one was all light and pleasantness, the other was dark and meanness.

  Iris was efficient and unpleasant at the same time, making her the perfect person to have in the office. There was no love lost between Quintilius and Iris. She worked for him, and that was the extent of their relationship, although she had tried to change that.

  Soon after Iris had moved into Quintilius’s house—he owed Camelia too much to deny her sister a roof—one night, she asked for a private talk and said, “You need a woman, and I’m not frail Camelia. I’ll give you strong and healthy cubs.”

  At first Quintilius had been so enraged with Iris, he had almost thrown her out on the spot. Then he considered how Camelia would suffer when she knew about her sister’s duplicity, and sent Iris to the guest house in the back of the park instead, with the excuse she had asked for privacy. A few days later, he summoned Iris to his office and told her she would never overstep the bounds of his hospitality ever again, and that she would work for him to earn her keep. He also made abundantly clear that she would treat Camelia with the utmost respect or she would find herself out of the clan.

  Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

  That was Quintilius’s motto, one that had served him well for the best part of two millennia at the head of his clan. A clan that had flourished under his reign like no other tribe in Europe.

  Already outside his Casolare del Lupo, Quintilius’s cell phone rang and he pushed a button on the wheel to accept the call. “Peter, how are you?” Meanwhile, he raised a hand for the security camera on the right column to wait before opening the wrought iron gate.

  “Hi, Quintilius, I apologize for calling you so late, but I wanted to inform you I’ll be meeting with Raphael tomorrow to ask him a few questions about the kid Ludwig saw at Castel Gandolfo.”

  As Raphael’s alpha, Quintilius was his official legal guardian, although the kid and his girlfriend Luisa, both werewolves, lived with Alexander and Ravenna and they had been named guardians too. Interspecies laws were complicated, and, even with the Immortal Council keeping everyone in line thanks to enforcers and liaisons, misunderstandings were a daily occurrence. Peter was following chain of command to the letter.

  “Is it necessary for me to be present?” The next day, Quintilius had back to back meetings with the CEO of a Greek shipping company visiting Rome to consolidate a five-year deal. “I know Raphael is in the best hands and the kid trusts you.”

  “Well, if you send the archangel an email to explain the situation, I’m sure it will be okay for me to go alone.”

  Quintilius lowered his forehead to the wheel and swore under his breath. “No, that’s okay. I think I can find a moment tomorrow to stop by Drako’s.”

  “Perfect. Just let me know when you’re free and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay. Say hi to my princess.”

  “Will do. See you soon.”

  Wallowing in misery, Quintilius remained before the gate of his house for several minutes before waving at the camera to let him in. Behind him, Iris’s car followed his until the main house, then she turned toward her cottage and he forgot about her.

  At the porch, Camelia waited for him, a bouquet of fresh cut freesias on her lap and a smile on her face. Every night, rain or shine, summer or winter, she would push her wheelchair out and greet him back from the office.

  He bent to brush her forehead with a kiss. “My sweet, how was your day?”

  “Lots of gardening.” She raised the scented flowers toward Quintilius. “How was yours, my alpha?”

  “Busy, but productive.” The clean sweetness of the bouquet mixed with Camelia’s perfume pervaded his senses, and he wound his arm around her shoulder and pressed her small frame against his side.

  With a small sigh, she accepted the embrace. “I prepared lemon scaloppini and a mimosa cak
e.”

  Camelia suffered from chronic pain and yet she managed Casolare del Lupo without any help, taking care of running the estate like a tight ship.

  “I would be lost without you, my pretty.” Reaching for her thin wrist, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a small kiss to its back. Now and again, he wished he had fallen in love with her so long ago, but it had not happened, and the result was staring back at him. “Have I told you lately that you are the most beautiful, the most caring, the most loyal companion a wolf could ever ask for?”

  “Only once a day.” She chuckled.

  “Well, then it’s not enough. I’ll start calling you from the office to remind you how important you are to me.”

  She patted his hand. “I know, my handsome alpha. I know because I’m here.”

  Pack laws dictated that if one of the two parts in a marriage contract became incapacitated and unable to produce offspring, the other could repudiate him or her. When an alpha was involved, sending away a mate who wasn’t whole anymore was the norm.

  “Never say it like I’m doing you a favor. I told you time and again, I am the one taking advantage of you.” Once in a while, they would embark in such discussions. It couldn’t be helped with their history, but it always pained Quintilius to have to remind her how grateful he was for her presence in his life.

  Freeing herself from his embrace, she wheeled her chair to the side to face him. “It would’ve been your prerogative.”

  Something in her tone, or maybe his nerves were too frayed already, made him snap, and words they had never spoken came forth. “You can’t walk because of me.”

  Camelia’s eyes widened as she brought her hand to her chest. “It’s not true—”

  “It’s not entirely true maybe, but it doesn’t change the fact that you being in this chair is related to me.” Quintilius kneeled in front of her, so that their eyes were at the same level. “I should’ve married you. I would’ve taken care of you and none of this would have happened.” He took the hand she had pressed on her heart.

  “You forgot I didn’t want to marry you either.”

  Her words were soft like a caress, and he brought her hand to his jaw. “I should’ve done something—”

  “What? I put myself in this situation.” She caressed his face in slow circles. “My handsome alpha, why are we even talking about it?” She shook her head. “Stirring the past will only make the present unbearable, and I am so happy, here, with you who has given me so much already.”

  “You should have had a lover, cubs…”

  “I knew what I was doing when I drank that vial.”

  Camelia was right, they shouldn’t be reminiscing about what had happened that night so long ago, the pain was still very much alive and it hurt.

  One hundred and fifty years earlier, the Wolf Council had decreed Quintilius had forgone his duty as alpha long enough and it was about time he gave the clan an heir. The elders had reunited and after a lengthy consultation, they had matched Quintilius with Camelia Del Rei, a Spanish she-wolf with impeccable lineage, the right astral conjunctions, and a rare healing power.

  On the paper, Quintilius and Camelia were the couple of the century. In practice, they had been so unhappy, Camelia decided to take fate in her hands and put herself out of the equation. She was successful in her effort, so much so that the elders declared Quintilius free from the matrimonial contract.

  “You know how many times I awake from a dream where you didn’t succeed in poisoning yourself?” Images of Camelia lying on the floor, blood seeping out of her mouth came back to Quintilius so often, he wondered if they would ever go away and leave him in peace. The night of their ceremony, just a few hours before the whole circus would start, he found her outside the wedding gazebo. Unconscious, she was still holding the vial he hid as soon as he realized what she had done.

  One shot of undiluted curare. Not enough to kill her, but just enough to cripple her wolf so that she wouldn’t be the perfect specimen for the alpha anymore. It didn’t help his conscience that the night before he had confessed to her he was in love with someone else. She had reciprocated his sentiment by saying she had a lover back in Salamanca who would come to her rescue. But her werewolf never came.

  “Don’t think about it. I don’t.” Camelia’s eyes swelled with tears, but she kept her lips curved up in a small smile. “I don’t want to talk about it any longer. It pains you.”

  “As it should, my flower.” He grabbed the wheelchair handles and pushed her back inside the house.

  “Tell me what has put you in such a mood.”

  And Quintilius told her about how he had ended his relationship with the love of his life once and for all, first while dining, then before the fireplace in his studio where they usually spent their evenings conversing about their days.

  Chapter Six

  “Ludwig, what a pleasant surprise.” Holding a recalcitrant toddler in his arms, Alexander Drako opened the door himself.

  Ludwig had expected Pietro, the Greek’s loyal majordomo, but thanks to the triplets the household had become rather informal. “I promise I won’t take long, but is there any chance I could talk with Raphael and Luisa?”

  “You’re always welcome to stay as long as you like. If you don’t mind little rascals afoot, of course.” Alexander stepped back and to the side to let him inside his villa in Coppedè, one of the most elegant neighborhoods in Rome.

  “Who’s this? Serses?” Ludwig couldn’t distinguish the kids. They were all olive-skinned, with dark-brown curly hair.

  “Darius.”

  The boy giggled as he slapped his father’s face with a slimy hand.

  “I’m victimized by those two feet of cuteness on a daily basis.” Alexander grabbed his son’s chubby hands and kissed them.

  The kid said, “Dada lovvee.”

  “Love you too, bebè.” With a radiant smile, Alexander closed the door behind them, then made sign for Ludwig to follow him. “Raphael and Luisa are still at school, working on a science project with some other kids. But they’ll be home soon if you don’t mind waiting for them. Peter and Quintilius are here too to talk to them. I assume it’s for the same case Ravenna is working on.”

  At Quintilius’s mention, Ludwig’s heart jumped up to his throat, and he croaked, “I can stay a few minutes—” The truth was he didn’t have a minute to spare, but he had flown over hoping he could see Quin, if only for a moment.

  Peter had called him earlier in the day to inform him about his plan to talk to Raphael. Knowing werewolf protocol by heart—Ludwig had been around the Immortal Council when the interspecies laws were sanctioned first—he expected Raphael’s alpha to be present as well.

  “Perfect, they’re waiting in my new studio.” While playing airplane with his kid, who laughed every time Alexander threw him in the air, the redeemed playboy accompanied Ludwig to a wing of the house he had never been before. “Because of the kids, we’re doing some remodeling and repurposing a few of the chambers to create a bigger recreation room,” he explained when they passed a few doors barred by plastic sheets.

  At the end of a hallway illuminated by big windows opening into the Italian gardens, Alexander entered a sunny English conservatory. “One of the newest additions to the house, Ravenna’s design.”

  The room, entirely made of glass, was attached to the house on one side, and faced the swimming pool built like a natural pond with a small waterfall surrounded by Roman ruins.

  With his free hand, Alexander pointed at the lagoon. “That too is Ravenna’s creation. Raphael and Luisa love it.”

  Ludwig wasn’t listening anymore, his eyes were locked on Quintilius who was staring back at him from the edge of the pool. A few steps ahead on the path leading toward a gazebo, Peter saw Ludwig and waved at him.

  “I’m glad you’re here, so we can all talk to the kid at the same time,” the demon said after both he and Quintilius walked back to the conservatory and the usual pleasantries were exchanged. “You know
how much I hate filling reports—”

  His whole body screaming for him to grab Quintilius and drag him to the closest dark corner, Ludwig tried to relax his jaw as he turned toward Peter and said, “You’ll still have to write a summary of today’s conversation with Raphael, and Quintilius will have to sign the document.”

  “As you wish, archangel.”

  The cold quality of Quintilius’s words hurt him, but Ludwig didn’t react. Instead, he reached the sitting area, lowered himself into a wicker chair, then silently waited for the others to take a seat.

  In the meantime, Drako’s majordomo arrived, pushing a cart laden with beverages and assorted pastries. While Pietro served them, Quintilius, who had elected to sit in front of Ludwig, folded his arms across his chest, muscles flexing beneath the elegant suit. His werewolf only wore custom made clothes that showed how fit and buff he was, and Ludwig had always enjoyed tearing those expensive suits to pieces.

  In a society where people lived forever and often maintained a youthful appearance for centuries, Quintilius’s physical exterior was oftentimes mistaken for old age. But Ludwig knew how the misconception was so far away from the truth. His beloved alpha was the epitome of manliness, and he wanted nothing more than taste those lips again and run his hands over Quin’s abs.

  While his mind concocted all sorts of things he wanted to do to his lover—ex-lover, he bitterly reminded himself—the trio of men chitchatted about family and kids.

  When Ravenna entered the conservatory accompanied by Raphael and Luisa holding in their arms Serses and Arianna, Ludwig was about to explode. Still, he had to suffer another round of greetings.

  “We’ll leave you in peace now,” Alexander said a few minutes later, then helped by his majordomo, they took the kids and left the room among giggles and raspberries.

  Ravenna’s eyes followed her companion until he disappeared behind the door, then smiled at her guests, but addressed Raphael who sat next to her with Luisa glued to his side. “Raphael, the gentlemen and I have a few questions for you.” At the teenager’s worried look, she added, “You are not in trouble. We only want to know if you have ever met a renegade werewolf called Lupo Solis.”