Everyone has a Weak spot (3 page)

Third, werewolves just didn't come that way. Both War and his nephew Renaud were werewolves.

Typically, werewolves mated with a life partner, and they mated young. Sure, they copulated for pleasure sometimes, but they preferred sex with their mates.

Sex was always a release, although not as much of a pleasure without one's mate. Lupines didn't partner with a mate who couldn't give them young. As night follows day, they had no control over that. Their mates were predestined, and when they found them they knew pretty quickly.

As War considered whether he should enter the house or not, he winced at some of what he was hearing. Lawrence Brunet was the brother of Renaud's late father and had married War's cousin, Alana. Lawrence was not lupine. Nor, it seemed, was Lawrence as confident in Renaud's masculinity as War or as the boy, himself.

“I
won't
allow it, boy!” bellowed Lawrence. “No boy
I
raise is going to be flitting around on his tippy-toes doing pirouettes! You'll have a
man's
career or you'll get the hell out of my house!"

A sobbing woman's voice tried to intervene. Though she was a werewolf herself, Alana Brunet did not use her extra strength or abilities against her husband.

War heard Renaud reply in a controlled voice, “Thank you for the years of shelter. Your task is done. I will ask Oncle War if he has a room for me, or I will turn to Mademoiselle Allemande."

So
that's
why he knew that name. Lorelei Allemande, the new dance teacher in town, was also Renaud's longtime friend. What a coincidence.

Renaud turned and strode to the door, nearly colliding with his uncle. “Can I stay with you, Oncle War?"

“Or leave you at the mercy of Mademoiselle Allemande?” demanded War. He didn't think so. If anyone was moving in with the little dance teacher, it would be him.

“Take this key, use your room. We'll talk later.” War handed his nephew his house key. He had a spare in his vehicle.

Renaud reached into his shirt and touched the chain around his neck. He pulled his medallion out with a finger.

Was it putting off light? No, just reflecting,
War decided.

“Thanks, Oncle. I'll be there in an hour or so. I'm going to see Rory first.” With that, Renaud strode up the stairs and the sounds of slamming drawers resounded throughout the house. While War tried to placate his upset cousin and irate cousin-in-law, he could hear Renaud drive away.

After a few minutes of fruitless reassurances, War slipped back into his parish police SUV and followed his nephew's path back to town. Since his office was almost directly diagonal from the ballerina's studio, the Sheriff knew he could sit at his desk on the second floor of the police station and see some of what took place across the street.

The area the young lady had rented for her dance studio was large and open with enormous windows overlooking the street. If she kept her lights on, he'd see something of their activities. If she turned them off, he'd be up there before you could say
Jambalaya
!

War was already in place when he saw the boy pull up in his little pickup truck and sprint through the recessed door between two shops.

As War watched, he saw his nephew appear in the second floor room and place two fingers in his mouth. He heard the muted sound of a shrill whistle through his open window.

A tiny figure clothed in a gray leotard and leggings shot out from behind a stack of boxes and into Renaud's arms. After what War deemed too many minutes, Renaud dropped the girl and began disrobing. War was stunned. The boy never voluntarily touched people.

Please don't let them have sex right now!

He expelled a sigh when he found his nephew was wearing a dark tee shirt and leggings under his clothes. That must be why it had taken him a little longer to get there—he'd had to stop and change clothes.

War kept his eyes trained on the two as the little figure in gray walked over and dimmed the lights somewhat. The view was still unobstructed but not quite as clear. Given that he was at least fifty yards away and at a bit of an angle, the view was less than sharp to begin with.

Renaud walked to his discarded clothes and pulled out a disk, which he placed in a CD player nearby. The strains of music could be heard as War watched the couple meet in the center of the room and begin to move. He heard the England Dan and John Ford Coley song,
I Really Want to See You Tonight,
start to play.

They moved like dried fall leaves caught in an easy whirlwind. They came together and separated with a fluidity that amazed him.

Wow! If this was ballet, it had really changed. Who was he kidding? War had hardly ever paid attention to ballet. Like most people of his acquaintance, he saw pink leotards, tights and tutus in his mind's eye when he thought of ballet. This was more like dance with ballet moves.

As he heard the music reach its crescendo, the two bodies were almost a blur—in slow motion—if that was possible. They kept perfect time with the music but were doing impossible things with gravity and their bodies. They moved in seamless harmony with each other as if they'd performed to this particular song before. He guessed they had, but their dance seemed so spontaneous.

The music and the dancers wound down and finally stilled. War began to speculate about the pair's relationship when he realized that the ballerina's windows must be open. He could hear their conversation clearly from across the street. Lupines have exceptional hearing.

“T'was a balm for my soul, Rory. I am exceedingly glad to be here.” That was Renaud's deep voice.

“Was it very difficult, Reni? How bad was it?” asked the light feminine voice of the girl. War felt his body harden at that husky sound.

Mon Dieu! Had he been without female companionship that long?

He leaned back in his chair, still listening. The two sat back to back leaning against each other sharing a bottle of water.

“I should have left that house long ago, Rory. I'm staying with my Oncle War. He would have let me stay anyway, but I was pissed. I said I'd come stay with you."

The girl laughed. The musical sound increased War's hard-on. “In for a penny, in for a pound, huh, Ren?"

Nobody called his nephew that, War thought.

“Not much I'm sure of in this life,
Peeshwank,"
he told her. “I know I can count on you, though."

“I'm sure you just called me a mean name. That means ‘runt’ doesn't it? I'd smack you if I had the energy. I sentence you to helping me finish unpacking—tomorrow.” She said with a smile in her voice.

War could hear the smile. She must've known that Renaud would help anyway.

“I'll be here around two, after my shift at the mill. Tonight I'll call some of the class, and we'll pick up this mess, for you, no?"

“It doesn't sound like such a big job when you say it that way. Damn shame you're you and all. I'm finding the whole Cajun thing is killer sexy.” She said this easily as if Renaud wouldn't care.

“Boo, if you mean that for true, I got this oncle ... he's single and all the ladies say he's
trés, trés beau
. Got a good job. He's a lawman around here. He's the one I'm staying with."

Merci di Dieu
—Thank God, he wasn't eating right then. He would have choked. War decided that, maybe, he wouldn't need to kill his nephew over this woman. Still, she and Renaud were the same age. He was so close with her that he called her “Boo,” a familiar term of endearment for their people.

But the hint of scent on the air—her scent—was beginning to draw War's attention. He forced himself to listen to what she said next and ignore the scent tickling his nostrils.

“I find that celibacy builds character, Ren, and mine has a ways to go. Besides, I'm sure my imagination is way more exciting than reality.” War found himself growling at his desk across the street.

“I dunno, Boo, the
filles
flock to Oncle War like bees to roses. And that imagination of yours can't do much without sumptin’ to go on,” Renaud teased.

“I'm glad your uncle won't want for feminine companionship, Ren. I met him today,” she blushed and dipped her head. “But, you know I couldn't go out with him even if he wanted me to. I'd have to just use him and lose him, wouldn't I?"

“Aw Boo, shit! I'm sorry, it's not like I ain't in the same place, though, huh? We're a sad pair, huh?"

War was mightily riled and a bit confused now.

They stood up together in one fluid movement. She turned and laid her hands on his forearms.

“Don't worry, Ren, we're gonna have some very buff character, aren't we?"

“Strongest characters in the world!” he agreed.

The two said their goodnights, and Renaud left after pressing an affectionate kiss to the little dancer's forehead. War gazed speculatively at the little lady as she straightened what she could in the big studio and then moved to her private rooms.

Chapter 3

War knew that Renaud had had a relationship with a famous ballerina. He didn't know much about her, though. War's sister and Lorelei's mother had been at college together. There was something about their kids being joined by a legacy, but nobody seemed to know much about it.

He struggled to remember what he could about the girl, her mother, and the alleged legacy. He would dig out old letters from his sister as soon as he got home.When Renaud was a child and even after the boy's mother died, War had been in the Army. He was part of Delta Force attached to the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. After he got through basic, hiding his lupine urges was not as necessary. Those traits had served him well during his ten-year military career.

After his sister died nine years ago, he'd realized he didn't know his family anymore. If he'd been home, she might have given him custody and let him raise the boy.

War left the military at the end of that enlistment and joined the police force in his home parish of Xavier. That had been nearly seven years ago. He was thirty-five now and Sheriff. Usually Xavier Parish was a quiet area with a slow, old fashioned pace, but he found plenty to keep his attention.

War had been aware that Renaud had problems as a small child. The boy didn't speak at all until after he turned five. At that time, he chose to speak to one Lorelei Allemande. He hadn't realized until he ran her driver's license today that Lorelei must've been five years old then, too. She was, even then, a professional dancer.

Renaud would not utter one word, or really interact with anyone, until his mother brought him to Connecticut where Lorelei and her mother lived.

His mother had apologized for him saying, “Don't be angry if he won't talk. He doesn't talk to anybody."

Lorelei had responded, “He'll talk when he has something to say. C'mon, Renaud, let's go ice skating! You'll love it!” She'd held out her hand and the boy had taken it with a grin.

By the end of the visit, he was behaving as if he'd never been silent. He was reserved as always, but he spoke. He acted normally, and he interacted with the people around him.

Renaud's mother made a stipulation in her will that the boy would spend summers with the girl and never be denied access to her when he expressed a desire to see her.

Lorelei, whose own mother had died when she was thirteen, came to Xavier Parish each year, taught ballet to any child who wanted it, and still spent hours on end with Renaud. They both attended some kind of ballet camp with famous dancers from the time the boy was five until he turned sixteen.

Throughout that time, Lorelei visited or had Renaud join her a week at a time as she toured the world with the ballet company.

During all of those years, War had never met Lorelei. The military had been the biggest culprit but his cousins had intervened as well.

Alana, Renaud's aunt and foster mother, had met Lorelei but took no opportunity to cultivate a relationship her or get to know her. She resented the terms imposed by the will and was jealous of Lorelei.

While Renaud's father had seemed like a good man for a human, Lawrence just aggravated War. Alana wasn't much better.

For all those reasons, Lorelei was an unknown entity to him. Warrick Martine was not a fan of unknown entities.

Those days were over now, though. This year, Lorelei had moved to Xavier Parish to help Renaud get ready for the professional ballet.

* * * *

The Sheriff returned home that evening to find his nephew unpacking his belongings. He leaned against the doorjamb to Renaud's room.

“Knew you'd need this room for more than just weekends eventually. Sorry it came about this way. You just getting here?” War opened the conversation.

“Hey, Oncle War. Yeah, I just went into town to see Rory—Mademoiselle Allemande. She said she met you today?” Renaud glanced at his uncle inquiringly.

War chuckled. “She didn't tell you how we met?” He knew she hadn't but he asked anyway. “Want a beer?"

Renaud was very curious now. “No, she didn't say. Yeah, sure, a beer. What happened?” Renaud followed his uncle to the kitchen.

“She was coming out of the Burger Bin drive-thru with one of those new milkshakes they got there. The chocolate and coffee ones?"

Renaud interrupted with a loud groan. “Aw,
no
! She didn't!” he groaned. “She has no control at all when it comes to those things.” He chuckled. “That what happened to your truck?"

“Yup.” War took a long drink of his beer. With werewolf metabolism the alcohol had no effect on them, but they enjoyed the icy cold carbonated beverage.

“She seemed okay tonight. You write her a ticket or something?” Both men took their beer out to the porch to stare at the crescent moon hanging just above the water.

“I gave her a hard time. Threatened to arrest her,” War looked guiltily at his nephew. “I accused her of being drunk. I gave her such a hard time that I felt too bad to give her a ticket,” he confessed. “I didn't know it was her, ya know."

War still felt pretty bad.

He was nothing but a mean ol’ bastard. He was going to hell, no doubt!

Renaud was staring hard at him and had said nothing after his confession, only reaching into his shirt to touch his medallion.